After a fitful sleep filled with horrific dreams of death, I wake to the sound of banging.
“Loki, open up,” Freddie shouts from the hall.
Gunnar Magnusson lifts his head from the other bed (as expected, he was asleep when I returned from my walkabout last night). I pretend not to notice he’s shirtless and throw the covers off. I plod to the door, bracing myself for what’s to come.
The knob turns, and Freddie flies into the room like a raven divebombing his first meal in a month. “What. The. Hell? I can’t believe you’d hold back information as important as this. All you had to do was tell me, and I might’ve understood your reticence. I mean, according to Alex, you treated me like shit back then, but I don’t remember any of that, so I’m not sure why it’s such a big deal to keep it a classified secret. And why did you make Alex me? You should’ve been the one to break the news. It’s not his responsibility, even though he told me who he was, but I don’t remember him either. Regardless, it could’ve been easy, but as usual, you made it hard.”
After the initial shockwave of his tirade ebbs, he stops long enough to catch his breath and resumes the rant full force. “And another thing. I don’t know what the hoopla with these stupid runes is about, but I demand a refund. This thing hasn’t done shit, and I’ve been trying all night.”
Shaking his finger in my face with one hand, he brandishes his rune like a weapon with the other. “I put it in my mouth. I laid it across my forehead. I rubbed it on my stomach. I stuck it in my sock. I’d have stuffed it where the sun don’t shine if I thought it would work, but Alex talked me out of it. I’ll tell you what I think. I think you’re full of shit, and this rune is nothing more than a chip of bone you nicked off a goat you ate.” He catches his breath again. “Well? What’s your excuse? I’m dying to hear it.”
Gunnar Magnusson gets up, grabs Freddie by the shoulders, and relocates him from the threshold into our room. He calmly shuts the door and points at the bed. “Sit.”
Freddie huffs, folds his arms, plants his butt on the mattress, and crosses his legs, kicking the top foot like he’s trying to punt a Loki-shaped ball.
Meanwhile, Kenaz has sprung a leak, and it’s dripping into the sex center of my brain. I wipe the corner of my mouth to catch the drool about to escape. Gunnar Magnusson had better put on a shirt before I lose containment in more ways than one.
“What the hell are you raving about?” Gunnar Magnusson asks, towering over Freddie’s wiry form.
Freddie juts his chin at me. “Ask her.”
Gunnar Magnusson turns to me. I sit next to Freddie, careful not to jostle the bed or ruffle his feathers further. The peacock looks like he’s about to flap them in my face and then chase me around the room, biting my ankles in the process.
“Loki?” Gunnar Magnusson prompts. He’s staring down at us like we’re two children who got in trouble for stealing apples. It wouldn’t be the first time. Not for me, at least.
“I think what Freddie is referring to—”
“Don’t you mean Freya?” he interrupts.
I turn to him. “Yes. I mean Freya.”
Gunnar Magnusson drops his arms to his sides. “Are you kidding me right now?”
I sigh, defeated. “No kidding. Freddie is Freya.”
“The Freya? As in the Norse goddess of sex and magic and fertility and war and death—”
My turn to interrupt. “Yes, yes, the very one,” I say fluttering my hand.
Gunnar Magnusson pins his gaze to his friend. “You. Are Freya? Ha!” He tosses his mane back and barks a laugh that shows off his pearly whites and some neck tendons I’d like to lick from bottom to top.
“I don’t know why that’s so funny,” Freddie retorts, “nor do I actually believe it. I have a feeling little Miss Loki has found a way around her so-called ‘truth’ tattoo and made up a real cute story about me. The girl who did her tattoo was a sham, by the way. I could tell by the look in her eye she was no good.”
“You’re right about one of those things,” I murmur, hopefully not loud enough for Skuld to hear, wherever she is. “But I swear, I can’t lie. I wish I could.”
“Exactly what a liar would say. Test her.” Freddie looks at Gunnar Magnusson and points at me. “Go on. Ask her a question you know the answer to and see if she lies.”
Gunnar Magnusson’s blue eyes turn stormy. “Where did you go last night?”
