A few days after the big reveal, Amy is picking her way through the fires outside the refugee tents. The world did not stop spinning when the team discovered Bohdi was Chaos. The Asgardians didn’t break into the inn in the middle of the night.
She looks around. In fact, the more immediate concern is probably the refugees. Every day more people arrive. Most of them are not friendly. She tries not to look at the eyes that glare up at her as she walks by, the exonerated Tucker and Beatrice just a step behind her. Steve has assigned two guards to Amy. Harding was attacked a few nights ago. Apparently, her short stature made some of the newcomers doubtful that she could be a “warrior.” Things went very badly for them.
No one thinks Amy would fare as well in a confrontation, and everyone knows if she was caught alone there would be one. Frost Giant society isn’t particularly sexist—if you’re a warrior. Frost Giantesses who bear arms have all the rights of men. She looks into a tent and sees a woman stooping over a pot, her clothing noticeably more threadbare than the man drinking from a earthenware mug beside her. If you’re not a “warrior” and you’re a woman, a womanly man, or a child, you’re at the lowest rung of society.
She shivers. It’s like Asgardian society in a warped mirror. The Valkyries have all the rights and responsibilities of men—though Odin begrudged them those rights. On the flip side, Odin did his best to protect the women and children of Asgard. Even with the one creepy servant, Amy hadn’t felt as much on edge there as she does here.
A man with dark circles under his eyes casually slips a foot in front of Amy; Beatrice and Tucker’s rifles click. Withdrawing his foot, the man turns his head and spits. Amy swallows. “Thanks,” she whispers to Beatrice and to Tucker. They both nod, which Amy hopes means Tucker doesn’t hate her anymore.
She bites her lip and tries to make conversation. “I hear you used magic to light a candle the other day,” she whispers to Tucker. “That’s really great.”
Not meeting her eyes, Tucker says, “Yeah, I know the basics of thermodynamics.” His jaw gets hard. “Back on Earth, magic is going to be just one more thing now to separate the haves from the have-nots, and the educated from the uneducated.”
Amy doesn’t know what to say to that. She nervously shifts the frozen fruit she’s carrying to her opposite arm, relieved to see the inn coming into view. She sees members of the team out in front, playing baseball with some Frost Giant warriors. Asgardians have joined them, too. They’re sprinkled between both teams. Ullr is among them—he nods at Tucker. After a beat, Tucker nods back.
Amy’s brows draw together. The human team could be fighting the Asgardians in a few months … it’s like Christmas in the trenches during WWI when the German and French soldiers had put down their weapons to celebrate the holiday and forget the war. It’s even cold like it had been then—Loki vividly remembers frost hanging in front of his nose as he and Thor met in the middle and shook hands. Thor had favored the Kaiser and Loki had ...
She blinks, passes through the cloud of her own breath, and the memory fades.
From where he stands on the pitching mound, Thomas says, “Want to join us?”
The tip of Amy’s nose is biting with cold—but it’s early afternoon, and Bohdi’s probably in the cavern practicing magic. A game would be just the thing to take her mind off his absence. “Sure!” Amy says, putting down the fruit.
“You’re on,” Beatrice adds.
Looking at Amy’s grandmother, one of the Asgardians says, “It’s the lion killer. We are doomed!” Everyone laughs, which makes the moment all the more surreal.
Thomas hurls a handmade ball of lion skin at Amy. She catches it with a grin.
And then from behind her comes the sound of gunfire. Dropping the ball and ducking, Amy touches her earpiece as all the SEALs swing their rifles around.
Rush’s voice comes over the channel. “… we have a situation near the great hall … we’ve become separated from Bjorna.”
Before Amy can catch her breath, all the guys are sprinting off to the sound of gunfire. The Asgardians and Frost Giants are left standing on the makeshift field, looking confused.
“Quick, inside,” Beatrice says. Gathering up the frozen fruit, Amy hastens with her grandmother into the inn.
Steve opens the door of the building they set up outside of the cavern. Cold air hits his lungs in a sharp blast. He nods to Cruz and Fenrir, standing on guard outside the structure. “See anyone?” he asks.
“No, sir,” Cruz says. Steve’s lips purse. Bohdi’s little fib about the little building above the entrance to Gullveig’s cavern being an access tunnel to the old toilets has been surprisingly effective. The warriors are calling the building on top “the shit house.”
Beside Cruz, muzzle level with Steve’s shoulder, Fenrir barks in agreement. Steve scratches her behind the ear. It’s a bit disconcerting to realize you know when a wolf is in agreement.
