Warriors: I Bring the Fire Part V: I Bring the Fire, #5
Author: C. Gockel
Date: 2015-08-15 21:51:44+00:00
Keywords: Adventure; Fantasy
Description: When science meets Chaos, what could go wrong? Bohdi Patel is keeping the revelation that he is Chaos incarnate a secret, and handling the revelation about as well as one would expect. He's in a downward spiral: losing his lease, totaling his car, and trying to keep everyone he cares about at arm's length. Veterinarian Amy Lewis is wondering what happened to the funny, flirty, curious Bohdi she knew in the land of the Norns. He's become moody and sometimes cruel. She is definitely glad she didn't become romantically entangled with him ... most of the time. When tragedy strikes Amy's beloved mu

Warriors:
I Bring the Fire Part V

Copyright © 2014 C. Gockel

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author, subject “Attention: Permissions,” at the email address below:

cgockel.publishing@gmail.com

The I Bring the Fire Series:

I Bring the Fire Part I: Wolves
Monsters: I Bring the Fire Part II
Chaos: I Bring the Fire Part III
In the Balance: I Bring the Fire Part 3.5
Fates: I Bring the Fire Part IV
The Slip: a Short Story (mostly) from Sleipnir's Point of Smell
Warriors: I Bring the Fire Part V

Other Works: Murphy's Star a short story about “first” contact

Contents

Acknowledgments

Author’s Note

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Appendix of Names and Places

All Stories By C. Gockel & Contact Info

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

First and foremost, I want to thank my editor, Kay McSpadden. Kay read and reread this story more times than I can count. I also would like to thank Gretchen Almoughraby. Her suggestions helped me clarify situations and make the action more believable. Also indispensable was Patricia Kirby. William Sheehan consulted on military matters. My brother, Thomas, was great as a myth reference. Cherryl Crouch was the final editor of grammar ... she had a tough job. All mistakes are mine.

I also want to thank all of my readers. Your continued encouragement helped give me the confidence to write this story. I love you guys!

Special thanks must be given to Lewis Hyde, author of the fantastic Trickster Makes This World: Mischief, Myth, and Art. His book has been an inspiration from the beginning, and in Warriors he generously granted permission to quote him extensively. (He even said he found the scene funny, so extra special thanks for the back pat.)

Finally, thanks must go to my husband Eric. If he hadn’t to stop writing fan fiction and start writing something I can own, this story never would have happened.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

This is a fifth in series (plus one-half and a quarter!) I've tried to include brief descriptions at the introduction of each character to get readers up to speed. However, I've also included an appendix of names and places at the end of this story, for those who want more background.

CHAPTER 1

Bohdi Patel fucked up. Again. From where he sits in the passenger seat his eyes slide to the driver’s side. Amy is sitting at the wheel. Eyes locked straight ahead, she is biting her bottom lip so hard it’s turned white. She doesn’t look angry as much as in shock. He doesn’t know why he just snapped at her.

Causing pain is in your nature, a tiny voice in his head whispers. His hand tightens on the armrest. The steam on the car windows obscures the Chicago streets. It’s April, four months after Bohdi’s ill-fated quest to Nornheim to find his parents. He failed that quest. It’s Chaos’s nature to fail—and in Nornheim Bohdi discovered he is the incarnation of Chaos.

The windshield wipers screech against the windshield. The sound of rain and blast of the defroster are too loud; the lull in conversation is oppressive.

He slides his hand to the door latch and pulls. The door doesn’t open. His stomach sinks, his breath catches. “Let me out,” he says, skin heating.

Through the car’s speakers, a radio news announcer says, “North Korea now recognizes the Asgardian outpost at Chernobyl as an official territory of the Asgardian Empire.”

Bohdi’s hands tighten on the latch. He’d had a chance to kill Odin during a spidermouse venom-induced nap. Bohdi hadn’t been able to kill him. Now Odin’s slowly taking over Earth. Bohdi bites the inside of his lip so hard he tastes blood. In Asgard, Bohdi had killed a perfectly nice Einherjar warrior by accident. Chaos can’t get anything right.

“Are you sure?” Amy says.

Not looking at her, he says, “Yes, I’m sure. Let me out.” It comes out nearly a growl.

He swears he can hear her lip tremble. “Okay, just let me pull over…” She steers the car to the curb, just behind a line of idling cabs.

“I’ll meet you there,” Bohdi says, still not looking at her. Jumping from the car, he slams the door.

He doesn’t look back. He knows what he’ll see. She’ll look hurt and confused, and he’ll feel worse than he already does. Pulling up his collar, he shoves his hands into his pockets and bows his head to the frigid rain. He’s just a little to the east of the Gold Coast, about four blocks from the hotel where the reception-thingy is. By the time Amy parks, he may even get there before her.

“Have a light?” says a man with a heavy accent Bohdi can’t identify.

Bohdi stops and turns. He finds himself face to face with a short, dark man most likely of East Asian descent. A cigarette is dangling from the man’s mouth and he’s wearing clothes that scream Salvation Army. Standing beneath the awning of a dingy looking little restaurant advertising Pakistani and Indian cuisine, he is passing a pack of cigarettes between weathered hands.

Bohdi suddenly needs a smoke like he needs oxygen. Raising an eyebrow at the box, Bohdi says, “I’ll give you a light if you share one of those.” If your destiny is to die in flame, at least it can be at the sweet end of a cigarette.

The man narrows one eye and draws back.

Bohdi shrugs. “My girlfriend’s trying to make me quit.” He gives what he hopes is a what-can-you-do smile.

The man’s frame softens and he nods. Taking out his lighter, Bohdi gives the guy a light. Taking a drag, the man hands Bohdi the pack.

As Bohdi takes out a cancer stick, the guy gestures with his head in the direction Amy’s car went. “The blondie your girlfriend?”

Amy’s hair is light brown, but Bohdi supposes if you were fresh off the boat, you might classify her as blonde.

Lighting his own cigarette, Bohdi says, “Yeah.”

It’s a lie. Amy Lewis is not, and never has been, his girlfriend. Not in this life anyway. He messed up that chance royally months ago. And it’s probably a good thing. Odin’s voice rings in his mind, “He destroys everything and everyone he loves …” Not that Bohdi’s in love. Any feelings for her are probably just bits of Loki rattling around in his brain.

The door to the restaurant opens and three more guys join them under the awning. They start talking to Bohdi’s new friend in a language he doesn’t know. They laugh and the first man turns back to Bohdi. Pointing at his own crotch with his cigarette, the man says, “Is she a blondie below, too?”

Red shadows move at the edges Bohdi’s vision. Taking a long drag, Bohdi quirks his eyebrows at the little man. The guy and his friends laugh.

Exhaling, Bohdi flicks the ash off the end of his cigarette. He puts the cigarette back into his mouth and grins. His hands curl into fists.

x x x x

Where is Bohdi?

Amy scans the hotel ballroom. There are rows of chairs and long tables covered with pristine white cloths facing a stage. An empty podium sits on the stage, an enormous screen behind it. The tables are set with icy pitchers of water. In front of every chair are folders emblazoned with the logo “Chicago Technomagic Initiative.” Ironically, it’s some group Steve, Mr. Non-Science, had a hand in beginning.

The show hasn’t begun yet, and the lights in the ballroom are all on, the attendees milling about. They are scientists and press primarily. Here and there a flash goes off. The meeting is supposed to be about revealing some great big technomagic breakthrough that Steve said Bohdi and Amy will love. When they pressed him for details he’d waved a hand and said, “You know I don’t do science. Wait and see.”

She expects Steve will be officially announcing his intention to run for mayor tonight, too. He’s in the lead even though he isn’t even on the ticket.

Squinting, she scans the crowd. Where could Bohdi be? She looks to the side. There is free food. Bohdi loves science. And free food. Not necessarily in that order.

She can’t see him anywhere. She scowls. He’s such a drama queen. It’s a good thing that Agent Marion Martinez staked her claim as soon as they got back from Asgard—if she hadn’t, Amy might have gotten romantically attached to another guy who obviously wasn’t ready for romantic attachments.

She stamps her foot, bites her lip, and lets out a breath of frustration. The trouble is, despite her annoyance, she’s worried about him. He is so touchy since their return to Earth. Sometimes she sees glimpses of the Bohdi she knew in Nornheim and Asgard. The Bohdi who was interested in the pre-frontal cortexes of magical creatures and made jokes in the face of death. Every time she sees a glimpse of that Bohdi, she thinks maybe they can at least be friends again. But then something happens and he becomes moody and withdrawn.

Today is a case in point. She’d offered to drive him from the office to this meeting because it was raining, and his car had been totaled recently. Everything had been going well. In the car, NPR confirmed the sightings of Sleipnir, eight-legged horse and child of one of Loki’s incarnations, roaming free in Grant Park with a herd of unicorns. NPR’s validation of the rumors had been a vindication of sorts. Bohdi, Steve, and Amy had helped engineer the horse’s freedom.

Bohdi had laughed and smiled at the speakers. “Sleipnir’s got some honeys.”

Amy smiled back. “Yeah…” It had felt so good to see him smile. That’s when she noticed he was wearing a pink shirt. “Hey, that shirt looks familiar,” she said.

Bohdi’s frame had stiffened. Frowning, he snapped. “Yes, I wore it yesterday… I spent the night at some chick’s house and didn’t get home to change.”

If he had said it with a wink and a smile she probably would have rolled her eyes and laughed. But he sounded so angry and she didn’t know what she’d done wrong. “Oh,” she said, trying to cover her shock. “I was going to say it looks like the shirt you wore when we went to Nornheim.”

For a few moments he’d been very quiet, and then he’d said abruptly. “Let me out.”

In the ballroom, Amy sighs and stands on her tip toes. And where is her grandmother? Beatrice had worked from home today to meet a plumber; but she said she’d be here.

Amy turns just in time to see Steve enter through a side door behind the podium. As always, he’s impeccably groomed. But whereas usually he’d be in a black suit, today he’s a little flashier—in a gray suit. It contrasts smartly with his dark skin.

He smiles and waves at someone and then sees Amy. His brows draw together and she can read the question in his eyes. A moment later he’s at her side. Before he asks, Amy says, “I don’t know where Bohdi is. He demanded to be let out of my car a few blocks away.”

Steve snorts. “Most likely getting a smoke. You haven’t been able to convince him to give up that habit?”

Amy blinks up at her probably-soon-to-be-not-boss. Towering over her at nearly six foot five inches, his dark eyes are scanning the crowd. Steve navigates social situations with an ease she’s never possessed. Usually, she thinks he’s sensitive to interpersonal matters. Turning back to the crowd, she says, “I think you overestimate my influence over Bohdi.”

“Hmmmm … ” Steve replies.

Her eyes flick back to him. He’s looking down at her, his face unreadable. Lifting his head again, Steve puts his hands behind his back. “So do you like that book I loaned you?”

Amy’s mouth drops a little. “Yes … yes, I do.” Wild Swans: Three Daughters of China is the true story of three women’s lives during later imperial, revolutionary, and then Communist China. It is surprisingly good. Surprisingly because Amy isn’t normally interested in biographies … also because Steve lent it to her. She just wouldn’t think he’d be the type to read a book like that, though Bohdi insists Steve tears through all sorts of biographies and oddly, books on Buddhism.

Steve nods and smiles, eyes still on the crowd.

Amy tilts her head. Lately, Steve has seemed to take an extra effort to be nice, lending her the book, inviting her and Beatrice on team-building outings, and sending her with Bohdi to the TED talk on magic. It’s not that Steve wasn’t nice to her before, but he had use for her before. Now that he’s leaving the FBI and going to City Hall, she’s not sure why he’s continuing to be solicitous.

“Oh,” he says, “thank you for showing Claire those baku kits. She can’t stop talking about them.”

Amy straightens at mention of the bakus, the adorable little creatures with elephant trunks and lynx-like bodies. Bohdi had found the mother just after she’d been shot. Amy hadn’t been able to save her—the poor thing had died in Bohdi’s arms, thoroughly traumatizing him—but she had been able to save the kits. She’d thought Steve’s daughter Claire would get a kick out of them. “She’s welcome to come see them any time.”

Steve graces her with a smile that’s wide and looks genuine. “Thank you,” he says.

Amy can’t help but smile back. She likes Steve’s kid. Claire is fun, cute, and doesn’t wince when she sees blood. And it’s hard not to be moved by the plight of a little girl whose mother was killed by Odin.

Lifting his head and scanning the crowd again, Steve says, “I worry about her … hanging around you, she’s decided she might want to be a veterinarian. I’m glad she’s excited about something positive.”

Amy rolls on her feet, her face flushing. If Steve is using her for Claire’s sake, she doesn’t mind.

Steve’s phone starts playing a Bollywood tune. He pulls it from his pocket and says, “Where are you, Bohdi?” And then he snaps, “Your timing is great. Yeah, yeah, I will. But you can cool your heels in there for a while.”

“Where is he?” Amy asks.

Turning off his phone and sliding it into his pocket, Steve growls, “Jail.”

Amy’s eyes go wide. Before she gets a word out, Steve shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “I’ll bail him out. But he can wait a few hours.”

Before Amy can think of something to say, a woman’s voice rings out in the crowd. “Amy!”

Amy looks up and then bounces on her feet. Her face splits into a wide smile. Walking quickly toward her is her friend Katherine, arms upraised. Katherine is a neuroscientist who’d relocated to D.C. shortly after Amy went back to veterinary school. Amy hasn’t seen her since Loki.

Katherine catches Amy in an oxygen-stealing hug. “I haven’t seen you in so long!” Katherine says.

Hugging her back, Amy says, “What are you doing here? I thought you were in D.C.?”

Pulling away, Katherine says, “Our research group just moved back to Chicago—so much is happening here!”

Beside Amy, Steve says, “Dr. Swanson, I didn’t know your group was coming back to Chicago.”

Katherine looks up to Amy’s boss. “I’m sorry, I don’t know you …”

Amy’s lips part; if Katherine doesn’t know Steve then how—

Holding out a hand, Steve gives Katharine his most charming smile. “Steve Rogers, I work with Dr. Lewis at the FBI.”

At just that moment, a throng of press swarms around them with the usual Steve-are-you-or-aren’t-you-gonna-run-for-mayor questions.

Giving Katherine a little grimace, Amy pulls her away.

As they sneak past the mob, Katherine says, “So he of the unfortunate-name, he isn’t with you?”

It takes Amy a moment, but then she pieces it together. Katherine is referring to Loki.

Amy sucks in a breath. Just before Loki tore up the city, Amy and Loki had attended a talk Katherine had given on REM sleep. After the talk, Amy, Loki, Katherine, and her husband James had met up with some other science buddies for beers in a pub. Katherine didn’t know she’d met the real Loki that night—all the pictures of Loki when he tore up Chicago were grainy, and he’d been wearing a ridiculous horned helmet. Amy swallows. Or Katherine can’t believe she met the real Loki. Loki had fit in so well with all their friends …

Amy gives what she hopes is a please-don’t-ask smile. “No, he’s not.” Trying to change the subject she says, “So I don’t think I know exactly what your research is?”

Katherine turns to her. “You know … you work for the FBI now … I think I’m allowed to tell you.” She looks around them quickly and then leans very close. “I was hired to try and find out what proteins cause neural stem cells to become magic matter in the developing embryo.”

Amy gapes, and then she smiles. Putting her hands to her mouth, she shakes her head. “Wow! That is such an honor …” And something Amy would really like to know. Amy carries all of Loki’s memories, and has tried to use them to sort what made magical creatures develop magic neural matter, but Loki’s understanding of biology was pitifully small. Remembering to breathe, she says, “How is it going?”

Katherine beams. “We found it, we found the exact protein that triggers the differentiation.”

Amy grabs her hand. “Wow. Wow …just … Wow! That is amazing, Katherine! I can’t wait to read about it.” Winking conspiratorially, she nudges Katherine with an elbow. “Really, I can’t. Where did you get the stem cells from a magical creature? A troll?” Stem cells are developing cells that haven’t been told what to be. They are most plentiful in embryos. They exist in adults, but in minuscule quantities. Still it wouldn’t be impossible to harvest them from an adult troll.

Katherine shrugs. “We were given access to embryonic cells.”

Amy feels a cold tingle at the base of her spine. Could they have gotten those ethically? “What kind of embryo?” she says.

Katherine looks away. When she speaks her voice is more subdued. “As near as we can tell, they are a from a Frost Giant-human hybrid.”

For a moment the world stops … Amy doesn’t blink. She doesn’t think her heart beats and she feels like there is no air in her lungs. She knows exactly where they could have gotten Frost Giant-human hybrid stem cells. From her miscarriage.

“Amy, are you all right?” Katherine says.

“It can’t be ethical,” Amy says, the words coming out before she can stop them. This was done without her consent, without her oversight. Amy’s legs feel weak … in her mind she sees Eisa, her little girl, staring at her from within the magical column on Nornheim. What they could do if they cloned her little girl, what they could do to her little girl ...

“You don’t know that,” Katherine says. Amy meets Katherine’s eyes. Of course, her friend wouldn’t do anything unethical.

Katherine shakes her head. “No one knows where they came from.” She bites her lip. “They wouldn’t …” she doesn’t look like she believes her own words. An uncomfortable silence hangs in the air. Looking away, Katherine pulls out her phone. “Would you like to see some pictures of Lucas?” she says, referring to her toddler.

Amy’s eyes start to blur. Steve had known who Katherine was without an introduction … and he knew about her miscarriage. He was part of this, she knows it.

Trying to smile, Amy pats Katherine’s arm. “My phone is buzzing, I think it is my grandmother … I have to go.”

And then she spins on her heels toward Steve. Her fists clench at her side, her teeth grind. She’s going to kill him.

x x x x

From across the room and over the reporters’ heads, Steve sees the exact moment Lewis knows. Her jaw falls and then her eyes flash in his direction. For just a moment, a few loud beats of his heart, he thinks maybe she’ll confront him privately.

But then she abruptly turns from where she is talking to Dr. Swanson and strides in Steve’s direction, hands fisted at her sides. And what did he expect? She once called Thor the So-Called God of Blunder and shouted at Steve’s boss in a meeting. Going into damage control mode, he scans the room. The side door he came through is guarded by two security guards. They’ll let him through, and probably Lewis, but not the press.

Smiling at the reporters he pulls out his phone. “Sorry, guys—and ladies—I have to take this, but I’ll be right back to answer your questions.” Before Lewis is close enough to confront him, he spins and walks purposefully to the door, the reporters’ questions ringing in his ears. Holding his silent phone to his ear, feigning deep concentration, he glances back into the ballroom one last time. Lewis has stopped, she has her phone pressed to her ear, her eyes are wide, her lips not moving. Has she just finished telling someone what he’s done? He can’t face her in front of the press. He pushes on through the door.

The hallway he enters isn’t the main thoroughfare and is nearly empty. At one end, he sees a few Chicago police officers by the fire exit. In the same direction he sees a vaguely familiar, too-tan serving woman with bobbed blonde hair going in a swinging door. He hears the clatter of a kitchen beyond that. Looking the other way, he sees the intersection with a larger foyer. A few more of Chicago’s police department are standing there.

He rubs his head. He can’t miss this conference. This confrontation with Lewis is happening here and now. He looks back to the door he just came through. Backing away a few steps, he waits for the doctor to barrel through.

It takes too long. He wipes his face. Maybe she ran into the press. Maybe she’s telling them. Steve’s heart sinks, and he feels all his ambitions begin to unravel.

He takes a step forward. The door swings open, almost hitting him in the face, and there is Lewis, phone out and lit up in her hand. Tears are streaming down her cheeks—and that makes Steve wilt a little—even if he should have expected it. Once Lewis had told him he was a good dad. Would he have done to his kin what he did to hers?

Holding his hands toward her, he says, “Let me explain—”

Lewis’s voice comes out in a strangled sob. “Fuck you, Steve! You hid it from me, and I would ruin you—” she wipes the tears from her eyes and waves her phone at him, “—if Fenrir hadn’t just hit a car!”

Steve blinks, and Lewis spins toward the main foyer. Uttering a loud “Arrrggghhhh!” she breaks into a run, nearly toppling over a woman coming down the hallway as she does.

The strange woman’s eyes meet Steve’s. But he doesn’t really see her. Will Lewis talk to the media? He puts a hand to his face and rubs his jaw.

The woman comes forward. “What was that all about?”

Steve’s attention snaps to her, and he almost does a double take. The woman he is looking at is of African descent, nearly six feet tall and athletic. Her hair is hanging down her back in loose black ringlets. She’s gorgeous.

Steve’s mouth goes dry, but he manages to say, “She works for me … Her dog was hit by a car.” Amy had said a car was hit by Fenrir, but that can’t have been right. “She’s upset.”

The woman’s brows draw together. “How sad … ”

Steve finds himself holding his breath.

She looks at the door he just came from and then back to Steve. Putting her hands together, she winces. “So it might be a bad time to ask … but will that door take me to the Technomagic Initiative meeting? I’m not invited … but I was thinking of crashing the party.”

Steve’s breathing starts to return to normal. His mind spins at her question. Space at the meeting is very limited. He should be suspicious, but he’s grateful for the change in subject, and finds himself wanting to help her. Still, old habits die hard. “Are you press—or a scientist?”

She looks at the ceiling and bites her lip. “Neither, I’m actually a pediatrician. I was in the hotel for a meeting—learning to identify the physical manifestations of psychological trauma in children—and helping children recover.” Her lips turn down. “As doctors, we’re often on the front lines of such things ...”

Steve swallows, thinking of Claire. Recently she’s been prone to outbursts, anger, and tears. He wishes it was puberty; but nights when she wakes up screaming for her mother say otherwise. He meets the woman’s gaze and feels as though a haze is disappearing from his eyes. Where a moment ago he thought she looked beautiful, now he sees … or maybe feels … something more. Steve doesn’t believe in love, and yet his heart is starting to beat fast and his suit is beginning to feel too warm.

She smiles and shrugs. Meeting his eyes, she says, “I just find magic fascinating.”

And maybe there isn’t such a thing as love, but there is loyalty, and there is need. His eyes scan her fingers for rings, and he feels a rush of victory when he sees none. “There’s guards behind these doors,” he says.

Her shoulders fall. Behind him he hears a door swing, footsteps, and the sound of serving ware clinking.

Steve leans toward the woman. “But I may be able to help with that.”

The woman beams at him, bright white teeth showing between full burgundy lips. Steve smiles back and moves toward the door. The woman steps close, her hand going to his arm ...

Behind him he hears a gasp. And then a woman’s voice that sounds slightly Scandinavian rises in the hall. “Stay away from him!”

Steve and the woman turn. Down the hallway, pushing a serving cart, is the same familiar-looking blonde staff worker he saw earlier. There’s something about her too expensive tan …

“Who are you?” says the woman beside him.

“I know who you are, Freyja!” says the blonde woman, pulling something from the smock she wears.

A cold jolt goes down Steve’s spine—Freyja, goddess of love and beauty, capable of being anyone’s ideal. Steve pulls away from the woman on his arm. Turning to him, she meets his eyes. “This woman is obviously unstable—”

The woman by the cart comes running in their direction, a blur of something gray and sharp in her hand. Steve’s about to intercept her, but the woman next to him is faster. Stepping forward, she catches the gray blur the other woman holds between her hands.

“Stop!” screams the blonde, her chest heaving.

The mouth of Steve’s beautiful companion drops. Her eyes go wide, and she seems to freeze in place. And then her face appears to melt … and Steve is staring at a very different woman. She is not African—or any discernible race, really. Her hair is dark brown and straight, her lips are thinner, her skin is olive, and her eyes that had just been nearly black are a light brown. She’s still tall. Still beautiful. But in a way that is generic.

He looks at the blonde woman. Her eyes are over the shoulder of Steve’s companion. “Einherjar!” she says.

Steve turns. Eight police officers are coming down the hall—they’re a very mixed ethnic group—a few Chinese—but very tall, a few of African-descent, even someone who looks Native American. Steve’s mind spins, and a chill runs up his spine. On this beat, the police are almost exclusively white.

“Can you trust me?” says the blonde woman.

Meeting her eyes, Steve says, “I don’t think I have a choice.” He blinks, suddenly recognizing her. She was his waitress months ago in the restaurant the day Claire’s mother was killed. “Cindy!” he says.

Nodding, she wraps her hand around his wrist. Steve’s eyes snap to the movement … and he sees nothing. His heart rate jumps. He looks down at his body and sees the carpeting beneath his feet. He glances toward Cindy and sees only empty air. Steve’s gaze goes back to the woman who must be Freyja. In her hands, she appears to have caught the sharp blade of a spear. The spear point winks from existence, and Freyja starts to move, immediately uttering a loud curse. Her appearance changes again—her ears begin to grow, her frame shrinks, and he’s staring at a delicately-boned blonde elf.

He feels a tug on his wrist, pressure on his shoulder, and a gentle gust of air by his ear. Cindy whispers, “The police at the fire exit are hers … to the kitchen, quickly.” She gives another tug to his wrist. Turning, Steve jogs with Cindy toward the kitchen door. Steve feels like he’s floating, and like he’s not really in control of his limbs. He collides with something soft, and hears Cindy mutter “Oomf,” in the space he thought was only air.

“Sorry,” he whispers. He tries to find her arm and instead his hand connects with the back of her head. “Sorry,” he says again.

“I’m alright,” says Cindy, but she sounds breathless, and she isn’t moving.

From behind him he hears a click. Turning his head, he sees Freyja has pulled out a semi-automatic handgun. Instinctively Steve reaches for his Glock. He raises it and realizes he can’t see his own weapon or even his hand—he can’t aim. Beyond Freyja and her men there are other guests in the foyer. Someone says, “Is there a problem, officers?”

Cindy starts to pull him toward the kitchen again. They’re only steps away. Freyja utters something that might be a curse, and the police officers answer in kind. One of the officers by the fire exit begins to charge toward the kitchen door. It swings open in front of Steve, and he’s yanked through.

Shouts erupt from the other side of the door and from within the kitchen. Letting himself be led by Cindy, Steve keeps his face turned toward the door and his Glock raised. He hears kitchen staff around him, the bang of pans, the rush of water. A police officer comes through the door, handgun raised, screaming in Steve’s direction in a language that isn’t English. Suddenly Steve sees himself flickering into view. In a heartbeat he readjusts his aim. Pulling the trigger he feels the shock of recoil, hears the cartridge fire, and then Cindy is yanking him to the left. The man falls, but the door swings open. “Down!” shouts Cindy, and Steve drops and finds himself sheltered by a stainless steel counter, just as shots ring through the kitchen.

Cindy has a phone in one hand. Pressing it to her ear, she’s shouting in a language that sounds a lot like the one he just heard. Steve saves his questions for later, just keeps down and fires a few rounds at the impostor police officers crouching in the door frame. He hears a groan and sees blood running to a drain in the kitchen floor. Bullets fly overhead. Someone left water running somewhere, and it’s pouring out onto the floor.

“Come on,” Cindy says, grabbing Steve’s arm. “Help is coming.”

Nodding, Steve follows her through the kitchen, crouching low to stay behind the islands. In front of them is an emergency exit. Steve hears the door behind them swing open, and the sound of many feet.

Cindy grabs his arm, and they’re invisible again. “Run!” she screams, pulling him to the door and Steve doesn’t look back. He stumbles with her to the exit; they plunge through the fire door and into an alley filled with puddles. Cold rain pelts them from above.

Cindy flickers into sight and points toward the street. “This way,” she pants. Taking a step forward, she suddenly bends over and looks like she’s about to fall. Steve grabs her shoulder and helps her stand. The door they came through bangs open. Steve aims his weapon, and then Cindy and he flicker out of sight again.

Cindy’s disembodied voice comes in a low, stammered whisper. “Get to the wall. Then get to the street.” Beneath his arm, she trembles. Steve looks back. A man, gun raised, is peering through the door. Steve pulls Cindy toward the wall and looks toward the street. A group of policemen is coming toward them. Are they real cops or …

“Norns!” says Cindy.

From the door behind them come shouts in a foreign language. The cops at the intersection to the street respond in kind, raise their guns, and begin to slowly walk forward.

“Just a few more minutes … just a few more minutes … ” Cindy stammers. And then she and Steve flicker into view. Gunfire erupts around them. Steve hears a bullet hit the brick wall above his head and feels bits of brick rain down on him. Raising his Glock, he fires at the man in the door. With his back pressed against the wall, his stance is shit, even for a one-handed aim. He still hits the man in the door—but another man is suddenly there to take his place. The guys at the entrance to the alleyway are shouting.

Steve spins toward the front of the alley—and he and Cindy are invisible again. He pushes her to the ground as bullets fire and the wall where they’d been standing erupts in a waterfall of falling brick. “Stay down,” he whispers. He wraps one hand around her shoulder, and they crawl awkwardly down the alley, the frigid water of the puddles seeping through Steve’s clothes. Bullets are still whizzing overhead. He hears sirens and prays they’re real cops. He looks up and sees a beat-up sedan pull onto the sidewalk and into the alley, knocking over several impostor police officers as it does.

“They’re here,” Cindy whispers. Maybe. Steve can barely hear anything over the sound of gunfire.

And then he feels a burning sensation on the back side of his neck. He tells his body to crawl, but he can’t. His single arm and legs give out beneath him, he falls to the ground, and one side of his face hits the wet pavement of the alley. Something warm oozes toward his hairline.

He hears a car screech to a halt. Gunfire sounds overhead, a wind comes from somewhere, and he’s buffeted by rain so hard it stings. He hears screams and louder sirens.

Steve blinks rain out of his eyes and wills himself to get up. But he doesn’t move.

He sees Cindy above him out of the corner of his eyes. Staring down at him wide eyed, she stammers. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m not so good at magic as my …”

And suddenly there is a man standing above her. He is holding a sword in one hand, and an AK-47 in the other. His wet hair looks darker, and his skin is tanner than Steve remembers, but it’s not a face Steve will ever forget.

Steve’s eyes go wide. “Loki,” he whispers. And then everything goes black.

CHAPTER 2

Bohdi sits with his back against the prison cell wall. The concrete floor is cold on his bare feet—they took his shoes and his socks.

He scowls across the cell at the bed hugging the opposite wall. Bohdi lost his lease during his adventures off world; he’s been house sitting for a too-tidy, very nice, but never-around Japanese businesswoman since his return. The woman’s place is too sterile, and too cold, but the jail bed makes him nostalgic for the too-hard mattress. Are those little black dots swirling across the mattress bed bugs?

Lip curling in disgust, he looks at the bars to his right. A few cells away someone is fighting—again. Bohdi taps his feet on the floor. He almost wishes he’d been put in a cell with other people. He’s so angry, he’d love it if someone gave him a reason to punch them.

It feels like it’s been hours. Where is Steve? Why hasn’t he come to get him?

Bohdi wipes his face with his hands. Has he finally gone too far? His skin heats. But that isn’t fair! Steve told him that after what happened to Bohdi on Nornheim and in Asgard anyone would suffer some PTSD, and that a little slip here and there was to be expected. Of course, Steve didn’t really know all that had happened to Bohdi—all that he’d learned. If he did ...

Bohdi runs his hands through his hair. Would he cast Bohdi out if he knew Bohdi was the most recent incarnation of Chaos? Turn him over to the Feds? Let the researchers, that Bohdi’s heard whispered about, dissect his brain? Bohdi doesn’t have any magic to speak of, but they might want to check for themselves. Bohdi swallows and drops his hands to his knees.

Technically, Bohdi isn’t a U.S. citizen. Or a citizen of anywhere. No one knows where he came from, or even his real name. Bohdi doesn’t have a country; he has Steve. Steve put his neck out and kept Bohdi from being shipped off to Gitmo a couple of times. Bohdi rubs the back of his neck and gives a bitter laugh. And now Bohdi’s expecting the guy to bail him out? Steve is going to run for mayor. He won’t even be working for ADUO anymore, he doesn’t need Bohdi, and working for the FBI was how Bohdi was paying the Feds back for his unauthorized tampering with their systems.

He hears the sound of footsteps outside his cell. Lifting his head he sees some police officers go running through the aisle to halt the fighting down the hall. Bohdi watches them go by, and then sits up straighter when the last two men stop by his door.

Slipping a key into the lock, one of the officer grunts. “Come on, someone paid your bail.”

As Bohdi climbs to his feet, both of the officers scowl, and he knows Steve isn’t the one bailing him out. Steve is famous in Chicago and popular with cops. If it was Steve, the officers would be falling over themselves to apologize.

“Well? What are you waiting for?” says the other officer.

Bohdi gives them a tight smile and walks out. His mind spins. Who is here? He only got one phone call, so Steve must have told someone. He winces. Can’t be Agent Hernandez …the guy is still convinced Bohdi’s a member of Al Qaeda. Brett or Bryant maybe? Maybe Amy? She’d be nice enough to do it ... but he doesn’t want her seeing him like this.

They reach the heavy metal door that separates the holding area from the station proper. A buzzer sounds and the door swings open. Bohdi’s led through to the booking area. His eyes widen. Beatrice, Amy’s 80-something-year old grandmother, is standing there, hands on her hips, her ridiculous pink flower-print umbrella swinging on her wrist.

Nearly two years ago, Loki, so-called God of Chaos, wiped out Bohdi’s memory and handed him the baton of Chaos Incarnate—without bequeathing him any significant magic. According to ADUO’s rumor mill, Beatrice’s run in with the so-called deity had been quite different. Loki had snatched her from a nursing home where she’d been almost a vegetable, healed her mind, and left her with the reflexes of a kung-fu master. She’s the best shot in the department, and a force to be reckoned with in the gym. Steve calls her “Amy’s rootin’ tootin’ grandma.”

The FBI isn’t exactly filled with dewy-eyed romantics, but some people in the office say Loki saved Beatrice for Amy. At the same time Loki fixed up Beatrice he also healed wounds Amy had gotten in an ill-advised SWAT team raid. Neither women remember any of it, but Amy says it wasn’t Loki. Considering Amy is carrying all of Loki’s memories, he’d be inclined to believe her. But she also says Loki didn’t love her—some sort of weird low self-image thing—and Bohdi doesn’t buy it.

“You’re a mess,” Beatrice says, snapping Bohdi from his musings.

Beatrice doesn’t trust him. He’s not sure why. Giving her a smirk, he says, “Here to bust me out?”

“No, I’m here to pay your bail,” says Beatrice flatly, tone sucking the levity right out of him.

The guy behind the bailiff counter says, “Over here,” and starts laying out Bohdi’s possessions. Bohdi goes over and collects his belonging. As he checks his wallet, Beatrice says, “You showed them your FBI ID and they didn’t let you go?”

Bohdi clears his throat. They probably would have. But when the police had pulled him away from Scrawny and his three friends, Bohdi had spat in their faces. It hadn’t gone over well. “Errr …no,” Bohdi says.

The guy behind the counter snorts and lays out the the pack of cigarettes Bohdi managed to snag off Scrawny during their little dance … and then the police officer lays out a Snapple, a snack size bag of baby carrots, and another bag of sliced apples. Bohdi freezes.

“What are those?” says Beatrice.

Snapping up the fruit and veggies, and then the cigarettes and Snapple, Bohdi says, “I’m an adult. I’m allowed to give myself lung cancer.”

“I meant the apples and the carrots,” says Beatrice.

Bohdi turns to her and feigns his best look of shock. Putting his hand to his chest, he says, “I like healthy snacks, Beatrice.” Actually, they’re for Sleipnir—and so is the Snapple. The couple of times he’s ridden his bike home through Grant Park, the eight-legged horse has said hello.

He expects a snort of disbelief, or a poke in his stomach with her umbrella. Instead Beatrice just sighs and looks down in an uncharacteristically unfiesty way.

Grabbing his non-regulation black sneakers and socks, he says, “Beatrice, why are you picking me up?”

Beatrice sighs again. “Amy’s with Fenrir. Silly dog caught a car and broke her back.”

Pulling on his socks, Bohdi frowns, he likes Fenrir, and that’s terrible, but … “Why isn’t Steve here?”

Beatrice pulls her umbrella to her chest. “You don’t know, do you?”

A shiver snakes up his spine.

Turning away, Beatrice, says, “I don’t know his latest condition. It would be best if they filled you in at the hospital.”

Bohdi’s entire body goes cold.

Beatrice starts walking toward the door. Bohdi follows her out into the early morning light without bothering to tie his shoes.

x x x x

The sun is rising when Amy pulls out of the parking lot below ADUO. In the little duffel-bag carrier on the passenger seat, Fenrir rests in a painkiller induced stupor. Anchored to a line of spider silk, Mr. Squeakers sits on top of the kennel, eight long spider legs tucked beneath his tiny mouse body. It may be Amy’s imagination, but he looks forlorn.

The clouds from yesterday have disappeared, which feels wrong, like heaven is mocking her pain by being cheery. She looks down at her little patient through the mesh at the front of the kennel.

Fenrir sustained massive spinal cord injuries and has lost control of her back legs and what little tail she has. That wouldn’t be so bad … Amy’s seen lots of puppies, cats, and even the occasional hamster who’s lived happily with the help of an animal wheelchair. But Fenrir’s either lost control of her bowels or is in too much pain to move. That sort of lack of control makes some animals depressed and anti-social. Amy bites her lip. When has Fenrir not been anti-social? She sniffs … but if her little girl is in pain …

In her sleep Fenrir whines and moans, and Amy sucks a breath through her teeth. Pain is her real fear for her little dog. Sometimes after spinal cord injury, pain is felt below the injury site; doctors aren’t really sure why. Thumping her hands on the steering wheel, she exhales slowly. Her eyes feel hot.

Two years ago when Amy was attacked by a serial killer, Fenrir had jumped to her rescue. Her little dog got kicked for her efforts, suffered a dislocated hip, and still tried to defend Amy.

Tears threaten to spill from her eyes. She has to think of something else, or she’s going to crash her car. She turns on the radio, and the local NPR station comes on. “ … triumph for Steve Rogers.”

Amy grits her teeth at mention of her soon-to-be ex-boss. She almost changes the station, but then the announcer says, “The popular mayoral hopeful has been working these past few months on a public-private initiative aimed at turning Chicago into the Silicon Valley of magic.”

Amy snorts. Good luck with that. No one really knows what magic is, and no human can harness it. She stops the car at a stoplight. Of course with what Katherine had told her … and what Steve had stolen …

“And last night’s reveal of magical materials found at World Gate sites that are being used to convert nuclear waste into energy—and less-harmful half-life materials—has assured that Director Rogers will at least have that legacy.”

What? Amy blinks. There have been no magical materials found at World Gate sites.

“That’s right, Terry. Apparently, the magical energy associated with the opening and closing of the gates left a magical charge on surrounding objects. Scientists at the University of Chicago, with the help of some private R&D companies, have collected and harnessed their power …”

Amy stares at the radio. Her vision blurs. She is transported into one of Loki’s childhood memories …

As Loki splashed in a stream, Mimir said, “Everything is magical, Loki.”

“Even this river stone?” He was enjoying their picnic in Midgard, the realm of humans. They’d seen a few; they looked like the other two-legged races of the realms, but tinier than the elves, without the solid bulk of dwarves, and missing teeth. Worst of all, they had no discernible magic; it made him sad for them.

Sitting on a boulder, Hoenir, holding Mimir’s head beneath his arm, nodded. Mimir’s head spoke. “Yes. Everything has energy proportional to its matter. But some objects are made disproportionately powerful by the will of a magical creature. The maker can give the object a function—”

Loki jumped in the stream. “Yes, they bind magic and function to the object! And then even a non-magical creature can use its power!” He looked at the river stone.

“Yes,” Mimir said. “Or a magical creature could simply use it as a sort of stock-pile of energy, to be drawn upon with much less effort than harnessing wild magic.” The head’s voice turned somber. “However, it is important to remember … a magical object picks up the essence of its maker, and that will affect its function.”

Loki tilted his head and squinted at the stone. Maybe he could imbue the rock with his magic and leave it for a poor nonmagical human to find? He blinked. What was his essence? Odin had declared him “God of Mischief.” How would mischief manifest itself in a stone? Would the bearer of the stone become more clever? Holding the stone up before his eyes, Loki concentrated and felt the dull, little rock beneath his fingers turn warm.

Hoenir coughed, and Mimir said, “Yes, I’m getting to that, Hoenir. That is how the ring Andvaranaut became so dangerous … its maker wished that the ring would bring death and destruction and bad luck to all that held it. It was lost long ago in the realm of the Black Dwarves, and some say, that is the reason why the Black Dwarves’lands are so prone to famine, flood, and disaster.”

The rock beneath Loki’s fingers became almost unbearably hot. “I’m imbuing this rock with my magical essence!” Loki said.

“Loki, no!” Mimir shouted. Loki was vaguely aware of Hoenir jumping off the boulder and running toward him—but then the rock in his hand exploded and he was blinded by the tiny pebbles and dust.

Around Amy horns honk, shaking her from Loki’s memory. Her hands tighten on the steering wheel and the shift knob, anger making her skin go hot. Materials can only become magical with the will of a magical being. She almost snarls. Steve Rogers is not just a thief; he’s a liar.

Putting the car in gear, she tears out of the intersection. She’s really going to kill him.

On the radio one announcer says, “Steve Rogers has certainly assured that he has a powerful legacy.”

“Yes, Terry, he has that. Now with the shooting, however, it’s almost assured that he isn’t going to run for mayor.”

Shooting? Amy’s eyes go to the speakers.

“I thought details of his condition weren’t being released,” says the announcer, who must be Terry.

“That’s true … ” The announcer pauses. Amy hears him swallow. “ … but some reliable sources saw him being transported to Northwestern Memorial Hospital and overheard the paramedics … and … Director Rogers’ condition is very serious.”

Terry’s voice fills the car again. “Have the Dark Elves who attacked him and the First District Police precinct been apprehended, yet?”

“No, Terry.”

Amy looks from side to side, and for the first time realizes the streets are relatively empty. Instead of turning toward Ukrainian Village and home, Amy guns the engine and heads to Northwestern Memorial.