“I stood right outside this room and gave Alex Freddie’s rune. Then I wandered around the parking lot for about twenty minutes, kicking rocks. Then I went into a gas station and talked to the old guy running the cash register. He gave me an expired Little Debbie birthday cake—it was white with colorful dots on it that tasted sweet and the middle had gooey stuff that made me sweat after I ate it—and a pack of cigarettes. He said if I was gonna die tomorrow, I might as well smoke the entire box because cancer can’t kill you that fast if you don’t already have it, which I might. Who can possibly understand the mind of a Norn who’s about to cut your life cord like a dangling, spurting vein so you can bleed out?”
“Hold up,” Freddie says, his voice slightly calmer now. “What’s this about dying? I feel like I skipped a chapter.”
I go over to the table and open my purse. “Here’s the cigarettes.” I hold the package up along with a lighter, which I find fascinating. I flick it and watch the flame dance. Fire has always intrigued me. Just ask Kenaz.
I dig through the various junk in the bag and produce a cellophane wrapper with a few crumbs in it. “These are the remains of the birthday cake. Sorry. I wasn’t up to sharing last night. I had a lot on my mind.”
Freddie looks at Gunnar Magnusson. “Well, that backfired exquisitely. Never mind. I’m still trying to figure out why you kept this vitally important Freya information, which does not seem to have any corroborating evidence, to yourself after I repeatedly asked you to tell me who I was.”
“How did you know you were someone from Loki’s past?” Gunnar Magnusson asks.
This isn’t going to end well.
“I guessed it, and she as much as admitted it in the parking lot after we ate at that Indian place the night we destroyed Nine Realms,” Freddie says.
Gunnar Magnusson turns on me with an expectant look that says, Explain yourself or I’m going to ask you a similar question you don’t want to have to answer.
“Okay, everybody hold on a second,” I say and face Freddie. “Can you and I discuss this in your room with Alex? I think I may be able to help with your memory problem.”
“Fine,” Freddie says and stands up. “But this hurts, Loki. I trusted you. We were road trip sisters. We sang songs together. I helped you when you got your period, for God’s sake. I thought I was your BFF. You let me down. And it hurts. A lot.” His voice quivers at that last bit.
An ice-cold waterfall of shame washes over me. I study my feet. “I know. I’ll do my best to make it right. Give me five minutes?”
“Don’t be late,” he warns and stomps out of the room in a fury.
When the door shuts, I turn to Gunnar Magnusson and choose my words carefully. “I know what you’re thinking. It’s true I kept some things from you. But I have reasons. I’m not ready to share them, but I will when the time is right.”
“These reasons,” he says, eyeing me skeptically, “are they good ones or selfish ones?”
“A little of both,” I admit. “But the more important question is whether I feel justified for keeping said secrets. The answer is yes. And when I explain, I think you’ll understand. Maybe you’ll even empathize with my situation.”
He lowers his head as if sorting through this new information. A smattering of reddish-blond hair, nicely trimmed, thatches over his sick-ass abs. The guy at the gas station told me what “sick-ass” means. I pegged him for an old, uninformed fart, but surprisingly, he was down with the Midgardian kids’ lingo. Deeply entrenched, even.
Gunnar Magnusson’s sick-ass abs jump. More drool jets into my mouth. Gods, I want to lick his chest. Unable to contain my raging libido (thanks, Kenaz), I turn around to avoid falling under the spell of another man from my past.
“Could you please put on a shirt?” I ask.
“No.”
Okay. I deserved that. “Well, could you trust me, then?” I ask the window.
Two hands fall to my hips. Gunnar Magnusson spins me around to face him. It’s hard keeping my gaze north of the boxer brief—Hel’s bells with a jingle-jangle shout-out from the goat horn section. “Those are underwears.” I point.
A frown flits across his lips. “Yeah?”
Heat sears up my neck and infuses my face with a mixture of embarrassment and lust. I gesture vaguely to the door. “I gotta go talk to Freddie and Alex. Don’t be mad. I will explain everything. Some day.”
He sighs. “I’m sure you will.”
“And Gunnar Magnusson?” I say.
He cocks his head to the side.
“Can you get me some more of those Little Debbie birthday cakes? I really liked them, and my stomach wants more. Listen to it, all growly like a bear.” I grab my belly and nod down at it.