Claire emerges from the building, and Steve drops his hand onto her shoulder. Berry, Larson, Redman, Bohdi, and Gerðr follow her out. As one, they start walking toward the inn.
Gerðr sidles up to Steve. “Mr. Patel’s abilities are developing unusually fast.” The Frost Giantess shakes her head. “Even with your unique … heritage, Mr. Patel, I am at a loss to explain it. I wonder if your magic matter is being stimulated in some way?”
“I’d say he’s being stimulated,” says Cruz.
Steve clears his throat meaningfully. Everyone knows Bohdi and Lewis are involved, but no one is mentioning it, especially not around Claire.
“That’s not magic matter,” says Gerðr. “Although I suppose those regions are well innervated and might be more susceptible to magical stimulation. But considering his partner is not magical, I’m not sure how that could be the case.”
Steve coughs, or more accurately, chokes. And then he feels that funny tickle at the back of his neck. Lewis might well be magical at this point ...
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bohdi says, remarkably keeping a straight face. Steve’s just about to breathe out a sigh of relief when Claire says, “They’re talking about sex, aren’t they?”
Steve’s eyeballs just about pop out of his head, and Bohdi starts to laugh.
“I knew it,” says Claire. Her tiny nose wrinkles. “Adults are gross.”
Steve pats her shoulder and silently wills her to maintain that attitude as long as possible.
Beside him Larson grunts. His face is tight, his eyes shifting between Bohdi and Gerðr.
Larson had confronted Steve about Bohdi’s “heritage” not long after Tucker was exonerated.
In the stairway to Gullveig’s cavern, the lieutenant caught him alone. “Patel’s real identity was important to the mission. I should have been told.”
Steve had carefully kept his voice neutral. “No one knows Patel’s secret identity, not even Patel, Lieutenant. Loki stole his memories from him.”
“You know what I mean,” Larson growled.
“If it was one of your men, would you have told me?” Steve asked.
There were several moments when the only sound was their steps on the worn stone stairway. “My men are loyal,” Larson ground out at last.
“Patel is loyal to humanity,” Steve had snapped back. “Which is an accomplishment considering some people wanted him sent to Guantanamo.”
Steve had tensely waited for a response, but Larson had given him none. Still, he catches the lieutenant staring at Bohdi through narrowed eyes occasionally, like now. Is it because Gerðr complimented the kid, or because Bohdi’s magic makes him nervous? Gerðr isn’t exaggerating; Bohdi is wielding more magic than the rest of them. He just lacks control—Steve’s very glad that they moved the gunpowder. It may be in airtight trunks, but Steve isn’t confident Bohdi’s magic wouldn’t undo them somehow. As it is, they’re keeping piles of sand in the cavern because Bohdi’s set the sparse furniture on fire more than once.
Steve’s headset crackles, he taps to receive, and Rush’s voice comes over the channel. “We have a situation near the great hall … we’ve become separated from Bjorna.”
Claire moves the fastest, but she’s immediately swept up into the trees. She roars with fury. In her anger, she must not remember to let her magic go because more branches snap toward her. To Gerðr, Steve says, “Watch her!”
Shots go off in the distance, and Steve sprints to catch up with the other members of the team already running in their direction. He catches up to Berry quickly, and he outpaces the shorter man. He sees Bohdi in the lead, followed by Larson a few steps behind, both charging past the first of the tents hugging Heiðr’s Keep. Lungs burning with cold air, Steve wills his legs to go faster, and then stops as a branch nearly trips him. Cursing, he tries to clutter his thoughts with everything that could be going wrong. Fortunately, Steve is naturally fast; he quickly catches up to Larson, but Bohdi is still pulling away in front of them. In the hard-packed snow by the tents, Larson and Steve slip, but Bohdi’s footing is weirdly unerring as he heads toward a crowd of peasant Frost Giants—Chaos in action?
Bohdi is just a few hundred meters from the inn when more shots go off. Bohdi screams—it is a cry of pure, unmitigated rage, and it makes every hair on the back of Steve’s neck stand on end. Branches snap toward Bohdi and haul him upward. Steve doesn’t know when the kid took out his pistol, but he sees it in his hands.
“What is he doing?” says Larson.
Slipping out his own Glock, Steve says, “He’s getting above the crowd.” And then he shuts up and quiets his mind to everything but the muscles in his legs … branches snap down to his feet, but he doesn’t let that distract him. When they snap around his ankles, he twists 180 degrees and lets himself be hauled feet first into the air. It keeps his hands free and points his body in the right direction.