When she pulls into the hospital parking lot, Fenrir whimpers. Unhooking her seatbelt, Amy pauses. She can’t leave Fenrir here. Quickly unlatching Fenrir’s carrier, she picks it up and slides it over her shoulder. As Mr. Squeakers climbs into her coat pocket, she looks down at the empty passenger seat. The journal she was reading earlier is lying there. The cover features an electron microscope shot of HIV attacking a cancer cell. The caption reads, “HIV crosses the blood brain barrier—inoperable brain tumors can no longer hide.” It’s the research of Katherine’s husband, James.

Something tugs at the back of her mind. Shaking her head, she adjusts the strap of the carrier more securely and gets out of the car.

x x x x

Beatrice and Bohdi get off the hospital elevator at the intensive care unit. The hallway is cold and smells like disinfectant. They walk through some swinging doors with a sign that says, “No one under 18 admitted.” Just beyond the doors is a desk with one nurse and several FBI agents. When Bohdi and Beatrice approach, the agents pass magic detectors over their bodies before they allow them to check in.

They walk down another hallway painted cream and blue. Nurses and doctors pass quietly without making eye contact. Agents Brett and Bryant McDowell stand with two other agents outside a door to a room.

Bohdi hasn’t seen the brothers in a while—Steve said they were working on a super-secret project for him. Bohdi lets out a breath of relief. Brett and Bryant don’t hate him, maybe because they work with hardware, and he’s more a software guy. They won’t try to keep him out of Steve’s room. He eyes the other two agents apprehensively; he doesn’t know their names, but their mouths are set into frowns and they’re scowling at him.

He doesn’t have the cheek to smirk back. His eyes fall to the McDowell brothers’ hands. They are holding magic detectors, and the other two agents are openly holding rifles. All the extra security makes Bohdi’s shoulders sink. Neither Brett nor Bryant jokes about Bohdi’s night in jail, or even make eye contact. Which makes Bohdi’s heart sink.

Bohdi holds out his arms, and the brothers start running magic detectors over Beatrice and him again. Brett’s gives a little half-hearted tick when it passes over Beatrice’s umbrella. Brett taps it, and Bryant says, “You set the sensitivity on this too high, Brett.”

Brett just grunts.

Bohdi looks through the window set into the door to Steve’s room; it is lined with Promethean wire. The wire blocks the room from the eyes of Heimdall and prevents any magic from working within. Promethean wire has been hard to come by lately—something about their source drying up. That they saw fit to use so much of the precious stuff securing Steve’s room is not good. Through the gaps in the mesh, he can see Ruth and Henry, Steve’s parents. They’re sitting on some generic-looking furniture, eyes focused beyond what Bohdi can see. Their dark skin looks ashen in the harsh fluorescent lighting.

Bryant runs the magic detector over Bohdi’s and Beatrice’s feet, and then he says, “You’re both clear.”

From where she is sitting, Ruth glances at the door. Her gaze meets Bohdi’s and her eyes go wide. A moment later, she is rushing into the hall and catching Bohdi in a hug. He stands stock still as she drops her head on his shoulder. Bohdi feels rather than hears a sob. He’d lived with Ruth and Henry after Loki’s attack on Chicago, they treated him like family, and helped him get established in his adopted country. Trying to keep from shaking, Bohdi puts his arms around her.

“They say it was dark elves, but we know better,” she whispers cryptically. And then another sob wracks through her, and she proceeds to tell him about the extent of Steve’s injuries. The words flow over Bohdi in a jumble, but he picks up that a bullet shattered one of Steve’s vertebra and all but severed his spinal cord. His muscles tense. Steve may never walk again or have control of anything below the neck.

Ruth pulls back and looks up at Bohdi. Her face is shining with tears. “But we won’t give up on a miracle.”

Managing to pat her back, Bohdi averts his gaze. He can’t look at her. His mind is starting to fill with what Odin said was the destiny for any incarnation of Chaos. He destroys everything and everyone he loves …

Ruth pats him on the shoulder. “He goes in and out of consciousness, but he was asking for you.”

Bohdi feels the air rush out of him. He feels like he’s the one without control of his limbs, like he’s the one who’s paralyzed; and he knows how pathetic that is. Ruth’s standing very close. Through his bangs he can see her red-rimmed eyes. She’s looking at him like somehow having him here makes things better. How many times has she called him “her other son”?

Stepping away, Ruth pushes him in the direction of the door. “Go.”

Bohdi does. Not because he wants to, but because he can’t bear to let Ruth down.

He steps into Steve’s room. The walls, floor, ceiling, and windows are lined with Promethean wire. It makes the room feel like a prison. In his seat, Henry doesn’t looks at Bohdi.

Bohdi follows Henry’s gaze. At 6’5” Steve’s too big for the bed, his toes are hanging over the edge, and his shoulders are so broad it looks like, if he could roll, he’d roll right off. Yet for the first time since Bohdi’s known him Steve looks small. Some weird contraption like a too-tall white scarf with pins and metal is wrapped around his neck. A tube is attached to his nose. A bag of something that might be water is hanging on a trolley thing beside him. The only sound is something beeping, and the whir of electronics. Steve is so quiet. Bohdi expects him to open his mouth at any moment and say, “Why the hell were you in jail?” Because that’s how their relationship goes: Bohdi does shit, Steve gives him shit, and then they go get beer and commiserate over all the other shit.

This is so backwards, and wrong; it makes Bohdi want to bolt. The hospital’s cream and blue walls feel surreal, and maybe they are surreal—maybe if he just runs fast enough he’ll wake up and this will all be a horrible dream.

“Bohdi?” Steve says. Steve’s eyes are closed. How does he see him?

Bohdi lets out a breath. Henry looks up at him. Steve’s father’s eyes are too shiny, and Bohdi swears his hair has gone grayer overnight. He nods his head at Bohdi, as though urging him to speak.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Bohdi steps close to the bed. “I’m here.”

Steve takes a breath. Not opening his eyes, he rasps. “Dad, can you leave us?”

Henry visibly trembles, but he gets up slowly from his chair and heads to the door. As soon as it closes Steve lets out another breath. His eyes are still mostly closed. “You were right,” he says. “Freyja was after me.”

Bohdi blinks. When he and Amy had come back from Asgard they’d half seriously warned Steve that he might be Freyja’s next target. Odin used her to seduce men, control them, and sometimes kill them.

Odin … Bohdi remembers Odin’s torso sprawled out on the banquet hall table after Mr. Squeakers bit him. Bodhi’d thought about killing him then, but he hadn’t—he hadn’t felt like he could, or should, he’s not sure.

Bohdi’s legs go to jelly, and he doesn’t so much sit as fall into the chair abandoned by Henry. He puts his head in hands. “I didn’t kill Odin … I didn’t kill Odin … This is all my fault.”

Steve coughs. “No, Bohdi … ”

“It is,” Bohdi says. “It is. And Odin said … ”

“Odin said what?” says Steve.

I destroy everything. But he didn’t kill Odin. Because he is a failure even at being the incarnation of chaos and destruction. He doesn’t like killing people, or spiders even—he’s just good at it. His breathing is ragged in his ears. He can’t look at Steve.

“It’s my fault,” Steve says, every inch of his body completely still. “I didn’t come get you from jail.”

Bohdi shakes his head, “No, no, I was so stupid … It was so stupid of me to get into a fight … I’m …. I’m … ” Bohdi’s breath comes fast and heavy. It’s too cold in the room. His fingers feel numb.

“You’re what?” says Steve.

He’s being over dramatic. But he’s not, magic is real, and he’s part of it somehow, even if he’s about as magical as a doorknob. He squeezes his eyes shut. What had the Norns said? “I’m trouble … ” he murmurs.

Even the Norns, three of the most powerful beings in the universe, didn’t want to keep him around. He’s tainted Steve just by being here. And when has he ever done anything for Steve except cause him paperwork nightmares? And now … He looks at his friend’s body laid out on the bed, so still he might be dead. Bohdi is very good at killing things, except when it counts … He thinks of Odin and feels his face crumple and his shoulders sink.

“I … I … I should go …” he stammers, running his hands through his bangs. Maybe just by being here he’s jinxing the machines that are pulsing and whirling around them?

“No,” says Steve.

But Bohdi’s already getting up and going to the door. His hand is on the knob when Steve rasps out. “I know who you are.”

Every muscle in Bohdi’s body seizes up. Hand drifting from the doorknob, Bohdi turns. “You know my real name?” He thinks of the photo of his maybe baby self and two doting probably parents that he’d had in his wallet after Loki’s attack. It was his only connection to his former life. He’d gone to Nornheim to find them. Things hadn’t gone as planned. The Norns tried to make a bargain with him he couldn’t fulfill—and he damaged that one precious photo during the trip. Now the picture only exists on his phone.

“No,” Steve says, and Bohdi’s shoulders fall.

“Sorry,” Steve murmurs. His eyelids sink a little. “I know what you are.”

Bohdi’s heart beats faster. “What I am?”

Steve wheezes. “Heard … you talking … to Thor in the conference room.” Steve wheezes again. “You’re the incarnation … of … Chaos … ”

Exhaling, Bohdi closes his eyes. Thor is the only other person besides the Norns, and maybe Odin’s wife Frigga, who knows who Bohdi is. Thor could have sold him out to Odin … but he hadn’t. Bohdi’s still not sure why. In his pocket his fingers wrap around his lighter. It doesn’t matter. “That’s why I should leave. I’m Chaos, somehow this is all my fault.” He feels torn between relief and shame. Steve knew, and he hadn’t sent him to Gitmo, or some scary scientific lab, but being around Bohdi had condemned him to a life of pain and suffering.

Steve grunts. “Don’t … be an idiot.”

Bohdi’s eyes snap open. “Odin said I destroy everything! And he was telling the truth! I know—knowing when people are lying is the only magic I have!”

Steve’s eyelids finally lift. He looks up at Bohdi. “Why do you think Odin wants you so much if you destroy everything?”

Bohdi blinks.

Steve’s eyes slide shut. “The team with Chaos always wins …” He swallows. “That’s what Ratatoskr told me.”

Bohdi’s jaw goes hard at the mention of the Norn’s magical world-walking squirrel minion. “Ratatoskr is a liar.”

Steve sighs. “No, it makes sense. Philosophically … Army … with superior technology … wins. Society … that allows change … more stable … long term. And I think … ” He lets out a breath. “You’re wrong. You have … other magic.”

Bohdi smiles bitterly. “No, I don’t. I wish I did. It would have made surviving giant spiders, dragons, archeo-winged dinos, and adze a lot easier.”

Steve’s eyes open again, and his gaze slides to Bohdi. “Yes. You should have died … but you didn’t … because Chaos rearranges the odds.”

Bohdi exhales a long breath, and he looks away from Steve. The Norns said they weren’t sure he could be Chaos’ incarnation because he was a non-magical human. So they’d tested him with the adze, spiders, and others—but he’d survived. And that’s how they knew for certain.

“Bohdi …” Steve whispers. “I hurt. I’m so tired. And docs say … I won’t … I won’t … walk again … or …” His eyes slide shut. But he really doesn’t have to say the rest. “I need you on my team, Bohdi.”

Bohdi’s limbs feel like they may collapse beneath him again. He feels weary, and like he’s been standing outside in winter without a coat, chilled to the bone. He thumbs the wheel on his lighter. “Steve, I can’t fix things, I break things. The reason I survived Nornheim and escaped Asgard was because I had Amy … ”

He lifts his head, his heart beat quickening. Amy has Loki’s memories! “Steve, Amy knows everything magical. She can fix you, or she’ll know how someone magical can.”

“I don’t think …” Steve starts to say.

Fumbling for his phone, Bohdi says, “Will using this in here affect the equipment? ”

“No,” says Steve, eyes opening.

But Bohdi goes to the door anyway. “Just in case, I’ll call from the hall. I’ll be right back!”

“Bohdi,” Steve says, but Bohdi’s already out of the door, nodding to Brett and Bryant as he puts his phone to his ear. He’s vaguely aware of the door swinging shut behind him. Before he’s even dialed Amy’s number, he hears her voice. “I need to talk to Steve.”

Spinning, he sees her down the hall. His body relaxes and he feels the cold that gripped him start to lift. She’s facing his direction, but her eyes are on Ruth and Henry. Beatrice is beside her.

Ruth stands with her back to Bohdi, Henry’s arm around her shoulders. “Honey, right now Bohdi is talking to him, I don’t think—”

“No,” Bohdi calls, running down the hall. “No, Ruth, Amy needs to see him, right now.”

Amy’s head jerks up quickly, and she holds her chin high. She looks angry, and that’s out of place in this situation, and on Amy’s face. Amy cares about everyone and everything. He runs his hands through his bangs. Why shouldn’t she be angry? Steve’s been shot.

Slowing his steps, he says, “She’s a doctor.”

“Is that a dog kennel?” says a passing MD, a tall white guy with a paunch. He points toward Amy. It’s only at that moment that Bohdi realizes she’s got a small black duffel bag over her shoulder.

“Errr … No, of course not,” says Amy. “That would be inappropriate.”

Bohdi’s nose tickles, but he doesn’t sneeze.

The doctor takes a step forward. From the duffel bag comes an audible growl.

“It’s a dog carrier,” says Amy, putting a hand on her chest.

“Get that thing out of here!” says the doc, stepping closer still.

From the carrier comes a furious sounding snuffle, and another growl.

Amy passes the duffel-bag-dogie-carrier to Beatrice. “Grandma, take her home. I’ll be there soon.” Pulling a small prescription bottle out of her pocket and handing it to her grandmother, she adds. “Give her two of those in an hour if she seems uncomfortable.”

“I’m going to call security,” says the doctor.

“Come on,” says Bohdi, taking Amy’s arm.

“Bohdi,” says Ruth, “Steve asked for you. I don’t know if he’s ready for other visitors—”

Steering Amy down the hall, Bohdi says over his shoulder, “Amy can help Steve, I know it!” He’s not sure if he’s trying to give Ruth or himself.

Amy turns to him, eyes wide, mouth open. “I don’t even know his condition—”

“Freyja shot him,” says Bohdi, as Brett and Bryant run their magic detectors over them. “The bullet shattered a vertebra and mostly severed his spinal cord. He has no feeling or control of anything from the neck down.”

Bohdi pulls her to the door and into the room. As soon as they’re in, he looks at her expectantly. “There’s a magical cure, right?”

The door shuts. She just stares at him.

Across the room, Steve whispers. “You wanted to ruin me, Lewis … Is this close enough?”

Bohdi’s head jerks in Steve’s direction, and then his eyes slide back to Amy.

She takes a few steps toward the bed. She frowns, and for a few long heartbeats she says nothing. When she speaks, it’s through gritted teeth. “You stole my baby, Steve.”

Bohdi’s mouth drops. Steve’s eyes go to Bohdi, as though he’s trying to trying to gauge Bohdi’s reaction. Stumbling back a step, Bohdi looks to Amy. “What are you talking about?”

She meets his eyes, looking like she might cry, or snarl, or both. “He stole my baby when I miscarried, so that their scientists could discover why Frost Giants are magical and humans aren’t. So they could isolate the proteins and the receptors and the gene markers—”

“No.” Steve rasps. “I … took custody … of a fetus that wasn’t viable … that was already dead.”

Bohdi pushes his bangs back from his eyes. He remembers waiting in the hospital after Amy’s miscarriage. Steve had come, bringing a small army of agents with him.

“You did not ask!” Amy says. “You took her without my permission. You harvested her stem cells and you’re growing them in test tubes!”

“Yes, stem cells…” Steve says, his breathing wheezy and labored. A device somewhere chirps. “I know the journals you read! You don’t disapprove of stem-cell research.”

Amy’s voice rises until its almost a shout. “And can you guarantee that’s all they would do, Steve? Can you guarantee that they wouldn’t try to clone her?”

Bohdi’s gut churns. He remembers Amy’s baby—they’d seen her in Nornheim—or a version of her from another universe. She played peekaboo with them through a magic mirror. She looked exactly like a tiny Amy, but with red hair. His hand goes to his lighter.

“If they did … I would oppose it,” Steve says.

Amy crosses her arms over her chest. And then her hands immediately fly out again, like startled birds. “Would you even know about it? You’re leaving the office to be mayor.”

Steve doesn’t respond. Not looking at where he’s going, Bohdi steps sideways and hits a blinking electronic thing mounted on wheels.

Amy begins to pace. “And that’s not all you’ve been lying about, Steven. I know about the technomagical breakthrough you were about to announce last night—about the magical materials that are appearing near World Gates!”

Bohdi blinks and turns back to Steve. Steve’s mouth is open, his eyes are hooded. He’s taking quick, shallow breaths.

Pacing to the end of Steve’s bed, Amy says, “Magical materials don’t just happen, Steve. Giving an object magical charge takes will.”

Bohdi’s fingers tighten around his lighter.

“Dark elves,” Steve says, his voice crackling. “I … got … their help.”

Flame bites Bohdi’s thumb. The Dark Elves attacked Chicago, right before Loki went on his rampage. Steve aligned himself with them—when it could bring Asgard down on them, just like had happened in Belarus, Ukraine, and Russia?

Amy leans down and rests her hands on the bottom of the bed. “You’re trading weapons with them in exchange for magical objects? Are you putting the whole city at risk just so you can tout something that assures you’ll be mayor?”

“No,” Steve says, closing his eyes, his head seeming to sink deeper into his pillow.

“No, what?” says Amy.

Steve’s eyes open. “I offer them asylum.”

Amy’s face goes slack. Hand drifting to her throat, she says, “Asylum?”

Steve’s eyelids drop. “Dark Elves and Light Elves are at war. Dark Elves send families with young children here.” He takes a wheezy breath. “I look the other way…” He sighs. “They work with scientists. They get paid in U.S. dollars. They might buy weapons with it,” Steve croaks. “I hope they do.”

Bohdi stiffens. Loose U.S. gun laws could give a Dark Elf with cash and a fake social security number access to some pretty decent firepower. But why would Steve want that?

Sinking into the chair Ruth had been in earlier, Amy wipes her face with her hands and bows her head.

x x x x

In the Delta of Sorrows, cold fetid water sloshes over the tops of Loki’s boots and seeps through the chinks in his armor. A sound to his left makes him duck down into a crouch. He looks into the dark and twisted trees that rise from the swamp but sees nothing.

At his side, his son Valli whispers, “Did you hear something?”

“Father?” his son Nari whispers.

Beyond them he hears grumblings from their escort. The queen of the light elves sent her armed guard to help Loki and his sons dispose of Andvaranaut, the cursed ring that Loki wears on a silver chain around his neck.

Holding up his hand for silence, Loki grits his teeth. Concentrating, he tries to send an invisible projection into the gloom. Instead, he conjures a glimmering man-shaped beam of light. The failed projection blinks back at Loki and then dissipates.

Loki curses and glares down at the water swirling around his legs. Black and pearlescent, it oozes the magic of expired potions and misenchanted objects that the Light Elves dump upstream. It’s interfering with his magic.

He looks up over the tops of the trees. Loki is charged with destroying Andvaranaut, by throwing it into the Mountain of Darkness, an active volcano in the land of the Dark Elves. His hand goes to his chest where the ring is strung on a silver chain. Odin said that Loki’s magic will cancel out the magic of the curse, but if the ooze around him is warping his magic, will that make his magic ineffective against the ring? Or will it also cancel out the ring’s magic as well?

He gives the chain a slight tug, nervously testing its strength. The dwarf craftsman who made the chain said it was unbreakable. Closing his eyes, Loki remembers the dwarf stringing the ring on the cord. The craftsman’s eyes had shone, and his hands had shaken. He’d offered Loki all of his treasure stores for the ring … and later set a gang of thugs after Loki to try and steal the damnable thing.

Another twig cracks in the trees, this time to the right. Loki’s head snaps in the direction of the sound.

One of the elves says, “It is the Dark Elves. They want the ring.” Loki’s eyes flick to the elf. None of the Light Elves they’ve encountered has craved the ring’s magic. They tell him it is because “Elves are perfect.” Sadly, they don’t wish to carry the cursed thing either.

“Could be an animal,” Nari suggests.

Valli hisses.

Loki begins picking his way through the muck again. On his chest, the ring hums with power that begs to be used … Loki’s sure if he tapped into its magic he’d have enough power to set the whole, wet, stinking swamp ablaze, magic garbage be damned.

And yet … even Odin fears Andvaranaut. Odin may be many things but he’s no fool. Loki tugs again on the chain. It’s become a bit of a nervous habit.

A shrill hoot comes from the left, and Loki halts. He tugs the chain again and feels it bite into his neck. A creature with four bat-like wings bolts from the trees and disappears into the soot-filled sky. Nari and Valli pull their swords.

Loki plays with the silver cord, fingers just grazing Andvaranaut. He takes a careful step forward. Water sloshes and the mud beneath him releases his heel with a long suck.

Around them there is the low buzz of insects. Another branch cracks, and Loki ducks as another bat-thing flies from the trees. The creature shrieks. Valli draws his sword, someone loosens an arrow, and Loki yanks on the chain …

The chain gives on his neck and Andvaranaut flies through though the air, landing with a plop near Loki’s feet.

“The ring!” Loki shouts. Bending over, he begins scouring the bottom of the swamp where he thinks the ring landed. Nari rushes forward and begins searching in the muck with him. Valli stands above them. “Hurry,” he snarls. “I don’t like this.”

Beside Loki, Nari shouts, “I found it!” Straightening, Nari holds the ring in front of his eyes.

“Give it to me,” Loki says, holding out his hand. He should dart forward and snatch it, but something about the way Nari’s eyes are riveted to the ring makes his heart beat loud in his ears.

Nari doesn’t move. Loki feels his muscles tighten and a cold rush of fear.

Flexing his hand, Loki wills his heart to stop racing. Looking at Nari or Valli is like looking at a more beautiful, purer reflection of himself. Valli and Nari are idealistic to a fault. Nari will hand the ring over. “Nari,” Loki says, keeping his voice patient and calm. “Hand it over.”

“Father, I don’t think I should … ” The words strike Loki like a blow to the heart.

From Loki’s left comes a whistling noise. Loki instinctively dives toward Nari, pushes him into the water, and then hunches over him. “Valli, get down!” Loki screams. Nari sputters beneath him, and Valli drops obediently into the muck beside them. Loki frantically begins scanning the dark forest for a place to hide.

Slipping the ring onto a finger, Nari starts mumbling, “The ring, the ring, it can amplify my essence … ”

One of the elves shouts, “To the right! Take shelter in the trees!” But then another whistle comes from that direction. A crossbow shaft pierces the armor of one of the elves. The victim’s eyes go wide and his mouth drops just before he falls backwards into the slime. Someone shouts, “The water! It’s interfering with our armor’s magic!” And someone else shouts, “We’re surrounded! Get into formation!”

Before the startled elves can move, Valli stands up with a roar, sword upraised. Loki’s heart sinks further in his chest. He’s been so focused on Nari he forgot about Valli and Kusanagi, the magical blade he’s wielding. “Valli, no!” Loki screams.

But it’s too late. Valli swings Kusanagi in a circle.The sword has the power to summon enough wind to knock over full grown men. Under ordinary circumstances, it would be the ideal defense. But the magic of the Delta of Sorrows twists the winds back toward the party. Before Loki can blink or move, Nari, Valli, Loki, their elven escort, and the black waters of the delta are being lifted off the ground by a wild tornado. For a few minutes that stretch on and on, Loki is hurtled through the air like a leaf. He sees nothing and hears only the roar of wind and muted screams.

And then he’s falling. He lands with a belly flop, cold water entering his mouth and nose and piercing his armor like tiny needles. He stands up. The world spins, and for a moment he thinks he’s still in the whirlwind. And then he throws up, acid and water spilling from his mouth. Squatting in the water, he closes his eyes and wills the world to stop spinning. Around him he hears moans, other people retching, and the slosh of water. He wants to puke empty his guts again.

And then another sound rises in the swamp. A hunter’s horn, perhaps two hundred paces away. Loki stands up fast. “Nari! Valli!”

“Over here!” Loki turns his head, and the world tilts sideways … they aren’t where they were before. He closes his eyes. Swallowing his bile, he opens his eyes to see Valli underneath a tree, jumping upward. Loki’s eyes rise to the tree. Hanging in the branches like a discarded scarf is Nari. His neck is bent at a strange angle.

Loki’s mouth gapes. No. Nari wears the scabbard of Excalibur … it should protect him from any injury. He blinks again and sees the scabbard hanging in a branch an arm’s length away from his son.

Loki runs through the water. “Is he alive?” he shouts. If his vertebra shot up into his brain, it could mean instant death.

In the tree Nari moans, some branches giving beneath him, and he falls a few hands lower. Loki quickens his steps.

“The ring!” says Valli, reaching toward Nari’s hand.

“Is cursed!” Loki shouts, knocking his son out of the way. He pulls the ring from Nari’s finger and slips it on his own.

“Help me get him from the tree!” Loki shouts, ignoring the humming power on his hand.

From behind him comes the whiz and thunk of arrows, and then the screams of the elven guard.

Loki jumps. Nari is still too high to reach.

“Father,” says Valli. “Father … ”

Loki’s just coiling his muscles for another jump when a voice rings through the forest. “Stop, Skywalker! If you want you and your sons to live.”

Loki freezes in place. Skywalker is one of the least offensive names that has stuck to him over the years.

In the tree, Nari groans. “Father … I cannot feel my legs.”

“If you want your son to recover, you will turn around, slowly,” the voice commands.

Loki starts to turn. “Hands up!” the voice shouts.

Raising his hands, Loki turns. He finds himself staring at a semi-circle of Dark Elves, their cross bows aimed at the throats of the now kneeling and bound Light Elven guard—and Loki and his sons.

The “Dark Elves” earned their names because of the lands they occupy; their complexions span the usual gamut of the elven people. Some are as pale as Loki, others as dark as Fire Giants. But where Light Elves are so perfect in build and face they are nearly painful to behold, the Dark Elves features are almost … human. Many do not possess the perfect symmetry of Elven faces. Others are scarred. Some are missing teeth. Some look old. They wear simple, nonmagical, leather armor. Their crossbows are not magical either. Even their magical auras are faint … except for one.

Among them, flickering with magic, is an elderly elf with long gray hair and a stringy beard. Where the others carry crossbows, he carries a staff. Picking his way through the muck, he approaches Loki.

In the air, Loki’s hand tightens on the ring. He’ll take the ring … and as much as Loki would love to be rid of it, he has given his oath to dispose of the thing. The old elf’s eyes follow the movement. “Have you come to poison our lands with more garbage?”

On his knees, one of the Light Elves mutters, “Not that you’d notice.”

He is promptly shot with a crossbow bolt.

Ignoring the splash of the elf’s body in the water, the elderly man hisses, “Well, Skywalker?”

“I’ve come to dispose of it in your volcano, Old Elf,” Loki hisses. “If you want its power—”

With speed belying his age, the old elf knocks the side of Loki’s head with his staff.

Loki sees stars in his eyes, and tastes blood in his mouth. In front of him, the old man barks, “I am not a fool. I do not crave its power! The Queen’s guard will return to their own lands. My tribe will escort you to the Mountain of Darkness.”

Wiping his mouth, Loki narrows his eyes at the old elf. He senses no lie, but perhaps it is the water interfering with his usual abilities.

There is a low muttering from some of the Light Elves. “You expect him to trust you?”

The old elf says, “Of course I do. I am an elf. And elves are perfect.”

The Light Elf snarls, “You are not true elves! True elves submit to the queen—”

A crossbow pierces his neck before he can finish. He falls face first into the water, its pearlescent surface now stained with rusty brown.

Kneeling in the water, his three remaining companions edge toward one another.

In the trees Nari moans. The old elf’s eyes flick to him. “We must get your son to dry ground, or the magic of the waters will warp his magic matter and cause it to heal his neural tissue incorrectly.”

Loki exhales. He senses no lie. His hands make fists at his side … and as Loki turns the Dark Elf’s prognosis over in his mind, he sees the logic in his words.

The old elf barks to the remaining Light Elves. “On your feet, and be gone, before we kill you all!”

“We are Light Elves!” one of the elves, a woman, protests. “We do not abandon our duty!”

The old elf snorts. “Your duty is now to tell your queen what has happened here. You are unarmed, your hands are bound … if any of you are to survive the Delta, it will only be by the efforts of all of you.”

Nari moans and Loki grits his teeth. At that moment, he wishes the old elf would just shoot the Light Elves and be done with it. Every moment Nari hangs in the trees is a moment when his magic matter may be twisting in his spinal column—ineffective, or worse, doing damage instead of healing.

One of the dark elves nudges a Light Elf with his crossbow. Standing, he says to his companions. “Come. The gray one speaks truth.”

The two murmur among themselves, Nari moans, and Loki has had enough. Hands clenching around the ring, he screams, “Move!” Flames jump in the water around the elves. They bolt to their feet and run as quickly as they can through the knee-high muck.

Panting, Loki spins. Seeing a boulder protruding from the slime, he rushes to move it beneath his injured son. It does not budge.

“I will help you,” says the ancient elf, going around the boulder and pressing his staff beneath the boulder.

“Wait!” says Valli. “We don’t know who he is!”

“Don’t wait,” says Loki, trying to dislodge the boulder from the mud.

The old elf pauses his motions.

“Who are you?” asks Valli. “King of the Dark Elves?”

There are mutters from the old man’s companions, and Loki looks fearfully over his shoulder, as they edge closer.

“There are no kings among our people,” says the Dark Elf. “But you may call me Sangamon.”

With that he bends his head and lends his weight to helping Loki move the stone.

x x x x

Amy rubs her eyes so hard spots of white appear behind her lids. She’d known that the story of Andvaranaut had inspired Tolkien … but she had no idea how close to the real story Tolkien’s work was.

“Why would you want to help Dark Elves get weapons?” Bohdi says. There is an edge to his voice that makes Amy’s eyes snap open. Bohdi’s chin is tilted down, his lip curled. His hair is rumpled and his face is shadowed by stubble. In his hand he clasps his lighter.

Steve sucks in a breath. He’s obviously in pain. Amy is so angry at him, and yet so shocked and horrified by what Odin did to him.

“They’re not bad,” Amy says. Steve’s eyelids flutter. His nearly black eyes meet hers. Is it gratitude she sees? She can’t acknowledge it. Looking at Bohdi, she says, “They’re more like us than the Light Elves.” She remembers Dolinar and Liddel, the two Light Elves she’d met in Alfheim. They’d fled to the Dark Lands so their unborn child wouldn’t be confiscated at birth. She smiles bitterly. “The Light Elves are a bit fascist.”

Bohdi steps back and looks down at Steve, his expression softening.

Putting her head in her hands, Amy remembers Loki’s adventures with the Dark Elves.They had helped move Nari to higher ground at the base of the Mountain of Darkness. They’d bathed him in water that ran down the volcano’s slopes—it was muddy with soot, but not with dirty magic. Nari’d healed just as well as any magical being would have in Asgard.

She takes a long breath. Humans are not magical … they have almost no magic matter. Rubbing her temple she searches Loki’s memories. Paralyzed human warriors had been selected to be Einherjar. Once they’d been given Idunn’s apples, they’d become magical and recovered.

“Idunn’s apples,” she whispers. “The apples of immortality, they make humans magical, and when they become magical their spinal cord injuries heal themselves …”

“Then we’ll go back to Asgard!” says Bohdi.

“No,” Steve croaks, eyes opening wide.

Waving the hand that holds the lighter, Bohdi starts to pace. “We’ll steal some ... didn’t Loki do that?”

“No,” Steve croaks again.

Bohdi turns to him. “But that may be how to beat the odds.” His eyes flash to Amy. “How did he steal them?”

Amy sits back in her chair. Bohdi is the only person who knows Amy carries Loki’s memories. But in this case, they’re useless. “I don’t know. It was a different incarnation of Loki.” She shakes her head. “The harvest is months away,” she murmurs. Her eyes go to the window covered in Promethean wire and her vision blurs. She remembers the magazine in her car.

“More time to plan, then!” says Bohdi. His voice is excited, and yet it sounds far away.

“No,” says Steve again. “Odin wants …no … ”

Odin had wanted Amy. Amy puts both hands to her forehead, trying to block out the memories and Bohdi’s and Steve’s voices.

“I can’t leave you like this,” Bohdi says.

“Be quiet a minute!” Amy snaps. She hears Bohdi’s pacing stop, but doesn’t look up. “There may be a faster way,” she says looking at the floor. Her heart beats fast remembering her conversation with Katherine the night before.

“Eisa,” Amy murmurs. In another universe, Loki had not saved the universe and died, and Amy had not miscarried. Eisa is what they’d named their magical half-human daughter.

“Eisa?” says Steve

Biting her lip, Amy looks down at the floor. She scuffs her shoe on the tile. “My little girl who died.” She remembers the child she’d briefly seen in Nornheim. Cherub cheeked, red haired, and alive. Amy lifts her head, but sees nothing but a white blur. Her hands feel clammy. “We don’t need Idunn’s apples. We have the technology to make Steve magical ourselves. Maybe.”

“We implant Eisa’s stem cells into Steve?” Bohdi says.

Blinking, Amy focuses on him. “No. They’d be seen as foreign invaders. We infect Steve with a modified HIV virus…” Her hands start to shake. “It attacks neural stem cells that are cancerous. But instead of having it infect them with a protein that makes the cells self-destruct, we have it infect them with a protein that makes them become magic matter.”

“Say what?” says Bohdi.

“It’s James Swanson’s research—you know, Katherine’s husband,” Amy says. “Modified HIV viruses have been in use for years to treat disease. But the therapy is expensive because modifying the virus appropriately is time consuming and expensive. James came up with a process that is fast—and easy enough I can do it.”

“What are the side effects?” asks Steve.

Amy drops her eyes to her shoes. “It probably won’t work …” But if it does work, she knows enough about James’ research to know that he first did experiments on dogs. She blinks her eyes and bites her lip. She might be able to save Fenrir.

“Do it,” says Steve.

Amy lifts her head. “And in the off chance that it does work, you might become too magical … it might make you sick.”

“Do it,” Steve croaks again.

Amy meets Steve’s eyes. They’re a little red, and a little out of focus. He hasn’t moved since she’s entered. Because he can’t. But he stole Eisa. She sees her little girl’s face in the column. They’ll try to clone her, if they haven’t already … she knows they will. She thinks of a copy of that little girl in a laboratory, unloved, and …

“I don’t know if I can ever trust you again, Steve,” she says.

She’s vaguely aware of Bohdi turning to her sharply. She takes another deep breath. But what Steve did for the elves, that was good and … “But I can’t let Odin win.”

Steve exhales. Or maybe he sighs. “Thank you,” he whispers.

His vulnerability hits her like a collision with a truck. He’s helpless, and she’s been cruel. But she’s also not wrong. She takes a long breath. “If I help you get better, you help me shut down any other … experiments … they might be doing on Eisa.”

“Yes,” Steve says. “Yes.” His voice sounds fainter. His eyes aren’t open. A monitor starts to beep. She sees his jaw move. Maybe he’s swallowing. He licks his lips. “Magic detectors … weren’t working.”

Amy feels a cold coil of dread tighten in her chest. Beside her, Bohdi whispers, “What?”

Steve sucks in a breath and says, “And Lewis … there was someone else … someone tried to help me …”

Taking a step forward, Amy says, “Who?”

“I … don’t … know…” He takes a ragged breath, his eyes are still closed. “I … maybe … ”

The door opens behind Amy and a nurse comes in. “I have to check his vitals. I need to ask you to leave.”

Steve says nothing. His face is still as stone. He might be asleep.

Nodding at the nurse, Amy turns to the door. As she steps out between Brett, Bryant, and the guards, her eyes fall on the magic detectors and she remembers Steve’s words. Her mouth falls open, but Bohdi beats her to it. “Guys, Steve said magic detectors weren’t working! You gotta keep someone inside there at all times.”

Bryant orders the two guys to stand guard inside the room. Brett starts making a call for backup. Bohdi turns to her. “Do you think it will work?”

Amy shrugs. “I really don’t know …” She puts a hand on his arm. His eyes fall to her fingers and then he meets her gaze through too-long black bangs. Hadn’t Steve been nagging him to get his hair cut? He smells like cigarette smoke and there’s a tear in his jacket. He’s falling apart … but there’s no one Amy trusts more. “I’ll need your help,” she whispers. She winces. “There may be some slightly illegal activity involved.”

Bohdi stares at her. His face is a little gaunter than she remembers, and he has dark circles under his eyes. But after her night, she probably does, too.

“What kind of illegal activity?” he says, an eyebrow quirking.

Amy puts her hand to her face. “Oh, stealing government property. What is that, a felony?” She bows her head. “Oh, god, maybe we should go through the proper channels.” She swallows. Not that she knows what those even are.

“No,” Bohdi says. “Some of the people in the Bureau are on the other team.”

Amy raises her eyes to his. When they’d helped Sleipnir escape, the director of the FBI had ordered them to give Sleipnir back to Odin. Steve had tried to reason with him, but had been immediately shut down. The director, or possibly someone above him, was on Odin’s payroll.

Her hands start to shake again at the enormity of what they’re attempting. But she nods at Bohdi.

Pushing his bangs back, he gives her a wide smile that is so much like the Bohdi from before it makes her heart hurt. Giving her a wink, he says, “Besides this way is more fun.”

Grinning, he nudges her with an elbow as he starts down the hallway again.

Feeling warmth in the pit of her stomach, she nudges him right back. “More fun than hopping through a nest of spiders?”

Not stopping, Bohdi’s grin splits into a wide smile. “Nothing is more fun than that.”

She almost laughs, but Steve’s parents are suddenly very close. His mom says, softly, “Dr. Lewis … Did you talk to him … is there something you can do?”

“You bet there is,” says Bohdi.

Amy looks to Bohdi in alarm. They shouldn’t promise that.

“Oh,” Ruth gasps. Amy turns back to Steve’s mom. The older woman is taller than her, a little stout, perhaps, but her movements aren’t frail. Beatrice has always said that Ruth is the “sweetest person you’ll ever meet.” She’s holding a hand to her mouth. Her eyes look weepy, and Amy doesn’t know how to say just how unsure she is. Looking back and forth between Bohdi and Amy, Ruth nods. “Our sources said it would be impossible … but I just knew …”

Henry puts his arm around Ruth and says, “Shhh … not here.” Henry dips his chin in Amy and Bohdi’s direction. “Do what you need to do.” And then he guides Ruth toward Steve’s door.

Amy meets Bohdi’s eyes. There was something about the inflection in Ruth’s voice. “Sources?” she whispers.

He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

CHAPTER 3

Amy and Bohdi are on interstate 90/94 about five minutes from Hyde Park, the University of Chicago, and Katherine’s new lab. Amy’s hands tighten on the steering wheel. The plan is for Bohdi to scope out Katherine’s lab while Amy apologizes for her rude behavior and exit the night before.

On the radio a news announcer says, “Experts are still debating the full ramifications of North Korea acknowledging the Asgardians’ sovereignty over Chernobyl and its environs. Also, Pakistan has recently been known to be meeting with Asgardian envoys … ”

At that moment, Amy’s sleep-deprived brain belatedly finds a problem with her plan. Turning off the radio, she says, “Why are you with me?”

In the passenger seat, Bohdi turns to her. “Uhh … You said you needed my help?”

Gripping the steering wheel, Amy hits her blinker and turns onto the exit ramp. “Yes, I do! But what do I tell Katherine when she wants to know why you’re with me?”

Bohdi is quiet a moment. As they pull up to a stoplight she glances in his direction.

His lips quirk. “Aren’t we technically engaged?”

Amy opens her mouth. And then remembering their almost escape from Asgard, she laughs. “No, I just pretended to say yes to a fake proposal you never actually gave so I could grab your hand ecstatically and hide the homemade lock pick you were holding.”

Bohdi taps his chin. “Oh, yeah. That’s right.”

The light changes. Shifting into gear, Amy hits the gas.

As they pull up to another light, in a somber voice Bohdi says, “Amy?”

“Yes?”

“I know this is an awkward time …” He covers her hand that’s holding the shift knob with one of his own. She blinks down at it for a moment, and then over at him. Her cheeks get uncomfortably warm.

Bohdi’s chin is tilted low, and he’s looking at her from beneath long lashes. “Will you be pretend engaged with me again?” he says.

Amy rolls her eyes—conveniently back to the road. But she smiles. If he’s joking, she can joke back. “Don’t think your real girlfriend will mind that?”

Bohdi pulls his hand away. “Real girlfriend?”

How dense does he think she is? “Marion? I saw you kissing ... Remember?” She hits the gas. The sound of the engine is very loud over Bohdi’s conspicuous silence.

She glances over. The look on his face is very tired. “Marion isn’t my girlfriend,” he says. “She’s never been my girlfriend.”

“But … ” The hamster on the wheel in her brain pauses its spinning.

“Sometimes, when you sleep with a person, it intensifies things a little bit ... She was glad I wasn’t dead, and her welcome home was a bit ... enthusiastic.”

Amy’s mouth drops open, and the hamster in her brain starts turning the wheel, very, very slowly, and she says, “So ... you’re friends with benefits?”

Bohdi sighs. “I guess that describes it … but we’re better friends when we’re benefiting, and it’s been a while … ”

Her hand tightens on the shift knob. Oddly, she feels more uncomfortable than when she thought he was dating.

Laying his hand on hers again, Bohdi says, “Well?”

“I don’t know … ” she starts to say.

Pulling away, he puts a hand over his heart and sniffs dramatically. “What? You’re turning down my pretend proposal?”

Amy finds herself laughing, despite her lack of sleep, Fenrir, and Steve. “We haven’t known each other that long,” she says. And since their return not at all … not that it should matter with a pretend proposal, but …

Bohdi snorts.

Amy lets out an exasperated sigh and turns back to the road. “How about you just be my pretend boyfriend for now?”

Looking sideways, he catches her eye and grins. “I guess I can accept that.”

A few minutes later they’re in the neuroscience department, walking toward Katherine’s lab. They’re nearly there when Amy glances outside. It’s not even 7:30 in the morning yet, and there is something else her too-tired, sleepy brain forgot. Turning to Bohdi she says, “I know why you’re with me but why are you here with me? In fact, why am I here? Now? This early? Why am I not calling to give an apology, like a normal, sane human being?”

Bohdi snickers. “I’d never insult the pretend love of my life, who enjoys chopping up trolls, by calling her normal.” Amy’s mouth drops remembering their meeting in her lab before their last adventure. And then she almost smiles at the memory. That had been an interesting dissection. From the opposite end of the hall comes Katherine’s voice. “Amy?”