“It’s not your birthday,” he says.
“It could be,” I argue. I have no idea when my birthday is, but there’s a one-in-365 chance it’s today.
“Fair point,” he says. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“I need twelve,” I say over my shoulder, grabbing my purse. I drop a wad of twenty-dollar bills on the table. “For me. Get whatever you want for everyone else.”
I leap out of one fire into another as I head to Freddie’s room. Freddie opens the door before I have a chance to knock. He stands aside and gestures with a sarcastic sweep of his arm for me to come in. Alex sits on the bed with Wiggles and Sparky, who both look up at me and hiss.
“See what you did?” Sparky says, nodding to Freddie. “You pissed her off.”
“Royally, dude,” Wiggles adds.
“I know,” I groan. “How many times do I have to say I’m sorry?”
“Are you talking to my cats?” Freddie thrusts an accusing finger under my nose. “How are you talking to my cats?”
“Same way I talk to Huginn. You can do it too.” I gesture to the furry feline fiends. “They’re actually Glitra and Sveifla, your charioteers.”
Freddie looks at the felines. “You can speak?”
“Yes,” they say.
Freddie stares at them blankly.
In an effort to lighten the mood, I lean over and stage whisper to the cats. “He can’t understand you. Which means something isn’t right with his rune.”
“I already told you that,” Freddie argues.
Alex stands up. “He may have his rune, but he hasn’t been awakened. Until that happens, he’s just a guy walking around with Freya’s magic and no way to use it.”
I was afraid of this. Which is why I told Gunnar Magnusson to search for birthday cakes. I look through the door’s peephole. No sign of him. “I think I can help awaken him. Her. Whatever. I need everyone’s word that no matter what happens, you’ll protect me.”
I glance to Freddie and Alex expectantly.
“From what?”
“Something terrifying.”
“Could you be more specific?” Alex asks.
“Muninn.”
“Odin’s raven? He’s not so bad,” Alex says.
“Maybe if I hadn’t thrown him in the trunk of a stolen car. I’ll wager I’m the last person he wants to see right now,” I say. “Not to mention, he’ll probably tell Odin where I am, which means we’re on an even shorter timeline than before what with my impending death and all.”
“About that,” Freddie says. “I’m pissed at you, but I don’t want you to die.”
Give it a minute, I think. Once his Freya neurons start firing, I’m done for.
Freddie continues, “You’re not off the hook for hiding the Freya thing, but since we’re racing against time for your life, I’ll pump the brakes until that’s resolved. In the meantime, what can we do to help?”
“I’m glad you asked,” I say. “You may be the only one who can help, which is why I need to get in touch with Muninn. And for the record, I have no illusions that you saving my life will void the many vile transgressions my old self placed upon your former person. I shall endeavor to make amends for my misdeeds.”
“Blah, blah, blah,” Freddie says. “We’ll talk about this later. How do we find Muninn?”
“Huginn knows.” I glance at the cats. “Uh, you might want to put those two elsewhere. The less stressful the environment, the better.”
I return to peephole-lurking duty and split my attention between that and the text I’m typing to Darryl Donovan. Bring Huginn to Freddie’s room. There might be birthday cakes in it for you.
He replies immediately. No cake for me unless it’s vegan. On my way.
A triple knock resounds at the door a minute later. Darryl Donovan and Huginn come in.
I say, “Huginn, how do we get in touch with Muninn?”
“I severed my connection to Odin,” the bird says. “I used to go through him to find my brother.”
“Can you give it a try? Ask him if he’s willing to come over and help. Don’t tell him it’s for me, or he won’t do it.”
Huginn looks warily at Freddie, Alex, and Darryl Donovan. “Are we sure we want to do this here?”
Through the peephole, I see Gunnar Magnusson exiting our room and heading toward the elevator.
“Darryl Donovan,” I say, “would you be so kind as to help Gunnar Magnusson find my cakes? I’m sure if you ask nicely, he’ll locate a vegan shop for you.”
Darryl Donovan lifts a dubious brow. “You buying?”
I dig out a Ben Franklin from my purse and shove it into his hand. “Go wild.”
He opens the door and hollers, “Hold up, Gunnar.”