He lets his breathing even out, focusing on his whole body, down to his toes. Branches slide around his middle. He tries to mentally welcome them, trying to maintain the magic feeling. What he sees makes him almost lose it.
Less than three meters away, Bohdi swings in the branches, wrists bound above his head. He’s pummeling Frost Giants beneath him with his boots as they try to grab him. Beyond Bohdi, Steve makes out Rush and Nari fighting with Frost Giants for control of their rifles. A baby wail pierces the air from the crumpled mass on the ground in front of them.
It’s like the baby’s wail is wired directly to the finger on the trigger of his Glock. Steve fires his pistol at the heads of the Frost Giants nearest the cry. They waver, and sway, and then crumple. He hears another pistol fire and a rifle.
The crowd panics. The men fighting for control of Redman’s and Nari’s rifles break apart like leaves in a gale. Steve has to fight the urge to mow them down. One passes beneath Bohdi’s feet; Bohdi doesn’t restrain himself.
Nari lunges for the shape on the ground, shouting something to Redman. The tree branches snap from above and haul Nari and Bjorna, with Cannonball on her back, up into the air. Redman catches hold and avoids being trampled.
In the loosening branches, Steve pulls himself up in alarm and looks the way he came. Larson is in the trees, pistol out, branches holding him up by his armpits. His lips are curled back in a snarl. Steve looks for Berry … the stoic warrant officer is the poorest at magic. He doesn’t see him in the trees and for a moment he panics. But then he sees him stretched out on top of a tent shaped like a long house with a domed roof. His rifle is out, and his expression is unreadable behind the scope.
Bohdi lets out another cry of rage. For the first time Steve catches a whiff of smoke, singed skin, and burnt hair. Twisting around again, Steve sees some of the retreating Frost Giants beating flames in their hair and clothing, and a pile of kindling by someone’s tent that has roared to life. His eyes go up to Bohdi—every one of the kid’s limbs, and his stomach, is tied up in the branches. Steve’s heart falls. He’s caught up in his own mayhem, a metaphor for Chaos, perhaps? In the distance, Steve sees Asgardians approaching, following in the footsteps of Steve’s own team.
Eyes widening in alarm, Steve calls out, “Bohdi! Let it go.” But Bohdi only struggles more. Pulling himself free, Steve drops to the ground and runs over to the kid, trying to ignore the whimpering of Cannonball and the rapidly approaching Asgardians.
Amy looks through her supplies in the mudroom. The light catching in the filaments of her “special penicillin” sparkles from the shelf above her. Steve’s command echoes in her ear. Do not leave the inn. They’ve made a stretcher for Bjorna, and she’s on her way. She hears Harding’s voice outside the back door, and Fenrir’s whine.
Amy throws open the door, expecting to find Bjorna on a stretcher, but it’s Bohdi and Berry. Bohdi’s not looking at her. As he comes in, she touches his arm, but doesn’t ask him questions. Glancing down at his boots, she notices that they’re stained with blood. She bites her lip. What would she have done if she’d seen someone trying to stone a mother and baby to death? She scowls. What would she have wanted to do? Her wrath is as immaterial as a breeze.
Berry says, “Patel, take off your boots and then keep out of sight.”
Sitting down heavily, Bohdi mutely does as he was told. Amy wants to speak to him but hears a commotion in the front and the sound of Cannonball’s cries. Heading into the main room, she finds Gem cradling Cannonball, trying to quiet him and at the same time sobbing. “I told her it was too dangerous … I told her it was too dangerous …”
Amy knows the guys checked him for head trauma, and his wail sounds more furious than pained, but she says to Thomas, “Unswaddle him and check for any signs of bruising.” Thomas obeys, and Amy is glad they’ve all received basic medical training, and that at least in one way they don’t question her.
Tucker and Cruz file through the door, carrying Bjorna between them. The Frost Giantess is cradling one knee. The rest of the team follows behind them, which she expects. What she doesn’t expect is Ullr to be there, along with Thor, a few other Asgardians, and Ralf, one of the Frost Giant warriors smitten with Harding.
As soon as the guys deposit Bjorna close to the fire, Amy rushes to her side. “Cannonball,” the Frost Giantess whispers.
“I don’t see any bruising on him,” Thomas says. “Pupils look good … follow my finger; that a boy.”
“He is going to be fine,” Amy says, and almost on cue, the baby’s cries die down.