Spinning on her heels, Amy turns to her friend. Katherine is wearing her lab coat. Her brown hair is tied up in a neat bun, and her brown eyes peer at her from behind wire-rimmed glasses.

“Hi,” Amy says.

Closing the gap between them, Katherine smiles and then covers her mouth to hide a yawn. “What are you doing here so early?

Amy takes a deep breath, “We were just in the neighborhood because …” The hamster on the wheel in her brain abruptly decides to hop off. “Because …”

Bohdi puts a hand out. “Because I’m thinking about going to school here. She was showing me around. Hi, I’m Bohdi, you’ve probably heard a lot about me. We’ve been dating for a few months now.” He throws his other arm around Amy’s shoulders.

A furrow forms on Katherine’s brow. She takes Bohdi’s hand but looks at Amy. The furrow on her brow becomes a little deeper. “It’s really early …”

Releasing Katherine’s hand, Bohdi shrugs. “We woke up early.”

The implications of that make Amy raise an eyebrow at her pretend boyfriend. But he’s focused on Katherine. He begins talking again, way too fast. “You know the news with Steve … Director Rogers … our boss … well, we couldn’t get back to sleep anyway. To take our mind off things, we thought we’d stop by before work.” He shrugs. “Life goes on after all … ”

Amy nudges him with an elbow, trying to shush his babbling.

Fortunately, Katherine’s no longer scowling. “Oh, you’re with the FBI, too,” she says.

Bohdi nods and Amy says, “And since we were here I wanted to say sorry for leaving so quickly last night.”

“Oh,” Katherine says, slipping her hands into the pocket of her lab coat. “It’s alright. What happened?”

“Her dog was hit by a car,” says Bohdi.

Putting a hand to her mouth, Katherine says, “Oh, no, Fenrir.” A timer goes off in her pocket. Wincing, she looks back down the hall the way she came. “I have some things in a centrifuge I need to check on. Do you want to come with me to my lab?”

“Sure,” says Amy.

Turning, Katherine guides them down the hall to a metal fire door. To Amy’s dismay, there is a fingerprint scanner beside it. Putting her thumb on the scanner, Katherine looks back at them a little apologetically. “Kind of crazy security here. But at least I’m not at some facility out in the desert somewhere … like I was for the last month and a half! James was getting tired of being a single parent.”

Amy’s barely listening. Her heart is falling as she looks at the lock. Will Bohdi have to hack into a central system somewhere to open it?

The door clicks, Katherine turns the knob and says, “Come on in.”

Amy follows Katherine into the lab with Bohdi a few steps behind. Katherine goes over to a centrifuge, presses a button, lifts a lid, and pulls out a test tube. Appearing satisfied with what she sees, she puts the tube down, turns back and says, “You said Fenrir had been hit by a car. How is she?”

Amy bows her head. “Well, not so great … but it’s okay … ” Bohdi sniffs slightly. “I’m so sorry,” Katherine says, apparently seeing through Amy’s lie.

“It will be okay.” Trying to appear cheerful, Amy lifts her head and looks around. “Wow, this is a really great space you have here.” There are rows of lab benches with white cabinets and sleek black counters. On the counters are microscopes, computers and other lab equipment. Above those are neat shelves with smartly arranged sparkling test tubes, books, and other small supplies. Past the lab benches is a slightly-ajar door, through which Amy can see the sliver of a window and a bookshelf. It’s probably Katherine’s office.

“Yep,” says Katherine. “It is great. And it even comes with post docs. But they won’t be here for a little bit.”

“Oh,” says Amy, her breath catching on what she sees in the corners of the lab. “Are those security cameras?”

Katherine groans. “They’re supposed to be, but they’re not working. The tech is supposed to come later this afternoon.”

Amy swallows. Oh, no. “Wow,” she manages to say instead. She looks around a little more. What looks like a three-foot-by-three-foot safe set into the wall catches her eye. “You have a safe?” It comes out a squeak. She looks over at Bohdi to see if he’s taking notes. He’s peering down at his cellphone. She scowls.

Katherine waves a hand. “Yes, all the security is a little ridiculous,” says Katherine going over to the safe. Amy follows, but Bohdi seems interested in something off to the side.

Giving Amy a proud smile, Katherine says, “It’s where we keep the big discovery.” She quickly presses a bunch of numbers into a keypad, but her hand is out of Amy’s line of vision. She swallows. Maybe it is under some central control and can be hacked, too?

Opening the safe, Katherine pulls out a standard 240 slot test tube rack, completely filled with neatly stoppered tubes. “Isolated protein samples,” says Katherine. “We’re almost ready to begin tests on mice.”

Amy bites her lip. The contents inside each are clear. They could be anything. But they’re not. They’re proteins derived from stem cells in petri dishes—stem cells that were stolen from Eisa. “Mmmmm …” Amy manages to say.

Katherine slides the rack back into the safe and closes the door. Amy lifts her eyes and sees Bohdi scanning the room. Maybe she needs to buy him time to check out the manufacturer of the safe?

“So,” she says. “You never told me about Lucas …”

“Oh,” says Katherine, waving her toward the back. “Come into my office. I can show you pictures!”

Amy follows her, but Bohdi lags behind. “I think I’ll just look around,” he says.

“Go ahead,” says Katherine, much too quickly. Amy looks sharply to her friend, but Katherine doesn’t meet her eyes. As she enters the office, Amy sees pictures of a cute, chubby little toddler neatly framed and placed in strategic locations on the desk and bookshelves. He has brown eyes and brown hair and looks like a de-aged version of Katherine and her husband, James.

“He’s adorable,” Amy says, picking up one of the photos.

“Thanks,” says Katherine. And then is silent.

Amy lifts her eyes to see Katherine biting her lip. Shoving her hands into the pockets of her lab coat, Katherine says a little nervously, “We almost named him Loki.”

Amy almost drops the picture.

Katherine swallows. “But with the way things are … we didn’t want him to be bullied … we hope that Lucas is close enough.”

For a moment, Amy can say nothing. And then she squeaks out, “Close enough?”

Katherine nods. “Well, it was Loki’s magic that helped us get pregnant … wasn’t it?”

Amy can only stare for a moment. She remembers the night over two years ago when Katherine and James met Loki. Last night, when they’d talked about Loki at the reception, she’d thought Katherine didn’t know the Loki she and James had met was the real Loki. “You knew … it was really him?” And they still talked to her … even though the man she brought to their night out was widely believed to have destroyed half a city.

Katherine nods. “He seemed so nice. James thought he was the one for you … we didn’t expect … you couldn’t have known that he would do what he did.”

Amy’s jaw falls. And then she remembers the night she, Katherine, James and Loki had been together. Katherine had just found out she couldn’t conceive, and Loki had suggested they all get drunk on his dime. They promptly took him up on his offer.

Wringing her hands, Katherine says, “When we left that night, Loki said to James, ‘may your aim be true,’ and then later that night we … ” she waves her hand. “It was only once. And it worked. No doctors, no meds, no in vitro. It was a miracle. We thought we owed Loki something … since he is our guardian angel.” She winces. “Or something … ” Bowing she slips her hands into her pockets. “I hope he won’t be mad that we slightly modified his name.”

Amy looks down at the picture. Loki’s magic wasn’t creation. It was chaos. Of course he’d gotten Amy pregnant while she was on the pill. Her lips tighten.

Taking a deep breath Amy says, “I’m sure … he’d be honored.” She looks up at Katherine. “But don’t worry, he’s dead.”

Katherine’s shoulders fall. “Oh. I… ”

From the doorway, Bohdi says, “Amy, I think we should go.”

His voice makes both Amy and Katherine start. Amy wonders how long he’d been there.

Putting the picture down, Amy says, “Oh, yes, right.”

“I’ll show you out,” says Katherine, passing Bohdi and heading into the lab. “And maybe we can get together sometime?” her friend adds.

“Yes, of course,” says Amy, stopping in the doorway between the office and the lab and looking up at Bohdi.

Smiling down at her, he says, “After you.”

Amy steps into the lab, following her friend. A few steps later and Bohdi is at her side, running his hands through his bangs.

When they are alone in the hallway outside the lab, Bohdi puts a hand on Amy’s arm, drawing her to a stop.

“How many of those test tubes do you need?” he asks.

“Only about three,” Amy says.

Bohdi lets out a long breath, looks upward and says, “Thank you.” His gaze meets Amy’s. “I thought I’d have to steal them all and this would be hard.”

Amy feels herself perk up. “You can hack into a mainframe somewhere to open the door and the safe?”

Bohdi blinks and gives her a funny sort of half smile. “Yes, I could do that … but it would be easier if we just go back in there right now and I open the safe with the code.”

Amy blinks. “You memorized the code?”

He pulls back slightly. “I’m not a Vulcan, Amy … I typed it into my phone.”

Amy looks back to the door. “But how do we get back in the lab …”

“We knock and tell Katherine you forgot your keys?”

“That might work,” Amy says, patting her pocket. Her eyes widen with alarm. “Where are my keys?”

“Under the computer in the office,” says Bohdi.

Amy’s jaw drops, and she looks back in the direction of the lab. “How?”

“I picked your pocket as you were leaving and slid them under there.”

Amy looks up at him fast. “You picked my pocket?”

Shaking his head, Bohdi tsks. “Yes, and frankly, I’m a little disappointed by how easy it was.”

Amy narrows her eyes at him, but can’t bite back her smile. Grabbing his arm, she pulls him back down the hall. “Come on, let’s get back in there before the post docs arrive.”

Twenty minutes later, Amy and Bohdi are back in the hallway, Katherine waving cheerfully behind them from the lab door. Amy waves her keys at her.

As soon as the door shuts, Amy says, “Did you get them?”

“Yes,” he whispers. They are both silent until they exit the building, but then Bohdi pulls out four test tubes. “One for luck,” he says, and then slips them quickly back into his pocket.

Amy bites her lip. “I wonder how long until they notice …” Will Katherine get in trouble? She rubs her temple. Will she and Bohdi get in trouble? The sun is bright and cheery, but she can’t help but feel a sense of foreboding.

Bohdi tilts his head. “I don’t know much about this stuff … but I took them from the back and replaced them with test tubes filled with water.”

Amy almost laughs in relief. She looks up at Bohdi. He’s silhouetted by the sunlight. In shadow his skin looks darker than normal, his hair very black. She has a moment of deja vu. “Pretend boyfriend, you think of everything,” she says. “How can I ever repay you?”

Bohdi turns and beams at her. His teeth are very white against his dark skin. He might waggle his eyebrows; it’s hard to tell with his face in shadow and the sun so bright behind him. “I can think of some ways,” he says.

Amy snickers. “I think you’ll have to pretend.”

Bohdi groans. But he doesn’t stop smiling.

CHAPTER 4

Bohdi walks west with Amy on Polk Street on the north side of the Chicago campus of the University of Illinois’ Medical School. It’s early evening, and the sidewalk is bathed in long shadows. It’s still crowded, though, and Amy and Bohdi have to weave through groups of scrub-suited med students as they walk along.

The University of Chicago, where Katherine works, oozed planning and wealth, like the “Little Ivy League” school it is. The University of Illinois is a state school and it looks cobbled together. Split in half by the Little Italy neighborhood, the campus spreads out over several miles. The buildings are a mix of old, new, and bad 1970s architecture. It is, however, closer to the city’s downtown.

“Why doesn’t Katherine work here?” Bohdi muses aloud.

Swinging her keys in one hand, Amy says, “Probably because she’s working on secret government stuff, and the U.S. government has a longer history with the University of Chicago?”

Bohdi feels the peculiar sort of elation he does when he remembers something. “The Manhattan Project!” The development of the first nuclear bomb; some of it happened at the University of Chicago.

“Yep,” says Amy. She looks over at him. “How was your nap?”

“Good,” Bohdi says.

After they left Katherine’s lab they’d gone to work where Amy had checked on the baku kits, and then back to Amy’s and Beatrice’s place to check on Fenrir. Amy had said she needed James’ lab without students or post docs in it, so it was better to wait until evening anyway. Bohdi had passed out on Beatrice’s couch. The couch had been comfortable, and the house had smelled like the cheese blintzes Beatrice had cheerfully whipped up for Amy, and more grudgingly, for him. He scowls and rubs the back of his neck. “But waking up to your grandmother standing over me with her umbrella in one hand and a broom in the other was even more frightening than waking up to flying zombies.” He shudders, remembering the adze on Nornheim.

Amy winces. “Yeah, sorry about that. She is a little over-protective.”

Bohdi’s lips purse at the understatement. Even though Bohdi had promised to stick with Amy—and not to take her to any foreign realms—it had taken Amy half an hour to convince Beatrice that her grandmother would be most helpful looking after Fenrir. The two women seemed to take it as a foregone conclusion that Bohdi wouldn’t be the ideal candidate for dog care.

Bohdi is relieved; he’d probably accidentally kill the little dog. He’s also sad. His head droops thinking of the little dog back at Amy’s place, Mr. Squeakers snuggled up beside her. Bohdi has always liked Fenrir, She is probably the ugliest dog he’s ever seen, furry in some places, bare in others, tailless, and with a ratlike snout. Still Fenrir likes him, and that counts for a lot. She was barely eating when they left. She wasn’t crying, but her ears didn’t perk up when Bohdi said hello ... And she wore little dog diapers, because it hurt too much for her to move. Bohdi didn’t know they had those for dogs. Earlier this morning, Bohdi had felt a brief surge of elation after stealing the protein samples … but Fenrir’s condition made him think of Steve and all that he was going through that Bohdi couldn’t see: the pain, humiliation, and everything Steve would be too proud to complain about. It makes him sick to his stomach, and frankly, a little weepy.

Slipping his hands into his pocket he wraps his hand around the test tubes. “Do we have to be here? Can’t we just inject this stuff into Steve’s arm and—”

“No,” Amy shakes her head. “It has to cross the blood brain barrier and needs the virus as a carrier to do that.”

Bohdi drops his eyes to the pavement and tries to relax. This will work, no matter what Amy says—because it has to.

He’s vaguely aware of a guy’s voice saying, “Nice car.” There is the sound of car brakes, and then a door slams, and another guy says, “Nice driver.”

The tone of that statement makes Bohdi’s head pop up like a dog that’s seen a squirrel. Internally, he scolds himself at the predictability of it … and then he sees who the guy was referring to. Stepping around a fire red Aston Martin coupe is a woman with long legs, caramel skin, and wavy black hair. Her face is perfectly made up. She’s wearing a fitted hot pink coat over a black pencil skirt, and very high, high heels. Even if he didn’t know her, she’d have his attention.

His skin heats. And not in the predictable manner. His hand leaves the test tubes and goes to his knife. Internally he curses Beatrice. She’d been so worried about Amy coming to the university at night but she hadn’t let Bohdi borrow her gun. Something about Bohdi being “too unstable.”

“Bohdi?” Amy says.

Up ahead, the woman smiles in his direction. The edges of Bohdi’s vision goes red.

“It’s Freida,” he says, pulling the knife out of his pocket, but keeping it closed in his palm.

“That Freida?” Amy says.

It is that Freida, the woman who had been Steve’s ideal woman, before he had been called away for a “Claire emergency” and Bohdi had slept with her. The woman who Bohdi is almost positive is Freyja in disguise. He doesn’t answer. He just quickens his steps.

“Don’t make a scene,” Amy says. “If she is who we think she is, you can’t fight her …”

“Oh, yes, I can.” He is the Destroyer. And for the first time, he wants to be.

“Even Loki couldn’t take her in a fight,” says Amy, grabbing his arm.

Bohdi stops and shakes her hand away, glaring down at her. The sound of high heels on the pavement makes his head whip around.

“Bohdi!” says the woman he’s almost sure is Freyja. She’s less than five feet away. In heels she’s taller than he is. He’s forced to look up at her. She smiles—it’s wide, open, and looks genuine.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees passing med students of both genders gape and turn their eyes to her. She is undeniably beautiful, even if not precisely Bohdi’s type.

… if she was, he still wouldn’t care.

The so-called Goddess of Love and Beauty’s name comes out of his mouth in a snarl, “Freyja.”

The woman’s smile becomes thinner. One of her eyebrows arches. “Oh, so you figured it out.” Her eyes go to Amy. Looking her up and down, she turns her nose up a little. Gaze coming back to Bohdi she says, “Pity. I was thinking we might have a little fun before I delivered my message.”

Bohdi strides toward her. As he gets closer his nose tickles. Of course, the guise she’s wearing is just an illusion. When he was with her before he’d just thought his allergies were acting up. She was hot and he’d gotten over it. But now he wants to tear her to shreds.

“We can still have fun,” he says, closing the space between them, the still unopened knife sliding forward in his hand. With just one flick—

“Bohdi,” says Amy.

Freyja rolls her eyes. And suddenly, seemingly without movement, her hand is on his wrist pressing just the right place. His fingers snap open, and his knife drops to the ground. With a snarl, Bohdi turns into her grip, reaching for the lapel of her coat and bending his knees, prepared to use her hold against her to throw her over his shoulder.

But she’s not there. He finds himself turned around 180 degrees staring at Amy. Freyja is standing beside her very close. Leaning sideways, the so-called Goddess has an arm wrapped around Amy’s opposite shoulder so tightly that her forearm is around Amy’s neck.

“Ummm …” says Amy, pulling at the arm. “Do you mind?”

Freyja kisses the side of Amy’s head. “Aren’t you a darling?” she whispers. Her eyes go back to Bohdi. “It took me so long to find you today. Why are you here? So far from your friend when he needs you?”

Bohdi sucks in a breath and steps back. His eyes go to Amy. She’s glaring sideways at Freyja.

Freyja smiles again. This time it’s predatory. Licking her lips, she says, “Here is my message. I was ordered to kill Director Rogers. But … the way things turned out … the Allfather thinks Rogers makes a far better example pinned to a bed like a bug.”

She pulls away from Amy. Around them a few med students whisper and scamper away. Eyes still on Bohdi, she says, “You have your warning.”

Amy turns to her and snaps, “Do you enjoy being a slave of Odin?” Freyja spins at her. “Why, you little …” She raises her hand as though about to give a back-handed slap. Murmurs rise around them. Someone says, “Yo,’ easy bitch!”

Freyja’s eyes snap up. Bohdi’s body coils to lunge, but Amy runs over and whispers, “Not now … protein samples!”

Bohdi freezes. Swallowing his anger, he holds back.

Freyja narrows her eyes at them. Off to the side, a car marked as Campus Police pulls to the curb. Through an open window, an officer-looking type says, “Is everything alright here?”

Turning around, Freyja casually waves a hand. “There’s no problem, officer.” She smiles and runs a hand over her neck. “My girlfriend and I … were just … joking …”

Some students step between Amy and Bohdi and the so-called Goddess. “Didn’t look like joking,” someone says.

Amy grabs Bohdi’s arm. “Come on, before the crowd goes away.”

Bohdi follows her as she runs down the block, swerving between groups of students, but inside he’s still burning. They turn a corner, and Bohdi briefly stops Amy. Peering back, he sees Freyja talking to the police. She doesn’t seem like she’s in a rush to catch them. He remembers her words, “What are you doing here?” He’d felt no lie. He huffs. They don’t know what Amy and he are up to ... maybe they don’t care, or don’t think it will work. Thor had told Bohdi that Odin knew the danger of humans and their technology, but ordinary Asgardians had been shocked to know they had running water and electric lighting. His hands clench at his sides.

“Come on,” Amy says, slightly breathlessly, yanking his arm. Bohdi turns around. As two med students exit the large Gothic building, Amy runs forward and catches the door. The med students give her a funny look but don’t say anything when she and Bohdi slink inside. The foyer smells like dust and age. The floor is worn linoleum. Paint is peeling at the corners of the walls.

Amy walks over to an elevator bank and hits the call button. She stares at the unmoving lights above the door and then goes to a stairwell. As she starts to climb she whispers. “I don’t think Freyja or Odin knows what we’re doing …”

Exactly what Bohdi had been thinking. He doesn’t respond, though. Maybe it’s the rage at Freyja that has no outlet, maybe it’s inner contrariness, but Bohdi finds himself saying, “Do we know what we’re doing? If we succeed, we make Steve a target again.”

Amy stops on the stairs and turns to Bohdi. “Do you think we should stop?”

Bohdi blinks up at her. Her expression is very earnest. Sometimes he forgets that unlike a lot of people, Amy will take him seriously.

He shakes his head. “No. I know Steve, and he’d rather go down fighting.”

Amy nods her head and starts to climb the stairs again. But the inner contrariness still flares inside Bohdi.

“Amy,” he says as they clear the first landing. “What happens to Steve if this works? Does he get … ” He licks his lips. Remembering Odin’s spies might be listening he chooses his words carefully. “Does he become like a mutant, like, I don’t know, Peter Parker?” He hopes Heimdall, the watcher in the sky, won’t catch the reference.

“Maybe …” she says, starting to breathe heavily.

Bohdi smiles bitterly. “So if this works … we maybe give the U.S. government a monopoly on …” He waves a hand instead of saying “super soldiers.”

Amy stops on the steps and meets his eyes.

Bohdi shrugs. “This is Steve we’re talking about. You know he’ll tell them how you did it.”

Amy’s head drops and her eyes start scanning the floor. “Should we stop?”

Bohdi’s jaw tenses. Intellectually, he realizes that this is a weighty question, something that should be deliberated with great care. But what strikes him—what makes the moment crystal clear and makes his heart pound—is that he does not care about wrong or right. He cares about his friend.

Bohdi’s hands slip into his pocket. This time they wrap around his lighter. “Nag. Let’s keep going.” They go up a few more steps and then Bohdi says, “I wonder if Odin’s inside man in the government is going to like us doing this for him … or hate us?” Will Odin be able to control the super soldiers? Or will the magical humans fight the All father?

Amy stops short. She turns to him, mouth open, but says nothing for a few heart beats. And then she starts climbing the stairs again, but more slowly. They are both silent until they reach James’ laboratory.

As Amy knocks, Bohdi says, “How do you know he’ll let us use his equipment and the modified virus?”

Not looking at him, Amy says, “James may be a microbiologist, but his passion is paleontology.” She pulls a plastic zip lock bag out of her pocket. In it is a single white feather that could be from any duck’s butt.

“I’m going to bribe him,” she says.

It takes Bohdi a moment to realize it’s one of the Archeopteryx feathers she carried home from Nornheim. She must have kept it from ADUO somehow.

She’s so sneaky. He grins.

x x x x

Bohdi wanders around James’s lab, looking at various microbiology equipment. Besides the scopes there are lots of beige boxes with blinking lights, pint-sized refrigerators, and computers. The counter tops look older than in Katherine’s lab. They aren’t as level and they have scars.

Across the lab, James is holding up the bag with the feather. “I don’t know, Amy … the last feather you gave me got me in a lot of trouble … ”

“But this time, James, the world knows that there are other worlds out there, and strange and exotic creatures.”

Peering through one eye James looks more closely at the bit of fluff. “But how do I even say I found this? Didn’t you say the FBI confiscated the other one?”

Shrugging, Amy says, “You were walking past the FBI headquarters downtown. You saw a feather.”

Bohdi finds his lips quirking. She says this bit of BS so smoothly. He’s very impressed. More than impressed. He wanders over to the pair.

James’ eyes flick to him and back to Amy.

She begins to speak. “You noticed the shaft was peculiar—a little too solid. The barbs a little too far apart, and the whole thing looks like the plumulaceous portion of a modern feather. You decided to put it under a scope. And then you analyzed the DNA …and discovered it diverged from birds approximately 170 million years ago.”

Bohdi’s not sure what a plumulaceous portion is, or a feather barb, but she sounds so authoritative. It kind of turns him on.

James inclines his head and lifts an eyebrow. “Archaeopteryxes lived about 150 million years ago,” he says.

Amy winces. “I know … but this one diverged from Earth birds about 170 million years ago … I checked.”

James’ brow furrows. “But if you already know, why do you want me to …”

Amy gives a thin smile. “They won’t let me publish the results. I don’t know why. Politics. But it’s important that the world know. After you’re done with your investigation you can announce your findings and ask the FBI if any more nasties have come through World Gates. To ease public fears they’ll be forced to say it came from another world, but not from any nasty that had visited here.”

Bohdi’s eyebrows hike. If that isn’t the crowning piece of sneakiness on the BS cake … Bohdi finds himself forcing himself not to look at Amy. He’s sure the awe would show on his face. Also, he might be drooling slightly.

James looks down at the feather. His fingers shake slightly. “You’re sure it’s from an Archaeopteryx?”

“Yes,” says Bohdi, trying to be useful. “A giant, acid-spitting Archeopteryx.”

James’ eyes snap to Bohdi. After hearing Katherine declare Loki their guardian angel or something, Bohdi had initially felt a weird sort-of affection for the man. But then when they’d been introduced, James had asked Bohdi where he’d finished undergrad. Bohdi could have lied. Instead he said he had almost finished a semester of community college, but was thinking about the University of Chicago. James’s look of transparent underwhelmedness would have been funny if it hadn’t been so annoying.

Now James says, “How do you know?”

“He was with me, in Nornheim,” says Amy.

“You?” says James, and Bohdi almost snorts at the incredulity in his voice.

Amy’s pulls back a little, as though shocked by James’ reaction. Obviously, with a Ph.D. in veterinary science she’s not on the receiving end of intellectual snobbery that often. “Yes,” she says. “He saved my life … a couple of times.”

The other man doesn’t look like he quite believes her. And oh, how Bohdi wants to play on Katherine’s words, and say, I was like her guardian angel … or something. Instead, Bohdi just gives James a wide sharkish grin.

James scowls a little at him, but then he looks back down at the feather. “You just want to use my lab … should I ask what for?”

“No,” say Amy and Bohdi in unison.

James stands up, zip-locked feather in hand. His eyes flick back and forth between the two of them. Gaze coming back to Amy, he says, “Well, I guess you don’t have any Norse Gods of Mischief with you this time.”

Amy’s shoulders fall. “No,” she says.

Bohdi smirks at James and can’t resist. “I’m more Hindu.” He winks.

For a moment, James stares at him, but then he hands over a pair of keys. “Don’t break anything, and lock up after you leave.” Turning on his heels, he almost runs from the room. The door shuts behind him with a bang.

Flipping the thumb wheel on his lighter, Bohdi says, “It was not cool of him to bring up your ex-boyfriend around your new boyfriend.”

“Loki wasn’t my boyfriend,” she says quietly.

Bohdi feels the bite of flame on his thumb. Raising an eyebrow, he says, “He was your pretend boyfriend, too?” And then realizes what dangerous ground he’s on.

But Amy just tucks her head down, turns, and says, “I don’t want to talk about it.” She goes over to a squat little refrigerator and bends down. Opening it, she sits back on her heels and stares at a test tube rack with three neat rows. The first row has yellow stoppers, the second blue, and the third row red.

She doesn’t move.

Taking a step forward, Bohdi says, “Is that the HIV virus?”

“Yes,” says Amy, not moving.

He looks around. “Not a lot of security ... ”

“It’s modified so it doesn’t cause AIDS—or even show up on HIV tests,” she says. “Other scientists have been working with it for years. It’s James’ process that is unique.” She sits there, still not moving.

“Umm …” says Bohdi running a hand through his hair. “Do you know which one you’re going to use?”

Reaching forward, Amy picks up a yellow one and holds it up to the light. “This is special, genetically-engineered, doggie HIV for Fenrir.”

She looks back at the refrigerator. Her eyes flick between the red and the blue test tubes.

“You don’t know which one is for humans?” Bohdi asks.

Not looking at him, Amy says, “They both are.”

“Which will work?” says Bohdi.

“Both, but they’re slightly different strains.”

She sits unmoving. Bohdi clears his throat. Amy reaches toward the blue tubes and then stops. Her hand moves to the red tubes. She pulls out a whole rack. As she stands up, Bohdi can’t help noticing her hands are shaking.

x x x x

Sitting on the couch in the lab, Bohdi looks up from the magazine he’s been pretending to read.

Amy walks past carrying a rack of test tubes. Her usual pony-tail has been pulled up into a no-nonsense bun, and he finds himself staring at the back of her neck. Somehow—protein copying or something—she’s managed to turn four samples of magical proteins into a rack of Steve-fixing virus. She explained that she doesn’t know if only one dose will take. She’s wearing a too big lab coat she borrowed from a hook and a pair of plastic, wrap-around safety glasses. She’s all business, cold and professional—she hasn’t glanced at him once. Despite the unflattering lab coat and glasses, the focus is kind of a turn on.

Closing the door on something that looks vaguely like the offspring of a fridge and a dishwasher, she says, “That’s it. Now all we have to do is wait forty-five minutes for the incubator to do its work.” Pulling the safety glasses off, she brushes a strand of hair from her face.

Bohdi blinks. Rubbing his eyes, he stands. He’s hungry and he’s tired, but he feels lighter. Like he can breathe again. Steve is going to get better. Soon.

Amy walks over to a window. It’s night now. The city lights are bright, but it’s still dark enough that there is a ghost of her reflection in the glass. She wraps her arms around herself, and Bohdi sees the ghost-Amy frown.

As Bohdi walks over, he hears her murmur, “It probably won’t work, anyway.”

“Of course it will,” says Bohdi.

Amy jumps and spins toward him. She’s visibly trembling.

“Is everything alright?” he asks, almost reaching for her shoulder, but catching himself.

Bringing a hand to her temple, she closes her eyes and huffs out a laugh. “No.”

For a moment he can’t say anything. She’s right. Steve’s in a hospital bed, North Korea and Pakistan are getting friendly with Asgard’s “delegation” sitting on top of Chernobyl, and her dog got hit by a car. He takes a deep breath. But Amy and Bohdi are still fighting, and he feels oddly upbeat about that.

He thinks of Katherine saying that it was Loki who helped her have Lucas … Maybe Steve’s right, maybe Chaos rearranges the odds. Maybe they just might win.

He can’t really tell Amy that … not outside a magically-shielded room. He frowns. Maybe not even there. He doesn’t want to tell her. He can’t say why exactly.

The sound of Amy’s plastic glasses hitting the floor shakes Bohdi from his reverie.

She bends down to pick them up. And then drops them again. “Butterfingers,” she says, head still bowed. Her hands are visibly shaking. His stomach rumbles, and he has an inspiration. “Amy, when was the last time you ate?”

She looks up at him, opens her mouth …and no sound comes out.

Bohdi snorts. “You don’t remember, do you? Come on, let’s go get something and come back when the incubator is done.”

Amy looks out of the window and smoothes her pony tail with a fluttering hand. “Fresh air will be good, and it’s probably not good to stand around here thinking …”

Bohdi puts his hands on the back of her shoulders and steers her toward the door. “Yes,” he says.

At the door, she exchanges her lab coat for her jacket. She doesn’t meet his eyes as she slips out the borrowed lab keys to lock up. Trying to shake her from her funk, Bohdi says, “That was some excellent sneakiness earlier.”

The keys to the lab fall from her hands. “What? Sneaky?”

Bending to pick up the keys, Bohdi raises an eyebrow at her. “The feather … bribing James.”

Amy exhales. “Oh. That.”

“Very impressive,” says Bohdi.

Amy sucks in a breath and stands a little straighter. “Thanks, I guess.”

Opening the door for her, Bohdi smirks. “Were you always that sneaky, or is that just because Loki swirled your brains?”

Amy scowls. “No! I did not become sneaky because Loki swirled my brains!”

He’d rather see her fighting than afraid. So he plays it up. Looking down his nose at her, he affects his best air of dubiousness. “Really?”

“I helped him escape Alfheim!” she says, sounding very indignant.

“Pfffttt … I don’t believe you.” He bites back his smile. She’s fallen right into his trap.

By the time they’re in the convenience store a few minutes later, Amy is talking very animatedly. Waving some hummus and carrots she says, “And then I hit Thor with my car!” She stops abruptly and scowls. Her mouth falls open. She looks upwards and winces. “I think that was supposed to be top secret, and I don’t think I’m supposed to have told you that.”

Bohdi grins. “What’s a few felonies between friends?”

Her eyes come to his and her jaw drops a little more. Bohdi looks over his shoulder. Is she worried about being overheard? She wasn’t that loud, and the two African American guys debating the merits of Red Bull versus coffee are really drowning them out. Bohdi tilts his head toward the register. The Southeast Indian-looking guy behind the counter is looking nervously at the black guys. Bohdi scowls. He knows people from his part of the world know only about African American culture from rap videos, but the guys are obviously students prepping for an all night studyathon. He shakes his head, and his eyes fall on the white guy over by the beverages. The man’s face is haggard and worn, his hair is a little too long, but slicked back to look neat. He’s wearing a very expensive-looking leather jacket that is a size too big and a cut too modern. Bohdi almost sighs aloud. That guy is a shoplifter. Almost to prove his point, the guy casually slips a beer up his sleeve.

Rolling his eyes, Bohdi turns back to Amy. “Convincing the Light Elves that they’d offended your car was really awesome.”

Looking down at the floor, Amy scuffs her sneaker against the linoleum. He can just barely make out her smile. “Yeah.”

They pick up a few more snacks, Amy selecting a few more vegetarian options, Bohdi picking up a few sandwiches. They’re walking toward the register, following the students, when Bohdi realizes something he forgot. Stopping at the edge of the aisle, Bohdi whispers. “Uh … I don’t have any money.”

Sighing, Amy rolls her eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ll get it.”

“But I invited you! That wouldn’t be right,” he whispers, skin heating.

Amy purses her lips. “It’s not like it’s a date.”

Bohdi narrows his eyes at her. He glances up and sees the thief walking toward the register, a pack of gum in his hand. Bohdi’s brows go up, suddenly struck by inspiration. Setting the sandwiches on top of her tabbouleh, he says, “No, I’ve got this. Wait here.”

She gapes at him. “Are you thinking of stealing something?”

Bohdi takes a step back. His nostrils flare. Doesn’t she understand he only uses his powers of theft to help people? Okay, sometimes just himself … but only if no one else gets hurt. Keeping his voice down, despite his anger, he hisses. “Amy, that would be wrong!” He waves a hand toward the middle-aged clerk. “He probably has adorable, little big brown-eyed babies to feed!”

Amy’s shoulders drop. Her mouth snaps shut.

Behind him, Bohdi hears the cash register slam shut. Before she can say a word he holds up a finger. “Wait here!” Spinning around, he runs out the door.

From just outside he watches the thief finish purchasing the single pack of gum. Bohdi waits for him to turn from the register and walk to the door. Before the guy can open it, Bohdi barrels in, knocking the guy so hard the beer in his sleeve falls to the floor with a crash.

“What?” shouts the clerk.

“I am so sorry!” Bohdi says, fighting a smirk, as the man tries to move around him. “Here, let me help you!” He begins patting the man down.

“I’m calling the police!” shouts the clerk.

“Stop it!” the thief snarls, trying to step around Bohdi. Hopping to stay in front of him, Bohdi keeps patting. Snacks start falling from the guy’s coat like rain.

“Get off me!” the thief shouts. He tries to shove Bohdi out of the way, but Bohdi slides to the side and swipes a foot against the other man’s. The guy’s momentum works against him and he falls face-first to the floor. Stepping neatly over him, Bohdi grabs the guy’s arms and wrenches them behind his back. It’s so easy he has to fight to keep from laughing.

“The police are a block away!” the shop owner shouts.

Putting his knee into the guy’s back, Bohdi says, “Great.” He turns to Amy. “Hey, Honey, why don’t you pay for those?”

The keeper’s eyes go to Amy, and then back to Bohdi. Shaking his hands, the man says, “Oh, no! No! No! Those are on me!”

A few minutes later, Amy and Bohdi step away from the convenience store, police lights flashing behind them.

“That was really great, what you did back there,” Amy says.

Bohdi blinks at her, and then the laughter he’s been suppressing finally comes out. “Who needs to steal when there are so many thieves in the world who will do it for you!” he says.

A furrow appears in Amy’s brows. Looking ahead she says, “And suddenly something that seemed altruistic becomes morally ambiguous.”

“Morally ambiguous?” says Bohdi, walking a little taller.

Amy looks down at her hands. “You do realize, the things we got for free probably were more expensive than what that other guy stole.” Her brow furrows. “Especially when you threw in the extra ice cream and cigarettes.”

She actually has a point. Which is more annoying than if she didn’t. Bohdi sniffs. “The shop guy asked if we wanted anything else.”

Amy tilts her head. “Still.”

Bohdi’s free hand finds his lighter. He flips the thumb wheel and his brain stumbles on the loophole. “See, you’re not taking into account the greater good in all of this.”

“Greater good?” says Amy.

Bohdi waves the hand with the lighter. “That one shop guy lost out. But the shoplifter is going to jail, which means one less thief for all shopkeepers everywhere.”

Amy’s head bows. “The good of the many … ”

Bohdi finishes. “Outweighs the needs of a few. You can’t argue with Spock.”

He hears her gulp. “It’s a lot easier to say that with moral authority when the needs being sacrificed are your own.”

“We didn’t take that much food from the guy, Amy.” Slipping the lighter back in his pocket, he begins rifling through the bag. Pulling out a sandwich, he says, “So, are you going to dose up Fenrir tonight?”

Lifting her head, she says, “I was planning on it.”

“Can I sleep on your couch again?” he asks. Even with overprotective grandmothers, it’s a little more like a home than the place he’s staying. Or maybe it’s more like a home because of overprotective grandmothers. And he wants to be there, just in case—

“It probably won’t work…” Amy says. And then she mumbles. “I shouldn’t worry.”

Bohdi blinks. Worry? “Is this about the mutants, Amy?”

She looks at him but doesn’t answer.

He gives her a tight smile. “All I care about is Steve.”

“Not me,” she says, and bows her head.

CHAPTER 5

The Promethean wire on the windows makes Steve’s room dim, but it’s visiting hours, and that must make it what, eight o’clock? Steve would ask, but talking takes a lot of energy. It’s not just that his mouth is parched and dry, it’s that his thoughts are swimming through a morphine haze.

A chair squeaks. Steve can’t turn his head to look and maybe that’s a good thing, because if he could he might cry.

“This should be me,” Henry says.

Steve can see, in the periphery of his vision, the speed of the rise and fall of his chest increase—but he can’t feel it. Or control it. Steve grits his teeth and grinds out, “Where’s mom?”

Henry slides a bit closer, but Steve still can’t see him. “Nurse said you’ve got visitors—”

“Claire?” says Steve, and there’s hopefulness in his voice … even though he doesn’t want her to see him, he wants to see her. He just wants to know at least some part of him is well, is thriving and will endure.

Henry clears his throat. “No, you’re still in intensive care. She’s too young.”

“Bohdi?” says Steve. Please, be Bohdi, be Loki … Steve squeezes his eyes shut as the names slip together in his mind, blurry with painkillers. He can’t say that aloud. If it got back to Odin ...

He hears the door open and the sound of his mother’s footsteps. She walks slowly into his line of vision, as though afraid she’ll spook him. Steve can’t look directly at her, either. He has trouble meeting his parents’ eyes. He is supposed to be taking care of them now; instead he’s become worse than a child. He bites his lip and internally winces. He often finds himself biting his lips and the inside of his cheeks, because that is all he is physically capable of. He hates it, knows it must make him appear weak. A bitter laugh comes to his lips. He is weak.

“Steve,” his mother says. “Dale flew up from D.C. He’s here.”

“I don’t want to see him,” Steve snaps, and he knows that it will rip Dale up; he knows if the circumstances were reversed he’d need to see Dale. But Goddamn it, he’s the one who’s hurt—his neck hurts and itches, and everything below the neck burns—even though he’s been told he can’t feel anything at all there. Can’t he be a little selfish?

“He’s brought a friend with him from headquarters,” she leans closer and whispers. “The Frost Giant lady.”

Steve’s eyes snap open and slide to his mother.

Her mouth is pulled down into a frown. Her face looks puffy, like she’s been crying. She licks her lips. “I know the elves said they couldn’t help you, but maybe she can?”

Steve looks toward the door—as much as he can. “Yeah,” he says, and it comes out a sigh. “Yeah.”

Because as much as he has faith that wherever Bohdi is he’s working with Amy to make him better, he wants out of this prison that is his shattered body right now.

“Do you want some water?” says his mother.

Steve closes his eyes. He can’t even nod, and that almost makes hysterical laughter bubble up in his chest. But he manages to grind out, “Yeah, yeah, I do.”

His mother lifts the small bottle of water and a straw up to his lips. Steve opens his mouth and sucks when he feels the straw on his tongue. He feels his skin heating in shame as he sucks in a few gulps. He pushes the straw out with his tongue when he’s done. The whole time he can’t look her in the eye.

“I’ll go get them,” his mom says. He can hear the tremor in her voice, and it makes him feel sick, weak, and selfish.

He hears the door open and close. A few minutes pass. Henry might take Steve’s hand. He can’t feel it, but he thinks that’s what his dad is doing. The door opens again, and this time, he hears Dale’s and Gerðr’s footsteps. His brows draw together. He hadn’t realized he could recognize Gerðr by her steps.

A moment later she is standing by his side at the foot of his bed. She’s wearing a knit cap that hides Promethean wire—not that she needs it in this room, but it would have protected Dale outside. Without the aid of magical blocking devices, Gerðr has the ability to turn any man that has any inclinations toward women into a lust-addled ineffectual fool. He swallows. Would it work on him now in his current state? He’s afraid to know … with even less control it would be worse than ever.

“What have they done?” she whispers. Steve swallows again. He can still do that. He can see it becoming a compulsive habit.

He closes his eyes. “Can you help?”

He sees a shadow behind his lids and opens his eyes to see her leaning over him. “Yes,” she says softly.

In the background he hears his mother gasp, and his father softly shushing her.

Gerðr’s nearly white hair drapes down in a stringy curtain. Her eyes are the empty blue that always sets him a little on edge. A lot of the men in the office think she’s beautiful, even without her magic. Steve has never thought her unattractive, but at that moment, with that one word, he thinks she looks like an angel.

“Everyone must leave,” she whispers.

Dale steps forward. “If you need to talk to Steve alone, I could help translate.”

Steve’s eyes flick to his friend. He stayed on a few months after Amy and Bohdi returned to study Gerðr’s native language. Without magic to aid translation, Gerðr is far from fluent.