Excellent.
“Wait until they’re gone, and let’s give it a try, Huginn,” I say, peering through the cracked door after Gunnar Magnusson and Darryl Donovan. “Freddie and Alex are aware of what’s going on.”
Huginn nods. As soon as the coast is clear, he utters an incantation in Raven that I don’t understand. Then we wait.
Nothing happens.
“Try again,” I urge.
He does.
Nope.
“You think he’s still mad about me throwing him in the trunk?” I ask.
“You did what?” Huginn demands.
“I may have been a little rougher than necessary, but he’s immortal. I figured if anyone could survive a few hours locked in a car, it would be him.”
“Loki! That’s cruel and unusual punishment,” Huginn scolds.
“Well, I know that now.” I pause. “You don’t think he’s still stuck in there, do you?”
Huginn shrugs angrily. “Maybe. Where did you leave him?”
“Who remembers?” I say. “But Odin mentioned something about me not being able to stop him despite me locking Muninn up. He must’ve recovered the bird by now.” I hope.
“Honestly, Loki. You’re terrible. Makes me wonder when you’re gonna do that to me,” Huginn mutters.
“I would never,” I vow solemnly. “Well, not anymore.”
“Let me out. I’ll go find him.” Huginn groans and plumps his feathers.
Opening the door, I stare at him, unsure of what he has planned. “What are you gonna do? Cluck around in the parking lot and draw a spell circle to call him?”
“No,” Huginn says, lifting the foot with the metal bangle and shaking it. “I’m gonna do what I was born to do: become my namesake.”
“Thought?” I ask. Worry niggles the back of my brain. “How’s that going to work?”
He takes three steps across the threshold into the hallway, flaps his wings, and disappears into a whorl of color, slipping under the door to the stairs at the end of the corridor.
“What the shit?” Freddie squeals. “Since when does he fly like that?”
My mouth drops. Then I remember the time when Thor, a boy called Thjálfi, and I met a giant named Utgard-Loki, the king of a castle in Jotunheim. Utgard-Loki said we would be welcome at his table if we could complete certain trials. Thor tried and failed at three of the king’s tasks. He couldn’t out-drink a giant, nor could he pick up a cat, nor defeat an old nurse woman in a wrestling match. I was challenged to a goat-eating contest, and I would’ve won if my opponent Logi hadn’t devoured not only the goat’s meat but also its bones. Finally, Thjálfi, a star runner, lost three races against Hugi.
When we were set to leave the next morning, we were humiliated. Utgard-Loki asked Thor what he thought about the contests. Thor admitted he underperformed and was quite ashamed of it. That’s when Utgard-Loki revealed the truth.
Utgard-Loki was actually the giant Skrymir, and he had cheated. During the drinking contest, Thor’s drinking horn had been pulling liquid from the ocean, and the three gulps he swallowed had drained enough of the sea to create tides across Midgard. The cat Thor tried to lift was actually my son, Jormundgandr, the Midgard Serpent that encircles the entire earth. The elderly nurse was in fact Old Age, which no one can best. Logi, who consumed the entire goat in the eating contest, had been literal Wildfire, a major player in the chaos realm from which I hail. And Hugi, to whom Thjálfi lost his race, was Thought, which no mortal can outrun.
Hugi was Huginn. And Huginn is Thought, which can outrun any man or woman in Midgard.
Methinks Huginn’s rune had something to do with this sudden transformation. Me also thinks I’m glad I gave it back to him. It also explains how Huginn evaded the cats before I gave him the armor I crafted.
Mad respect, my avian friend!
Not a minute after Huginn leaves, he’s back with Muninn in tow. I slip into the hall to greet the brothers and shut the door behind me.
Muninn smacks me across the face with his tiny wing, which shouldn’t hurt, but a little thing like that flapping 200 miles an hour is like sharpened fan blades whirring an electric jig.
“Gods damn it!” I shout, and swipe at the spot. My fingers come away red.