Tucker towers over Amy as she kneels on the floor. “Give me your knife,” Amy says. It’s part of their standard kit. He obliges, and she takes the blade and begins slicing the leather trousers Bjorna wears beneath her skirts.
As she does, Ralf says, “His eyes glow. You can say that he is human, but of course people are afraid.”
All ambient noise in the room stops. Amy, peeling back the leather from Bjorna’s kneecap and what she is almost positive is a patella fracture, freezes in place. She bites her tongue. She wants to reply to that—loudly and forcefully—but she doesn’t want to tip any diplomatic scales.
From where she stands at the door with Sigyn, Gerðr, and her father, Claire roars. “He’s a baby!”
As Claire says the words Amy’s sure everyone wants to say but can’t, Amy feels like an atmosphere of collective relief settles on the room.
“As humans say, from the mouths of babes,” says Ullr. Amy’s eyes go to Thor’s adoptive son. It may be the lighting, but he looks more like Thor than even Magi and Modi. The look he’s giving to Ralf could kill. Steve had mentioned that Ullr had run off to help find Claire—that’s why he was witness to Tucker’s “incident.” She remembers Loki’s memories of retrieving Ullr’s child from a Dark Elf. Ullr understands the plight of a lost child—the hurt of it.
Bjorna hisses in pain, and Amy turns back to the Frost Giantess and takes her hand. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to need to touch your knee. It will mostly likely sting.” Bjorna nods, and Amy gently runs her fingers over Bjorna’s bruised kneecap with wrongly dimpled skin. The Frost Giantess hisses again, but louder than that is the sound of her patella fragments, grinding together. Amy almost gasps … she can see in her mind’s eye the multiple fragments, radiating from a point just below the patella center. Her skin heats. No, she’s having a hallucination; she could not have possibly heard Bjorna’s bones grind. The rafters of the iron wood tree groan above her head … she looks up at the ceiling. That’s what she heard, the branches.
Thor sits down on his heels on the opposite side of the Frost Giantess. “May I?” he asks.
Suddenly needing reaffirmation she’s not crazy, Amy nods. Thor reaches forward, and Amy realizes her fingers are still hovering over Bjorna’s knee. Just before she draws them back, Thor’s fingers brush her own. He snaps back his hand.
Caught off guard by his strange behavior, Amy mumbles her diagnosis, “Patella fracture. Multifragmented, undisplaced.”
Thor raises an eyebrow. “That would be my diagnosis as well.”
“It’s the dimpling in the skin …” Amy says, trying to explain how she knows, though she isn’t sure how she knows. “You can see it.”
Thor does not respond.
In the background she hears Ralf saying, “There will be a blood feud now, but they are only peasants … you don’t have much to worry about. The warriors of Jotunheim are still your friends.”
“And with friends like these …” someone mutters, maybe Tucker. Amy doesn’t turn to look. Thor is staring at her. His expression is calculating, but not cruel.
“I will report events as they happened to Heiðr,” says Ralf, and the floorboards creak as the team parts to let him pass.
It’s only when the door slams shut that Thor speaks again, gaze still steady on Amy. “I’m afraid if I use magic to treat this it will bring the house down on our heads.”
“It’s alright,” Amy says, snagging a pillow and gently putting it under Bjorna’s leg. “I’ll splint it.” She takes an instant ice pack from her kit and gently puts it on the kneecap to reduce the swelling. They have all-purpose splints as part of their medical gear—she’ll put it on so that when the guys haul Bjorna to the cavern for Sigyn or Nari to work their magic, her leg will stay immobile. She tries to give Bjorna a reassuring smile.
“I can do something for the pain perhaps …”
All the wheels in Amy’s brain start spinning. She doesn’t have much in the way of painkillers that will be strong enough for a fractured kneecap and safe for a nursing mother. “Please!” say Amy and Bjorna at once.
Thor reaches toward Bjorna and murmurs, “Sleep.” He uses his fingers to gently close her eyes. The inn creaks and groans, but Bjorna begins to breathe deeply. When Thor pulls his fingers from her eyes, they stay closed.
Thor returns his gaze to Amy, and Amy has a weird sense of déjà vu, but she can’t figure out why. She has an impossible-to-ignore urge to fidget. Ducking her head, she pushes a strand of hair behind her ear … and becomes aware of the goings on in the rest of the room. Someone is pacing, their footsteps are too loud—almost as if they’re stomping in a temper tantrum. She hears the sound of impact, and turns to see Rush, standing in the little hallway between the main rooms and the kitchen. It takes a moment, but she realizes that he’s banged the wall with the flat bottom of his fist. His face looks anguished. “They were going to stone Cannonball! Rapist butt fuckers and baby killers! What is wrong with these people?”