“No,” says Gerðr. “My English … good enough…for this.”

“Dale, Mom … Dad … ” says Steve. “You can go.”

His parents take a step back.

Dale takes a step forward. Dale’s the picture of the “the man,” with slightly mussed straw colored hair and skin that ranges from slightly peach to permanently flushed across the cheeks. Next to Gerðr, he looks tan. He also looks like a sad hound dog. His hand taps against his thigh. “Steve…”

“It will just be … a minute …” Steve says. He raises an eyebrow at Gerðr. “Right?”

She nods, her head rising and falling in short, staccato, movements.

He hears his parents step away, but Dale hovers near him. He shoots a worried look at Gerðr.

“Dale … ” Steve says. It comes out a sigh.

Dale’s hand taps fast against his thigh. “Alright,” he says. “But … ” Shaking his head, he turns and goes to the door.

Gerðr watches them leave. And then she picks up Steve’s hand. The contrast between their skin tones is shocking … and abstract and strange. Steve can see his fingers in hers but he can’t feel anything. It’s like looking at a ghost of himself.

He looks up to her eyes. She’s crying. Steve’s seen her cry before all of once, when she discovered that a World Gate on Des Plaines Avenue would take her to her home world—but it led to the impassable Southern Wastes, and she couldn’t use it to go home.

She cradles his hand to her cheek, and he sees the tears collect on his fingers.

He seriously considers calling Dale.

He sees her swallow. “Of everyone who has ever …” She takes a deep breath. “I … safer, protected here better than anywhere.”

Steve’s jaw falls. Mostly, Gerðr seems to make it a practice to be as mean, nasty, and unapproachable as possible. He takes a breath. He doesn’t know what to say. Gerðr’s marriage was non-consensual, and as far as he’s been able to gather from intel from Lewis, most of her later liaisons have been. And she’d spent time at Guantanamo …

“I do not know what I do … without you at Bureau,” she says. The tears fall from her eyes, and this time land on Steve’s cheek.

As touching as this is, he would rather have this conversation after he’s better.

“Gerðr,” he says. “You’ll help me?”

Squeezing her eyes shut, she nods. More tears fall, heavier and faster. “I would … anything. No matter cost.”

“Then do it,” Steve says.

Gerðr’s eyes open. She looks oddly hurt. Swallowing, she whispers. “Yes … for you … anything.”

She puts his hand down and lays it on his chest. Reaching over him, she takes his other hand and lays it on top of the first.

She can’t do any magic in this room … and Steve wonders what this is about, but he’s too tired to ask. Even these brief interactions wear him out.

Straightening beside him, she wipes her eyes. “For you … ”

Turning, she leaves his line of vision. And then she’s back, with an extra pillow. She clutches it in her arms.

“Now …” she whispers, pulling it from her chest.

Steve just has time to scream Dale’s name before the pillow covers his face.

x x x x

Bohdi wakes up on Beatrice’s couch to the sound of scratching. He lifts his head. Morning light is pouring in from the door to the kitchen. The scratching is coming from that direction, too. He looks over to the easy boy chair beside the couch. Amy is passed out under a knitted throw blanket.

The scratching ceases.

He blinks and rubs his eyes. Maybe there is a raccoon outside or something?

The last thing he remembers is Amy staying up to watch Fenrir. She’d given the little dog a shot of the canine variety of HIV the night before. Fenrir had taken it with barely a whimper. Or no, she had been whimpering, but she didn’t whimper more when she got the shot. Even though only her hindquarters were paralyzed, she hadn’t raised her head, or even perked her ears. He looks to the spot on the floor where the dog bed is.

And blinks again. It’s empty.

“Amy!” he shouts, throwing off the knitted throw. From the kitchen comes a yip.

“Fenrir!” he cries, running to the kitchen, his relief making his body feel impossibly light. His eyes fall on Fenrir. The little dog is sitting by the door, panting, ears perked. For a moment the day seems dazzling and bright and he feels like he’ll burst. But then he notices her hind legs are splayed backwards behind her.

With another yip she pulls herself in Bohdi’s direction, dragging her useless back legs behind her.

Bohdi feels a lump forming in his throat.

Behind him he hears Amy say, “What is it?”

From the direction that leads to the stairs, Beatrice calls, “Amy, Bohdi!”

“It didn’t work,” Bohdi says, as Amy comes to his side and Beatrice enters the kitchen, wearing some purple silk pajamas.

“I’m sorry,” Bohdi says. “I saw her in the kitchen and I thought it worked.”

Beside him, Amy kneels. Fenrir drags her little body right over and begins nosing Amy’s palm.

“Well, at least she looks more chipper,” says Beatrice.

“Grandma,” Amy says, voice slipping into the low professional sexy tone she uses when she’s being medical or sciencey. “Please get me a scarf.”

Beatrice turns and leaves the room. Bohdi hears her rummaging beyond the kitchen somewhere.

“I’m sorry,” says Bohdi again. “I really thought…”

“Mmmm …” Amy says.

Beatrice comes back in and hands Amy a striped knitted scarf. Amy slips it under Fenrir’s belly and says, “Grandma, tell Ruth and Henry we need to see Steve at the hospital right now.”

Beatrice nods quickly. “Yes, dear.”

Bohdi swallows. “I don’t think we should give up just yet … I mean … we should try again.”

Amy’s head snaps to him. Her eyes narrow, and then she looks away. “No, we have to go now,” she says.

From the other room, Beatrice shouts. “Bohdi, get in here.”

“Go,” says Amy. Standing up, she uses the scarf to lift Fenrir’s back end and the two walk to the door.

“Bohdi!” shouts Beatrice.

Not sure what else to do, Bohdi scampers off after Amy’s grandmother. She’s already at the top of the stairs when he enters the next room. Turning, she says, “Come on.”

Bohdi runs up the stairs three at a time. Beatrice leads him down a hallway and into what must be her bedroom. The quilt on the bed that’s rumpled and tossed aside on the bed looks handmade. All the furniture looks antique. Beatrice walks right to a door, opens it and goes into a walk-in closet. “Come in!” says Beatrice.

“Uh,” says Bohdi. But he does go in.

“Shut the door!” says Beatrice.

And now Bohdi feels really weird. “Ummm …” he says.

“I’m not going to bite you,” she says.

Stifling his unease, Bohdi shuts the door. A dim bulb flickers on. Bohdi looks up and notices the closet is lined with Promethean wire. Promethean wire is rare and hard to get. “How did you …?”

“No time!” says Beatrice. Spinning she goes to the back of the closet and pushes some clothes aside.

Bohdi’s jaw falls and he finds himself staring at a wall filled with guns and ammunition atop a neat set of drawers. He sees the normal FBI-issued pieces: M-4 and a Glock. But there is also a 12 gauge shotgun, an older M-16A2, an AK-47, a Beretta, a Nagant M1895 revolver, and somewhat incongruously, a paint gun.

“Don’t tell Amy about this,” says Beatrice.

Bohdi doesn’t answer. Instead he looks a little more carefully at the clothes lining the walls on either side of him. Intermixed with clothes he’s seen Beatrice wear to the office he sees some cami gear—pants, jacket, and bullet proof vest. On the floor are a pair of combat boots.

“Now which guns do you think I should take?” says Beatrice.

Bohdi blinks. “Pardon?”

“I was thinking,” Beatrice says. “AK-47’s typically are more deadly and durable. But the M-4s and M-16s provide better accuracy, and since that damnable armor Asgardians wear is bulletproof, the only shot might be the narrow gap between the visor and chin you sometimes see when they lift their heads.”

Bohdi turns to the old woman. Her bobbed gray hair is a little mussed. She has deep laugh lines around her mouth and eyes, her cheeks sag a bit. He blinks. But in his mind he can imagine what she looked like when she was younger. “I think I love you a little bit, Beatrice.”

Her blue eyes snap to his. “Focus!”

Tapping his chin, Bohdi turns back to the weapons. “Right. Their armor isn’t as resistant to heat, it’s too bad you don’t have a flame thrower.”

“Oh, I do!” says Beatrice, brightly. She kneels down and opens one of the drawers.

Bohdi’s eyes go wide as she pulls out a long piece of gleaming black metal. It’s shaped a little like a pistol, but with a longer barrel … altogether it is a little over a foot in length.

Standing and holding the weapon aloft, Beatrice says, “I realize that the DM34 is only a single shot deal, but it’s so much lighter and doesn’t have the cumbersome backpack of the M9.”

“Yeah,” says Bohdi. “Longer range, too.” And it gets up to about 2,700 degrees Fahrenheit. The Handflammpatrone DM34 is German made and was in use until about 2001. It isn’t a weapon Marines learn about as part of standard training—or even during the foreign weapons class he’d taken. But one of his instructors was an enthusiast and had given a demonstration. He finds himself starting to salivate just looking at it. Licking his lips he says, “Did I say I think I loved you? Because Beatrice, if you are single—”

“If I what?” she snaps, giving him a funny look.

Bohdi blinks. He was going to say he’d totally be her boyfriend—and he would have only been half joking. But he doesn’t like her tone or the funny look. So instead he gives her a cocky grin, and says something he knows will make her mad. “I’d date you, but it would break Amy’s heart.”

Beatrice narrows her eyes at him. “You wish. Now get out of my closet.”

Bohdi’s shoulders slump. “What about a gun for me?” It comes out a whine.

Beatrice purses her lips. “Take the paintball gun.” Bohdi looks at the toy weapon. “Actually, this might be useful—if I hit their visors, I could get a clean shot at their faces.” Taking the paintball gun off the wall, he clears his throat. “If I had a real gun to shoot with, too.”

Taking him by the shoulders, Beatrice turns him around and pushes him out the door. “I’ll cover you. Now get out of my closet; I need to change.”

x x x x

Bohdi sits in the backseat of Amy’s Subaru. On his left is a suitcase Amy told him not to let slip off the seat. Fenrir is in her little duffel bag carrier on his lap. Mr. Squeakers is on his head, his eight little bug legs digging into Bohdi’s scalp. The paint gun is on his right.

Beatrice is sitting shotgun—she said it was because she has the shotgun. Or flamethrower. And Beretta. Not that Amy knows that; Beatrice had pointedly whispered it to Bohdi when Amy wasn’t around. The canny old woman has the flamethrower—and whatever else she is packing—in a rectangular canvas bag on her lap that to Bohdi screams Weapons! But when Amy asked about it, Beatrice replied, “Board games. We might be there for a while, don’t want to have nothing to do.”

Amy was either too naive or too distracted to notice. Even now she’s leaning forward in the driver’s seat, looking up at the sky.

Pain shoots from the top of his head.

“Squeakers! What are you doing?” Bohdi says, eyes going heavenward, as though he could see the mouse.

Sitting back in her seat, Amy says, “He’s nesting.”

Wincing, Bohdi reaches up and tries to extract the mouse from his hair. The critter won’t let go. Bohdi grumbles, “I still don’t know why we have to let Steve know about this setback. It will only depress him more.” He tugs again at Squeakers, and cringes as the mouse tugs on his hair.

“Because I promised Steve an update,” Amy says too loudly, as though she’s announcing it to the world. Bohdi sniffles. “You were there, you heard me,” she adds. Releasing Squeakers, Bohdi pinches his nose to keep from sneezing.

He knows she knows she didn’t say that. There is a little peek-through flap on the top of the carrier. Opening it he looks in. Meeting his gaze, Fenrir gives him a pant that looks like a smile and a woof that sounds distinctly chipper, but her legs are still splayed out uselessly behind her.

Bohdi closes the flap. It’s not working. Why is Amy so nervous? Odin’s probably chuckling on his throne right now—if he’s even bothering to have his spies look in this direction.

A light turns yellow ahead of them. Amy guns the engine, and Bohdi’s head is thrown back. Mr. Squeakers gives a cheep, and pain shoots through his scalp.

Amy doesn’t slow down past the intersection. She speeds ahead. Turning with a screech at the next corner, she guns the engine again and pulls up so sharply next to the hospital entrance drop-off that the suitcase nearly falls off the seat. Bohdi throws up a leg to catch it. Next to him, the paint gun falls to the floor.

Beatrice peers around the front seat and sniffs. “That’s why you get a toy gun.”

Bohdi sticks out his tongue at her.

Amy hops out of the driver’s seat and says, “You brought a toy gun?”

Bohdi opens his mouth to speak, but Amy’s eyes have left his. Instead she is staring at her grandmother. Beatrice has her old-fashioned, pink flower umbrella in one hand, and the flamethrower in the other.

“You brought a toy, too, Grandma?” Amy says, eyes wide.

Beatrice slips the small flamethrower into her closed umbrella and adjusts the tie to allow for the extra width of the handle. “Yes, dear,” says Beatrice, and Bohdi’s eyes cross as he stifles the almost sneeze.

Opening the door to Bohdi’s left, Amy leans over the suitcase and grabs Fenrir. “Would you get the suitcase, Bohdi?” she asks.

“Yeah, but —”

At that moment Squeakers releases his death grip on Bohdi’s hair and jumps to the top of Fenrir’s carrier, leaving a long trail of sticky web that drifts through the air and catches on Bohdi’s nose and mouth. Spitting out the cobweb, Bohdi watches as Mr. Squeakers gives a cheep and slips into one of Amy’s pockets.

“What’s in the suitcase?” he finishes, but Amy’s turned away and is giving the keys to her car to two agents standing outside the door. He hears her say, “I’m so sorry, but could you please park the car? It’s urgent we get to Director Rogers right away.”

Bohdi blinks. He has no urge to sneeze. Bohdi slings the paintball gun over his shoulder. Grabbing the suitcase, he takes off after Amy and Beatrice and heads into the hospital.

Northwestern Memorial Hospital’s lobby would look like a mall, if there weren’t all the sick people about. The lobby is a huge atrium with a reception desk and tasteful lighting that almost looks like they’re outside. Above them on three sides are three stories worth of walkways with rows of shops and restaurants. A low buzz of conversation hums around them. Beyond the reception is a massive, gleaming, escalator, and a sign that says, “Thank you for your patience during our recent remodeling. Try our new wheelchair-walker friendly escalator.” Bohdi blinks. Isn’t that essentially what a elevator is?

A few security guards come running forward. Amy and Beatrice already have their FBI badges out. “FBI,” says Amy.

“Yes, but …” says the guard.

“Obstructing us would get you jail time,” says Amy.

“What about him?” says one guard, pointing at Bohdi.

“FBI, too,” says Beatrice.

The guard looks at a point above Bohdi’s forehead. “Is that a spider web in your hair?”

The other guard reaches for the radio at his hip. “The FBI does not carry paintball guns. I’m calling this in.”

“Call away,” Amy mutters, walking around the guard, skipping the escalator and going toward the elevator banks beyond.

The guards step after her. “Hey, wait!”

Leveling the tip of her umbrella at them, Beatrice says, “Hold it right there, boys.”

Bohdi’s jaw drops. For a heart-stopping moment he thinks Beatrice might activate the flamethrower. He looks at all the civilians milling about.

She doesn’t, of course. But the guards do stop and lower their hands, very slowly. It’s like watching a film in slow motion. Bohdi’s struck by a sense of deja vu.

“Bohdi!” snaps Beatrice. “Get over here.”

He lifts his eyes. Beatrice and Amy are already close to the elevator banks. A number of the people in the lobby are making a beeline in their direction.

Readjusting the paintball gun, Bohdi takes off in a run. The elevator dings, Amy walks in, and Beatrice backs in. Dodging groups of people, Bohdi slips in after the two women.

Someone behind him says, “Madam, we’d like a word with you.”

Pointing her umbrella at the someone beyond the door, Beatrice says, “Stop right there, fella,” and hits the elevator close button.

The man stops, his mouth drooping slowly open, as though he’s suspended in Jello ... Afraid of offending a little old lady? Not that Beatrice looks particularly little old ladyish in her olive green cargo pants, black turtleneck and black vest he’s pretty sure is loaded with ammo.

Amy doesn’t seem to notice the crowd. Rocking on her heels, she’s clutching Fenrir’s carrier to her chest and staring at the lights above the elevator door as they ascend to the ICU unit.

As soon as the door opens, Amy practically runs out. Beatrice falls in step beside her, leaving Bohdi to bring up the rear.

The doctor who had approached Amy the day before is there talking to the nurses. As soon as he sees Amy, his eyes drop to the carrier. “Hey!” he says.

But Beatrice points her umbrella at him and says, “Stop it!” He stares at them, as though confused, and Amy, Beatrice, and Bohdi walk down the hallway.

There are four guards outside Steve’s door again: Two stone-faced guys, whose names Bohdi doesn’t know, and Brett and Bryant.

As they approach Brett and Bryant, Brett lifts his magic detector. Turning her back to him, Amy says, “Don’t point that thing at Fenrir. It might upset her!”

Brett blinks. “Ummm … okay?”

“I think you maybe walked through a cobweb, Bohdi,” says Bryant.

“Why are you carrying a paintball gun?” says Brett.

Steve’s door opens, and Ruth steps out.

“What’s going on?” yells Henry outside Bohdi’s line of vision.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” says Amy.

“There’s a bathroom right here,” says Ruth, making way for Amy to get into Steve’s room.

Amy hands Fenrir over to Bryant. “Watch her, don’t put her inside a room with Promethean wire, or wave a magic detector at her!”

Fenrir growls in Bryant’s direction.

“Um, sure?” he says.

Amy bolts through the door, and then to the left. Bohdi hears the sound of her throwing up. “Come in,” says Ruth to Beatrice and Bohdi.

They step into the room, Beatrice heading right to the bathroom. Bohdi sets down the suitcase and goes in after them. He finds Amy sitting on the floor next to the toilet. Beatrice is sitting on her heels beside her, rubbing her back.

“Amy,” Bohdi says. “Are you alright?” Which is probably one of the lamest things he’s ever asked a person who just threw up.

Amy rubs her temples. “Sorry, bringing about the apocalypse just makes me nervous.”

“I’ll get you some water,” Beatrice says, standing up and going to the sink.

Feeling like he’s missing something, Bohdi’s rubs the back of his neck. “But it didn’t work.”

Amy stares up at him, her eyes strangely vacant, until Beatrice gives her a cup of water. Amy takes a sip, and then pushes herself to her feet. “Come on,” she says.

They walk into Steve’s hospital room proper. Nothing has changed, except for the window ledge. It’s lined with books. Ruth and Henry must have ported over some of Steve’s library. Not that Steve can read it himself …he can’t even lift his hands.

Bohdi swallows. His eyes fall on Henry. Henry’s got his reading glasses on, and a book Bohdi recognizes from Steve’s collection, Peter the Great, his Life and World.

“Bohdi,” Steve whispers from the bed. And it’s only then that Bohdi looks toward his friend. It strikes him that he’s been afraid to look. Steve’s body is in the same position as before, but there is more equipment around him, more gadgets and gizmos on little trolleys.

“Did something happen?” Bohdi whispers.

Wringing her hands, Ruth says, “There was an incident earlier.”

Henry makes a noise in the back of his throat that sounds distinctly like a growl.

“Never mind…” says Steve. “Did you … ”

Bohdi walks over to Steve’s side and drops his head. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “It didn’t work.”

Amy makes a noise that sounds like the cross between a laugh and sob.

“Of course, it’s working,” says Beatrice. Something softens in her brow. “But I guess you’re too young to have seen enough neural injuries and recognize that.”

Bohdi turns his head. Amy has her hands in front of her mouth. Her eyes are closed. “You didn’t notice … neither did Asgard … if they were looking this way.”

Bohdi takes a step toward Amy. “But Fenrir’s still paralyzed?”

“Fenrir’s not in pain,” Amy says. Dropping her hands she says, “Pain in the affected regions is one of the complications of paralysis. It’s not a symptom Fenrir has anymore.” She’s not smiling.

“What does that mean?” says Ruth.

“Less pain, so I can think?” Steve rasps.

Bohdi turns to his boss. Steve’s eyes are half closed. He remembers his words from yesterday, I hurt.

Amy walks toward Steve. “Yes, but more than that, it means she’s getting better. It’s only been a few hours. I think with continued treatment, she’ll continue to improve.”

“I want it,” Steve says.

Amy takes a deep breath and licks her lips. “We ran into Freyja. She said the only reason they’ve allowed you to live is because this way you make a better example.”

Steve’s mouth opens a fraction. Bohdi can see his cheek bulge a little as he runs his tongue over his teeth; he’s really pissed. A monitor beeps more rapidly, a machine whirs. “Will they target my family?” he whispers.

Henry stands. “We’re already a target, you know that.”

Ruth steps forward. “And you will always be a threat to them. You’d find some way to fight them—even like this.”

Steve smiles grimly and closes his eyes. “Make me better, Lewis, so I at least have a chance when they come.”

Amy takes a shaky breath. “We’ll need a secure room—one without Promethean wire. If I’m going to turn you into a magical creature, the magic has to be able to work.”

“I’ll get on that,” Henry says, and Bohdi catches him giving Ruth a sideways glance. She’s wringing her hands, but she gives him a tiny nod in return. “Let’s go talk to Brett and Bryant,” she says. As the two move out of the room, Steve whispers, “When can we start?”

“Now,” says Amy. She turns to Bohdi, “Would you get the suitcase?”

x x x x

Amy tightens the tourniquet on Steve’s arm. Her heart is loud in her ears. Picking up the syringe she’s prepared, she bites her lip. Needle pointing skyward she hesitates. What she is about to do is illegal, violates all the laws of medical ethics, and makes her a monster.

She swallows and looks for an excuse to stop. “So, this strain of virus was developed to kill stem cells that have become cancerous. We’ll be activating stem cells—”

“What are you trying to tell me, Lewis?” Steve whispers. His eyelids are at half mast, his pupils focused on a point beyond the end of the bed.

“It could cause a brain tumor.”

Steve chuckles. “I don’t care,” he says. “I don’t care.”

Amy bites her lip and looks down. Soon his muscles will start to atrophy from lack of use, but for now his veins are bulging at the inside of his arm. It’s the easiest injection she’s given in her life. But she does not lower the needle.

“Lewis.”

Amy lifts her gaze.

Steve’s eyes are slightly more open and focused on her. “This isn’t on you. I accept all of the consequences.”

Amy takes a deep breath. He doesn’t know the real consequences. She hasn’t told him. And maybe she should ... But he’d tell his superiors, and then there’d be no reason to do this.

“So, is this form of HIV contagious?” Bohdi asks.

She nearly drops the needle. He had to ask the real question, didn’t he?

She remembers his comments from earlier, about how they could be giving the U.S. government a monopoly on super soldiers. That would be as bad as being ruled by Odin … or just one way for Odin to control Earth; they know the Allfather already has friends in the government.

Amy stares blankly at Steve’s arm. In another universe Odin sent nuclear warheads to Beijing. In this universe he’s growing immortality-bestowing apples to use as bribes on human leaders. Still not lowering the needle she says, “The virus that the doctors have been experimenting with was modified to be non-contagious.”

It’s the truth. And a lie.

The virus in the blue test tubes in James’ lab was modified to not be contagious. But Amy used the virus in the red test tube. It isn’t just contagious, it is virulent. It was designed to be a contagious vehicle for a cure in the event of an epidemic. It hasn’t been tested on humans. Yet.

Her eyes flick to the suitcase. She has twenty-one more doses in there. She absently touches her pocket. She has three more doses hidden in her pocket … right next to Loki’s book. She’d brought the book from her house, not sure if she was ever going back.

“Do it, Lewis,” Steve says, his voice almost a sigh.

Amy’s eyes flick back to him. She nods. But instead of moving, she closes her eyes. This is the greatest weapon since the atom bomb. The U.S. government will view it as their property. If she is found out—when she’s found out—will she get the death penalty, like the Rosenbergs?

“Amy?” says Bohdi, his voice very close.

She blinks. She finds Bohdi staring down at her, one hand raised, as though he was about to put his hand on her shoulder. His eyes are wide and worried. Beatrice is next to him, her expression nearly identical. They’ll be safer if they don’t know.

Amy’s stomach flutters. Bohdi helped her steal government property; but Amy is the one turning countless people unwittingly into test subjects and giving away top secret government tech at the same time. She may be executed—but she’s an American citizen and she’ll have a trial—her death will be relatively painless. Bohdi has no country, no one to speak for him. He could be sent to Guantanamo, or receive extraordinary rendition to some place worse. Even more than Beatrice, she can never let him know the truth. She gives them both a tight smile and turns her eyes back to Steve’s vein. If you betray the people close to you, and your ethics to save the human race, does it all balance out in the end?

She bites her lip. Is she saving the human race, or condemning it? Who knows what side effects it will have … Will she turn humans into near gods—or unleash a plague?

She doesn’t know. But in another universe Odin wiped out all of Beijing—and killed Steve. In this universe Odin is preparing to take over.

She slips the needle into Steve’s vein.

x x x x

Bohdi stands in the doorway of Steve’s former hospital room, Fenrir’s carrier in his arms. He watches as down the hallway nurses and doctors wheel Steve into another room. The staff weren’t happy about the move; they’d shooed Amy, Beatrice, and Bohdi away—and warned them that Steve needed rest.

In Steve’s old room, Amy says, “Guys, keep this suitcase. Maybe at headquarters, maybe someplace safer.”

He looks back into the Promethean wire room. Amy is talking to Brett and Bryant.

Standing beside her, Beatrice puts a hand on Amy’s back. “There’s few people that Steve trusts more than these two, dear. It will be safe.”

“We’ll get right on it,” Bryant says and Brett picks up the suitcase. As the agents leave the room, Bohdi holds the door for them. He watches as they make their way down the hall, turn at the reception desk, and head toward the elevators. More agents enter the intensive care unit as they pass.

Closing the door gently, Bohdi enters the room. Amy says short stints inside the Promethean wire room won’t hurt Fenrir, it will just delay her recovery a little bit. Amy doesn’t even glance at him; instead she turns toward the window. Bohdi follows her gaze. Through the Promethean wire he can see blue skies and sunshine. He glances at her profile. She looks pale, even for her.

“Grandma,” Amy says, “I want to take a walk …” She looks down, her shoulders slumped. “When they find out what I’ve done … ” Her voice drifts off.

“What?” says Bohdi.

Beatrice puts her hand on Amy’s arm, and Amy jumps.

Bohdi blinks. Fenrir gives a little whine.

“Is something bothering you, Amy?” Beatrice says. “You’ve been nervous all day …” The older woman gives a wry smile. “I’d think it was the imminent wrath of the Allfather, but frankly, dear, that’s old hat for you.”

Amy swallows and won’t meet Beatrice’s eyes. Instead she says, “Come on, we’re near the lake. Let’s go outside.”

“Okay, dear,” says Beatrice.

Finally lifting her eyes to Bohdi, Amy holds out her arms. “Can I carry Fenrir?” Bohdi hands the carrier to her, and she pulls it tight against her stomach, as though she’s clutching a teddy bear.

Bohdi nervously adjusts the paintball gun on his back. Fresh air suddenly sounds like a good idea. “I’ll come, too,” Bohdi says.

As they leave, Bohdi peers back over his shoulder at Steve’s new room down the hall. The door is surrounded by doctors, nurses, and more agents than he’s seen at the hospital since he arrived.

Beside him, Amy gasps.

Bohdi’s eyes snap forward. Amy’s gaze is trained on the reception. A woman he’s never seen before is there. She has a very modern blonde bob and a deep tan. She’s wearing a leather jacket and jeans over worn boots. She’s almost as curvy as Amy, but much more polished, and undeniably hot. Leaning toward a nurse behind the desk, the woman says, “I’m a friend of Steve’s.”

Bohdi barely contains a sneeze at the lie.

As the nurse shakes her head, Amy’s feet start picking up speed, and Beatrice whispers, “What is it?”

“Can’t I at least inquire about his condition?” the woman asks.

The nurse says something Bohdi can’t hear, and then the woman says, “Well, could you please tell him Cindy stopped by?”

Bohdi almost sneezes again. His skin heats, as he puts the lies together in his mind. Not a friend, so an enemy. Not Cindy.

“She can’t be on Odin’s side, can she?” Amy whispers.

The blonde woman raises her head.

“I’ll find out,” Bohdi says, breaking into a run, the paintball gun bouncing on his back.

The blonde eyes meet his, and then she spins and takes off. Bohdi’s fast, certainly faster than most girls, but he doesn’t catch her before she bangs through the double doors, past the elevator banks, and then bangs through the doors to the stairs.

“Wait!” Amy shouts, probably trying to warn him about what he’s already figured out; the woman he’s chasing is not human, and most likely is dangerous. But she’s after Steve. He slams through the doors to the stairs. He can hear the strange woman’s footsteps echoing from the stairwell below. He peers down the stairs and sees her running. He follows, jumping and running down the steps.

Her footsteps get louder. He’s gaining on her. His hopes rise, and it gives him more speed. He practically flies down the flights, not noticing what floor he’s on. And then the sound of her footsteps stop.

Bohdi keeps going, his heartbeat, breathing, and the sound of his shoes on the concrete and steel steps suddenly loud.

From above, he hears Amy shout, “Bohdi, wait!”

Bohdi doesn’t answer. Or wait. He reaches the next landing, and almost passes it, when he feels an itch building under his nose. He stops.

“Bohdi!” says Beatrice.

He slings the paintball gun around, and turns slowly, aiming at the empty air. He purposely doesn’t stop when he feels the strongest urge to sniffle. Instead he keeps turning, stops, and then quickly pivots back to where the tickle in his nose is the strongest. He fires as rapidly as the gun will allow, spreading the shots up and down, and side to side. He hears a curse. Splatters of pink paint hit the wall outlining a human shape. Bohdi runs forward ... and can’t hold back anymore. He sneezes with such force he almost falls over, colliding with the woman and spattering her with snot.

He hears a feminine, “Ugh.” And then he’s pushed backwards.

Her footsteps echo in the stairwell, the door swings open. It closes as Bohdi recovers and rushes toward it. He sees a pink handprint on the door handle. Following his invisible quarry through the door, he finds himself on one of the mezzanines that circle the lobby. It’s lined with shops. Visitors and hospital patients walk along the aisle. He looks down and sees pink footprints. Up ahead, right where the mezzanine turns left, a man says, “What the—” and lurches sideways.

Bohdi sprints in his direction, paintball gun in his hands. Someone screams from below him. He looks over the railing that separates the mezzanine from the floor below. The escalators run parallel with the mezzanine aisle he now stands on. On the down escalator he sees a ripple of movement as people are pushed aside by an invisible force. He looks ahead and sees a crowd of people in front of him and at the elevator landing. Cursing, he backs up against the wall, slings the paintball gun behind his back, runs, launches himself over the railing and through the air.

… and realizes this is one of the stupidest things he’s ever done.

He doesn’t think he’ll make it … and doesn’t quite … his feet connect with the escalator railing, his legs move up and he just barely manages to drop forward instead of toppling backward. His side and cheek connect with hard metal steps as he rolls and finds himself going up instead of down. Cursing again, he stands and swings himself over the edge of the railings that separate the up and down escalators. He charges downward, shouting, “FBI!”

Amy’s voice comes from somewhere, “Bohdi!”

He reaches the lobby, sees pink footprints and follows them and the growing itch in his nose. He stops abruptly at a pair of pink spattered boots on the floor. She’s on to how he’s been following her and must have slipped them off … but she hasn’t figured out he has one more trick up his sleeve—or rather, his nose. Turning in place he sniffs. When he feels like he’ll sneeze he launches himself toward nothing—collides with something—and immediately sneezes.

As he tackles whoever it is to the floor, he hears her say, “Ugh! Yuck!” And he promptly sneezes again.

Whoever she is flickers into visibility, wiping her face with the back of her hand and grimacing at him. He opens his mouth, about to demand her name, when he hears a gun click very close to the back of his head. He freezes.

“Get off my mother,” says a voice in a smooth East coast accent.

“He’s human,” the woman beneath Bohdi says. “Don’t hurt him.”

“I won’t if he gets off of you,” says the man’s voice.

From somewhere in the lobby comes Amy’s voice. “Sigyn.”

CHAPTER 6

“Bohdi, you can get off of her,” Amy says.

Bohdi stares down at the woman beneath him. He blinks, remembering his mythology. Sigyn, Loki’s wife …who Odin said was on the receiving end of a crossbow bolt, and had been burnt to a crisp because of her association with Loki. Sigyn, who isn’t Steve’s friend. He frowns, his skin heats, and he doesn’t care about her suffering or the gun behind his head. “Are you working with Odin?” he says.

Sigyn’s eyes narrow, her nose wrinkles, and her mouth opens in a look of unmitigated disgust. “No!” she shouts, and Bohdi wouldn’t have to magically sense lies to believe her.

Scrambling to his feet, he says, “Then why did you run?”

“To avoid an unfortunate confrontation!” she snaps. Standing up, she looks down at her paint spattered body and huffs.

“Too late for that,” says another man’s voice.

“Valli, put the gun away!” Sigyn whispers.

Bohdi turns. Standing in a loose semi-circle around him and Sigyn is Amy, Fenrir in her carrier in her arms; Beatrice, umbrella swinging on her wrist; and two men who look a lot like ...

“Loki!” Bohdi says, eyes on the man closest to him.

The man gives a wolfish smile. “That’s the second time in two days someone has called me that!” He gives Bohdi a shallow bow. “I am Valli Lokison, and I’m honored to be mistaken for my father.”

As Valli straightens, Bohdi gets a closer look at him. The resemblance to Loki is uncanny. There is the same sharpness of nose, the hint of ginger in his hair, and the same gray eyes that Bohdi remembers from the Loki he saw in Nornheim. But where Loki was built like Bohdi, a little too lean, a little too narrow in the chin, this guy, in Bohdi’s mostly straight guy opinion, is a lot better looking. He has a heftier jaw, he’s not as pale, his shoulders are broader, and he looks a lot more built. He wouldn’t look out of place in a men’s fashion magazine.

Bohdi decides he doesn’t like him. Also, the guy makes his nose itch.

The other guy clears his throat, and Bohdi’s eyes snap to him. He looks almost exactly like Valli, although perhaps with a little less ginger in his hair. Bohdi doesn’t think he likes him either. And he also makes his nose itch.

“Valli, Mother, I think we need to disappear,” the guy says.

Bohdi glances beyond them. A crowd is milling closer, and a couple of black suited agents are approaching.

With a huff, Amy pulls out her badge. Waving it, she says, “Just a misunderstanding; these people are with us.”

The agents nod and turn away.

“How do you know who I am?” asks Sigyn, as Amy turns back around.

“We can talk about it some other time.” Amy turns to her grandmother. “I want to go for a walk. Before they find out.” There’s something hysterical in her voice that makes Bohdi step toward her in alarm … to do what, he’s not sure. Amy doesn’t do hysterical, not when she’s being attacked by flying zombies, acid-spitting Archeopteryx, dragons, or the Allfather himself.

From behind him Sigyn, says, “If it’s the Allfather you fear, he may already know.”

Amy looks down at Fenrir’s carrier. “No, it’s not …” Closing her eyes she says, “You should stay here and protect Steve.”

“The Dark Elves surrounding us will do that,” says Valli in a cheerful voice.

Bohdi, Amy, and Beatrice look around. “I don’t see any pointy ears,” Bohdi says.

“They cut them off,” says Valli.

Bohdi squints … he does see a lot of people who are just a little shorter, thinner, and finely proportioned than the typical American.

“We were only allowed entrance because they know us,” says Loki’s other son.

“Let us come with you for your walk,” Sigyn says.

Fenrir must be moving because her carrier jiggles a bit. Amy looks down at it.

“Maybe it’s a good idea if they come with us, dear,” Beatrice says.

For a long moment, Amy says nothing. Bohdi takes another step toward her. Taking a deep breath, she says, “Okay, but I need a drink of water first.” She thrusts Fenrir’s carrier into Beatrice’s arms and spins on her heels.

Beatrice’s eyes get wide. She looks to Bohdi. “She won’t tell me what’s wrong.” Her eyebrows lift slightly.

Bohdi runs his hands through his hair. Is he supposed to say something?

Beatrice leans a little closer. “Believe me, I don’t want to ask …” She sighs. “But Bohdi, maybe you could try and talk to her?”

Taking a step back, Bohdi swallows. Beatrice clasps her hands together, opens her eyes wide, and bats her eyelashes, the spitting image of a sweet, hopeful granny ... if it weren’t for the cami pants and the black vest loaded with ammo. Clearing his throat, he says, “Uh … sure?” Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he follows Amy.

Behind him he hears Beatrice say, “So how do you know Steve?” But a step later he’s out of earshot and doesn’t hear the answer.

He sees Amy up ahead, bending over the water fountain. He pulls out his lighter and flicks the wheel nervously. He’s suddenly craving a cigarette.

Amy lifts her head and backs away from the fountain, and then doesn’t move. It strikes him that her normally neat pony tail is off center and looks like she’s been twisting it between her fingers.

“Amy,” Bohdi says softly.

Jumping in place, she spins to face him too quickly. And then her shoulders fall. “Sorry for getting weird,” she says, dropping her head.

Bohdi takes a step closer. “It’s okay.” He swallows and flicks the wheel on his lighter. “Are you alright?”

She doesn’t answer or look up.

He rubs the back of his neck with his free hand. Okay, that was a stupid question. “I mean, I know it must be weird seeing your boyfriend’s wife here and…” Bohdi stops, and stifles an internal wince. “But it happens, and I’m sure you didn’t know about her and—”

Not looking at him, Amy says, “He wasn’t my boyfriend, and she was his ex-wife when we were together.” She sighs. “But I was still the other woman.”

Bohdi shifts on his feet. There’s nothing like talking to your girlfriend, even your pretend girlfriend, about her other pretend boyfriend.

She shrugs. “Loki still loved her when we were together.”

He finds himself fighting the urge to flee ... or to argue. She’s always insisted Loki didn’t love her, but he’s sure that she must be wrong.

She bites her lip and shrugs. “Not that he shouldn’t have. Sigyn is really kind of awesome. She took care of him for two hundred years while he was imprisoned. Not in a submissive, subservient kind of way—but because she knew the charges against Loki were a sham, and because not abandoning Loki was the right thing to do.”

She sighs and rubs her eyes. “And that wasn’t the only time Sigyn saved him … ”

x x x x

Pain is its own realm. Loki lies on his stomach on a cot in the hut of the Dark Elves. His son Nari is sitting on the reeded floor, leaning against the far wall. The old elf, Saugamon, Saraman, or whatever, is somewhere. They are both apparitions. Pain is the only companion that is real.

He destroyed Andranavuat, but in what he’s sure was a final bit of spite from the ring, he fell into the volcano along with the damnable thing. Valli, idiot that he is, leaped over the volcano’s edge onto some solid boulders and managed to pull Loki from the lava’s scalding surface. Loki’s back and legs are so badly burned his skin melted. The old elf sorcerer said he has no experience with burns this bad; anyone so badly injured simply dies.

Loki can’t heal another person to save his life—or theirs—still, during his 200 years of imprisonment he became fairly adept at healing his own wounds. But this goes beyond his skill. The old elf says Loki’s magic is what’s keeping him alive despite the odds. He’s afraid to move Loki until his condition is more stable, afraid the waters of the swamp will warp Loki’s magic. If it would guarantee death, Loki’s not sure if he would mind.

He thinks of the time he spent between torture sessions in Jotunheim. To think he’d look back at that time with nostalgia. He laughs. It comes out a strangled sob. It makes the charred flesh on his back tighten, and then he curses.

A woman comes into the hut, a wet sheet in her hands, and Nari scrambles to his feet. With the old elven sorcerer, he lifts the shroud already on Loki’s back. Loki squeezes his eyes shut and grits his teeth. The slight brush of dry fabric burns like fire. If only it were a shroud, a proper funeral shroud, he wouldn’t hurt anymore. He wishes he was better at dying.

They move the fabric away, and there is nothing but air on Loki’s back, but even that hurts.

“Hold on, father, hold on,” Nari says. He and the old elf drape the new wet sheet over Loki’s body, and Loki sighs. For a moment, there is clarity and deliverance. Nari comes over and kneels beside his head. “You’re getting better, father. You will recover.” He sounds relieved. And Loki doesn’t really want to die, because it would mean leaving his son behind who wants him to live.

“I wish my magic was more medicinal,” Nari says.

Loki tries to smile. “You’re … fine. This is … a bit much … ”

Nari’s magic tends to be in his charm—but life with Loki and Valli had made him competent at putting out fires and fixing minor burns. Burns this bad … Hoenir could help … he could probably create a door from his hut to this very place, but only if he knew Loki was here. The only other person who could heal burns this bad …

Loki closes his eyes and tries to breathe evenly. The cool cloth on his back is warming with his own body heat, the brief relief it granted disappearing.

The pain starts to eat away at Loki’s consciousness. There is the blackness of his eyelids. A brief time that might be sleep, but pain wakes him too quickly. He feels like every nerve responsible for agony is abuzz. He can’t think of anything beyond hurting ...

And then he hears Sigyn’s voice. “You will take me to my husband now!”

Loki almost raises his head before he remembers what that will cost him. It is possible he is hallucinating. Or finally dying.

He hears shouts, the shuffling of feet beyond the hut, and then there is a shadow at the edge of his vision. He blinks, and Sigyn is kneeling at the head of the cot. She wears the armor of a Valkyrie, including the winged vest. Her golden hair is spilling over her shoulders. She looks like a human painting of an angel, but her skin is more golden than the European ideal.

“What’s happened to you?” she whispers.

Loki manages to lift an eyebrow. “Did you know, when you land in lava, you float for a while?”

Sigyn gasps. Her hands move out of his line of vision, and then he feels her lift the sheet on his back, not quite managing to stifle a pathetic whimper.

He hears a sharp intake of breath from her. “Oh, Loki … ” He hears her swallow, and then she says, “You’re lucky I brought Thor.”

“But he’s fighting the Fire Giants,” Loki says. “How did you tear him from the front … ?” He must be dreaming. Thor would never do such a thing.

“The Black Dwarves joined us, and the Fire Giants were defeated. I pulled Thor from the victory celebrations,” she says, and Loki can hear the bitterness in her voice.

Pull Thor from a victory celebration? With food, and drink, and countless tales of his valor being repeated ad nauseum? That is unlikely as him leaving the front. Loki is hallucinating.