“Cut the whining, bitch,” Muninn yells in his Samuel L. Jackson voice. “Do you have any idea how long I was stuck in that car? You don’t. So I’m gonna tell ya. Two days. In the dark. Without food or water. That’s animal abuse, bitch. I’m fixin’ to call the ASPCA and throw your ass in jail. You don’t lock a hummingbird in a trunk like it’s some kinda sensory deprivation tank for the immortal. That was torture. But you wouldn’t know nothin’ about that, would ya? You sittin’ up in here with your fancy clothes and your WeedPops and shit, looking down on your little kingdom like you own Midgard. Well, lemme tell ya somethin’. You don’t own shit. Get right with the Norns, bitch. They coming for you. I’ll make sure of that.”
I say quietly, “Not that I need to remind Memory of anything, but yes, I have in fact been a torture victim if your definition of the word includes being tied with your own child’s entrails to a rock while a snake continuously spits venom in your face for a few years.”
Muninn backs up.
“I’m sorry for locking you in the trunk of that car,” I say, “but you know I couldn’t risk you telling Odin where I was or tipping off my friends about who they are. I should’ve found another way to keep you away from them. It was my mistake.”
He’s lost some of his bluster. “Damn right it was your mistake. Now what the Hel do you want, trickster? I’m only here because Huginn asked me to come. You’re lucky I didn’t turn around and head straight to Allfather with news of your reemergence. He, Frigg, and Heimdall have been looking for you since last week. And don’t think for a second I won’t tell them exactly where you are, now that I’ve found you.”
Good to know Alex’s spell is working, at least.
I fold my hands in supplication. “Please, Muninn. Don’t tell.”
“Give me one good goddamn reason why I shouldn’t,” he barks.
I lift my eyes to him and turn on the waterworks, which is slightly overdramatic, but also slightly genuine. “Because I’m going to die tomorrow.”
He pauses and squints at me as if trying to determine whether I’m lying. “I was exaggerating about the Norns coming after you.”
“I wasn’t,” I say. “Skuld told me my time is up. Tomorrow’s my last chance to find Othala and Ihwaz, and I’ve only got a line on the former. Without Ihwaz, I’m done.”
“I’m not in the business of doing favors for people who try to kill me.”
“I never tried to kill you,” I correct. “The goal was to … contain you for a little while.”
“Please, Muninn,” Huginn says softly. “What would it hurt to help Loki if she’s going to die tomorrow anyway?”
Muninn looks at me and huffs. “What do you want?”
“My friend Freddie is Freya. I gave him the rune that belongs to her, but he doesn’t remember anything of his past. I thought maybe you could help him wake up.”
“So, now you want me around? That’s a hell of a flip.”
“It’s important,” I say. “Freya might have the magic I need to retrieve my runes.”
“Might?”
“I won’t know for sure until she awakens.”
“She’s gonna be even more pissed at you than I am. Where is she?”
I jerk a thumb over my shoulder. “In here.”
He huffs. “Lead the way, bitch.”
I open the door, stick my head in, and say, “Are you ready for this, Freddie?”
“How bad could it be?” he asks. “Hurry up. I’m eager to remember how mad I am at you.”
“Think about the prank you pulled on me at the Brazilian wax place,” I remind. “Might take a little of the edge off.”
“I doubt it,” Freddie retorts.
We go in. Muninn flits over to Freddie and lands on his shoulder. Freddie instantly drops to the bed. His eyes roll back in his head.
Shite, that was fast. I run over to him. Alex and I try to drag him out of his apparent trance, but he won’t budge. His eyes twitch behind their lids with frenetic jerks. Alex smacks his face a couple times, but it doesn’t help. Freddie is no longer home. Worse, I’m not sure who is. Doesn’t look like the Freya I remember.
I whirl on Muninn. “What did you do to him?”
Hovering in the air above Freddie’s knee, he shrugs. “I just give them their memories. I can’t control what they do with ’em. Not my problem.”
He buzzes to the cracked door, and with a wing, shoves it open just enough to get through. He targets me with eye missiles that destroy me before they even launch. “You’re on your own from here. If you’re still breathing by the stroke of twelve tomorrow night, all bets are off, and I’ll tell Odin where you are,” Muninn says. He pauses before taking flight. “A word of advice. If I were you, I’d hope for death by Norn. What Frigg has planned for you will be far worse.”
With that, he zips away in a blur of red, green, and gold.