Amy suddenly feels lightheaded. She had never thought she had a lot in common with Rush; he’s a misogynistic, passive-aggressive creep who only laid off his “subtle” advances when he decided Bohdi was a worthy teammate. But she’s more like him than the Frost Giants.
“They only respect violence,” Ullr says, walking over to Bjorna. “They have no respect for those women of gentle grace like Bjorna, or for children.”
Amy looks to Gerðr. The Giantess does not refute Ullr’s statement. Amy bows her head; the Asgardians are more human than the Frost Giants. No, that isn’t quite right. Her brow furrows, remembering stories she’s read of places in the third world where stoning is a punishment for adultery or for marriages not approved by parents. Such things don’t exist in Asgard; the death penalty is reserved for traitors. Her eyes flit to Nari and Valli … although the Asgard definition of “traitor” is a loose one.
“What will happen to them after we leave?” Tucker says.
His words invite the proverbial elephant into the room. Amy tenses, and her eyes flick to Steve. She can see the muscles in his jaw working. She looks around the room. Asgardians and humans shift uneasily on their feet; everyone looks pained.
Ullr bows his head. “The Allfather is merciful to women and children. If she surrenders to us, she might bring her child to Asgard and find gainful service as a household servant. The child is unusual … but a lesser house would be accommodating.”
“What about Gem?” Amy says. Her eyes go to the small dwarven woman.
“The dwarf woman would be welcome,” Ullr says. He nods at Gem. “The industriousness of your people is well known.”
Where she is gently jiggling Cannonball in her arms, Gem says, “Thank you. But the Allfather has repatriation agreements with my realm. He would send me back.”
Amy’s mouth falls open.
Gem’s gaze stays fastened on Ullr’s. “Do you think any proper Black Dwarf would live in this cold-bright realm? I’m a member of the resistance movement in my home realm. Do you really blame me?”
Amy remembers Loki’s thoughts on the puppet monarchies of the Red Dwarf and Black Dwarfs—they were venal toward their people, profligate in their personal ways, and they granted the ordinary dwarves much less legal protection than the lowest Asgardian.
Ullr raises an eyebrow. “Perhaps not.”
Amy looks around the room. The SEALs are staring at Gem. The Asgardians are shifting on their feet, looking bashful. At that moment, Amy realizes there is one Asgardian who has been very quiet. Her eyes slide to the normally very vocal, boisterous Thor. He’s still gazing at her, expression somber.
“We will leave you now,” Ullr says.
One of the other Asgardians says, “Perhaps we can resume the game when you’ve finished here.”
There is an awkward beat of silence. But then Tucker says, “Sure.”
The Asgardians begin to file toward the door, but Thor doesn’t budge. “Father?” says Ullr.
Thor smiles up at him. “I’d like to speak with my friend Bohdi Patel.”
Ullr draws back but says, “Very well.” He takes a step toward the door, but then stops. “Is one of your number perhaps gifted in fire?”
In her own language Gerðr snaps too quickly, “They are all gifted in fire.”
It’s an exaggeration, and too obvious a coverup; Ullr’s eyes narrow at the Giantess. And then Larson waves a hand, and the few real candles in the room spring to life. Steve draws himself to his full height, his eyes flash purple, and a fire springs to life in the hearth. Amy blinks, and Tucker snaps his fingers—a spark flickers in the air and then vanishes. The building groans, and the plaster in the walls cracks as the rafters bow.
Looking up at the ceiling, Tucker mutters, “We are a danger to ourselves and others.”
Ullr gapes and Gem snaps, “Don’t destroy my home!”
Ullr’s eyes slide to Thor, wide with alarm. Thor shrugs and stands up. “I’m used to the company of chaotic fire wielders. I’ll be fine.”
“As you say,” Ullr says. He nods at Steve, Larson, and Tucker, and then leaves the inn. There is a moment when all is silent, and then everyone starts talking at once.
Thor turns back to Amy and says, “Do you know?”
Amy stares blankly at him, and then figures out what he’s really asking. “Oh, we all know that Bohdi is … you know … Chaos.”
Thor’s brows draw together. “Hmmmmm…” he murmurs. And then he says, “I’d like to see your splint, Dr. Lewis.”
Amy takes a breath, a little surprised, but then she shrugs. “Want to see the primitive way to do it?”