“How?” Loki whispers.

“I reminded him that our sons were still missing and he made an oath long ago to watch over them as his own.” He can hear the tenseness in her jaw as she speaks.

Loki closes his eyes. He feels a warmth that is not pain growing in his chest. “How did I ever get you on my side?” He tries to reach for her, but stops with a hiss of pain.

Sigyn huffs softly. All anger gone from her voice, she says, “Loki, I have to lay this sheet down again. I’m afraid it will hurt.”

“Just get Thor,” Loki says. Thor has had ample opportunity to learn how to heal burns—he inflicted many on himself and others when he was first learning to use his hammer.

She lays the sheet down gently, and it feels like Loki’s bare back is being dragged over gravel. His eyes shoot open. Biting his lip, he manages to muffle the scream.

He hears her footsteps retreat. And then her shouting beyond the hut, “Thor can heal his burns! You will let him enter your village!”

He closes his eyes. He knows she will be successful. Sigyn’s magic is subtle. She does not have one great strength, but many small ones. Her name means victory; and in the end, she always wins.

x x x x

Scuffing a foot on the carpeting, Amy sighs. “She’s … very strong, and he loved her … and yes, seeing her is … weird … and a little awkward.”

Bohdi blinks. She isn’t lying, but ...

“You’ve been jumpy since before Sigyn arrived.”

Wrapping her arms around herself, Amy looks away.

Tilting his head, Bohdi asks, softly, “What’s really wrong?”

Amy lets out a long breath.

“Are you afraid the cure won’t work?” Bohdi whispers.

She closes her eyes. A bitter sounding laugh comes from her lips. “No.”

“Then what?” Bohdi asks.

She scuffs her shoe on the carpeting again. And then, meeting his eyes again, she says, “You’re still not a citizen yet.”

“No—”

“And they don’t know where you’re from,” she says, her jaw getting tight.

Bohdi scowls. He’d gone to Nornheim in part to answer that question—and failed. “Don’t rub it in,” he says.

Amy straightens her shoulders and lifts her chin. Looking away, she says, “It’s better if you don’t know.”

Bohdi senses no lie. Walking past him, she says, “Come on. Let’s go.”

Bohdi has to skip to catch up. In his hand his lighter flares.

CHAPTER 7

Bohdi must have an internal masochistic streak. He wants a smoke so bad, but as they walk down the street, he doesn’t take out his cigarettes.

The April day is brisk and windy. Bohdi, Amy, Beatrice, Sigyn and her two boys turn east into the pedestrian tunnel beneath Lake Shore Drive. The tunnel is about as wide as a two-lane highway. The walls and ceiling are stained with runoff from Lake Shore Drive, the corners are littered with trash, including cigarette butts. Bohdi tries not to look at them longingly.

In front of him walk Amy, Beatrice and Sigyn. Valli, and the other son Bohdi’s learned is Nari, are to his left and right. At the other end of the tunnel are several flights of steps leading up a gentle incline. Atop the incline is a small wooded park, and eventually beyond that, Lake Michigan.

A wickedly frigid wind whips through the causeway. Bohdi ducks his chin into his coat and digs his hands deeper into his pockets. The wind is so loud it’s nearly deafening, and in the absence of conversation Bohdi finds his mind wandering.

He glances to Sigyn. He doesn’t feel any connection to her, just the normal heady feeling that comes with being around an attractive woman. His eyes start to drift down her body—the jeans she has on look like they were made for her to wear—they hug her ass just right and … Catching himself he lifts his eyes. He finds Valli and Nari glaring at him.

Bohdi gives them a wan smile and looks far, far away. They emerge from the tunnel and climb the incline. He sees a road, and the base of a single solitary skyscraper to the south rising through the trees. The park they are in is set on the north side of a two pronged peninsula that juts out into the lake. If they keep walking east, they’ll come to the water filtration plant. Turn south, and they’ll be on the prong that heads over to Navy Pier—a naval station turned amusement center. To their north he can just make out the line of sand marking the beach, completely empty in the chilly weather.

His eyes flick to Nari and Valli—they appear unaffected by the cold. Bastards. Bohdi feels a weird responsibility to Sleipnir, his eight-legged equestrian sort-of-kid from another life, but he feels nothing for Valli or his brother. Still, the presence of Loki’s family is beginning to make him feel hopeful. Their association with Loki didn’t get them killed. His feet feel a little lighter, and despite the cold, he feels a warmth that might be relief.

His eyes go to Amy. The wind is whipping her ponytail, and the cold has flushed her cheeks pink. She saved Steve, but Bohdi helped. That makes him kind of good.

“It’s no secret,” Amy says, walking down a path that leads due east. “I knew Loki. That is how I recognized you.”

Bohdi feels a little tickle in his nose, but doesn’t sniffle. It’s not a lie really, but not really the whole truth either.

He hears Sigyn say, “Mmm ...”

Valli snickers and whispers, “She knew Father … I can guess what that means.”

Bohdi’s skin heats. Without thinking he whips his hand from his pocket. “Respect!” Bohdi snaps. Lighter in his fist, he brings the blunt end down hard on the back of Valli’s head.

Valli turns to Bohdi and snarls. “What are you doing, human?”

Bohdi scowls and brushes his bangs out of his eyes. What is he doing? Overreacting based on an emotional hangover from a past life?

“Answer me!” Valli growls, nostrils flaring.

Flicking his lighter, Bohdi’s lip curls. Before he can say something nasty, Sigyn turns around and snaps, “Mind your manners, Valli!” Beatrice and Amy turn around, looking slightly befuddled. Perhaps they didn’t hear the original comment?

“How did he even know what I was saying?” Valli says. “I was speaking Asgardian. He was using sorcery!”

Bohdi’s thumb slips from his lighter, and his jaw drops a little. Valli’s hard drive is obviously low on RAM.

“No, you were speaking English,” Nari says, sounding a little bemused.

The snarl on Valli’s face morphs into a beaming smile. “I spoke English? Without thinking! Without using magic?” His head bobs. “I’m finally learning the native language.” He looks to Sigyn and Nari, as though expecting approval.

Sigyn sighs. “Try to use it to say nice things. And don’t presume to know the association between your father and Dr. Lewis.”

At the mention of Amy’s name, Beatrice’s eyes go wide and she jabs Valli with her umbrella. “Listen to your mother.”

Ducking her head, Amy turns away and starts walking again. As Sigyn and the others fall into step with her, Amy says, “You were with Hoenir. I think I remember that … ”

Taking long, quick steps, Bohdi sidles up to Sigyn. “Odin said you were shot and then burned alive.” He hadn’t sensed a lie at the time, but he’d always presumed she was dead.

Sigyn raises an eyebrow. “I was shot while trying to help Loki rescue Valli and Nari.”

“We were executed for the revolution!” Valli says, lifting his chin and flashing Bohdi a wide grin.

“We weren’t executed,” Nari says. “Odin tried to execute us by casting us into the Void.”

Valli’s hand goes to his hip. “It’s nearly the same thing.” Bohdi sniffs and stares down at Valli’s hand. Either Valli is a talented mime—or his palm is wrapped around an invisible something.

“We’re not dead,” says Nari. “So it’s a very different thing, thankfully.” Bohdi blinks and finds Nari’s eyes on him. Nari gives him a sort of apologetic shrug and a smile. There is something about Nari, something that simultaneously makes Bohdi want to like him—even if he is too good looking—and that makes Bohdi’s skin itch.

“But then Hoenir opened a gate into the Void and pulled us into his hut,” Nari says.

“And then Odin’s people set Hoenir’s hut on fire,” Sigyn says.

“But the fire never actually came into the hut,” says Valli, leaning close to Bohdi. “I wanted to run out and attack Odin’s people, but Hoenir made the whole hut and some of the surrounding sod hop through a World Gate, but Gungnir was stuck in the sod and Gungnir has the power to stop time, so we were all frozen in time in the place at the other end of the gate in the flaming fields of Muspellsheimr, the realm of fire … until Father restarted the universe.” He nods at Bohdi and smiles. “You see?’

Bohdi doesn’t see at all, but he smiles tightly at Valli. Skipping a step to catch up with Amy again, he says, “Isn’t Hoenir the guy you tried to get to rescue us in Asgard?”

“Yes,” says Amy.

“You were in Asgard?” says Sigyn.

“And you escaped?” says Nari.

Valli snickers. “Odin’s getting old.”

“And Nornheim,” Bohdi mutters. “We escaped there without Hoenir’s help, too.”

Beside Amy, Sigyn stops walking and holds up an arm. Just a few steps from the trail they’re on is another trail that leads beneath a long arbor trellis thing. The arbor has ten crumbling stone columns. The trellis is formed from rough-hewn wooden beams across the top. Framed by trees on either side, it’s kind of pretty for its age, and secluded. He notes a few benches beneath it. A good place to make out.

“Do you feel that?” Sigyn says, snapping Bohdi’s mind back to the present.

Drawing to a halt, Nari’s jaw drops. “Yes.”

Bohdi opens his mouth. Beatrice beats him to the question. “Feel what?”

“A World Gate,” Nari responds, walking over, reverently touching the stone columns and looking up at the trellis.

“Can you tell where it leads to?” Amy asks.

Nari and Sigyn shakes their heads. “We can barely open them,” Nari says.

Beatrice looks to Bohdi. “Do you know of anything nasty coming through here?” she asks.

Pushing his bangs from his eyes, Bohdi tries to recall any monstrous activities in the area. “Can’t remember anything.” Of course it could be a new gate. The effects of Cera, the World Seed, are still rippling through time in Chicago and vicinity. New Gates materialize from time to time.

“It could lead to one of the realms that have treaties of non-interference with humans,” Sigyn says. “For centuries, the Allfather has enforced laws forbidding magical creatures from venturing here.”

“Or there could be monsters at the other end of the gate and they just haven’t found it yet,” says Valli.

Scowling, Bohdi adjusts the paintball gun on his back and glares in the direction of the arbor.

Fenrir gives a happy little yip, and Bohdi’s eyes snap to the carrier in Amy’s arms. Is it his imagination, or did the carrier just bounce?

“I think your dog wants out,” says Sigyn, surveying the trees around them.

“We haven’t seen Hoenir since he let us out here,” Nari says. “I’m worried about him.”

Bohdi’s barely listening; his eyes are focused on the carrier. It’s definitely jiggling—a lot for a little dog who can only move her front legs.

He hears Valli scoff. “Mimir said Hoenir is as strong as Father. He’s fine.”

“Father is dead,” says Nari.

In the carrier Fenrir whines.

“No, Father’s coming back!” says Valli, his voice a wail. Bohdi’s eyes return to the two brothers. Sighing, Nari puts his hand on Valli’s shoulder. “That’s right, but he might not be in the form we’re accustomed to, and he probably won’t remember us.”

Bohdi almost snorts. Why should he remember them? He doesn’t remember his own parents.

Fenrir whines again. Bohdi hears Amy say, “I better let her out.”

“I’m not an idiot,” says Valli, brushing Nari’s hand away. Turning to Bohdi, Valli says, “And when we find him, he’ll join us. The revolution will succeed.” His lip curls. “And Asgard will burn.”

Bohdi rolls his eyes and sneers. “Don’t be a psychopath.” Bohdi might like to see Odin burn, but some of the other people in Asgard are alright. Especially Gabbar and Pascal, the two Einherjar who were their guides and guards.

“Why you …” Valli starts to hiss, coming toward Bohdi. But Nari puts a hand on his chest and says something in Asgardian.

Bohdi flicks his lighter. From his feet comes a yip. Looking down, he sees Fenrir standing on all fours, mouth open, tongue out, rat-like snout pointed up at him. Bohdi’s eyes go wide and he laughs aloud. Stooping down, he tries to pat the little dog, but she wiggles away too fast. “She’s better!” he shouts. For a moment he just sits on his heels dumbstruck, watching the little animal run back in the direction of the arbor. And then bouncing up, he walks to Amy, arms outstretched. “You’re a genius! I could kiss you!”

“Don’t,” says Beatrice. The umbrella tip falls to Bohdi’s stomach. “Stop right there.”

Bohdi does, but he blows Amy a kiss with both hands. He feels weightless. Like a strong gust of wind would blow him away.

Amy doesn’t say anything. Or look at him. Pony tail whipping in the wind, eyes on Fenrir, her frown just deepens. “I didn’t realize it would work this fast … ”

“What would work?” says Nari.

“We have to go back to the hospital. There are agents there …” Amy says. “More protection.”

Fenrir’s ears go up. She runs down the path beneath the arbor and then vanishes in some bushes.

“A squirrel,” says Beatrice.

“We have to go,” says Amy, looking around nervously. “Fenrir,” she calls, moving beneath the long arbor. “Fenrir!”

“You named your dog Fenrir?” asks Valli.

“I’m not sure it’s a dog,” Nari whispers.

“You’re right, it doesn’t look anything like Fenrir,” says Valli.

“Amy,” says Beatrice, taking off after her granddaughter.

“What did Amy do?” Sigyn asks Bohdi.

Turning to her, he grins triumphantly. “Fenrir was paralyzed like Steve, and Amy figured out how to fix them by making them magical.”

“Humans can’t do that,” says Sigyn.

Bohdi lifts his chin and raises an eyebrow. “Can now.” He puts his hand to his chest and gives a shallow bow. “I helped by stealing stuff.”

“You’re a thief!” says Valli. “Father was a thief.”

Bohdi straightens. “I am not a thief. I only steal when the occasion demands it. I am a professional hacker!”

Looking toward the trees Nari says, “I don’t see any magical aura around the dog.”

“It doesn’t take a lot of magic to heal neural injuries,” says Sigyn.

Eyes on Amy, Nari says softly, “If Dr. Lewis did what you said she did, she is a genius.” Bohdi’s eyes narrow at Nari, he doesn’t like how he says that …

Sigyn starts walking toward the arbor. “And she is in danger.”

Bohdi looks to Amy. Her back is to him, she’s bent over, calling to her dog. A frigid gust of wind ruffles his hair, and his heart drops. He breaks into a run in Amy’s direction, quickly passing Sigyn and catching up to Beatrice.

“Fenrir, come here, girl!” Amy says, running around one of the arbor’s crumbling columns. Fenrir darts away, stops at a tree beside the structure, looks up, and gives a woof.

“Leave the squirrel alone!” shouts Beatrice.

Two steps later Beatrice and Bohdi are with Amy beneath the tree. Nari, Valli, and Sigyn are there an instant later. Amy doesn’t seem to see them. She’s trying to catch Fenrir, who’s running around the trees and arbor columns in a gleeful frenzy. Her back legs are still stiff, but she moves impressively quick.

Bohdi, Beatrice, Nari, Valli, and Sigyn bend down to help her. Fenrir’s so low to the ground, she easily evades everyone’s hands.

Bohdi looks back the way they had come. He sees nothing. All he hears is the rush of cars from Lake Shore Drive, and the gentle lap of waves from the beach nearby. His nose doesn’t tickle. And he’s starting to feel silly.

Sigyn suddenly spins in place. “I sense magic … ”

“Where?” says Beatrice. “Here?”

“No,” says Sigyn, shaking her head. “From the direction we just came … ”

Beside them, Valli raises his head, like a dog catching a scent. “It’s Odin’s magic.”

Fenrir stops weaving between the columns and the trees, and her ears perk up. She begins to growl, and then she lunges in the direction they came. Leaping sideways, Amy catches the dog, nearly falling over in the process. From somewhere, Bohdi hears the sound of thunder. He looks up, half expecting rain—or Thor. Instead, through the trellis and the tree branches he sees winged women, spears glowing in their hands. Spinning, he follows their path as much as he can with his eyes. From their shouts he thinks they have landed just to the east of them.

Fenrir’s growls snaps his attention back to Earth. Leaning over Amy’s shoulder, the dog is growling and barking fiercely to the west and the empty path they just came from. Bohdi swallows, the sound of thunder rises—

“Shit,” mutters Sigyn, looking in the same direction. “Cavalry … ”

The little dog turns her head to the south and growls again.

He feels a tickle in his nose. The sound of thunder grows louder, and Sigyn’s words connect in his mind. Heart sinking, he squints and looks quickly to the north and the south. He sees a shimmer, like heat waves on pavement, perhaps fifty meters away in each direction. The tickle in his nose intensifies, the roar grows louder, and the ground beneath him trembles.

“We’re surrounded!” Nari shouts, but Bohdi can barely hear him.

Here and there he catches glimpses of … hooves maybe? Horse ears? A bit of human chin?

“Magical armor—even the horses wear it,” Amy says, suddenly very close to him. “It doesn’t grant true invisibility so much as reflect the world around it.”

Over the thunderous din of hooves he hears the clink of metal on pavement. Slinging his paint gun around, he peers into the trees. The scene isn’t quite right. Where he should be seeing glimpses of the pier’s lone skyscraper, he sees reflections of the beach. Where he should see the beach he sees reflections of the skyscraper.

Invisible or not, their enemy is still hard to see. The paint balls would help make them more visible, but there’s so many, he has no idea where to shoot first. There is the sound of steel ringing on cement, and footfalls on sod, and it is like a shimmering river is flooding in front of the barely-visible horses. In the glinting river he sees bits of chin beneath visors, swords—and worst, the spears that shoot molten plasma.

“Infantry,” mutters Sigyn.

The river of armor stops moving, and the thundering of hooves comes to a halt. What is left is the occasional clink of armor, a few whinnies, shouts in Asgardian, and hooves stomping. Bohdi’s eyes slide down the path they were coming from. And his breath catches. Every square foot of pavement reflects the trees and sky.

“Jesus Christ, Odin sent an army,” says Nari.

Sigyn and Valli’s head whip in Nari’s direction.

Nari shrugs and grimaces. “I’ve picked up local slang.”

A voice rises from the sea of glittering armor. “The incarnation of divine love and sacrifice will not help you now. Stand down, and no one will be hurt.” The voice has a definite Hindi accent. Bohdi knows that voice.

“Oh, no,” Amy says, expressing Bohdi’s feelings exactly. He hears a single set of footsteps come closer.

“Should I fire?” asks Valli.

“No,” hiss Nari, Bohdi, Beatrice, Amy, and Sigyn all at once.

Fenrir growls.

There is the sound of crystal sliding against metal, and a visor rises in the sea of reflective armor. The face that appears beneath is dark brown, and has a thick jet-black mustache. Bohdi’s heart sinks.

“Gabbar,” Amy whispers.

Bohdi swallows. Gabbar is a good guy. He had wanted Bohdi to become an Einherjar, and he helped Amy and Bohdi escape—well, not on purpose. But it had been Gabbar’s idea for Bohdi to propose to Amy before Odin claimed her for himself. Odin never took the women of the Einherjar. It was bad for morale. If Bohdi hadn’t proposed, he would have been separated from Amy, and they might never have gotten away.

Beside Bohdi, Beatrice whispers, “I’ve only got one shot … I can’t clear them all.”

Valli looks down at the flamethrower in Beatrice’s hand. Seemingly oblivious to the threats around them he coos. “A DM34! I like you, old woman!”

Bohdi bites his lip. And then he blinks. Valli is shimmering. In his hand is a samurai sword, on his back is an AK-47. Bohdi’s eyes slide to Nari. An empty scabbard has appeared at his side, and he’s peering through the sights of an M-16. He hears the release of a safety. He looks and sees Sigyn holding a Beretta pistol.

“I don’t suppose those guns have magical armor-piercing bullets?” Bohdi whispers.

“A few,” says Nari. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. Bohdi decides he’ll take “a few” to mean essentially “no.”

“If you hit their visors with the paint gun,” Valli hisses, “they’ll have to raise them. We’ll have clear shots of their faces.”

Bohdi stares out at the sea of shifting reflections, plasma-shooting spears rising up like blades of grass. “I don’t have that much paint,” he whispers.

“I could knock them over with Kusunagi,” says Valli.

“Still too many,” hisses Nari. “And they’d just hop up.”

Gabbar steps forward and bows. “Dr. Lewis, if you and your little dog come with me, I will let your friends live.”

“Don’t do it,” Bohdi and Beatrice say in unison.

Fenrir growls up a storm.

Gabbar straightens. “Mr. Patel …” He takes a step closer. His jaw tightens. “It is against my orders … but you may accompany Ms. Lewis back to Asgard if you so wish.”

Bohdi’s gut twists. Raising his paint gun as menacingly as a paint gun can be raised, he says, “We aren’t going anywhere.”

On the periphery of his vision, he sees Amy nod. From her shoulder comes a cheep, as Mr. Squeakers makes an appearance. Gabbar’s eyes fall on the spidermouse, and his face goes a shade paler.

“You have a spidermouse?” says Nari, and Bohdi blinks but does not turn. Nari doesn’t seem the least bit afraid of the creature.

Behind Amy and Bohdi, Sigyn whispers so quietly she’s just barely audible. “The gate we’re standing in. I can take us through. But I need some time.”

Amy nods, eyes on Gabbar.

“Nari, Valli, I need your shards!” Sigyn whispers.

Bohdi’s vaguely aware of Nari and Valli passing something to their mother.

Gabbar doesn’t move, but beside the Einherjar the scene swirls, and four spears rise. Bohdi swallows.

“Dr. Lewis, Mr. Patel, don’t make this difficult,” Gabbar says.

Bohdi clears his throat, trying to think of something to say—and draws a blank.

But Nari steps forward. Raising his arms, Nari says, “On what charges is Dr. Lewis being called to Asgard?”

Bohdi glances backwards. Sigyn has some sticks in her hands. Eyes shut, she’s holding them against her chest, chanting something quietly. Despite the cold, she has a sheen of sweat on her brow.

He looks back to Nari. With his arms outstretched, he’s almost entirely blocking Gabbar’s view. Bohdi slides in front of Sigyn and tries to give her a little more cover. He coughs lightly. Beatrice and Amy meet his gaze. Eyes going wide, they step in front of Sigyn too, Beatrice keeping her flamethrower leveled in Gabbar’s direction. Valli just paces on the other side of his mother, sword drawn.

“She is charged with setting magic loose on Midgard,” says Gabbar.

Nari says, “Let me explain that to Dr. Lewis and her companions.” He turns around and says loudly, “Midgard means Earth.”

“Oh,” says Amy, equally loudly. “I had no idea. Did you know that, Grandma?”

Keeping the flamethrower aimed at Gabbar, Beatrice says, “You know this Norse stuff is all Greek to me, dear.”

“You only make this worse for yourselves,” Gabbar says. His eyes fall on the flamethrower. “Old woman, you can kill me, but not an army. Save your granddaughter’s life and your own.”

“Fall back now!” Sigyn cries.

Bohdi turns to see Sigyn disappear into thin air. Nari lunges after her. Valli whips his sword in a wide arc at the warriors behind them. Bohdi hears a rush of wind, and horses screaming.

“Covering you!” shouts Beatrice. “Take Amy.”

“Go!” screams Valli.

Bohdi grabs Amy by the arm, drags her through the World Gate behind Nari …and finds himself running in complete darkness. The air is warmer, but he promptly hits something cold, hard and wet.

He’s shoved from behind and hears Beatrice mutter. “Oomf!”

Somewhere Nari says, “This is not good.”

Fenrir whimpers.

“Get your elbow out of my stomach!” says Valli.

Beside Bohdi comes a light. He turns to find Amy holding up her phone, awkwardly clutching Fenrir with one arm. Bohdi lifts his head and turns. On three sides they are surrounded by dark rock walls shiny with moisture. The floor is rough and bumpy, the ceiling isn’t much higher than their heads, but the space is wide—nearly as wide as a two lane road.

“A cave!” he says. It smells damp, and also, vaguely like animal. Maybe that means they’re near the surface?

Sitting on a rock, Valli now beside her, Sigyn winces and nods.

“Probably too low for the horses,” says Beatrice, eyes on the ceiling.

“They must have brought a mage,” Amy says, “someone who can world walk. They’ll follow us.”

Sigyn nods.

“We should maybe run?” says Bohdi.

“We might get lost,” says Amy. “Too bad we don’t have any bread crumbs.”

“I know that myth!” Valli shouts, nearly deafening Bohdi with his enthusiasm.

“This is no time for joking,” snaps Nari. Bohdi disagrees, but he’s too busy shaking the ringing out of his ears to argue.

“Maybe we can find some loose stones to mark the trail?” says Amy, eying the floor. Beatrice and Bohdi begin searching too, as Valli helps Sigyn to her feet.

“I’ve got some pebbles!” Beatrice says triumphantly, holding out her hand.

Leaning against her son, Sigyn says breathlessly, “That will have to do. We had better go.”

Nari’s eyes shift uneasily. “I think we may be in Svartheimer.”

“We have to get away from the Gate,” Amy says.

Fingers to her temple, Sigyn nods. Since the spot is a dead end, there’s only one way to go. Valli and Nari help their mother up, and lead her down the tunnel. Looking over his shoulder, Nari says, “We have allies among the dwarves. If this cave leads to their caverns, they’ll help us.”

Bohdi falls into step behind them. Amy moves to his side, somehow managing to slip Fenrir into her carrier one-handed. Beatrice takes up the rear, flamethrower at the ready.

“And if it doesn’t lead to their caverns?” Beatrice says.

Bohdi swears he hears Nari gulp.

Ahead, Sigyn pants. “The World Gate is opening, quickly!”

They run, stumbling over the slick floor in the dim light of Amy’s phone. Bohdi’s not sure, but he thinks they may be heading downward. It’s hard to tell … his body feels weirdly heavy.

They round a bend. Bohdi’s not winded, but Sigyn says, “Stop!” Turning to Amy, she says, “Turn off your phone.”

The party draws to a halt, and Amy puts her phone away. Beatrice crouches, peering around the bend, flamethrower upraised. From where they just came comes a faint light, and then voices speaking in Asgardian.

Bohdi takes a deep breath and his nose wrinkles up with disgust. “What’s that smell?” It’s vaguely familiar, and disgusting—like rotten meat and body odor.

From the direction they’d been heading comes a sound like the cross between a trumpet and a snort.

“Oh, no,” says Amy.

“This is bad,” says Nari.

Around the bend, the Asgardian-speak stops abruptly. And then, Gabbar’s voice echoes through the cave. “You cannot escape this way. But we’re prepared to save you when you decide to be sensible.”

“Do I want to know what he meant by ‘save us’?” asks Beatrice.

Gabbar says some words in Asgardian, and Bohdi hears the sound of armor on stone. Peeking around Beatrice, he counts at least eight Einherjar standing guard in the tunnel, the torchlight flickering off their armor making them slightly more visible than they had been in the open. One of the warriors appears to be holding a staff instead of a spear. The mage?

“Maybe we should go back to Midgard?” say Nari.

“We should go back to Midgard!” Valli hisses in the darkness. “We should kill as many of Odin’s men as we can!”

“We can’t win against an army without an army of our own!” says Sigyn.

“Would someone tell me what’s going on!” snaps Beatrice.

“Yeah,” says Bohdi, “Me, too.”

The others are quiet. From somewhere down the tunnel comes the sound of water dripping on stones, and then in the distance an odd sort of chorus of snuffling snorts.

“What was that?” says Bohdi.

He hears Amy take a deep breath. “That …was the sound of trolls.”

CHAPTER 8

Bohdi blinks. “A troll … no problemo … Beatrice can take it out with her flamethrower. We can rush to the surface and—”

“Grandma! That’s a flamethrower?” Amy exclaims.

“The better to protect you with, my dear,” says Beatrice.

“Now you’re the big bad wolf?” cries Amy.

“I know that myth!” Valli shouts, and Bohdi winces and rubs his ears.

“Not a troll,” Sigyn says. “Trolls … we’re in a troll den.”

“How many trolls is that?” says Bohdi.

“No one has escaped a troll den to give a headcount,” says Sigyn.

Bohdi waves a hand. “And no one escaped a spider’s nest before, but Amy and I did. There must be a way—”

“Escaping to the surface is not an option,” says Nari. “It’s too hot, there is no shielding from cosmic rays, and no water. You’d die from exposure within a few hours.”

“And we’d die not much long after,” Sigyn adds.

From down the tunnel comes more snuffling.

“The trolls will catch our scent soon,” says Valli.

“We should surrender,” says Nari, much too quickly.

“No,” says everyone else in unison.

“The Allfather can be reasoned with,” says Nari. “Unlike trolls.”

“No!” says Amy.

“Sometimes surrender is the best option. Where there is life—”

“At least C-3PO had an off switch.” Bohdi hears Amy huff in laughter and realizes he said that aloud. He’s suddenly very glad that Brett and Bryant insisted that sci-fi was an important part of his education.

“Do you have an idea, Dr. Lewis?” snaps Nari.

For a moment there is only the sound of their breathing, the clinking of the Einherjar armor in the distance, and the drip of water on stones.

“Bohdi,” Amy whispers. “You ever watch the Firefly movie, Serenity?”

He flicks his lighter, remembering the sci-fi epic. In the darkness the small flame seems as bright as the sun. He feels one side of his mouth pull up. “You know I aim to misbehave.”

Amy smiles back, her eyes glinting in the light of the flame. It’s the first time he’s seen her smile all day.

“What are you two talking about?” says Valli.

The flame goes out. Bohdi flicks the lighter again. He turns to Nari, Valli, and Sigyn. Sigyn is leaning against the wall. The trip through the world gate seems to have taken a toll. The cave isn’t hot, but her skin still has the sheen of sweat, and she’s breathing too quickly.

His eyes flick to Nari and Valli, “Which one of you is the fastest?”

Valli steps forward. “What do you have in mind?”

The flame at the end of his thumb goes out.

“I should go with you,” Amy says. “It was my idea.”

Bohdi turns to her. He can just barely make her out in the faint light from the Einherjar’s torch down the tunnel. “Amy …” He takes a deep breath. “The most important thing for this will be speed.” There are many things Amy has—intelligence, endurance, bravery—but she isn’t fast. If Bohdi hadn’t dragged her along with him in Nornheim, she probably would have been caught by adze.

She bows her head and clutches Fenrir’s carrier. “You’re right.”

“Could someone tell us what’s going on?” says Nari.

Flicking his lighter again, Bohdi meets their eyes. Dropping his voice to a low whisper, he says, “Valli and I are going to raise an army.”

x x x x

Bohdi hands his paint gun to Amy. She bites her lip and whispers, “We’ll be taking the trolls back to Chicago … maybe it’s not the right thing to do?”

Bohdi scowls. “Odin can’t win, Amy. If Odin gets away with this, it will just make him bolder.”

Amy takes a long breath. “The needs of the many …”

“Chicago has a lot of experience with this sort of thing,” says Bohdi. “How many trolls could there possibly be?”

Amy is silent.

Beatrice lifts her coat and unbuckles the holster that holds her Glock. Handing it to Bohdi, she says, “Here, this might not be much help, but …”

Nodding, he slings the too-small strap over one shoulder. “Thanks.” He’s beginning to have that strung out, not-quite-in-his-body feeling he gets when he does something really stupid.

“Come on, Valli. Let’s go,” he says. He turns on his cell phone for light and together they head deeper into the cave. It’s not difficult going. The cave is relatively open—for a human—but Bohdi notes the barely-a-foot-above-his-head ceiling will probably be a bit of a bummer for a troll. Trolls are as tall and broad as elephants.

They can’t have gone more than three quarters of a mile when Bohdi starts to hear more snuffling, but louder this time. He also hears what sounds like a woman singing. Flipping off his phone, he blinks in the darkness and then becomes aware of a thin beam of light coming through a gap in the cave wall. The gap is about as wide Bohdi’s shoulders and is formed by a boulder partially blocking a branch in the tunnel. The singing is very loud now. It’s pretty … in a discordant kind of way.

Without speaking, he and Valli slink forward and peer around the boulder and into the light. Beyond the boulder the cave opens up into a cavern. The ceiling looks to be about two stories tall. It’s difficult to see how wide and long the cavern is, because right in front of the gap kneels a woman. Even kneeling, she comes up to Bohdi’s chest. Her hair is long and dark green, and it falls in front of her face as she leans over something. Her limbs, where they aren’t covered by mismatched furs, are olive green.

Bohdi or Valli must make a noise because she looks up. Bohdi blinks. As tall as she is, her face has the small nose, proportionally larger eyes, and high forehead of a child. A very pretty child with great big golden eyes.

His eyes slip down. Her body is thin and straight—definitely a child. In her hands she holds a log with a rough clump of grasses tied to the top. He blinks as she cradles it to her chest and sings—she’s pretending the log is a baby.

His eyes flick beyond the troll girl. He sees hulking shapes and hears loud snuffles.

He’s yanked back suddenly by the shoulder. Valli whispers in Bohdi’s ear. “We kill the child. That will get the adults’ attention.”

Bohdi’s head whips to Valli. “We will not kill a child!” he hisses. His mind is suddenly filled by the memory of baby spider screams and he’s vaguely aware of the girl’s singing coming to a stop.

Pulling himself from Valli’s grip, Bohdi snaps, “Would your father approve of that plan?”

Valli’s face crumples, his shoulders slouch, and he looks down. “No …”

Bohdi’s fists unclench at his side.

Valli lifts his eyes. “But that is what armies do. They instill fear, and that is how they gain control and force others to join.” He rubs a shoulder nervously and looks down. “Father … he never approved of that sort of thing … but he died … so maybe …?”

Bohdi sighs. He can’t really be angry at the idiot. Putting a hand on Valli’s shoulder, he whispers, “Do you know how Mao took over China?”

Valli shakes his head.

Bohdi’s vaguely aware of the snuffles getting louder.

Leaning closer to Loki’s son, Bohdi whispers. “Any member of Mao’s army who killed, raped, hurt, or stole from a peasant was executed. He won the goodwill of the people, that’s how he won China.” And then Mao proceeded to wreak havoc in China through tyranny and gross mismanagement … but it doesn’t seem like the moment to bring it up.

He gives Valli’s shoulder a pat. “We’ll find a way to move the boulder. That will get their attention.”

He goes to press his body into the gap and draws to a halt. The troll child is standing in the gap, her golden eyes glowing. Standing, she is nearly Bohdi’s height.

At his shoulder, Valli says, “It is alright, troll, we will not hurt you.”

The troll girl’s eyes scrunch up, her mouth opens, and she lets loose a wail of absolute terror.

Bohdi backs up. “I don’t think she under—”

The little trolless spins on her heels and runs back into the cavern. And suddenly Bohdi is staring at six sets of golden eyes set into faces wider than garbage can lids.

“See?” he whispers to Valli. “We got their attention.”

Snarls erupt on the other side of the gap. A giant thumb wraps around the boulder, and the rock grinds to the side.

“I don’t think we have their goodwill, though,” says Valli.

Bohdi can’t answer. As the boulder moves he sees more of the cavern beyond and counts at least a dozen eyes. Trolls features are very human—but they’re enormous and green. These trolls are so close, Bohdi can feel fetid breath on his face; he sees incisors wide as his palm and saliva dripping from oversized canines. The air smells like onions and rotting meat.

“Valli?”

“Yes?”

“Remember the original plan?”

“Oh, right, you mean to—”

The boulder slides away completely, and the troll tries to jam its huge shoulders into the tunnel.

“Run!” screams Bohdi, grabbing Valli’s shoulder and taking off the way they came.

Valli follows, but before Bohdi’s even at a full sprint, Valli grabs Bohdi’s wrist and yanks him to a halt.

Bohdi spins and screams, “What are you doing?”

“Do you think it can get through the gap?” Valli asks.

Bohdi looks back. The troll is snarling and growling, shoulders straining, trying to enter the tunnel. Bohdi hears the sound of a small shower of rock tumbling down from the cave walls.

“I don’t—”

There is a louder shower of rocks, and a sound like crashing bricks. Bohdi and Valli both cough as the air in the cave becomes clogged with dust and they are plunged into absolute darkness.

Wiping his eyes, Bohdi blinks. From the direction they had just come there is a roar. He blinks again and finds himself staring through the haze of dirt and rubble, back lit from the cavern beyond. In the midst of the rubble is a troll. The cave’s height is forcing it to stay on all fours, and it’s blinking just like they are. Raising a meaty hand, it wipes its eyes.

“Oh, good, it worked!” says Valli.

Beside the troll, another troll head appears.

“Run,” says Bohdi, pulling his wrist out of Valli’s grasp.

“Right!” says Valli.

They spin around. It’s too dark to see, but they run anyway. Bohdi fumbles for his phone for some light. He flips it on and in the same step tumbles over a stalagmite. He’s hears Valli’s feet dash past him. The palm of his empty hand hits cold, wet grit, and the fingers of the hand holding the phone scrape across rock. He feels a sharp pain on his tongue. His feet scramble on wet stone, he hears the thunderous approach of the trolls too close, and he knows that he’s going to be caught, like he knows the warmth in his mouth is blood. He will be crushed, and they will tear into his flesh with their teeth before he’s even dead.

He hears a scream of rage. It’s coming from in front of him, not behind. He lifts his head and sees Valli bathed in the glow of firelight. A scream of pain comes from behind him. Finally finding his footing, Bohdi scampers to his feet and looks back. The lead troll is ripping a flaming fur loincloth away from its body, crying in rage and in pain, and pounding out the flame with its fist. Behind it, other trolls scream.

Bohdi’s jaw falls. “How?”

At his side, Valli says, “Sometimes, I start fires.”

Bohdi shakes himself and backs away from the beast.

“Trolls aren’t very well endowed,” says Valli, backing up with him.

Where it squats, the creature lifts its head and lets loose a bellow that causes small rocks to fall from the walls and ceiling.

Bohdi blinks … it isn’t well endowed at all. The troll’s equipment would be tiny even if it were on a human.

Grabbing Valli, Bohdi turns and runs. But between breaths he manages to crack out, “I think we just discovered the reason for their rage!”

In step beside him, Valli makes a noise that’s half a pant and half a guffaw. From behind them a rock comes hurtling, just missing Bohdi’s head. And it’s completely the wrong time, but Bohdi starts laughing, and so does Valli. They dodge round some columns of merged stalactites and stalagmites, and Bohdi feels like he’s flying—even though he feels heavier than normal—like maybe the gravity is greater here. His mind is clear, and everything moves so fast. The trolls are crawling, roaring and gnashing their teeth, but they’re just far enough behind that it seems like a video game … not a real life threat.

Up ahead he sees a light flash. He hears Amy’s voice, “Bohdi?”

“Now!” he shouts.

The light ahead vanishes. He hears the sound of the paint gun, and then Sigyn’s Berretta, and automatic weapons fire. In no time at all, he’s at the bend. Turning, he sees Sigyn fighting with an Einherjar warrior, Beatrice firing Nari’s M-16, and Nari hunched over Amy who is cowering on the floor.

Nari’s supposed to be opening the gate ...

The sensation of being in a game ends abruptly. The trolls are suddenly too close. “The gate! The gate!”

Two Einherjar lift spears, as though they will drive them through Nari and into Amy. Bohdi snarls. Or maybe it’s Valli. His feet pound over stones, and he leaps through the air in a move he must have learned from one of the football games Steve made him watch.

His shoulder connects with hard steel, rattling his teeth, and sending a sharp stab of pain along his neck. But the Einherjar falls, Bohdi on top of him. Light sears Bohdi’s eyes, a chill wind whips around him, and he smells grass and trees. Lifting his head he gapes. He’s back on Earth, beneath the arbor. The Einherjar beneath him doesn’t share his surprise. Before Bohdi’s mouth can snap shut, he’s flipped roughly onto his back. His shoulders hit the pavement hard, knocking the wind from him. His head lands in a patch of mud, and it’s cold. He finds himself staring upward at the face of Gabbar, his paint-spattered visor lifted above his eyes. Gabbar doesn’t look sad or angry. His face is a perfect mask of concentration. “I’m sorry,” Gabbar says.

Bohdi hears the sound of a blade being pulled from a sheath, he reaches for the holster with the Glock on his shoulder, but it must have fallen off when he fell. In less time than it takes to blink, he hears horses scream, Valli snarl, the whoosh of the paint gun being fired, and automatic gunfire. He sees Nari, still crouched over Amy from the corner of his eye, and then a bright light flashes above, and Bohdi sees a knife shining in Gabbar’s hand. Lifting his hands, Bohdi tries to grab the other man’s wrists, but the blade comes toward his throat ...

… and Gabbar is lifted from Bohdi’s body so fast air rushes into Bohdi’s lungs. Bohdi hears the sound of shattering wood, crumbling rock, and watches as two enormous green hands lift Gabbar like a rag doll. A bellow cuts through the air with such force that Bohdi can feel the reverberations in the mud beneath him.

“Gabbar!” Bohdi screams.

From where he hangs helplessly in the grip of a troll, the Einherjar’s dark eyes meet Bohdi’s. Gabbar’s mouth opens. The troll grunts, and with a fast, efficient movement, wrings the Einherjar’s neck and tosses him carelessly to the side.

“Bohdi!” Amy screams from behind him. Bohdi scampers backwards on his hands into a hedge and finds himself beside his companions, cowering beneath the meager protection of leaves. A swarm of Einherjar flow over the troll—and for a minute Bohdi thinks it’s going to be over before it began. But then the first troll is knocked to the side, not by Odin’s warriors, but by another troll. The second troll rips Einherjar from the first troll’s back and begins smashing them into the ground and tossing them aside. Bohdi pulls his legs back just fast enough to avoid having two broken bodies land on his legs. The motion catches the second troll’s attention. He looks down at Bohdi and smiles … but then from behind the troll a hair-raising roar rises, and the second troll is knocked to the side by a third. Einherjar just keep coming … and so do trolls. Bohdi hears shouts in Asgardian growing more and more frantic.

Sigyn says, “Nari, if you can make Dr. Lewis invisible, I think I can do the same for Beatrice.”

“What about Bohdi?” Amy says.

Above the bushes just barely concealing them, more troll growls rise.

Valli leans over one of the shattered Einherjar at Bohdi’s feet. “I’m not so good at that sort of magic … but we can steal their armor …”

“Helmets and chest plates are all we have time for!” says Sigyn, kneeling in the dirt beside a downed man and deftly working buckles that Bohdi hadn’t even seen. She tosses a helmet to Bohdi. He puts it on, just in time to catch the chest plate she throws at him, but he fumbles with its latches. An Einherjar goes flying over the bush and Bohdi ducks, the unfastened piece slipping from his chest. “I’ve got it for you!” he hears Amy whisper, and he feels soft fingers at his shoulder and back, and the sensation of a belt tightening just beneath his shoulder blades.

He turns to Amy. Fenrir’s carrier is slung over her shoulder. Sunlight is silhouetting her from behind. He sees her give him a small smile. Or maybe its his eyes playing tricks on him. And then Nari puts a hand on her shoulder and she and Nari vanish.

“Valli, clear us a path!” shouts Sigyn.

Springing from the hedge, Valli sweeps his sword in a long arc through empty air. Bohdi hears the scream of a gale, and sees the shimmering shapes of Einherjar topple beyond the bushes. Troll howls rise behind him, and the ground shakes as they lumber into the swirling swarm of Einherjar.

“Run, the way we came!” screams Sigyn close by, but Bohdi can’t see her.

Bohdi scampers to his feet and barrels through the bushes, following a path cut before him by invisible forms. He hears Fenrir growling, but can’t see Amy.

Clearing the hedge he sees the nearly invisible shapes of Einherjar clambering to their feet unsteadily, their order broken and uneven as trolls sweep through the ranks.

Even though their legs and hands are visible, in the chaos Bohdi and Valli slip around clusters of warriors and trolls and through the trees. Shadows of Valkyries hover above, but they’re mostly shielded by branches. Behind him he hears more trolls bellowing, and another Einherjar body hurtles through the air and lands at his feet.

He briefly sees Sigyn and Beatrice flicker into view a few steps ahead of him, close to the main path, but not on it, and then they wink away, just as some Einherjar turn their heads toward the women. Seeing nothing, the warrior’s eyes go to his and Valli’s uncovered legs. Before Bohdi can worry, the Einherjar are hit by a blast of wind and bowled over.

“Run!” he hears Sigyn pant.

Bohdi’s feet pound and squish on slightly muddy sod. He avoids the main path, filled with the nearly invisible warriors. Instead he twists through trees and the few men that have spilled from the trail, sometimes catching sight of Valli’s legs just in front of him.

They reach the open incline that leads to the pedestrian walkway beneath Lake Shore Drive. There are no trees giving cover on the incline—shadows of the Valkyries overhead slip across it. Bohdi’s jaw drops in dismay. Worse, seemingly emerging from thin air just within the tunnel, are Einherjar. They pour from beneath the bridge onto the main pathway and up the stairs.

He hears Nari pant. “There was … no … gate … there before.”

Bohdi looks southward where Ohio Street winds around the peninsula’s single skyscraper. His eyes go wide. Two trolls are blocking the street. One is swinging a motorcycle, bowling over members of Odin’s cavalry. He looks back at the endless flood of Einherjar. If they remain invisible, it might be the better to face the trolls.

Sigyn pants. “Can’t … remain … invisible … much longer.”

“Down the slope,” Beatrice hisses, somewhere very close, and Bohdi obeys without questioning. A few of the Einherjar must see his legs now that he’s in the open, because a few stop, turn, and shout. He hears shrieks from above him, and the shadows of the Valkyries grow larger.

“I’ve got this!” Beatrice says. “Cover me, Valli!”

Beatrice flickers into view. The shimmering wave of warriors draws to a halt mid-stride and turns toward her as one. Ignoring them, Beatrice barrels down the slope, umbrella swinging from her wrist, DM34 upraised. Drawing to a halt, she fires into the tunnel.

The single round flies through the air and explodes into flame, fanning out fifteen meters wide and spilling into the tunnel. Bohdi raises a hand against the heat. From the tunnel comes a chorus of screams.

“Valli, handle the rest!” Sigyn shouts, flickering into view a few meters down the slope from Bohdi and Valli. Nari and Amy also come into view.

Valli swings his blade. Bohdi can hear the gale force winds that rise from it, even if he can’t feel it.

“Run!” Sigyn shouts, charging forward. Bohdi follows, glancing backwards just once as he does. Behind them men topple in the wind, Valkyries go hurtling backwards through the air, and farther away Bohdi catches sight of a few horses, their armor blown aside. Turning, he dashes into the tunnel, the heat from the DM34 radiating from the walls. Einherjar warriors moan on the ground, their armor no longer mirrors, but glowing red from the heat. He hears Amy gasp with dismay, looks and sees her turning toward one of the downed men, Nari leaning on her shoulder.

“Run!” Nari pants.

Nari and Sigyn both look like they’re at the last leg of a marathon, their steps faltering and uncertain. Beatrice throws Sigyn’s arm over her shoulder. And maybe that’s who Bohdi should help, but he runs to Nari’s side, worried that Nari will slow Amy down. He throws Nari’s other arm over his shoulders, and with Amy half carries the man to the end of the tunnel, Valli cursing a few steps behind.

Bohdi hears the sound of many footsteps and shouts and looks back and sees more Einherjar emerge from the World Gate that Odin must have created in the tunnel. Raising his sword, Valli gives a shout, and the scream of wind blocks out the sound of anything else. The soldiers topple just before Bohdi stumbles out of the other side of the tunnel and into the bright light of the sun.

He cranes his neck around. The street is mostly clear except for a single police car facing the tunnel. One of the officers is looking back through the tunnel, eyes wide, gun out.

Tipping her head toward Nari, Amy whips out her badge and shouts. “FBI, we need to get these people out of here!”

“Are those swords?” says one of the officers.

“These people are with us,” says Beatrice, inclining her head to Loki’s family. “The men in the tunnel belong to the people who shot Steve Rogers!”

“Hop in!” shouts the other officer.

A shriek rises from the sky. Bohdi looks overhead and sees Valkyries in the air above Lakeshore Drive. In the tunnel he sees Einherjar running in their direction.

“Into the car, Bohdi!” Amy shouts.

Bohdi snaps around and sees Nari stumbling into the backseat, Amy, and then Sigyn, following. Beatrice jumps into the front seat just before the officers hop in.

Bohdi hops into the car, sliding into the backseat next to Sigyn. On the far side Amy is sitting on Nari’s lap. Bohdi blinks and a moment later Valli is standing beside him, just outside the car.

“Get in!” shouts one of the officers.

Standing behind the open back door, Valli growls and swings the sword. The air is filled with the sound of wind whipping from the tunnel. Some of the Valkyries are blown backwards, and the Einherjar in the tunnel throw up their arms, and drop to their knees. An instant later they are up again and running toward the car.

“Get in! Get in!” shriek Nari and Sigyn.

A blast of plasma fire hits the car door. With a snarl Valli slides onto Bohdi’s lap, curling into near fetal position to fit, his weight crushing Bohdi’s thighs and his AK-47 thunking Bohdi on the chin. The car lurches backwards. Bohdi grabs the car door; shuts it and then gives a hiss of pain from the heat.

The car backs around a corner and screeches to a halt. Einherjar pour down the street in a glittering rush. The police officer in the passenger side fires a shotgun. It hits a warrior, and he slows down, but then keeps running toward them. The officer curses; the driver hits the accelerator just as a few warriors collide with the car. But the car screeches forward, outpacing them in seconds. The siren goes on, and the car speeds north up the street, Einherjar following on foot behind.

“Where are we going?” shouts the driver. Behind and above come the sound of screaming Valkyries.

“To Northwestern Memorial Hospital,” says Beatrice.

“What? We’re leading them to a hospital?” says the guy in the passenger seat.

“There’s a friendly army there,” shouts Sigyn. “With armor-piercing bullets!”

Bohdi sneezes at her words, hitting his head against Valli’s back.

“I bless you,” says Valli, and then he snickers.

Bohdi delivers a weak punch to Valli’s side. “You’re not a god!” he says. Beside him he hears Sigyn mutter softly, “I hope they have armor-piercing bullets.”

A blast of plasma hits the windshield. Bohdi hears the sound of impact on glass and feels heat behind him; thankfully, the glass doesn’t shatter. He blinks. It didn’t even shatter the glass? Plasma weapons are a lot less impressive than he expected.

“Can you take off my rifle?” Valli shouts. Sigyn reaches toward Valli’s AK-47, and Bohdi’s eyes slide to the side. Nari looks a lot more comfortable with Amy on his lap than Bohdi is with Valli’s bony ass on his legs.

“Trying to get mine,” says Nari, and Amy turns around and helps him. As Nari leans forward, his chin nearly rests on her breasts. Bohdi’s skin heats—and Sigyn bonks his nose with the butt end of the AK-47. “Sorry,” she says through gritted teeth. “Tight in here.”

The driver up ahead mutters, “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” and takes a sharp left, up the street leading to Northwestern Memorial.

Another blast of plasma hits them. The car swerves. Everyone ducks instinctively, and when Bohdi lifts his head he sees sparks flying from behind them.

“They hit the bumper,” says the officer on the passenger’s side.

“Only the bumper and they didn’t break the glass,” Sigyn says softly. “They’re not trying to kill us …” her eyes slide to the side. “Odin opened a gate for you, Doctor Lewis … he wants you very badly.”

“They didn’t break the glass on purpose?” says Bohdi.

Nari and Sigyn turn toward him, mouths agape. On his lap Valli snorts. “What sort of silly weapon can’t break glass? Of course, they didn’t break it on purpose.”

Bohdi turns his eyes to Valli’s back. Okay, plasma spears … not the most pathetic weapon ever. He looks out the window and sees the hospital only a block away. Agents are pouring out, and civilians, too. In the confusion they’ll be able to slip away. Bohdi feels hope rising in his chest.

“Stop the car!” Amy cries.

“What?” says Beatrice.

“We can’t take them any closer to the hospital!” Amy shouts.

The driver hits the brakes so fast they skid to a stop, the car spinning ninety degrees. Bohdi hears the driver give a long sigh.

Amy grabs the door handle. “They want me so badly,” she says. “I’m not going to hurt any more people!”

Bohdi hears the sound of wings, footsteps, shouts, and distant hooves. They aren’t fired on.

Amy pulls on the handle, and Bohdi’s heart drops.

CHAPTER 9

The door handle is locked. Amy shakes it frantically and looks for the unlock switch. She doesn’t see it anywhere. A dim part of her brain registers that of course the police officers would have locked it from the front—with good reason. And of course backseat doors of police cars wouldn’t have their own unlock switches. But those thoughts are drowning in a rising wave of cold panic. In her mind she sees Gabbar’s startled face as the troll lifted him from Bohdi’s body, and hears the swift crack of his neck.

She can’t be the reason more people die.

“No!” her grandmother shouts. “You won’t give yourself to them.”

“Of course I won’t!” Amy says. “I’ll run!”

Bohdi’s hand snakes so fast across the car Amy doesn’t even see it before it’s on her wrist.

“You’re a slow runner, Amy!” he shouts. He’s yelling at her. She looks at him. His nostrils are wide. He’s leaning over Sigyn, Valli toppling awkwardly onto his mother’s lap in the small space.

She tries to yank her wrist away, but his grip is too strong, and trapped on Nari’s lap she doesn’t have room to use her whole body. “Let. Me. Go!” She snaps, trying to pry his fingers away.

“No!” say Bohdi and Beatrice at the same time.

“Uh…” says the officer on the passenger side. “What are we doing?”

Nari grabs Bohdi’s wrist, and Amy’s hand. “Dr. Lewis,” he says, “I think I have a solution.”

Amy slides her eyes nervously to him. Looking at Valli and Nari make her distinctly uncomfortable. They look so much like Loki.

“I’ll talk to them,” Nari says, “My magic will work.”

Amy blinks at him. “I don’t see how the magic of democracy will help us,” she says.

Nari’s mouth falls open. Sigyn draws back. Valli whispers, “How do you know that is Nari’s magic?”

Amy looks resolutely down at her knees and does not answer. She knows because Loki thought of Nari as the so-called God of Democracy. In Loki’s memories, Nari talked a lot about democracy, freedom, and the good of all hominid kinds. Other Asgardians were mesmerized by Nari’s words on the subject. Not Loki. She feels a tightening in her stomach. Loki loved his son in a visceral way … but he thought Nari was a lot of intellectualization and little action; and he’d never thought much of his son’s magical ability to inspire.

Outside the car a Valkyrie shouts, “Get out of the car, now!”

She hears a raven rawking.

And then another sound … something she associates with old Westerns … is it the release of a gun safety?

Nari pulls Amy’s hand to his lips and kisses her knuckles, snapping her eyes back to him. “Democracy is all about compromise and diplomacy.” His eyes are very intent on hers. Loki’s eyes were gray, and a little eerie. Nari’s eyes are a deep, sky blue, his hair like sunlight, his jaw stronger … She looks away. Democracy has a certain charm to it, just like Nari. Is he really attractive to her, or is it just his magic?

Voice a low seductive sigh, Nari says, “Diplomacy works best with threat of violence—and when both sides have a lot to lose. The conditions are perfect.”

“Go, Nari,” Sigyn says.

Nari’s eyes go to the front seat. “Officers, would you be so kind as to open the door?”

Amy hears the lock disengage. “Thank you,” he says, lifting the latch. “Dr. Lewis, as much as I’ve enjoyed the seating arrangements—”

On the other side of the car Bohdi snorts.

“—I need to get out,” Nari finishes, pushing the door open.

Amy scampers out of the car. The way the vehicle skidded to a halt, the side she’s on is facing west, away from the advancing army. On the other side of the car are Einherjar and Valkyries, spears pointing in the car’s direction, molten points glowing. Other Valkyries circle in the sky. Why haven’t they surrounded the car? She looks toward the hospital and gasps. Standing in the middle of the road is Steve’s father, Henry, a shotgun in his hand. There are also agents and civilians … her jaw drops. Yes, some civilians, but intermixed with them are people a little more petite than average, a little too beautiful. Dark Elves.

Nari steps out of the car and whispers, “Stay back.”

Before Amy can slip back into the car, Sigyn pushes past her and says to Nari, “I’m standing with you.” On the other side of the car, the door opens and Valli gets out. “I’m always with you,” he says.

“Amy,” says Bohdi, and before she knows what is happening, he is out on her side of the car. He meets her eyes, and then Nari says, “Mr. Patel, can you use this?”

Amy’s eyes flick to Nari’s son. He’s holding a rifle she’s pretty sure is an M-16.

“Yeah,” Bohdi says, taking it from his hands.

Around them Amy hears a rise of murmurs from humans, elves, and Asgardians alike.

In the car, Beatrice yells, “Let me out.”

The police officers grumble, and a moment later, they’re out of the car, too. Beatrice slides out on the side by Amy, her umbrella on one arm, a small gun in her other hand.

“Well?” shouts a Valkyrie, stepping forward, spear upraised.

Raising his hands above his head, Nari steps around the car. “You’re making a mistake,” he says, his voice level and unhurried.

Sigyn follows at Nari’s side. Valli steps close to him.

“I don’t think so,” says the lead Valkyrie. “Turn over the girl.”

Bohdi aims the gun over the roof of the car. Amy hears him mutter, “Maybe their wings aren’t bulletproof.”

“You need to reconsider,” Nari says.

And then he slips into Asgardian. “You might win this battle if you take Dr. Lewis …”

Amy swallows and draws back.

“Precisely,” says the Valkyrie, with a tilt of her head.

“ … but if you do,” Nari continues in Asgardian, “you’ll lose the war.”

An Einherjar steps up alongside the Valkyrie. “If we take her, we fulfill our mission!” he snarls, his voice tinny through his downed visor.

“Oh, come on,” Nari says maintaining the Asgardian tongue. “It’s not Dr. Lewis Odin really wants, it’s Earth. Take her in front of all these humans and you put the larger mission in jeopardy.”

The Valkyrie doesn’t move, or respond.

“What’s going on?” Bohdi says, through clenched teeth.

Nari switches back to English. “Why precisely does Odin want Doctor Lewis?” Amy notices he raises his voice and stresses the syllables in her title.

“You know the charges!” snaps an Einherjar in English.

“Because she came up with an innovative treatment for Director Steve Rogers?” Nari supplies.

At the mention of the downed hometown hero, another wave of murmurs goes through the crowd of humans behind them. Amy hears what she thinks is the click of safeties.

In Asgardian Nari says, “How many of the elves have armor-piercing bullets, I wonder?”

“Not so many we couldn’t take them!” says the lead Einherjar.

Hands still above his head, Nari shrugs and says in Asgardian. “Yes, but Dr. Lewis might be caught in the cross-fire, and it would be a bloodbath very close to a human medical establishment. They feel much differently about the sick and elderly than you do.” Amy can hear the smile in Nari’s voice when he adds, “It wouldn’t go over well, trust me.”

She shivers. The Einherjar and the Valkyrie shift on their feet. From beyond them come the raucous rawking of ravens. Amy raises her head and sees Odin’s raven messengers, Huginn and Muninn, dive from the sky.

One lands on the spear of the Einherjar. Alighting on the shoulder of the Valkyrie, the other raven says in English, “Draw back! Help the humans on the peninsula! Save them from trolls.”

A ripple of murmurs goes through the crowd.

In the distance, Amy hears the wail of police sirens.

The Valkyrie and the Einherjar drop back a step. “Allfather’s orders!” rawks the raven. The two birds flutter off their perches.

“You heard Odin’s messengers!” shout the Einherjar. “Fall back to the Gate!”

The Valkyrie on the ground swiftly take to the sky. The Einherjar turn on their heels, and falling into neat lines, jog back to the pier.

Amy lets out a long breath and then jumps when one of Odin’s ravens lands on the roof of the police car. Bohdi points the gun directly at it, but Sigyn says, “Let it talk.”

The raven raises its wings in a sort of shrug. “Don’t shoot me, I come in peace, Mr. Patel!” It cocks its jet black head. The feathers on its neck ruffle upwards. “Odd,” it croaks, beady eyes on Bohdi. The bird points its beak at Amy and rawks. “You’re both very odd.”

Amy draws back a step.

“Don’t talk to my grandchild like that!” snaps Beatrice.

“You’re not going to defend me?” Bohdi says.

Hopping toward Amy the bird says, “You make me remember something …”

Eyes still on the bird, Beatrice says, “No, Bohdi, you definitely are—”

She’s cut off by the shape of the other bird hurtling into the first. As the first bird tumbles from the car roof and then takes to the sky, the second bird rawks. “Don’t insult them, Muninn.”

Amy’s eyes dart to the bird that was knocked off the car. It circles in the sky. So that’s Muninn—the name means memory. In her mind she hears Mimir’s voice. “Muninn remembers everything.”

“Ahem,” the raven that must be Huginn says, keeping her from slipping too deep into reminiscence. The bird raises its discordant voice. “The Allfather extends his apologies to Dr. Lewis and the city of Chicago for the confusion. His forces stand ready to coordinate with yours in dealing with the current troll invasion.”

She hears Henry, just a few steps away, say, “Troll invasion?” Murmurs and shouts rise behind them.

Beside her, she hears Bohdi swallow. Down the block, the loud wail of ambulances rise. From above she hears a helicopter … but the sound is less than a buzz and more of a roar.

Taking to the air, the raven says, “Have a nice day!”

CHAPTER 10

Steve’s eyes flutter open in near darkness. His body doesn’t hurt and his neck isn’t crawling with the itch of morphine. Those realizations make his mind sharpen to a state of crystal clear awareness he associates with being in the line of fire—or being in front of a crowd. For a moment he feels a rush of hope, but then that fades. He doesn’t hurt, but he doesn’t feel.

His eyes flutter again. The clarity dissipates, like dandelion seeds stirred by a breeze. Sleep is like quicksand trying to pull him under.

… and Jesus, when did he get so poetic? Is this an aftereffect of all the drugs, the serum Amy gave him, exhaustion, or the “excitement” this morning with Gerðr? Was that this morning?

In the distance he hears a roar and a boom. His eyes slide to the window. He sees Amy and Bohdi silhouetted by early afternoon light. Standing apart, their poses mirror one another, arms wrapped around themselves, instead of each other. Steve believes in love like he believes in the Easter Bunny—but a loyal partner can help you weather storms—and Bohdi’s been weathering his own personal hurricane since coming back from Nornheim. And as a couple, the two of them just work. They’re obviously attracted to each other, what is holding them back? His brow furrows, and he winces. He is not a romantic. Why is he bothering to think about this?

He hears another boom, and the roar gets louder. His brain recognizes that roar. Helicopter and artillery … He shuts his eyes tight. Why is he hearing them here? Now? The Dark Elves are their friends …

Eye snapping open, he rasps. “What happened?”

He hears his mother’s familiar steps. “Steve, are you in pain? Should I get the nurse?” He hears his father grunt, the shuffle of his footsteps, and the tiny patter of dog feet. And how can a dog be here but not his daughter? Does he want her here? To see him like this?

“No,” says Steve. His eyes slide toward his mother’s voice, but she’s out of his line of vision. “Thanks … no …” His eyes go to Bohdi and Amy. “What happened?”

Uncrossing her arms, Amy looks down. Bohdi’s head droops.

“Troll invasion,” says Henry.

“Where’s Claire?” says Steve, his words too fast. If he could move he’d bolt out of bed.

“In the lobby, with friends,” says his mother. He can see her now, holding his hand. But he can’t feel anything.

Steve closes his eyes. “Elves …” he murmurs.

“Yes,” says his mother. “And Beatrice, a young lady named Sigyn, and her two boys.”

“She’s safe,” Steve says. It’s all he can focus on, even if there’s something about the name Sigyn that should alarm him. He’s too tired. The room around him is getting fuzzy.

“Yes,” says his mother, and he can see her squeezing his hand tighter even if he can’t feel it. Darkness comes over the room. His eyes open for an instant more, and he realizes the darkness was just his eyelids. His lids slide shut again and sleep washes over him like a warm and welcome tide. He drifts just below consciousness into a vivid dream of being a boy playing with a train set too fancy to be his. The train set is on an oriental rug, like some of the guys in the Corp picked up in Iraq. The rug is thick and plush against his fingers. In the dream his child self keeps trying to pull a train around a bend, but the cars at the end keep tipping over.

“It’s too long,” his mother says. But Steve’s child self says, “No, they have to stay together!”

He opens his eyes again and has a sensation of being under water, looking up into air. The room is darker. He blinks his eyes. The dream was so vivid, it seems more like a memory. But that never happened … he never had a train set like that, and his parents certainly never owned an oriental rug.

He hears the voice of Cindy, the not-waitress. “We can help the bones mend.”

And then he hears Amy. “Steve, you’re awake.” She’s leaning over him an instant later, stray wisps of hair from a pony tail trailing over her shoulder. Cindy’s head comes into view. Her blonde bob doesn’t have a hair out of place.

He remembers their almost escape, and helping her to her feet when he was whole. He hates anyone seeing him like this, but especially her … this stranger … He wants to ask his mother to see her out and wracks his mind for some excuse, but then he blinks. He remembers the conversation earlier and makes the connection. “Sigyn,” he says, eyes sliding to the blonde woman. “Loki’s wife.”

His mother is beside him a moment later. “We’re not sure why you’re not recovering as fast as Fenrir.”

Steve’s eyes slide to Amy. “I’m having strange dreams …”

Amy’s mouth opens slightly, and then she nods. “You have a lot of magical activity in the areas of your cerebrum and cerebellum, but you’re not getting better as fast as I’d expect. I’m hesitant to administer another dose just yet though.”

Steve has no idea what she’s just said; he just lifts an eyebrow because he can’t wave a hand and says, “Fine.”

Beside him, his mother says, “Sigyn thinks she can speed the repair of the bones in your neck.”

“Of course she can,” comes a smooth voice that is familiar. At the foot of the bed Loki appears. Steve blinks again and it isn’t Loki—the man is too broad, too blonde, and too wholesome looking.

“My son, Nari,” says Sigyn.

Nari tips his head. “Speeding the repair of magic matter is tricky—but giving a boost to the mending of broken bones is basic first aid. Even I can do it.”

Another man appears at the end of the bed. He could be Nari’s double. “But not me. I’m better at destroying things, like father was.” For a minute Steve thinks he’s hallucinating, but then he remembers that Loki had two sons, and this man’s hair is a shade closer to red. The second son grins, and it’s shark like and disconcerting. “Mr. Patel and I led a troll invasion against the forces of Asgard. They still haven’t driven all the beasts from Navy Pier. The bards will sing of—”

Ducking and wincing, the second son’s hand goes to the back of his neck, as though he just got hit on the back of the head. Over the second son’s shoulder Steve sees Bohdi, fist upraised, butt-end of a lighter protruding from it. Looking at a place somewhere in the vicinity of Steve’s feet, Bohdi says, “We did. But it was an accident.”

Steve squeezes his eyes shut. It’s too much to deal with. “Valli,” he says. “You’re Valli.” He opens his eyes again, and looks between the mother and her two sons. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

“It’s a long story—” Valli starts to say.

Steve’s too tired for it. “Your daughter?” he says, eyes on Sigyn. Hadn’t Loki had a daughter?

The boys are silent. Sigyn’s face gets a far away look. “Dead long ago.”

Hearing about anyone’s kid dying is like a punch in the gut. Steve’s stood on that precipice and looked down. “I’m sorry,” he says.

Sigyn nods. Steve’s eyes go to the ceiling. He should ask more questions. He wants to ask them to leave. But he’s just so tired; all he wants is sleep.

By his side, his mother says, “Do you want them to help you?”

“Sure,” Steve says. “Sure.” He’s already been given a modified AIDs virus. He finds himself fighting a laugh. How much more dangerous could bone-mending magic be?

He thinks he sees Sigyn and Nari shift on their feet. He closes his eyes. Just for a moment.

… And everything’s black. Steve smells soot, damp, and human filth. He opens his eyes and finds himself standing in the tunnels beneath Chicago. The same tunnels where he first met Odin and saw Cera. Where he and Loki killed a wyrm. Normally the tunnels are empty, but now they’re filled with people. They are dressed in rags, leaning against the walls. Somewhere a baby wails.

Steve takes a step forward. The movement feels too light. He looks down at his feet and finds himself hovering above the ground. He’s dreaming, or hallucinating again. A man leaning against the wall moans, and Steve knows it’s a bad dream, but waking up a paraplegic isn’t a good one either. He decides he’d rather not wake up. He walks a few steps, noting that many of the people seem to have burns. Someone throws up at his feet. No one seems to notice him, even when he is sucked right through a wall.

He finds himself in a large room that’s empty except for a single, solitary man, holding a sword that pulses with blue light. The man stands in the classic Kumdo short stance: one leg forward, bent at the knee, the other leg with the knee inches from the ground, sword held up at an almost forty-five degree angle. The sword pulses with blue light, like Laevithin did but Steve’s not quite close enough to identify it. The man holding the sword is of African descent, tall, broad in the shoulders, with very dark skin. He has a medical patch over one eye. It takes Steve a moment to recognize the man is himself.

Straightening to a standing position, Steve’s double sheaths the sword in a swift motion. Walking forward, chin dipped to his chest, single eye on Steve, he says, “Can you tell me where Loki is?” His tone makes it not so much a question as an order.

Steve opens his mouth, and he almost says Bohdi automatically. And then he steps back. Outside of the dream world, he is in a magically unshielded room. Odin’s read his mind before. Maybe he can plant dreams, too? Running his tongue over his teeth, Steve says, “How do I know you’re not Odin?”

The other man’s lips curl in a snarl. “Odin is dead!”

“Odin is not dead, and he’s the reason I’m lying in a hospital bed right now!” Steve snaps back.

“But you’re magical,” the other Steve says, his snarl melting away. “If Odin isn’t dead, how is that possible?”

Uncertain if he’s really alone in this dream, Steve falls back to the same response he’d use if he was awake. “That’s classified.”

His other self’s single eye flicks to him and he snorts. Shaking his head, he says, “I am such a stubborn ass.”

Steve’s eyes narrow. Inclining his head back toward the tunnel, he says, “What happened here?”

The other man’s eye narrows. “It didn’t happen in your world?”

Steve stares dumbly at him for a moment, his mind racing.

Starting to pace, his other self says, “Loki got Cera, the Nine Realms went to shit—and then he vanished. I need to find Loki and Hoenir if I’m going to fix this … ” He waves his hand in the direction of the tunnels.

Steve’s jaw goes slack, and he understands how his brain is regurgitating this nightmare. This is straight out of his debriefing with Lewis from her time in parallel universes. “Lewis was here …”

The other Steve blinks. “Yes! She came, and then she disappeared with Loki.”

Steve lifts his hand and rubs his jaw, and then stares at his hand. He is solid to himself. His eyes flick back to his other self. How much should he say? A woman wails in the tunnels, and then begins to sob. Steve’s not sure how the sound is entering the room, but it makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He runs his tongue over his teeth again, and then says, “He killed himself, destroying Cera. He’ll have a new form here, too.” It’s just a dream. What harm could it do to tell ... and if it’s more than a dream, if Odin is ‘hearing’ him again, it’s something Odin already knows.

“I need to know what that form is!” Steve’s other self says. Coming forward, he moves to put his hands on Steve’s shoulders, but they pass right through. Clutching his hands to his chest, the other man says, “Please.”

Steve almost says Bohdi’s name again. But he can’t betray the kid, not even in a dream. Somewhere someone moans. Even if it is a terrible construct of his subconsciousness, he wants to help. He swallows, and then remembers his debriefing with Lewis after her visit to other universes. He can tell the truth and not give Bohdi away. “The form he takes in my universe is dead in yours.” In this universe, Bohdi was the first person Loki killed … can that possibly have been coincidence?

Steve’s other self’s single eye flicks between both of Steve’s own. “You’re telling the truth,” his other self says, and pulls back. Steve can see his other self’s tongue running over his teeth. Shaking his head, his other self says, “And Hoenir, have you found Hoenir yet?”

“No.”

Nodding, the other man looks away. “They’re always together, always together. ” Steve’s eyebrows almost rise in surprise. Hoenir would find Bohdi? Hadn’t Lewis said Hoenir was one of the three most powerful beings in the universe? Is it crazy to have all of Bohdi’s non-work contacts checked out based on a dream?

Crossing his arms, his other self says, “Odin tried to kill you?”

“Yes.” Steve gives a tight smile. “He’s trying to take over Earth.”

The other man meets Steve’s eyes. Turning away, rubbing the back of his neck, he says, “Yeah, yeah, I can see him doing that.” He turns back to Steve. “Claire … Dana, my—your—our mother and father?”

Steve stares at him a moment. What is a dream but a dive into the unconscious? An amalgamation of things seen but not consciously perceived, things you know, without knowing. Can he extract information from this place—his own mind—just like he would from a suspect? If he was trying to interrogate a subject, this is about the time he’d toy with their emotions.

Taking a step toward his doppelganger, Steve says, “Dana’s dead. Odin killed her. Claire survived; Mom and Dad, they’re okay.”

His other self, or subconscious self, looks away. Head dropping, he crosses his arms over his chest. “You know …” He sighs and puts his hands to his temples. “It’s actually good to know … Claire, Mama, and Dad are alive somewhere.”

“They might not be safe for long,” Steve says, pressing the other man—or himself. His mirror image turns his head sharply in Steve’s direction. One eyebrow goes up. “Trying to interrogate me, Steve?”

And of course, he can’t use his own tricks on himself. He snaps in frustration. “I have to keep them safe from Odin!”

His unconscious self draws back. His single eye goes to a point beyond Steve’s shoulder. “Yes, yes, you do.” He sucks in on his lip. “ … So that I can imagine they’re alive and safe somewhere.” He takes a breath so deep Steve can see his chest rise and fall. “The Preserver’s nature is to preserve, and persevere; it takes a lot to make him give up willingly.” He gives a rueful smile, and his eyes go toward the direction Steve just came. Smile dropping, he says, “To defeat him you need Chaos and Creation. The Preserver is stronger than either, but together they can destroy him.” Looking down, his other self says, “If the Preserver, Chaos, and Creation all work together it is the best of all things.” Voice becoming a little wistful, he says, “If the memories are right.”

Steve says nothing for a long moment. He hears a baby’s cry from the tunnels. The sound makes him shiver and he suddenly thinks he’d like to wake up. He can’t trust a figment of his imagination. This is pointless. He blinks his eyes and wills them to open. And just finds himself staring at himself. “Why can’t I wake up?” he mutters.

His other self lifts his head. “You think this is a dream?”

Steve snorts at his unconscious. “I was floating and then I was pulled through the wall.”

His other self’s lips curl up in a look of impatience. Tilting his head, he says, “Then try waking up.”

Steve concentrates, squeezes his dream hands, and blinks his eyes. Nothing happens.

Voice clipped, his other self says, “I summoned you, so I could find Loki and Hoenir. And obviously I fucked up because you don’t know where my Loki is.” Shaking his head, he lets out a long exhale. “Next time I’ll focus on summoning a consciousness that knows where Loki is in my universe, not one that only knows where Loki is in his universe.” He growls and turns away. Pinching the bridge of his nose, squeezing his single eye shut, he says, “I hate magic.”

Steve blinks and backs away slowly. He’s aware of the smell again, and the moans from the tunnel just on the other side of the wall. “Only a nightmare,” he says. Believing otherwise is too much. He doesn’t hop universes; even in dreams. His nightmares usually involve forgetting to put his signature on requisition forms.

His other self’s voice lowers. “Maybe I should keep you here until you believe.” He steps toward Steve, voice rising. “Because if you don’t believe you can’t keep our family safe! Our world safe.”

“No!” Steve says.

He hears screams from the tunnel, and then a banging on metal. Turning toward the sound, his other self shouts. “Come in!” A door Steve hadn’t noticed opens. Bryant comes in, his jacket torn, his hair a mess, his face unshaven. “We have a hydra in the tunnels to the North.”

“Damn,” Steve’s other self says. With a quick movement he unsheathes his katana, bathing the room in a blue glow. “Laevithin,” Steve whispers. It’s Loki’s sword after it was magically charged by Cera. Up close, there can be no doubt.

Without answering, his other self stabs the blade through Steve’s gut. Steve’s jaw falls open, pain races from the wound to every part of his body. And then everything goes black.

CHAPTER 11

In Steve’s hospital room, Amy runs a magic detector over Steve’s forehead and gets a riot of beeping. His eyelids don’t even flutter. She runs it down the length of his body and gets a steady beeping the rest of the way. It’s been twenty-four hours since she administered the serum. Fenrir recovered in as much time.

Across his body, Nari gazes down at Steve’s unconscious form. “When I had a similar injury I recovered much quicker. As did your ... ” His eyes go to her little mutt, “err, thing—pet.”

Standing back, Amy looks nervously to where Henry sits at the edge of a chair. Steve’s father is leaning forward, a book dangling from his fingers. He’d dropped the book from his eyes as soon as Amy started the exam. Beside Henry sits Beatrice, a pile of knitting in her lap, her umbrella leaning against the chair beside her. Amy drops her eyes. Steve should have had some return of function by now. She feels ashamed, even if she shouldn’t.

She looks up at Steve’s forehead and sweeps the magic detector over it once more. The device beeps with such intensity it’s almost a constant whine. Pulling it away, she bites her lip. The frontal lobe of the brain sits behind the forehead. Among other things, the frontal lobe is responsible for planning, reasoning, and problem solving. In humans, the frontal lobe is comparatively big.

She looks at Fenrir. Fenrir looks up at her, pants, wiggles her body, and wags her stump of a tail. In dogs, the frontal lobe is much smaller. Amy’s dog chases cars and eats dead things that other dogs pass up. Fenrir’s frontal lobe might be small even by canine standards.

“Your brain was already magically wired when you had your injury,” Amy says, not looking at Nari because looking at Nari makes her stomach do funny things. He resembles nothing so much as Loki’s better-looking brother. “Steve’s brain wasn’t.”

“What are you getting at?” asks Nari.

“Maybe it’s the complexity of Steve’s brain that’s slowing things down,” Amy says. “The magic matter isn’t just working on his injury; it’s rewiring his mind. In Fenrir it wasn’t an issue because … well, there’s not that much in there to be rewired.”

As if agreeing with her, Fenrir gives a happy bark and wags her body.

Nari looks down at the dog. “She did try to eat that used gauze earlier.”

Amy winces. Fenrir didn’t try to eat it so much as swallow the two foot spool of filthy used bandage whole. If Amy hadn’t induced vomiting it would have been another trip to the vet emergency clinic for sure.

Fenrir barks and goes to the door. “Speaking of the little monster,” says Beatrice, putting her knitting down.

Amy looks between Steve and her dog. Amy took a shower earlier, and she’s wearing some clean clothes that ADUO agents acquired for her; but she hasn’t left the hospital, or even this floor, since the troll invasion. She’d like to take Fenrir out, just to go outside. Sigyn is fairly confident that if Amy stays close to the hospital and keeps a magical guard, Odin’s unlikely to try another abduction ... at least for a while.

She looks at Steve and bites her lip. The thought of leaving makes her feel negligent.

As if reading her thoughts, Henry says, “Dr. Lewis, why don’t you go. Being here isn’t going to speed anything up, and you need a break.”

She looks toward the old man. Tucking the book under his arm, Henry puts his hands on the armrests of his chair and pushes himself up. Amy sees him wince a little. He walks toward her, massaging his fingers. The subtle signs of chronic pain make Amy’s heart fall, and yet she knows pain isn’t the thing most on Henry’s mind. He hasn’t left the room either. The only reason Ruth has left is to look after Claire. She’s down in the lobby with her now, Sigyn with them.

Amy looks at Steve and suddenly finds herself drawn into one of Loki’s memories. Helen, Loki’s half-blue daughter, was dying on Loki’s lap in Niflheim. On the periphery of Loki’s vision mist swirled. There were monsters in the mist, but all of Loki’s attention was on his daughter. The side of her that was pale and human hued was covered with lesions. The side of her that was blue was unmarred. Her eyes were closed to nearly slits and she was not looking at him, but her fingers were wrapped around his. Her magic was dimming and Loki wished more than anything in the Nine Realms that they could switch places.

Amy blinks away the memory before tears have a chance to build. Her own parents tend to contact her when they need something. Loki probably didn’t have much in common with the upright Henry, or the tender Ruth, but at least in love and devotion to his children, he was the same.

“Go,” Henry says. It’s not a suggestion. And it strikes Amy that maybe he wants some time alone with his son. Loki never cried about Helen’s death when he returned to Asgard. Not in front of anyone. On Niflheim he wept until his eyes were dry.

Putting the magic detector on the nightstand, she backs away. “Okay.”

“I’ll come with you,” says Beatrice, setting aside her knitting.

“As will I,” says Nari, looking straight at Amy. Amy does her best not to look back.

The three are just at the door of Steve’s room when Nari says, “My scabbard, I forgot it!” Without waiting for a response he turns and goes back into the room. The magic scabbard is the same one that a not-so-mythical Arthur used to hold Excalibur. As long as he wears it, Nari cannot be injured, but it has a low-grade ambient magic. Although it normally doesn’t set off magic detectors when not in use, Nari had slipped it off just to be certain it didn’t influence Amy’s magic readings.

As Beatrice and Amy wait in the hallway, her grandmother wags her eyebrows and smiles. Dropping her voice to a whisper, Beatrice says, “He likes you.” Giving Amy a nudge with her elbow, she adds, “And he saved your life in the cave!”

Amy flushes, remembering Nari’s body draped over hers. Excalibur’s scabbard had protected him from harm; it wasn’t like Loki jumping through the In Between to rescue her from the fire, or Bohdi refusing to leave her in the spider nest. She looks down at her shoes. Still, he had thought of her. She shakes her head, “Romance isn’t what I need, right now.”

“Or it might be exactly what you need,” Beatrice says brightly.

Amy’s gaze flashes in her grandmother’s direction.

Beatrice tilts her head. “He’s a nice boy, who is nice looking, and nice to you. Is that really so bad?”

“He’s not a boy, Grandma,” Amy whispers.

Beatrice raises an eyebrow. “But is he nice?”

Amy feels her shoulders go slack. Despite his readiness to surrender earlier, Nari isn’t really a coward. His courage is just more intellectual than physical. In his life, Nari has been more than nice, he’s been brave enough to stand up to Odin himself.

x x x x

At Odin’s right hand, Loki sits at the long feasting table swirling his mead. Thor sits at Odin’s left. Around them the hall rumbles with the shouts and cheers of warriors. There are the upright Einherjar, and uptight Valkyries—Sigyn now among them. Asgard’s own native warriors dot the room—Loki’s eyes drift down the table to where Valli is sitting. As usual, his brave and reckless son is flanked by the brashest and most foolhardy of the Valkyries. Nari is also in attendance. His more thoughtful, but cowardly, son has managed to convince Hisbernia, Idunn’s daughter, to attend the rowdy feast with him.

In attendance are also Vanir, Frost Giants, elves, and even a few dwarves. They are the remainder of the foreign forces that helped Asgard beat back the Fire Giants ten years ago. They are the same undisciplined, ungrateful foreigners who pushed Odin to reinstate War Rites. They are the loudest, most unruly revelers in attendance. Loki despises them like he despises fire lice.

Normally, he’d despise playing Odin’s lackey, too. But ... his eyes drift back to Nari and Hisbernia Things being what they are, he’s actually glad he came. He lets an invisible double of himself slip toward the couple. The double is almost in earshot when Odin slaps a hand on Loki’s back, spoiling his concentration. “I smell magic. Who are you spying on, Trickster?”

Loki stews under the hand, gaze still on his quarry. Too late he realizes his gaze has given him away. “You are spying on Nari and his woman!” Odin declares. He snorts. “You’re just like a woman, Loki, interested in your children’s latest romantic foibles.”

Leaning around his father, Thor says brightly, “I see them, Loki. A good match!”

Withdrawing his hand from Loki’s shoulder, Odin sits back in his chair and grumbles. “You’re both women!” With that he tips back his mead.

Ignoring his father, Thor says excitedly, “Hisbernia is certainly clever enough for your Nari.”

Loki looks down the table at the daughter of Idunn. Idunn is an elf. Despite being only half elf, Hisbernia is the spitting image of her mother, her ears are pointed, and her frame is delicate. Once long ago, Loki had an affair with Idunn. He scratches his head. Actually, maybe it had been Hisbernia he’d slept with, he can’t remember … and they look so alike. Hisbernia works in the orchards of her mother, and by all accounts, is as talented at growing and caring for the immortality-bestowing apples. She is a suitable match for Nari. Witty, charming, and one of the few in Asgard who actually does something rather than simply living off the stipend Odin doles out from the tolls collected at Asgard’s World Gates.