Thor gives her a bemused smile. “You said it, not me.”
Lifting the ice pack from Bjorna’s knee, Amy blinks. “That’s weird, the swelling has gone down much more than I expected.” And then she shakes her head. Of course, Thor probably did that! It was probably too small a magic to crack plaster. She almost says thank you, but then a thought occurs to her. She has to have been infected by the virus by now. Maybe it wasn’t Thor’s magic, maybe it was–
Amy crumples at the waist, pain flashing behind her eyes.
“Doctor Lewis,” Thor whispers. She feels his hand on her forehead, surprisingly cool. Amy shakes herself; she can’t have a headache now. Bjorna needs her. The pain recedes enough for her to open her eyes. “Thank you,” she mumbles to Thor.
He raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t comment as she shakily takes out the splint. The military splints are actually kind of cool. They are essentially rolls of metal tape covered in a thin foam for comfort against the skin. They can be placed over just about any sprain, fracture, or break, and secured with tape or bandages to immobilize the injury site. Amy slips one splint behind Bjorna’s leg and molds it to keep the knee slightly bent, the tremor leaving her limbs as she focuses on her task. Then she takes tape and creates straps above and below Bjorna’s kneecap, being sure to leave room for an ice pack. When she’s done, she sits back and admires her handiwork.
“I thought you were an animal doctor,” Thor says.
“Did I set it wrong?” Amy asks. She was sure the fragments were still together and that the angle of Bjorna’s knee was correct. Not that she’s done this before, but she has this strange memory —
“No, you did it perfectly,” says Thor.
Amy sighs with relief, and from the hallway comes Bohdi’s voice. “Of course she did!”
Thor lifts his head and grins. “Mr. Patel! There you are.” Laughing, he stands up and heads toward Bohdi with huge lumbering steps, his honest, wide open face like a ray of sunshine. He smacks Bohdi on the back so hard, he nearly falls over.
“Wait,” whispers Redman. “I thought we were supposed to keep Asgardians away from Patel.”
“He knows,” Amy whispers back.
“You lied to your people?” Larson growls.
Thor stops mid-stride. He’s no longer smiling, and Amy feels like the sun has gone behind a cloud. “I did not lie,” Thor says to Larson. “And I kept my first and most important oath: to protect Asgard.” He smiles tightly. “Sometimes, we protect what we love by disobeying orders. Doesn’t your military, in fact, command you to disobey orders if a superior’s orders contradict the laws of your people?”
The tightness in Larson’s jaw softens, but he does not speak.
Steve rumbles. “Yes, we are ordered to obey only appropriate orders.”
“You understand our oaths right,” Berry says. Harding and Cruz nod. Rush cracks his knuckles. Park and Tucker are staring at the floor, both looking lost in thought.
Thor steps back from Bohdi. Putting his hands on Bohdi’s shoulders, he squints at the empty air around Bohdi’s head—looking at Bohdi’s aura, Amy realizes. “You are starting to show.”
“It’s not like I’m pregnant, Thor,” Bohdi snaps.
Pulling back his hands, Thor roars with laughter. Wiping away a tear, he says, “You know, there is a very entertaining myth about Loki and a horse …”
“Don’t even go there!” Valli roars.
“No, please do,” says Larson.
Putting a hand to his chest, Bohdi flutters his eyelashes. “I, for one, am very proud of Sleipnir.” Thor’s jaw drops. Bohdi bounces up and down on his feet. “But I’d rather tell them about the time we both dressed up as girls!”
Thor snarls, “Why, you little …”
But Bohdi is already sprinting for the kitchen, cackling maniacally. Thor chases after him, and Claire tears after Thor, and Nari, Valli, and Sigyn follow Claire. The SEALs blink at each other for a moment, and then the normally calm, rational Berry says, “I gotta see this.” He breaks into a run and the rest of the SEALs follow.
Gaping, Amy sits in place, overcome by déjà vu. It is so much like the interactions between young Thor and young Loki. She feels hope flare in her chest.
“This is not good.” Steve’s voice makes her jump. Turning, she sees him by the door. His eyes are glowing purple. A branch from the rafters uncurls and twists toward his neck. Steve slaps it away with a grimace. “Too many people know,” he says.
Amy bites her lip. Trying to be positive, she says, “Even if Odin finds out, he can’t open a World Gate here … and the Asgardians’ magical armor doesn’t work. Our—your—rifles will work.”
“No,” Steve says. “Odin will find a way.”
With that he storms from the room, calling for Larson and Berry.