A meaty hand hits his shoulder with such force Loki nearly falls off his chair. His head whips in Thor’s direction. Thor has an upraised fist hovering in the air. Though aimed at Loki, the fist hovers in front of Odin’s nose. The Allfather rolls his eyes.

Brow furrowed, skin a shade darker than usual, Thor says to Loki, “Of course, if you’re a grandfather before me I will be furious.”

Loki draws his head back. “You have hundreds of grandchildren.”

Sighing, Thor drops his fist. “Yes, well, they’re all human. They die so quickly. I wish Magi or Modi would get to it.”

Magi and Modi are Thor’s illegitimate sons by Jarnsaxa, a Frost Giantess ruling over a small kingdom in Jotunheim. Thor has proposed to her on several occasions, but she always says no. Loki is not sure why; he’s heard her declare her love to Thor and sensed no lie.

Thor gazes mournfully into his cup. Loki’s not sure if the big oaf’s thinking about his rejected proposals, his lack of magical grandchildren, or the passing of his human descendants. But Loki is sure it’s his duty to distract Thor—after all, what are friends for? And there is the delightful business with Pru, Thor’s daughter by his ex-wife Sif. “There’s always Pru and that dwarf she fancies,” Loki says with his most charming leer.

Loki feels a charge of electricity sizzle in the air. Thor’s face goes bright red. “Why, you little—”

A mug of mead crashes into the wall behind the Allfather’s head, interrupting what was bound to have been an epic tirade. Thor, Loki, and Odin all turn to look at the source. A group of Vanir “warriors” are shoving each other and shouting, oblivious to their grave faux pas.

With a grunt, Odin grabs Gungnir, his magical spear, and raps the ground. “Enough!” The hall goes quiet. The guilty parties pause their fighting, turn, bow their heads, sink to their knees and weakly thump their right hands over their hearts. The Allfather says nothing for a few long minutes, and the hush in the hall begins to take on physical weight. Rapping the spear one more time, Odin says, “You may be seated.”

The men sit down hurriedly. The hush turns to an ambient whisper, the whisper to a low din, and then the shouting resumes again.

Loki prepares to speak his mind when Thor does it for him. “Father, why do you tolerate such lack of discipline? These men are brigands, not warriors. Throw the lot of them out!”

Eyes still on the men who threw the mead, Odin says, “I’d rather keep my eye on the disorder this rabble raises than have other, wiser men use the rabble to rise against me.” Leaning back in his seat, Odin says, “Besides, I will have use for them.”

As if on cue, someone in the hall shouts, “May the Merchant Dwarves rise against their masters so that we have cause to kill them all!” Cheers go up around the room.

Across the room, Sigyn turns to Loki and locks eyes with him. She’s urged Loki to convince Odin to ignore the Merchant Dwarf uprising. Loki has tried—to no avail. She says the trouble is that he doesn’t really believe in the cause of the Merchant Dwarves. Which is true. Loki could give a damn about their desire for self-rule; but he does care about his sons, and Sigyn and would rather they not be caught up in a military scuffle.

“May they rise so I have an excuse to thin the ranks of those idiots,” Odin grumbles.

“Father,” says Thor, “I realize the Merchant Dwarves are too weak militarily to pose a real threat—but don’t send these men. Sent in your name they become the face of Asgard. Send the Einherjar, the Valkyrie ...”

“They’re needed elsewhere, and too valuable to be wasted on petty squabbles,” Odin says.

“Father … ” says Thor, his voice low, hands slipping to his hammer. For just a moment Loki feels the prickle of electricity in the air again. His heart skips a beat, a showdown between father and son? No, Thor would never …

Odin waves a hand in Thor’s direction. “Oh, don’t fret. I’ll send a few Valkyries and Einherjar to insure the job is done right.”

A movement down the table catches Loki’s eyes. He turns to see Nari and Hisbernia rising but making no move to leave the room. Instead they stand together, facing the seated guests. Loki’s heart skips a beat, this time in joy. Are they going to publicly announce a betrothal? Nari’s never seemed much interested in such things, but maybe there was a happy accident?

Nari’s voice rings clear and true across the din, hushing the room instantly, a trick of Nari’s particular glamour. “Why go to battle with the Merchant Dwarves at all?”

Loki deflates. He looks to Sigyn, expecting to see a similar look of disappointment. Instead she is holding her chin high, pride shining in her eyes.

Nari’s voice rises again. “They merely want their freedom from the tyranny of the Red and Black Dwarf kings!”

Loki leans back in his chair. The dwarf kings are rather a horrible, venal bunch. Maybe it is because the true wealth of their realm lies with the merchants and craft guilds and they are jealous. Maybe it is because they are horribly inbred and stupid. But they tax their people cruelly and insist on ridiculous rules—they don’t allow anyone outside of the nobility to wear colors, dress in silks or cottons, and the lords and ladies have the right to arbitrarily declare goods, services, and lay people as property of the crown. If they bothered to run the realm well, it might be forgiven. But certain segments of the Merchant Class, forced by the nobility into enormous ghettos, have had to learn to govern themselves. Sadly for the dwarf nobility, and inconveniently for peace in Loki’s marriage, they’d discovered they prefer self-rule.

“What business of ours is it that some of the dwarf Merchant Class wishes self-government?” Nari says. “It might be in Asgard’s interest. Without the arbitrary confiscation of their wares they might have more to trade with us.” He turns to the Einherjar and Valkyrie in the room. “The dwarves are the finest metalworkers in all the realms. Imagine more and better armor and weaponry—that is what you would have if the dwarf nobility weren’t having their precious metals turned into rings and silly ornaments.”

Surprisingly, some of the Einherjar and Valkyrie look thoughtful … possibly because their numbers had been considerably thinned by the war with the Fire Giants.

Odin stands from his seat and raps Gungnir on the floor. “We have treaties with the Red and Black Dwarf nobility. We cannot renege on those; it would be dishonorable.”

Loki sees the Valkyrie and Einherjar nod among each other at the Allfather’s words. There is nothing worse than dishonor in their eyes.

Beside Nari, Hisbernia raises her arms. “We would not be reneging on our treaties if we negotiated new treaties.”

Murmurs rise up around the hall. Odin’s face remains impassive, but Loki feels the Allfather’s magic rising in the room.

Nari holds up a hand for silence, and then Hisbernia continues. “We could offer the Dwarf nobility more apples—they’d grant their Merchant Class their autonomy for immortality.”

More murmurs rise in the hall. And Odin raps Gungnir on the floor for silence. “We do not have a limitless supply of apples!”

“But we could have more!” Hisbernia says. “I know, I work the orchards alongside my mother. And we need not give them to all the nobility; even offering it to the kings would be enough.”

“And you would have such treasures be doled out to the Dwarf Nobility, well known for their avarice and sloth?” Odin says. “They don’t deserve it.”

“And for that reason they do not deserve to rule over their Merchant Class!” Nari shouts. “We should not go to war over this!”

A din rises up among the Einherjar and Valkyries as they argue the merits of war and buying off the Dwarves. To Loki’s surprise, some of them agree with his son. He hears shouts of, “The Red King and the Black King are worse than the Merchant Class—let them get fat on apples!” But from the foreign born mercenaries, a chant begins to rise, “War, war, war, war … ”

Rapping Gungnir on the floor for silence, Odin bellows across the room. “The honor of the Red and Black King is not our concern. Our concern is our honor. Don’t you value that, Nari Lokison?”

Angry eyes flick to Loki and back to Nari. Loki feels his face go hot, and bile rises in his throat. He is generally regarded as the court jester. Odin is using Nari’s kinship against him. Loki resists the urge to speak, but every candle in the room flares. People jump back from the table, more angry looks shoot in Loki’s direction … and Nari’s.

Odin’s magic rises in the room in an ominous cloud and the candles snuff out. The Allfather’s voice rises. “It is no secret you do not thirst for battle, Nari Lokison. You speak noble-sounding words, but they are laced with magic!”

Whispers rise around the room. A look of distress crosses Nari’s face, and Loki’s stomach ties in knots for his boy. Nari can no sooner strip the magical charm from the words than Loki can strip the skin from his body. It is Nari’s intrinsic magic, like Helen’s magic was to reveal truth.

The Allfather raps his spear on the ground once more. “Admit it, you don’t wish to go war because you are a coward!”

It is, as Loki would gleefully point out in more civilized circumstances, an ad hominem. But the accusation of cowardice is such an anathema to the crowd’s deepest held beliefs about themselves that it works. Shouts rise up from the Valkyrie and Einherjar, “Odin’s warriors are never cowards!” And the mercenaries continue to chant, “War, war, war!”

Nari raises his hands, and his magic flows around him, making him for an instant glow like starlight, or reason, and truth … But his magic fades in the blink of the eye. Odin’s magic is everywhere, threading between the crowd. Magical creatures that they are, the crowd doesn’t see it or acknowledge it. That would take too much concentration—and admittance that they paid attention to such a womanly thing as magic.

“How is it cowardly to suggest peace in a room full of warriors?” Nari demands. Loki only hears him because he’s staring right at him, willing himself to hear. He sees Sigyn step close to their son. Glancing to the side, Loki sees Valli raise his mug in a toast to war with a pair of Valkyries. He closes his eyes.

When he opens them he sees Nari arguing with some Einherjar, Hisbernia by his side. Sigyn is staring at Odin. Rising from his seat, Loki goes to his wife. Putting his hand on the small of her back, he whispers, “It will be a short skirmish. Valli is brilliant in battle, and Nari has his scabbard. Our sons will return to us unharmed.” The first part is the truth. The second parts are a hope that Loki speaks aloud to reassure his wife and himself.

Pulling away, Sigyn glares at him. “Don’t you understand, it’s not about that anymore!”

“What is it about then?” Loki snaps, frustrated, frightened, and uncomprehending.

Sigyn’s eyes slide to the Allfather, and then back to Loki. Shaking her head, she turns away.

x x x x

The image of Sigyn’s turned back dances at the forefront of Amy’s mind. She can feel the way Loki’s stomach turned to lead as Sigyn did ... Was that the beginning of the end? Or the first time Loki noticed how deep the cracks were?

“He’s easy on the eyes, that’s for sure,” says Beatrice. She’s peering through the window on Steve’s door. Despite herself Amy looks.

Nari is talking to Henry, his back to them. Loki’s son is wearing dark jeans and a gray v-neck sweater. Both fit him perfectly—or maybe he fits them perfectly. She draws back. The sort of guy who would have nothing to do with her, she’s not all that and ...

Amy blinks. Her face flushes, and she’s suddenly struck by a memory of Loki sitting at Hoenir’s table, casually eating a rack of lamb. Loki was about seventeen. Waving a rib he said, “Hoenir, could you turn me into a woman?”

Where he was sitting across the table, Hoenir spit out his tea.

Propped up on the counter edge, Mimir said, “Errrr … Loki, what brings this on?”

Loki bit a piece of meat from the bone, barely pausing to chew it before he swallowed it down. “It just seems like it’s so much easier for women to have sex.”

Hoenir went bright red and started coughing.

Loki continued. “If you’re a woman, all you need is the barest minimum of looks and hygiene and you can have sex with just about any man.”

“Would you marry just about any woman?” Mimir said, raising an eyebrow.

Loki drew back in his seat. “No.” Pointing a finger, he said, “Don’t be offensive, Mimir. We’re just talking about sex here.”

Recovering from his coughing fit, Hoenir rolled his eyes.

“And you’d have sex with anyone,” said Mimir with a sigh.

“No …” Loki tapped his chin. “Well … almost. But I wouldn’t marry just anyone … ” He shrugged and feigned an air of indifference. “If I ever get married at all.”

Amy feels her skin go hot. She’s flustered by Loki’s flippancy and shallowness, and then she blinks, remembering Anganboða. When he first laid eyes on her Loki thought she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. But that isn’t why he fell in love with her. He loved her because she laughed at his jokes, but knew he was more than a fool; she saw through Baldur’s illusions, and she was smart and loved magic.

Amy looks toward the nursing station where they first saw Sigyn. Sigyn is beautiful, but on Asgard her looks aren’t special. Loki loved her because she loved Helen, and for her strength of will—her willingness to stand up to him, stand up for him and his children, and her wisdom and perseverance.

Amy takes a step back, memories flooding her mind. Loki wasn’t an outlier. When it came to love, men required a certain level of health, but beauty was subjective, and usually it wasn’t really what made men fall. A lot of times they just wanted to be with women who genuinely liked them.

She squeezes Fenrir’s carrier tight. It’s a dizzying realization. She looks back to Nari. He is someone she’d generally qualify as out of her league. But she never really gave men she’d classified as out of her league a chance before, had she?

She really isn’t all that, but she is clever, she is kind, and she does have perseverance, if not Sigyn’s indomitable will. So why didn’t Loki have the same love for her he did for Sigyn and Anganboða?

“I’m back,” Nari says, and Amy lifts her head to see him buckling on his scabbard. He gives her a smile, and then his face flushes a little.

Averting his eyes, he whispers some words, and the scabbard and the gun he wears slung over his back vanish. The magic detectors of the agents at the door beep once or twice and then go silent as the three step away. Amy looks back at them as they walk. They’re still not sure how Freyja is disabling the magic detectors. Killing the little microscopic organisms that power them? Covering up their sound and light with an illusion?

“Dr. Lewis,” Nari says, snapping her from her musings. “You’re very knowledgeable about magic. It’s quite remarkable.”

“Oh, thanks,” says Amy, feeling herself go warm. They pass the sign-in desk; there’s a waiting room there, and some elves sit reading magazines. They look up and nod as the three pass. Amy catches a thread of the news report playing on the television. “ ... two-hundred people dead, eighty-eight trolls in Chicago ... if it weren’t for the aid of Asgard the toll would have been much higher.”

The warmth she’d felt a moment before turns to cold dread. Amy’s pace slackens. Her mouth feels dry and her eyes hot. She finds her breathing coming fast and ragged. There is a children’s museum on Navy Pier.

Her grandmother takes her arm. “I’m glad they didn’t get you,” Beatrice says.

On her other side, Nari says, “Yes. You’ve made humans magical.”

In the carrier, Fenrir gives a little yip.

Raising an eyebrow, Nari looks at the carrier and adds “ And other … things … magical too.”

The elevator opens. Entering after Beatrice and Amy, Nari shakes his head. “It’s a feat I would have only thought possible of Hoenir ... maybe Odin.” She feels rather than sees his eyes on her. “But you managed it with only human science.”

Not only, but Amy doesn’t feel like talking about it.

Eighty-eight trolls and two hundred dead, Steve unconscious and still paralyzed. She looks up at the numbers above the door, her gut churning.

“It’s the democratization of magic,” Nari says. “I can’t even put into words how exciting I find this.”

Amy glances in Nari’s direction. He’s leaning toward her, lips slightly parted. He is interested in her—but Amy’s too wrung out by recent events to be really excited … even if he is the most gorgeous man she’s ever met.

Clutching Fenrir’s carrier tighter, Amy looks back to the lights beside the door. Rocking on her feet, she silently wishes for the elevator doors to open.

As if heeding her silent prayer, the doors open and some other visitors get in. Nari falls silent, but in the smooth metal of the walls, Amy sees him. His eyes remain on her.

x x x x

As soon as they’re outside Amy puts Fenrir on her leash and lets her out to sniff. Fenrir promptly relieves herself at the nearest tree. And then, tugging at the collar, Fenrir leads her down the block. Amy doesn’t protest. The street is lined on either side by cement planter boxes filled with hedges cut just below knee height, and thin, young trees. The pavement is dark and wet with a recent rain; the leaves of the plants are bright green. It’s kind of pretty. Fenrir gives a full body wag, stands on her hind legs, and waves her paws in the air. Amy follows the point of her dog’s nose down the block. Bohdi is standing on the corner, back to her, Valli beside him.

Trailing alongside Amy and Beatrice, Nari huffs. “Who is this Bohdi?” Amy’s head whips in his direction so fast, her ponytail gets stuck in her mouth.

Eyes wide, he holds up his hands. “Not that he didn’t fight valiantly yesterday, but I heard him say he’s not even a citizen. He shouldn’t be working for the FBI.”

Pulling her ponytail away, she faces forward and grinds out, “He helped me bring magic to the people. You should like him.”

“By his own admission, by being a thief,” says Nari. “Where does he come from? Where does he live?”

Amy scowls. “I don’t know where he lives, and I don’t care.”

Nari stands a little straighter at that. What is that in his eyes. Hopefulness?

Amy turns away.

Ahead of them Bohdi still has his back to them. He drops his arm to the side, flicking ash from a cigarette as he does.

Beatrice tsks.

Amy remembers Bohdi’s cry as Gabbar was ripped off of him. She can’t begrudge him the cigarette. Even from behind she can tell he’s staring in the direction of Navy Pier.

Fenrir barks, and Bohdi and Valli turn around. Valli beams at his brother. Bohdi doesn’t smile or say a word; he just flicks some more ash and gives her a nod. He looks wiry and lean next to Loki’s son, but he’s nearly as tall.

Still smiling, Valli throws up his arms. “Brother, what is the Chinese blessing? May you always live in interesting times?”

Bohdi takes a drag on his cigarette and turns away, gaze following a helicopter heading toward the pier.

Walking up to Valli, umbrella upraised, Beatrice says, “That’s a curse, dear.”

Nari grins. “No, no, this is the best of times for us.” Amy feels his eyes on her, but doesn’t look.

Valli comes over and slaps his brother on the shoulder at the same time Fenrir gives a yip and lunges in Bohdi’s direction. Bohdi turns, and looks at the little dog, but there’s an emptiness to his gaze, as though he isn’t really seeing her.

Nari and Valli start chattering in Asgardian, musing together about the damage sustained by Odin’s forces.

Leaning over to Beatrice, Amy whispers, “Just give me a moment with Bohdi, okay?”

Beatrice’s lips make a tight line, but then she rolls her eyes and whispers, “Fine, I’ll handle these jokers.” Turning around she lifts her umbrella, jabs Valli in the ribs, and says something in Ukrainian, or maybe Russian. Valli and Nari answer in kind—magic, Amy realizes—and quickly dismisses it. Her eyes go to Bohdi. Sitting down on his heels, cigarette in his mouth, he reaches out to Fenrir. Fenrir lunges so hard on the leash, the dog flips backwards and falls over.

With a gasp, Amy steps toward her little animal. But Fenrir’s already up and wiggling over to Bohdi. Clenching the cigarette in his teeth, he rubs Fenrir’s chest. From above his long black bangs are like a curtain over his eyes.

“How are you doing?” Amy says, and then mentally kicks herself. If he feels anything like her, he feels like a large part of his insides have been taken up by a mass of lead.

Not looking up, he says, “I’m still taking it all in.” Standing, he turns back toward Navy Pier. Amy looks with him. She hears the sound of helicopters, but no explosions. Last she heard there were tanks and trucks dumping cement at the gate—a crude, but very effective way to keep trolls out.

She blinks and looks down at her feet. No other race in the Nine Realms could react so quickly or effectively ... She feels her heart rate quicken. Odin is going to have to act fast. And unless something big happens, he will.

“How are you doing?” Bohdi asks, snapping her back to the present.

“Steve isn’t better.” That’s not what she was thinking, but maybe it’s what she thinks he will judge her hardest on.

“He’ll get better,” says Bohdi, like he might say, “the sun will set.”

Amy looks down at her feet. She scuffs her shoe on the sidewalk. And what happens if Steve does get better? An epidemic of magic on the human race. If it doesn’t kill them, it might save them ... But the recipients won’t have a choice in the matter.

“Amy,” Bohdi says, “is it just me … or do Fenrir’s paws look bigger?”

Amy looks down at her dog. Fenrir’s as still as a statue. One of her front paws is up, her nose is pointed toward one of the cement planter beds. Amy looks hard at Fenrir’s paws. Her jaw sags. “You know, I think they do look bigger.”

Fenrir drops to a low crouch, nose still pointed at something in the planter.

“What are you looking at?” Amy says. Drawing back on the leash, she leans over into the hedge and sees a half-eaten hot dog, crawling with ants and covered in mud.

Bohdi leans over beside her. “Ugh, Fenrir!” Grimacing, he turns away.

A movement low to the ground catches Amy’s eye. She holds up her hand for silence and hands Fenrir’s leash to Bohdi. “Keep her close,” she whispers. Crouching low, she watches as the leaves and branches bend and snap, as though an invisible something is passing beneath them. A very small something.

In her pocket, Mr. Squeakers peeks out and gives a cheep. Amy skips through the hedge after her invisible quarry, her sneakers sinking into the mud with loud sloshes. She hears Beatrice say, “What are you doing?” and Nari say, “I sense magic.” But she’s too busy chasing the invisible something. It heads directly to the edge of the planter, and Amy launches herself through the air, lands on the pavement just beyond the something, spins, and drops to a crouch.

Curled at the base of the planter is a rodent tail—seemingly attached to nothing. But in the nothing are two black eyes, a pink nose, whiskers, and the pink inside of little round ears. Amy’s jaw drops. “It’s an invisible rat!” At the sound of her voice its visible little pink nose and whiskers tremble, its tail thumps, and its black beady eyes blink. “Mostly invisible,” she amends.

“Hold Fenrir,” she hears Bohdi say. And a moment later he’s sitting on his heels beside her.

Amy’s heart beats fast in her chest. “It’s a new species! A magic species! We have to catch it!”

“Just what this city needs,” Beatrice grumbles. “Invisible rats.” Amy hears safeties click. She looks up and sees Beatrice and Valli raising handguns, Nari holding Fenrir’s lead.

Holding up her arms, she whispers. “No! We’ll catch it to study it!”

She hears a cheep from Mr. Squeakers. Amy looks down and sees the rat making a break around the corner.

Slipping off his jacket, Bohdi says, “I’ll catch it.”

Seeing the critter’s tail vanish into the next planter over, Amy says, “I’ll corner it!”

Fenrir growls. Nari says, “It’s vermin.” Ignoring Fenrir and Nari, Amy runs to the new planter box. She sees a tail slide within. It looks like a giant earthworm but moves too fast. “I see it!” Amy says. On the other side of the planter, holding up his coat like a net, Bohdi says, “Me, too. Maybe scare it this way?”

“Okay,” says Amy walking into the planter and spreading her arms wide, trying to look more frightening than Bohdi. The critter decides they’re both frightening and darts sideways and out of the planter. Bohdi springs to the side and throws his coat. It lands on the sidewalk in a rumpled heap. Amy’s eyes dart side to side. Where is the rat?

“We caught it!” Bohdi says.

Amy looks at the coat. One of the rumples moves and her heart leaps. “Yay!” she says clapping her hands together, not caring if she’s acting all of five years old. Bohdi darts forward and gathers the coat into a bundle; inside, the rat squirms. “And he’s fine!” Bohdi says, sounding oddly amazed by that. “Look at him wiggle!”

Amy bites her lip. “A new species! What will we call it?” she bounces on her feet. “What do you call a magical rat?”

Giving her a mischievous grin, Bohdi says, “Mickey Mouse?”

Amy bursts out laughing. And even if the world is headed to Armageddon ... or Ragnarok ... it feels good.

Fumbling with the coat, Bohdi says, “Oops.” Inside the makeshift net, Amy sees furious wiggling. “He’s got fight in him,” Bohdi says.

“Don’t squish him,” says Amy.

Brow furrowing, Bohdi says, “Trying …” Out of the top of the bundle pokes a nose and whiskers—they twitch in Bohdi’s direction. “Hey, get back in there,” Bohdi says, raising a hand as though about to push it back down.

“Don’t! It might have rabies!” says Beatrice.

Bohdi’s hand freezes midair.

“In Illinois that’s more common in foxes and skunks,” Amy says.

Bohdi looks at her, brows high.

“But don’t touch it,” Amy says quickly.

In the moment of Bohdi’s distraction the rat manages to turn around so it’s facing Amy. It hisses at her. Amy draws back; rat teeth suspended in nothing is more disquieting than she would have expected.

“Hey, don’t talk to her like that!” says Bohdi.

Squeakers gives an answering hiss. Fenrir growls.

“It’s just scared,” says Amy, trying to mollify Squeakers with a pat.

The rat writhes a little farther forward, hissing in Amy’s direction.

“Ummm ...” says Bohdi. Amy hears the scrape of claws on cement. The rat slips from the top of the coat bundle. Amy jumps backwards, the rat jumps at her, but before it lands on Amy it’s intercepted in midair by a gray blur of flying Fenrir.

Amy gasps. Bohdi drops the coat. Fenrir lands a few paces down the sidewalk. Amy hears a crunch, and her little dog turns around. The rat is just ordinary gray, and hanging limply in Fenrir’s jaws.

“It’s dead,” says Nari.

Wagging her body, Fenrir tilts up her head and swallows the rat in a single gulp.

Amy’s jaw drops. “Fenrir!” Fenrir opens her mouth in a happy pant and wags her body.

Sounding vaguely bored, Nari says, “The leash slipped from my hands. But it’s a good thing.”

Bohdi sighs. “Oh, Fenrir …”

Amy glances at him. The disappointment and mild horror on his face mirror her feelings exactly. Sighing, he says, “Fenrir, for you that was practically cannibalism!”

Fenrir barks cheerfully and wags her body. Amy might laugh if she wasn’t still a little in shock. How had Fenrir managed to swallow the rat whole, without even chewing?

Fenrir licks her lips and barks again.

Nari snorts.

“I think you’re going to have to induce vomiting again,” says Beatrice.

Amy tilts her head and eyes her little dog. Considering Fenrir swallowed bones and fur, she probably will. Definitely gross, but on the other hand … “I’ll be able to get a DNA sample that way.”

Nari’s nostrils flare. “Ewwww …”

Bohdi’s phone starts to play the Darth Vader theme. Amy blinks. Where has she heard a phone play that theme before?

Pulling it out, Bohdi looks at the screen, jumps to his feet and shouts, “Steve’s awake!” He takes off in the direction of the hospital. Scooping up her little cannibal, Amy takes off after him.

CHAPTER 12

Bohdi runs down the hallway, the footsteps of the others behind. Ahead he sees light pouring from Steve’s door. He hears Claire’s voice. “Dad!” and then Ruth saying, “They broke the rules to let her in.”

One of the guards at the door steps forward. “Halt,” he says. Skidding to a stop, Bohdi holds out his arms and waits for the guy to run a magic detector over him. Before the guy’s even done, Sigyn pokes her head out and looks Bohdi up and down. “He’s good,” she says.

From inside the room Bohdi hears Claire shriek. “Dad, you’re sitting up!” Bohdi’s jaw drops as his brain registers the meaning of Claire’s words. Steve said he needed a miracle, and Bohdi helped deliver one. “I am so good,” he says and Sigyn rolls her eyes. Bohdi blinks. He could say he didn’t mean it that way. Instead he winks and walks past.

Steve is sitting up in bed, Claire beside him, her arms wrapped around him, her face pressed to his shoulder. Behind Steve, Ruth is crying, Henry is wiping his eyes, and Steve’s buddy Dale is rubbing his jaw. Bohdi hears Amy’s footsteps behind him, and Ruth moves past him, arms upraised. “Dr. Lewis, how can we thank you?”

Steve’s eyes stay on Bohdi. He smiles and nods, as much as he can with the neck brace still on, as though this is all Bohdi’s doing.

Behind him, Bohdi hears more footsteps and the patter of tiny paws. It wasn’t all him though ... he turns to Amy. Ruth is just pulling out of a hug with her. Nari puts his arm over Amy’s shoulder, and Bohdi’s hand finds his lighter. Amy doesn’t acknowledge Ruth or Nari. Her eyes have a frightened, faraway look. Bohdi remembers her words, “It’s better if you don’t know.”

Across the room, Henry clears his throat. “Dr. Lewis, I think your dog just ate my sandwich.”

Bohdi follows Henry’s gaze to Fenrir. The dog is licking some crumbs off the linoleum.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Amy says, jogging over to her little dog.

“It’s alright,” Henry says, scratching his head. “But my sandwich was wrapped in cellophane.”

Everyone’s eyes go to Fenrir.

Sighing, Amy says, “I needed to induce vomiting anyway.”

Fenrir looks up at Amy, gives a woof, then bends her doggy nose and proceeds to heave.

“But maybe I won’t have to,” Amy says.

Something shiny comes out of Fenrir’s snout and Bohdi turns his head away. A collective, “Ewwwwwww …” rises in the room.

Holding back a strand of hair, Amy leans over the vomit. Sounding more excited than grossed out, Amy says, “Huh, it’s mostly just cellophane and bones … and the bones are stripped completely clean.”

Curious despite himself, Bohdi walks over to where Amy is sitting on the floor next to Fenrir. The magical rat’s bones are so clean they almost look like they are made of plastic.

Looking up at Steve, Amy says, “Are you feeling hungry?”

Steve’s lips curls up, and he lifts his nose. “Not anymore.”

Amy and Bohdi both look at Fenrir. So quietly Bohdi can barely hear, Amy murmurs, “Her paws do look like they’re getting bigger.”

Bohdi tilts his head. Normally, he thinks of Fenrir as a sort of overgrown rat. But there is something about her today that is distinctly less rat like. Leaning toward Amy he whispers. “Is she getting furrier, too?”

Amy’s eyes go wide. “Steve ... I think I need to measure your feet.”

“Sure,” Steve says, sounding distracted. “Mom, did we have a train set when I was little.”

“I’ll just talk to a nurse about getting a measuring tape,” Amy says.

“No, wait, Lewis,” Steve says. Amy stops, but all of Steve’s attention is on Ruth. Brow furrowing, Ruth says, “No, never.”

Steve’s shoulders sag, and he pulls Claire tighter.

Bohdi’s kind-of-adopted mother taps her lips. “Now, old Mrs. Wilkinson, she used to let you play with her grandson’s trains when I cleaned her house.”

“She had an Oriental rug,” says Steve, his eyes wide and his voice hushed.

Ruth blinks. “How can you remember that? You weren’t much more than a year old?”

“But I do remember it,” Steve says. His eyes meet Bohdi’s for a moment, and then he turns to Amy. “Dr. Lewis, can you explain?”

Amy’s eyes get wide, and then she bounces on her feet. Bohdi almost smiles. He can tell she just had a brainstorm. “I have a hypothesis!” she says brightly, and Bohdi does smile. He was right.

“Out with it,” Steve says, tone curt.

Amy opens her mouth, and Steve levels his eyes at her. “In layman’s terms.”

Amy purses her lips and then says, “Magic has a different relationship to time and to space. Your brain is no longer relying on existing pathways to memories … you can access pathways that no longer exist, or if they do, they’re hardly used.” She looks to the side. “That would explain how thousand-year-old beings can remember so much.”

Bohdi thumbs the wheel of his lighter. “Pffft ... No.” That wouldn’t explain how a non-magical creature like Amy could have all of Loki’s memories.

He suddenly finds everyone scowling at him—well, almost everyone. Amy just looks confused, and a little hurt. And Valli is busy tossing potato chips to Fenrir.

“You’re a doctor now, Bohdi?” says Henry.

Bohdi blinks, trying to formulate a way to ask for clarification without giving away her secret, when Nari says, “That is an excellent hypothesis! Well done, Dr. Lewis.”

Amy glances at Loki’s son, and her cheeks go pink.

The lighter flares in Bohdi’s hand, burning his thumb. He glares down at his singed finger. He shifts his glare to Nari, and then drops his eyes. He shouldn’t care about him cozying up to Amy either … except that he does. He doesn’t like Nari. There is something too smooth and nicey-nicey about him.

But is too nice really worse than chaos? He rubs his singed thumb. For a time, Shiva, the Hindu God of Chaos, had retreated to a mountaintop and become an ascetic. Bohdi has wondered if it was because Shiva was like him and had cash flow problems. But maybe it was something else—a noble desire to keep others from harm?

He remembers Gabbar’s face as the troll ripped him away. By rights, Gabbar, the more experienced in combat, should have killed Bohdi. But Chaos weighted the odds against him.

Bohdi looks at Steve. But then again Steve was impossibly broken, and now he’s well, and Valli, Nari, and Sigyn should have died the day they were thrown into the Void but Chaos saved them … or maybe Chaos had thrust them into that ridiculous situation to begin with?

Bohdi turns his lighter over in his hand. Should he stay away from Amy and Steve because he is the incarnation of trouble, or stay close to them because they’re in the impossible situation of having made the Allfather’s naughty list. He flicks his lighter. “Odin’s like some evil, one-eyed Santa.”

A hush comes over the room. Bohdi lifts his head. Everyone, even Fenrir, is staring at him again.

“Did I say that aloud?” Bohdi says, flashing a grin like he meant it as a joke. The room could use a good joke.

Amy smiles and looks down, and Claire giggles. The rest of the room looks decidedly less amused.

Clearing his throat, Steve turns back to Amy. “What about visions? Premonitions—does the odd relationship to time go forward, and not just backward?”

Raising her eyes, Amy says, “There is no fate. Just possibilities that become likely probabilities, and probabilities that become realities.”

“Frigga used to say that,” says Sigyn.

Bohdi’s eyebrows hike. Obviously, this is something Amy picked up in Loki’s memories. He looks to her expectantly, wondering how she’ll play it.

“Oh …” says Amy, her face turning pink. She pushes a lock of hair back behind an ear and keeps her gaze on Steve. “It’s possible if you could access more information, you might be able to make better deductions. It might feel like a premonition, but it wouldn’t be predicting the future per se.”

Bohdi’s eyes shift to Sigyn. One of her eyebrows is arched, but she says nothing.

Disengaging Claire’s arm from his shoulder, Steve says in his most business-like voice, “Lewis, Bohdi—I want a meeting with you in the Promethean wire room, now.”

Claire’s face falls. But Steve isn’t looking at her.

“Ahem,” says Beatrice. Steve rolls his eyes. “You can guard the door, Beatrice.” Amy’s grandmother narrows her eyes, but her frame becomes less rigid. Bohdi envies Steve’s ability to always know what to say. He glances at Claire’s slumped shoulders. Steve always knows what to say, except maybe to his daughter.

Steve’s eyes flash to Sigyn, Nari, and Valli. “I’ll want you in the meeting, too.”

From behind Bohdi, Dale’s voice rumbles. “I need to speak with you, Steve.” Bohdi jumps. He’d forgotten Dale was lurking back there.

“Sure,” says Steve. “As soon as we’re done.” Eyes sliding to Henry, he says, “Dad, throw me that book on the window sill.” His hands go to his neck brace. “Can we take this thing off?”

“Your neck should be fine now,” says Sigyn.

“Good, let’s do it …but in the other room. I want to know everything everyone knows about Hoenir.” Swinging his legs over the side of his bed, Steve tries to push himself up to his feet, but then sits abruptly back down. “I need a wheelchair,” he says with a huff.

A few minutes later, Bohdi tries to give Claire a sympathetic smile as they wheel her dad out of the room. Claire doesn’t respond. Her eyes are fixated on the back of Steve’s wheelchair, hands balled into fists at her side. Bohdi blinks. Her face is twisted into a look of rage that is out of place on a little girl. Bohdi could walk out of the door. Instead he runs.

x x x x

Rubbing his now-bare neck, Steve sits in the room lined with Promethean wire. Since he entered the room, he’s felt a little less ... sharp maybe? Alert? He feels as though he has cotton in his ears and is fighting the urge to check. He’s still in the wheelchair. His legs aren’t quite working right. He isn’t bothered by his lack of complete control, he feels that he will recover completely. The certainty is more disconcerting than his inability to move his legs. Later he can puzzle over it; now he is focused on a bigger mystery.

Resting his elbows on the wheelchair’s armrests, he steeples his fingers. Fixing his gaze on Sigyn, he says “So, Hoenir dropped you off on Earth, and then he just disappeared?”

Where she sits, legs crossed, perched on the edge of his old bed, Sigyn nods. “Yes. We’ve tried going to the place where he dropped us off, but we can’t find the door.”

Sitting on the windowsill, Bohdi flicks his lighter. Lewis is rubbing her temples, hunched in a chair.

“Door?” says Steve.

Sigyn shakes her head. “Gate, I mean Gate.”

Standing beside the bed, arms crossed, Nari says, “Hoenir can create new branches between realms. He usually does so from doors in his home.”

Steve runs his tongue over his teeth. There’s something about that which makes him feel like he’s forgetting something. “So, let me make sure I have the timeline right. Loki destroys Cera while you’re in Mussel, Musel—the realm of fire. Then you come right here to Earth, Hoenir drops you off, and you don’t see him again.”

“Essentially,” says Sigyn.

“I don’t want to know essentially what happened,” Steve snaps. “I want to know what happened.” There’s something important about the timeline, and he just can’t put his finger on it.

Sigyn draws back. Nari stands a little straighter, and Steve realizes he’s pushing too hard. He’s about to apologize and rephrase the statement, when Valli says, “Mimir spoke with us first.”

“Mimir?” says Steve.

From where she sits, Lewis says softly. “Head of a giant, he did all of the speaking for Hoenir while Loki was alive.”

Steve looks to her. “A talking head?”

Lewis nods. “Hoenir is mute.”

Where she sits on the bed, legs neatly crossed, hands wrapped around one knee, Sigyn says, “Was mute.”

“Was?” says Steve.

Uncrossing her legs, Sigyn says, “After Loki died, Hoenir spoke, for the first time ever in my memory. But then he left us for a while—an hour, maybe a little more—and Mimir explained Loki’s part of the trinity.” Although Sigyn is wearing borrowed clothes and a coat spattered with pink paint—Bohdi’s doing, apparently—she has an air of elegance. Steve flexes his steepled fingers; it’s her poise. He can’t help but wonder how she wound up with Loki; he always looked slightly rumpled even when he was in a suit.

Sitting back in his chair, Steve rubs his chin. “So Hoenir is the Creator—”

“He is the gardener,” says Valli.

“He is nearly as powerful as Odin,” says Nari.

“Pfffttt …” says Valli. “Hoenir would never raise a hand against anyone ... I don’t think he can.”

“But what’s with the velociraptors?” Lewis says.

For a moment, Steve’s mind goes completely blank. His eyes fall on Lewis. She’s tracing a semi-circle on the floor with the toe of her shoe, and twirling her ponytail. Her eyes are unfocused.

For a heart stopping moment, he wonders if the magic serum has somehow caused his brain to start hearing gibberish, or if Lewis has finally succumbed to years of accumulated PTSD. “Doctor Lewis … I’m not sure I heard you right … ”

“How do you know about the velociraptors?” Sigyn says.

Lewis blinks. “Erm …”

Eyes shifting nervously around the room, Valli whispers, “We’re not supposed to talk about them.”

“Amy’s an expert at Norse mythology, that’s how she knows about them,” says Bohdi, standing up from the window ledge.

“As an admittedly minor member of the Norse Pantheon,” Nari says, eyes going from Bohdi to Steve, “you can take my word, when I say, velociraptors aren’t part of the myths.”

Flicking his lighter, Bohdi grumbles. “Would be way more fun if they were.”

Shaking her head, Lewis says, “Hoenir went through so much trouble to hide them, and to keep them …and they were so scary … ”

x x x x

It is a few days after Nari’s confrontation with Odin. In the palace garden Loki approaches the walk that leads to Anganboða’s Hall—the name of the cottage he shares with Sigyn. He casts projections through the rooms and finds no one.

Cursing, he turns on his heel. He’s already checked the small row house Nari and Valli share near the Center. Valli has earned a position among the elite guard, Nari has a minor position as an adjunct to a member of the Diar, Odin’s council.

Sigyn’s always been proud that they have two children who earn income beyond the stipend that is birthright to Asgardians. Loki’s glad the income has gotten them out of the house, but it makes it harder to find them when he needs them.

Two shadows drifting through the trees catch his eyes. “Huninn, Muginn,” he says. “Have you seen my wife and sons?”

Fluttering onto the branches of a nearby tree, one of the ravens says, “That depends. Do you have food?”

Loki scowls. “If I had food I’d have eaten it!”

The other raven flaps its wings and pecks at the first. “You idiot, Huninn! He’s always hungry, no matter what form he’s in!” The ravens tumble from the branch and feathers fly everywhere.

Under his breath, Loki curses the ravens’ gibberish. Mustering all his patience, he fishes in his pocket and pulls out a small gold ring. “Look, shiny!” he says.

The ravens stop their roughhousing. Flapping their wings and swooping above Loki’s head, they rawk, “Ooooooo … it’s one of Odin’s, isn’t it? Give! Give!”

Long ago, Loki gave Odin a magical ring called Daupnir as an apology for sleeping with Sif, then Thor’s wife. Daupnir’s magical power is to make seven new rings every seven days. It’s been hundreds of years since that incident. Now Odin has an entire room filled with gold rings. Considering Loki gave Daupnir to Odin, he doesn’t feel guilty helping himself to one upon occasion.

… Actually, he probably wouldn’t feel particularly guilty even if he hadn’t given the ring to Odin. After disposing of Andvaranaut, killing Baldur, and generally taking Odin’s abuse, Loki feels it’s his due.

Pulling it to his stomach, Loki says, “Not until you tell me where my family is.”

“They’re at Hoenir’s hut!” rawk the ravens.

Loki blinks. That would have been his next destination anyway, and he spent a perfectly good ring on it.

“Now give!” squawks one of the birds.

Smirking, Loki tosses it into the air. “Catch!” he says.

The two birds both swoop for the shiny band of gold and collide in midair. Loki sees the golden ring fall to the ground. Laughing, he takes off into the trees at a jog.

“Not funny!” squawks one of Odin’s pets. Loki would argue, but he feels his mirth fading, as his heart rate quickens.

A few minutes later, he reaches Hoenir’s hut. Without bothering to knock he charges in the door … and finds himself in a hallway he’s never been in before. Loki runs his hands through his hair, accidentally setting it on fire. Wincing, he concentrates and the flames die down.

He looks to either side. Although Hoenir’s hut is only a few paces on the outside, on the inside it’s much bigger than it appears. Opening the front door can take you just about anywhere in the hut, depending on Hoenir’s mood. Now he is in a hallway, nearly ten paces long. At the end of it is a single metal door with a round window of rippled glass. Hanging from a hook near the door are the strangest aprons Loki has ever seen. They appear to be made of dragon skin and feathers.

Approaching the door, Loki taps the window. It sounds thick. He peers through it, but it’s too rippled for him to see anything. Grasping the door handle, Loki gives it a turn. The door opens without protest on silent hinges. Loki steps inside.

He finds himself in a room lit by windows of the same design as the one in the door. They admit a diffuse gray light. The room is hot, the air strangely humid. It smells like the swamps at Niflheim’s equator. To his right is a sink and a counter with a large butcher block on it. A giant cleaver hangs on the wall. Loki turns and surveys the other side of the room. There is a cage with horizontal and vertical bars riveted into the ceiling, floors, and walls. The cage has a heavily padlocked door. Within the cage is what appears to be a swinging door set into the wall.

Tilting his head, Loki steps closer. He would swear the heat and humidity is emerging from the swinging door. From outside the swinging door he hears what sounds like footsteps. “Hoenir?” Loki says.

The footsteps outside the swinging door come to a halt. “Hoenir?” Loki shouts.

The door within the cage swings inward, and Loki finds himself staring at a dragon-like head with sparse feathers, red snake-like eyes, and a long snout with wickedly curved teeth.

Loki remembers the tiny velociraptor he helped hatch centuries ago. This velociraptor is not tiny. It is nearly as tall as Loki. He takes a step back, and his back collides with the butcher block.

The velociraptor cocks its head, blinks its eyes, opens its mouth and makes a sound that sounds like the shriek of a bird of prey. The creature’s head bobs, and before Loki knows what is happening, it leaps.

Loki spins and jumps up onto the counter without a thought, grabbing the cleaver on instinct, and pulling a knife out of his belt. For a moment he sits on the counter. A loud clanging fills the room, and he realizes the velociraptor is hanging on the bars of the cage, unable to reach him.

Loki lets out a long breath of air and slips from the counter. The raptor clicks and hisses. From behind it, another velociraptor clambers through the swinging door, humid air and heat following in its wake. It, too, jumps onto the bars and gives a shriek.

“Hoenir!” Loki shouts. “Where are you?”

The velociraptors tug at the bars and hiss. Under his breath, Loki mutters. “This isn’t funny anymore … ”

Mimir’s voice rises from beyond the swinging door. “Loki, is that you?”

Another velociraptor emerges through the door and fights with a fourth to get through the door first. From beyond them, Loki hears Mimir’s muffled voice. “Get out of the way, you. Shoo! Shoo!”

The velociraptors obey by rushing through the door and leaping against the bars of the cage and the cage’s door. Their claws clang against the bars. Spittle flies in Loki’s direction, and he holds up his arm to block it. He hears the sound of clanging metal colliding with stone. Loki drops his arm, and his heart stops.

The metal door is open. A velociraptor swings on it, seemingly stunned that it has given way. All of the other creatures stop their hissing and shrieks. Their heads turn to the open cage. Leaping down, they rush to the door.

Dropping the cleaver, Loki throws the knife. It hits one of the creatures in the neck and explodes, and Loki is dimly aware of flesh and blood spattering on his body. Twisting around, he leaps for the sink and turns on the water full blast. Putting his hand on the spigot he sprays water on the next approaching velociraptor. Of course it doesn’t stop the animal; it lunges for Loki’s flank with its powerful jaws, and Loki barely pulls his body up into the sink just in time for the velociraptor’s teeth to crash on empty air. The velociraptor pulls back its head to strike again as the others jostle to get closer. Closing his eyes, Loki reaches for his magic. He imagines the water molecules splitting into hydrogen and oxygen, and magic exciting the hydrogen to the point—

The velociraptors scream. Pain shoots from Loki’s hand. The spigot goes hot, but he doesn’t let go. He opens his eyes to see flames leaping from the water rushing over his palm and fingers, and the velociraptors’ feathers and long muzzles aflame. They tear at their faces with their clawed hands, trying to put out the fire.

“Loki!” screams Mimir, emerging through through the swinging door. “Get out of here!”

Loki drops his burning hand from the spigot. Hoenir is standing amidst the velociraptors, wearing one of the strange aprons. Mimir is mounted on what appears to be a coat rack. On the coat rack another of the strange aprons hangs.

Loki gawks, and Mimir shouts. “Go! We’ll be fine.”

With a cooing noise, one of the velociraptors raises its singed, but no longer flaming, muzzle. Leaping from the sink, Loki turns the handle of the door, slips through, and bangs it closed behind him, bracing it with his back. He hears a muffled shriek, and feels the door vibrate against his back as the velociraptor collides against it from the other side.

He hears Mimir’s voice scolding. “Get back, the lot of you! You still haven’t finished eating the wyrm we butchered for you!”

Loki sinks to the floor, back still bracing the door. He remembers something about a wyrm being caught by some warriors in the garden the other day. The head was being stuffed for the great hall, but wyrm meat is disgusting, and the carcass was being disposed of. He lets out a breath. Come to think of it, Mimir had offered Hoenir’s services for the wyrm’s disposal. Hoenir can’t kill ... but his knowledge of anatomy makes him an expert butcher, and a fine cook, too. Loki had wondered if he was testing out a magic recipe that could make even wyrm taste good.

Loki hears some more coos, and more hisses and shrieks and then the sound of metal slamming against metal. There is a knock at the door and Mimir’s voice echoes from beyond it. “Loki, it’s just us, please let us out.”

Loki gets shakily to his feet and steps back from the door. Hoenir steps through, the coat rack with Mimir in his hand. Loki peeks over his shoulder and sees the cage door shut—and presumably secure. There isn’t a velociraptor in sight.

Hoenir takes off his apron, and the apron from Mimir’s coat rack, and hangs both on the wall. Loki blinks at the material. “That’s velociraptor hide,” he says.

“Ah, yes,” says Mimir, eyes going to the hooks. “They don’t eat their own.”

Hoenir raps Mimir’s coat rack on the floor, and Mimir says, “Now what can we help you with?”

“I was looking for my family,” says Loki.

Mimir blinks. “Oh, why didn’t you say so?” Hoenir begins walking back toward the front door of the hut.

“Huginn and Muninn told me they were here,” Loki says.

“Oh, they are,” says Mimir. Hoenir reaches the front door and turns the knob.

“Then why are we leaving?”

Hoenir opens the door, and Loki finds himself gazing down another long hallway, this one lined with more unfamiliar doors. Loki releases a long breath. Hoenir’s home has become quite the maze.

As if hearing his thoughts, Mimir says, “Next time, you really should knock.”

Loki grunts. Hoenir stops at a plain door. From beyond it, Loki hears Valli. “The dwarves are venal, money grubbing … midgets!”

“They’re in the right!” Nari shouts. “We should be on their side!”

Loki’s heart flies to his throat, and he barrels in the door. He finds himself in Hoenir’s kitchen, Nari seated at a rough hewn table, Valli pacing the room, Sigyn leaning against a counter, one arm across her chest, one hand on her chin.

“You will not fight for the Dwarves!” Loki roars.

Valli stops pacing, Sigyn drops her arms, and Nari spins in his seat.

“My sword is my own,” Nari says.

And he’s miserable with a sword, but Loki doesn’t say that. Instead he says, “The dwarves can’t win.”

Nari shrinks in his seat. Odin wasn’t wrong when he called him a coward … at least when life and limb are concerned. Excalibur’s scabbard will protect him from blades and plasma fire, but he can still be captured. If his enemies know to remove it, he’ll be lost.

“Your father is right,” Sigyn says.

Loki raises his eyes to her. Sigyn is not a coward.

“Mother?” says Nari.

She shakes her head, and says to Nari. “Your skills would be better utilized minimizing the damage.”

Loki’s entire body relaxes. “That is what I wanted to tell you. Nari, the Allfather was impressed by your speech the other night—though he may not have admitted it. He wants you as part of the diplomatic team that liaisons with the dwarf nobility.” He shrugs. “Perhaps you can convince them to end their most egregious infractions against the Merchant Dwarves?”

“And what of Valli?” says Sigyn.

Loki looks away. “You and Valli will both be part of the siege force.” Starting to pace, he says, “But the Merchant Dwarves won’t be able to offer much resistance. They’ll probably surrender before the situation even escalates to violence.”

“And you?” says Sigyn.

Loki falls onto the bench. “Odin says I’m to remain here. There will be no need of my peculiar abilities.”

Sigyn tilts her head. “When would casting illusions and creating fire not be useful abilities on a battlefield?”

Mimir coughs. Loki glances up to see an inexplicably mournful expression on Hoenir’s face, before the mute man bows his head. He turns back to Sigyn. “I don’t understand it either. But I will do my best as Odin’s servant to see you are unharmed.”

Sigyn’s eyes narrow. “Always Odin’s servant.”

Loki snaps his fingers and a flame leaps from his thumb. “I don’t always do his bidding.”

Sigyn’s jaw hardens. “But you always seem to fulfill his will.”

Heat rises in Loki’s chest. “What would you have me do? Beyond Asgard there is only death! For you, our sons, and me!”

“Someday death will be the better choice!” snaps Sigyn. “Don’t you see that there are things more important than our tiny lives?”

The fireplace flares to life and every candle in the kitchen erupts into flame. Standing from the table, Loki snarls. “No!”

x x x x

Nari opens his mouth to say something, but Steve cuts him off. “So Hoenir likes exotic pets—”

“Oh, yes!” Valli says. “Deadly snakes with butterfly wings, birds with cat faces, venomous spidermice.”

Lewis’ eyes go wide, and she slips her hands into her pockets. Steve raises an eyebrow at the motion. Those critters sound almost pleasant compared to the monsters she’s encountered. Maybe she has some sort of phobia that’s not in her file?

Turning back to the Asgardians, Steve says, “Is it true Hoenir can’t kill anything?”

Sigyn, Nari, and Valli all look between one another. Finally, Sigyn shrugs. “It might be.”

“He can’t kill, or even wound,” Lewis says softly. “He can only render pain if it is an effort to help someone, like giving someone stitches, or some other medical procedure.”

“Is it possible,” Steve says, “that if the Creator, Chaos, and the Preserver are a trinity … that if two from the trinity, Chaos and Creation, perhaps … were to join forces, they could destroy Odin?”

Lewis lifts her head. “Odin’s primary power is his ability to stop time. Hoenir and Loki both were capable of resisting that magic. Not Loki when he was younger, but as he got older and stronger he could. Together ... they might be able to overpower him.”

“Father could take Odin by himself!” Valli says.

“No,” says Nari, eyes on Lewis. He turns to Steve, “Father could not.”

Eyes on Lewis, Sigyn says, “Loki’s plans have—had—a way of getting away from him.”

On the window ledge Bohdi flicks his lighter. A military helicopter roars overhead, so close it must be landing on the hospital roof. Steve feels his gut constrict. Had they found more wounded in the rubble of Navy Pier?

Bohdi looks down at the flame in his hands, and Steve remembers how cut up Bohdi had been about accidentally killing the Einherjar in Asgard.

Meeting Steve’s eyes, Bohdi gives a tight smile.

Steve rubs his jaw, unsure of what to say in front of so many people. “So if we get Creation and Chaos together, we don’t have to worry about Odin.” He says it with his eyes on Bohdi, hoping he’ll get the message—he can do good things—but Bohdi’s eyes are back on his lighter. Turning to the rest of the room, Steve says, “We just have to find Hoenir and the new incarnation of Chaos.”

Sigyn’s eyes flit from Bohdi back to Steve, and Steve can see the question in them. Steve works to keep his face completely neutral. The fewer people who know what Bohdi is, the better.

Another helicopter roars overhead and Steve hears Dale’s voice rising in the hallway. “I need to talk to him now.”

The hairs on the back of Steve’s neck rise at the urgency of his friend’s tone. “We’ll discuss this later,” he says to Sigyn and her boys, and then nodding to the door he says, “Let him in.”

A third helicopter roars overhead, and Bohdi’s eyes go to the window. Lewis’s eyes go to Bohdi.

Bohdi flicks his lighter and looks to the sky. Steve hears Dale’s footsteps behind him. His friend says, “Steve, you have visitors.”

Lewis goes over to Bohdi and says, “It wasn’t your fault ... you couldn’t have known what would happen.”

Turning to her, Bohdi says, “You warned me before I set them loose.”

Steve holds up a hand, meets Dale’s eyes, and whispers. “Give me a minute with these two.” Lowering his voice even further he adds, “I think the kids have a bit of PTSD … just please … ”

Across the room Lewis murmurs something.

Dale looks up at Bohdi, back to Steve and nods. “The senators are coming, but they’re still on the roof. You have a few minutes.” Steve blinks. Senators? But Dale nods in the direction of the “kids” and steps out.

“But that’s just it,” Bohdi says, eyes on Lewis. “I don’t feel guilty. I know innocent people are dead because of me, and that makes me sad, and angry … but I don’t feel guilty.” He shakes his head. “Maybe that makes me a monster—”

“If you’re a monster, I’m a monster!” Lewis says. “I could have gone with them and no one would have gotten hurt!”

Steve feels his pulse begin to race. “No.” He maneuvers the chair over to where Lewis and Bohdi stand. “Neither of you is monsters.”

Lewis and Bohdi both look down at him, and it feels very peculiar to be looking up at them for once. But in this instance, being smaller, and non-threatening, might work better. It strikes Steve how very young they are—and foolish. They’re not touching one another, but the air between them practically hums. If they had any sense they’d close the space between each other and claim what comfort they can. Life as the three of them know it, all the security and safety—that is over.

He runs his tongue over his teeth. He doesn’t want Bohdi thinking he’s a monster, thinking thoughts like that might turn him into one. And he doesn’t want Lewis entertaining thoughts of turning herself over to Odin. Hoenir had said to keep an eye on Lewis; maybe she’s the key to finding him?

Steve meets Lewis’s eyes. They’re the same color blue as the cloudless sky visible through the window. “If you’d gone with Odin that would have essentially made you a human sacrifice … and I don’t want to be part of a society that offers human sacrifices.” In the corner of his eyes he sees Bohdi stand a little taller. He sees Amy’s throat move as she swallows. Steve rolls a little farther forward. “And do you think Odin will stop with you, Dr. Lewis? Do you think yours is the only human mind he’s going to find interesting? We have dozens, maybe hundreds, of scientists on Earth who are working with magic. You go quietly, and he may think they will, too.”

Lewis draws a breath. Steve turns his gaze to Bohdi. “We will try to find a way to minimize casualties, but we have to keep fighting.” Steve holds out his hand. “Are you with me?”

Bohdi stares down at Steve’s hand. A helicopter roars from the roof. As the sound begins to fade, Bohdi reaches forward and clasps Steve’s hand in his own. “I’m with you.”

Lewis puts her hand on top of theirs. “I’m with you, too.”

Lewis’s hand is cold, very pale, and small. Bohdi’s hand is warm and a few shades lighter than Steve’s own. Their fingers slide together on top of his palm. And maybe the rearranging that Steve’s brain has been doing isn’t quite done, because he has a strange sensation of vertigo. Like he’s missing something, or there is a word on the tip of his tongue, and if he can just have a minute …

From behind him, he hears the door open, and then Dale’s voice. “Steve, the senators are here.”

Lewis and Bohdi pull back. “Go,” says Steve, inclining his head to the door.

Lewis nods and heads out, but Bohdi hangs back just long enough for Steve to pick up the book tucked beside him in the wheelchair and smack him in the gut with it. “Take it,” Steve says. “I’ve been meaning to give it to you.”

“Kid, you’ve got to clear out,” Dale says, from the doorway. “Security.”

Bohdi scampers out without looking back.

As soon as he’s gone, four men and one woman step into the room. Steve follows politics well enough to recognize them all.

A thin man with wispy white hair steps forward—Senator Snowfield, famously an Evangelical and member of the Homeland Security Committee. “Captain Steve Rogers,” he says holding out his hand, “I’m sure you know the names of my colleagues.”

Steve nods.

“Good,” Senator Snowfield says. “What you might not know is that we’re all part of a subcommittee formed by members of the Homeland Security and Armed Services committees, the Anomalous Energy Defense Committee.”

The woman steps forward. She’s Senator Brownlee of Massachusetts, an avowed atheist, and a member of the Armed Services Committee. Seeing her and Snowfield on the same “team” is a little disconcerting. “We call ourselves the Prometheans,” Brownlee says.

Steve’s breath catches in his throat, and his heart skips a beat. His eyes shift to everyone in the room. He feels like he’s looking at them through glass that’s slightly milky, and the sensation of having cotton in his ears is almost over powering.

Snowfield releases Steve’s hand and says, “We have a job for you.”

CHAPTER 13

It’s only been an hour since Steve sent Bohdi out of the conference room. He’s a few doors away in an unused hospital administrative office sitting on a chair. A folded-up cot sits beside him. In his hand he holds his phone: on it he has downloaded the book Steve gave to him: Trickster Makes this World by Lewis Hyde. He’s several chapters in but he keeps coming back to the quotes in the Introduction. Paul Radin, whoever that is, apparently said, “Every generation occupies itself with interpreting Trickster anew … ”

Bohdi tilts his head and flicks his lighter. He hopes that’s true. Amy told him Loki always kept his oaths, even across lifetimes ... and Loki’s last oath was to have Odin kneel before him while Asgard burned to the ground. Bohdi swallows. He doesn’t want Odin to kneel ... Kneeling would give him a chance to do some magic voodoo. He flicks the lighter again. He would like Odin dead. But he wouldn’t want Asgard to burn. He’s not Loki; he does care about collateral damage. The flame goes out by his thumb. He closes his eyes and tries not to think about the troll invasion. They’re still searching for bodies.

Opening his eyes, he slides his finger across the screen. Another quote catches his eye, this one from a Frank Kermode. “ … We interpret always as transients.”

He looks at the folded-up cot. It’s where he slept last night. He hadn’t minded sleeping in the hospital. He doesn’t really have a bed of his own; if he wasn’t here he’d be sleeping at the house he’s sort of house-sitting. Before he was there he was subletting a place; before that he was sleeping at Steve’s parents’ place, in Steve’s old bed. He looks at the floor. In a way ... he’s always been homeless.

Shaking his head he finds another Paul Radin quote: He knows neither good nor evil yet he is responsible for both. He possesses no values, moral or social … yet through his actions all values come into being.

Bohdi flicks his lighter and snorts. Good and evil don’t exist! Those are completely relative. But he does possess morals! He values his friends, and his family. Why did Steve think he should read this silly book?

He skims down the page to a quote from Hyde himself. “ … if he ‘steals fire’ to invent new technologies, if he plays with all boundaries both inner and outer, and so on—then he must still exist in this world.”

Whoa. He did steal new technology when he stole for Amy, didn’t he?

He drags his finger along the screen a few pages and reads:

“ … if trickster can disguise his tracks, surely he can disguise himself. He can encrypt his own image, distort it, cover it up. In particular, tricksters are known for changing their skin … sometimes tricksters alter the appearance of their skin; sometimes they actually replace one skin with another.”

Running a hand through his hair, Bohdi drops the phone to his lap. This Hyde guy is creepy.

In his lap the phone starts to vibrate. Picking it up he finds a text from Steve. Where are you?

Bohdi starts to type back, but before he can finish Steve’s already tested him again. Need your help. Now.

Bohdi remembers the black-suited, ominous, old people he’d passed on the way out of the improvised conference room. Jumping from the bed and sliding his phone into his pocket, he races for the door.

x x x x

In the Promethean wire room, Steve paces back and forth. He and Dale had just escorted the senators to the roof and a waiting helicopter. Agitation, spurred by the senators’ request, spurred his legs to start working again.

As Steve paces, Dale sits on a chair, elbows on his knees. “Sorry I didn’t tell you about them, but I was under orders.”

“I’m not mad about that,” Steve says, swatting at a fly that hitchhiked from the roof back into the room with them. Orders are orders.

“You’re still mad at Gerðr?” Dale says. “She said you’re the only person she’ll go with. I don’t think she was motivated by hate—”

“I know your theory about that,” snaps Steve. Dale thinks Gerðr was motivated by respect, and maybe more… and that’s more than Steve wants to think about. An emotionally fragile Frost Giantess is not what he needs now … or ever.

Dale idly swats at the buzzing insect. “Then—?”

Steve rubs his eyes. “I just thought I had more time.” He just got Claire back. He just got well. “Where is Bohdi?” he says, brushing a hand at the insect.

“I don’t get why you think you need that kid,” says Dale, sounding slightly petulant.

Steve wipes his jaw, stubble biting his fingers. He doesn’t respond.

At just that moment, the door erupts inward and Bohdi dashes in. Flipping his pocket knife out and sliding to a stop across the linoleum floor, he whips his head around. “Where are the old people?”

“Speak of the devil,” mutters Dale.

“He’s not the devil,” Steve snaps, not wanting that thought to worm it’s way into Bohdi’s head.

“What’s going on?” Bohdi shouts. “I thought you were in trouble!” He flips his hand and the knife flies through the room and embeds itself on the chair next to Dale.

“Ooops,” says Bohdi.

Jumping from his seat, Dale turns to the blade. “Jesus Christ! He hit the fly!”

“Oh no, not again,” says Bohdi, going over to retrieve the knife. Pulling it out of the chair, he picks up the dead bug with his free hand. Gazing down at his palm, he whispers, “Sorry, little guy.”

Dale turns to Steve and raises an eyebrow. Steve doesn’t sigh aloud. What a way for the kid to make an impression. He goes to the door that Bohdi left open and gently closes it.

Lifting his head, Bohdi says, “Um, so what did you need me for?”

Steve runs his tongue over his teeth. “The old people, as you call them, are senators. I’ve been asked to escort Gerðr back to Jotunheim, to the realm of King Utgard, as a gesture of goodwill, and in an effort to open up talks between our people.” There’s more to it than that, but Bohdi doesn’t have to know.

Bohdi shrugs. “So when do we leave?”

A weight lifts from Steve’s chest. For a moment he can’t speak. What he’s asking for is difficult and dangerous, and Bohdi didn’t even stop to think about it. He shakes his head. The kid is nuts, but he’s Steve’s nutty kid. “That’s still uncertain.” But they will go. Somehow.

“We’re taking Amy, right?” says Bohdi.

Steve takes a step back. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

“But she knows everything,” says Bohdi. “I mean, a lot, and she’s good in these situations.”

“It will be very dangerous,” Steve says. “Everyone we take will need to pull their own weight and be able to defend themselves.”

Bohdi pushes his bangs back with the hand holding the knife, somehow managing to avoid scalping himself.

Steve starts to pace again. “Besides you, Gerðr, the Asgardians, and Dale, I’ll be leading a platoon from a Navy SEAL team.” The team’s specialty is arctic warfare.

“Pffffftttt …SEALs,” says Bohdi. “Their physical requirements are what …only slightly tougher than Marines? Full of themselves.”

Steve turns fast in Bohdi’s direction. “It’s not the physical training that really makes or breaks a SEAL. It’s the mental training. All of these guys are combat tested, and they’ve all completed SERE training.”

Bohdi blinks.

Leaning against the window ledge Steve says, “Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape training. It’s intense.” And Steve hasn’t done it. He looks away. He didn’t even finish his deployment in Afghanistan in the field. He was in Kandahar for a few weeks. Got to see some cute little kids and an adorable newborn baby goat. Got a great picture with them for his mom—wanted to show her that things there weren’t as bad as she heard, even if they were. From that baby goat he had contracted Q-fever and had to be airlifted out of the valley and taken to a hospital in Kabul. He took a desk job writing press releases while he was recovering. It came to his superiors’ attention that Steve was a good Marine in the field, but he was a great Marine behind a desk. He was reassigned and spent the rest of his deployment coaching the brass, helping them respond to difficult questions in front of the camera, and writing up dispatches for the media.

As if reading his thoughts, Dale says, “You were in the field long enough to shoot and be shot at. You have hand-to-hand combat experience. You’ve been in kill-or-be-killed situations, Steve. And you’ve got the political skill to handle any situation that arises with King Utgard. It will be enough.”

Steve eyes his friend. That may be enough for the brass, but he’s sure the SEAL in charge won’t be impressed. Gerðr said she’ll only go if Steve leads the mission. But as brilliant as Steve is with political strategy, he isn’t a brilliant military strategist. Which means he can’t really be in charge, and if he’s in charge in name only it will be a shaky chain of command—not optimal in the office, and potentially life threatening in the field.

Dale shrugs. “I have less field experience ... and I’m even less a diplomat.” Holding two fingers over his lap, he pantomimes holding up a napkin.

Bowing his head, Steve laughs, because it’s funny, or because he’s so incredibly on edge, he isn’t sure.

“What?” he hears Bohdi say.

“Oh,” says Dale. “So right after officer training, Steve and I were out on the town and we met these two beautiful French girls, and Steve here convinces them they should go to dinner with us.”

Sounding hurt, Bohdi says, “How do I not know this story?”

Snorting, Steve lifts his head. “Because it goes nowhere.”

Dale laughs, sounding vaguely proud instead of ashamed. “Yeah, it was going great, but then we sit down at the table and I pick up my napkin and it’s white you know, so I wave it in front of me, and I say, ‘What’s this? Oh, it’s the French flag.”

Bohdi snickers, and Dale says. “Got an hour and a half long lecture on World War I and the 1930s and how decimated the French people were …”

“In French,” says Steve.

“Yeah, but …” Dale rattles off into French. Dale is so big, and so Texan, and it’s weird the way the elegant words slip out of his mouth so easily. And weird how Dale, a brilliant polyglot, can speak so many languages, and at the same time not know what to say. Dale can insert his foot into his mouth in any language. But the Prometheans had chosen him because he’d learned Gerðr’s language, has military training, and is divorced with no children.

Steve crosses his arms over his chest and looks down. Steve has no wife, but he has Claire … he closes his eyes. What is best for the human race, is best for Claire. He believes that. He has to believe that. Waving a hand, he says, “Enough, you two.”

Bohdi and Dale turn back to Steve. Taking a deep breath, Steve says, “The original plan was to open the gate Gerðr first came through in—”

“Afghanistan,” says Bohdi, brightly.

“Hey!” says Dale. “That was classified. How do you know that?”

“Ermmm …” says Bohdi.

Steve’s jaw goes tight. “I’m sure it was a lucky guess on Bohdi’s part.”

Bohdi gives Dale a wide, cheesy grin. “Yeah!”

“Back on topic,” Steve says, smothering an urge to laugh. “The Promethean Project is having it’s funding cut.” He pauses a moment to let the implications of that sink in.

Bohdi’s goofy grin fades away. He meets Steve’s eye. “Odin’s got the Senate.”

Steve nods. The kid’s a nut, but not stupid. Steve starts to pace. “But there is a gate in Chicago. It leads to the Southern Wastes. Gerðr doesn’t know the way from there to her homeland, but it’s possible Sigyn or her sons do, and we plan on sending drones—”

“You should really talk to Amy,” says Bohdi, finally putting his knife away.

Drawing to a stop, Steve sighs. “Bohdi, the further away she is from this the safer she’ll be.” Prometheus himself had told Steve to keep Amy safe.

Bohdi drops his eyes to the dead fly he’s still cradling in his palm. He says nothing.

“Besides,” Steve says, “Sigyn and her boys are much more likely to know of a path through Jotunheim’s Southern Wastes. And Nari and Sigyn can both open World Gates if something happens to Gerðr.”

Leaning back in his chair, Dale says, “How can you be sure you can trust them?”

“I’m not certain,” Steve says, wiping his forehead. But he’s not sure how much he can trust anyone. Certainly, not Gerðr. But maybe not the Prometheans either. When Odin wanted Sleipnir back, the FBI Director gave Steve orders to return the horse without giving any consideration to Steve’s opinions. The Prometheans say the Director was taking orders from above and isn’t on Odin’s payroll, but Steve has his doubts. And then there is the matter of Loki’s sword, Laevithin. He wouldn’t need magical backup to open World Gates if he had the sword. With Laevithin, and a ring of Promethean wire, humans can open gates themselves. When Steve had brought that to the Promethean’s attention, they’d said it was too risky, that the sword couldn’t be allowed to fall into the wrong hands.

“Sigyn and the twins aren’t working for Odin,” Bohdi says quietly, rocking a little on his feet and staring down at the bug in his palm. “I’m positive.”

Steve looks at Bohdi. What had Bohdi said? His only magical power was to detect lies? That ability alone makes him a powerful weapon.

Walking over to Bohdi, Steve puts his hand on the kid’s shoulder. “And I trust you.” He inclines his head to the door. “Will you go get Sigyn and her boys for me?”

Bohdi stares at him for a moment, and then nods his shaggy head. Still cradling the bug in his palm, he turns and walks out the door.

x x x x

In Steve’s hospital room, Amy walks along the window ledge that has been turned into a bookshelf. It’s lined with biographies, and oddly, books on Buddhism. Sigyn is sitting on the bed, reading a book about Eisenhower. Beatrice is munching on a tuna sandwich from the cafeteria. Valli is standing in the middle of the room, remote control in his hand, flipping through the channels.

Beside Amy, Nari pulls a paperback book off the window ledge. “A biography of Peter the Great,” he says. “Does Director Rogers revere this man?”

From across the room, Beatrice pipes up. “Steve always says to know his enemy.”

Amy blinks and turns to her grandmother. “Is that why he reads the National Review?” She’s caught Steve reading that right-wing magazine a few times.

Dropping her sandwich to her lap, Beatrice says in a scolding voice, “Dear, just because you don’t agree with—”

From the floor at Beatrice’s feet Fenrir lunges toward Beatrice’s lap, grabs her sandwich, and then scampers under the bed.

As Beatrice and Amy stare, mouths agape, over the TV speakers an announcer says, “The Democratic Party has announced that Gennie Santos, Chairman of the Illinois Terrorism Task Force, will be their new candidate for mayor.”

Sigyn puts down her book. Nari turns to the screen. Beatrice stands, brow furrowed. “Gennie Santos is a good person. I’ve met her. Did wonders after the first invasion, helping to get the city repaired ... Still, it’s a shame.”

Amy’s eyes flick to the screen. The television shows a podium set up in City Hall. Gennie Santos stands behind it, face unsmiling. She’s a stout, no-nonsense looking woman. Dipping her head to the microphone she says, “It is with mixed emotions that I accept the nomination for mayor—”

In her pocket, Amy’s phone starts to buzz with a text. She pulls it from her pocket and sees a note from Bryant. Amy, we have the suitcase of serum. Some FBI agents are here saying they can have it? Kind of want to avoid a felony if we can.

Amy stares at the screen. She expected this, didn’t she?

She closes her eyes for a moment and takes a long breath, and then types back, Yes.

“The serum that made Steve magical?” Nari says, and Amy nearly jumps. He’s standing so close she thinks she can feel his body heat. Or maybe that’s just her, feeling warm.

Before she can answer, the door opens and Bohdi walks in, hand upraised, fingers lightly grasping something. His eyes go to Amy and then to Nari. The hand clenches and something slips through his fingers and to the floor. Fenrir dashes from the bed, and Amy hears her jaw snap shut.

“Bohdi, what was that?” Amy says, running to Fenrir.

“A dead fly,” says Bohdi.

“Why were you carrying a dead fly?” says Valli.

“Because I killed it,” says Bohdi.

Amy swears she hears the whole room blink in collective bafflement.

And then Beatrice tsks. Amy turns her head to see her grandmother standing with her hands on her hips, staring at where Fenrir is cowering under the bed, looking vaguely guilty. “Amy, I think you created a monster.”

Amy remembers Bryant’s text, and her whole body goes cold. Her legs suddenly feel weak.

“Doctor Lewis,” says Nari, and his hand is suddenly at her elbow. But Amy looks to Bohdi. “The FBI took the rest of the serum,” she whispers. “Just like you said they would.” She turns toward Nari, but can’t raise her eyes to his. “I’m not the spreader of magical democracy you thought I was.”

“And I was just about to ask you if we could use the serum to bring back my memories,” Bohdi says. Amy’s eyes shift to his. He gives her a thin smile

Amy’s hand goes to her pocket where the book and the extra test tubes are still safely tucked. “It’s—” Nari gently squeezes her elbow. Amy freezes, as warmth floods her. Nari’s magic? She looks to Loki’s son. His eyes are on Bohdi. Raising an eyebrow, Nari says smoothly, “You said that it was impossible that the serum brought back memories.”

Bohdi’s eyes narrow at Nari and he takes a step forward. “No,” he says, voice rising to almost a shout. “I said that there is a big freakin’ hole in Dr. Lewis’ hypothesis about why the serum works.”

Amy jumps a bit at his outburst.

Bohdi’s eyes flick to where Nari’s holding Amy’s elbow, and he mutters. “Scientifically illiterate Asgardian.”

Amy’s jaw drops. That’s just ... hurtful. Why is Bohdi being so weird and mean?

“What flaw is that?” says Sigyn.

“Yes,” says Amy, her skin going hot at the accusation and his weird behavior. Is he jealous—has he forgotten he’s her pretend boyfriend?

“Explain,” says Nari, his body shifting closer to Amy. Almost unconsciously, Amy steps a little away. It’s not that she doesn’t like Nari …exactly ... it’s just she’s not entirely sure how much she likes Nari and how much she is being affected by his charm.

Bohdi draws back. His jaw gets hard, he looks to Amy, and back to Nari, and then says, “Never mind. Steve wants to talk to you, your mom, and Valli in the Promethean wire room.”

The three Asgardians glance to each other, and then, sliding from the bed, Sigyn says, “We will come with you.”

Bohdi rubs the back of his neck. “So …none of you are working for Odin, are you?”

“How dare you insult us!” shouts Valli. He lunges in Bohdi’s direction. Bohdi ducks and runs out of the door. Valli charges after him, and Amy hears Bohdi shouting, “Just checking, don’t—erp!”

Sigyn rushes through the door, Nari hot on her heals. “Let him go, Valli!” Sigyn snaps. Amy hears a bit of a scuffling and a door shutting.

Amy goes and peeks around the corner. The hallway is empty ... no bodies of weird, bipolar probably-Indian programmers lying on the floor. She supposes she’s glad.

At her feet, Fenrir whines her “I am so hungry” whine. Shaking her head, Amy says, “Come on, grandma, let’s go get some food for my monster.”

x x x x

Ten minutes later, Beatrice and Amy are in Steve’s room trying to cut grilled chicken breasts into bite size chunks. Hard enough with plastic silverware, harder still with Fenrir doing a happy dance at their feet. The door opens and Amy looks up. Bohdi is standing there again, alone, flicking his lighter. “Steve needs to talk to you, too.”

Amy blows her bangs out of her face but doesn’t move.

“It’s important,” Bohdi says. He takes a breath. “Lives depend on it. I’m sorry.”

Wiping her hands on her hips, Amy says, “Sorry for what?”

Bohdi looks up pointedly at the ceiling. “Can’t talk about it here.”

Beatrice puts her hand on Amy’s arm, “Amy, you don’t have to go.”

“Please?” says Bohdi. He looks worried and concerned.

Patting her grandmother’s hand, Amy says, “I’ll be fine. It’s just down the hall. Will you stay here with Fenrir?”

“Humpf,” says Beatrice, but doesn’t protest when Amy follows Bohdi out the door.

As they walk down the hall, Bohdi says, “I didn’t tell them anything.”

Amy feels a chill run through her. Before she can ask what anything might be, Bohdi opens the door to the hospital room that’s been turned into a magically-shielded conference room. He holds the door open. Amy hesitates a moment before she goes in.

Dale is gone. Steve is leaning against a window ledge at the far end of the room, arms crossed over his chest. Sigyn is seated on the bed. Valli is pacing. Nari is sitting on the room’s two chairs, but stands up when she enters the room.

Walking into the room, Amy lifts her shoulders. “What?”

The door behind her closes, and Steve says, “Bohdi seems to think that you might know a way through Jotunheim Southern Wastes to the realm of King Utgard.”

Amy feels all the air leave her chest. She does know. She wraps her arms around herself and shivers.

x x x x

“Where in Norns’ names are we?” Thor bellows. He turns to Loki, nostrils flared, and face red.

Warmed by the magic, he stills his teeth and surveys the terrain. The World Gate was supposed to drop them off at night fall, just outside King Utgard’s castle in Jotunheim. It’s nightfall. And based on the snowy plain that Thor’s chariot sits in and the tiny bean-shaped moon that hangs in the sky, they’re in Jotunheim, too. But there is no castle or Frost Giant habitation to be seen.

“The Gate must have shifted!” Thor roars.

“Well, obviously,” snips Loki.

“Don’t get cranky with me,” says Thor.

Loki bristles. “You’re the cranky one!”

Pointing his hammer at Loki, Thor rumbles, “You asked to come on this trip. Now be helpful and figure out where we are!”

Loki glares at Thor. And then he drops his head. He did ask Thor to come on this trip. For once he wasn’t ordered by Odin to attend to Thor on one of his damn fool adventures. He frowns, pulls out his knife, and embeds it into the chariot wall.

It’s the sort of thing that Thor normally tries to pound him for … and a near pounding would completely justify Loki setting Thor’s cloak on fire. Loki would rather like to see the big oaf have to drop and roll in the snow. Thor’d come out of it looking like a Yeti and Loki could mock him for it for centuries.

“Ach! Loki,” Thor says, putting a giant hand on his shoulder, “you’re still feeling down about Sigyn not wanting to renew your marriage vows, aren’t you?”

Loki’s skin heats ... and so must his armor, because Thor draws his hand away and shakes it. “Ouch, that smarts,” he says. But, the giant, insufferable, bastard son of Odin doesn’t get mad, which makes Loki almost as furious as the knowledge that Thor has him figured out. Loki is here to escape from Sigyn, which is ironic at some level, as soon enough he may be separated from her for good. In Asgard, marriages are renewed every few centuries. Loki and Sigyn’s has lasted longer than most, confounding his detractors at court to no end. But now she is not certain if she wants to extend their vows, and Loki doesn’t understand why. So he’s run away … probably the worst thing he could do. But he can’t threaten her. She won’t be cajoled. And he will not beg.

“Would you like to eat something?” Thor says. “I can roast one of my goats, you can make a fire … ”

From where they stand yoked to the front of the chariot, Thor’s goats shift on their feet and give soft fearful bleats. They have magically-regenerating bones and have been eaten hundreds of times. Mimir says they don’t remember being eaten, but Loki supposes after a few hundred years they might have some inkling when Thor’s feeling peckish.

One of the goats stamps its hooves. Remembering previous meals, Loki’s mouth starts to water. “Why not?” he says. “We won’t reach Utgard’s palace before he closes the main gate, anyway.”

Thor scans the horizon. “Perhaps we should make our way to one of those small hillocks? They have trees … ”

Loki hops out of the chariot. The goats, despite their unease, don’t fly off with the chariot in tow. The snow only comes up to his knees, but a few paces away it forms a drift. He heads in that direction. Waving a hand, he says, “No need, I can split the water molecules in the snow, and we’ll have the perfect fuel.”

He concentrates on the drift, imagines the molecules ripping asunder and the hydrogen electrons dancing in a frenzy. The drift erupts in flame, but Loki doesn’t relax his concentration until he feels magic itself rippling through the drift, gently sustaining the reaction.

Turning around he finds Thor scratching his head. “Do you think that could be dangerous?”

Loki waves his hand. “I’m not that powerful. It will die out in a few hours.”

“Hmmm…” says Thor.

Trudging back toward the goats, Loki says, “Come, I’ll hold one while you slit its throat.” Fortunately, the goats may be uneasy, but they don’t apparently speak Asgardian.

“Very well,” says Thor, falling into step with him. And then he says, “You know, with all that your family has been through lately, it’s no wonder that Sigyn is not herself.”

Loki begins unhooking one of the beasts. “I said I wanted to eat, not talk.”

Thor, the idiot, keeps talking. “It was a bad business with Valli,” Thor says. “A bad business with the dwarves … and a blot on the integrity of Asgard.” Thor’s voice drops to a whisper. “And my father.”

Loki’s hands still. During the Black Dwarf “operation,” Valli had been assigned to a squad that was mostly mercenaries, while Sigyn had remained with Valkyries and Nari had been among the diplomatic corps. Although War Rights had been strictly forbidden, some of the brutes had taken them anyway. Valli is savage and thick headed, but what he saw in the field traumatized even him. Since the operation he has dark circles under his eyes. Nari says he doesn’t sleep. Once, Valli had become exhausted enough he’d fallen asleep at Loki and Sigyn’s home, but woken up screaming. He’d lain in his mother’s arms afterwards, whispering, “They were so small, they were so small.”

Sigyn keeps saying they fought for the wrong side. When Loki counters that had they fought for the other side they would be dead, she says there are things worse than death. Loki has promised her that he will make sure that in the next engagement Valli is a guard for the diplomatic corps, but it doesn’t make her happy.

“I don’t know how to make her happy anymore,” he whispers. “I don’t know how to make my son better.” The words slip out without him meaning for them to.

“You’re a good husband, Loki,” Thor says quietly. “Give her some time … and give Valli some time. How many horrors have we seen?”

Sometimes, for an idiot, Thor is very wise. Loki can’t look him in the eye, but he nods. Noticing his armor has become cold, he concentrates, and wills it to warm again. He unhitches the goat, and then he hears a crack. Thor spins and raises his hammer. Clutching the goat, Loki turns around. The fire is going at a nice clip, but it hasn’t become dangerously large. He sees no creatures on the plain, nor in the sky.

“I don’t see anything,” says Thor.

“Nor I,” says Loki. Without discussing it, he and Thor trudge toward the sound.

At just that moment, Loki feels a strange sensation, like he is moving backward, although his feet are moving forward.

Behind him, the goat, still yoked to the chariot, screams in fear. There is a sound of tiny hooves thudding quickly in snow, and the chariot creaking into motion. Thor and Loki turn around just in time to see the goat leaping into the sky, pulling the chariot along with it. The chariot and goat are briefly a shadow in front of the tiny moon, and then the beasts lands among the trees and hillocks Thor had pointed out earlier.

Scratching his head, Thor says, “What has scared it?”

From behind them comes another crack, and then another. The snow in front of the blaze juts up as though caught in an earthquake, but instead of earth, ice rises and water gushes out, rolling toward Loki and Thor.

“What … ” Thor roars.

A white spear juts up from the icy rise.

Before Loki can respond, a giant orca-like whale, spear atop its head, and wicked spiked plates upon its back, lunges out onto the ice. It’s twice as big as an Earth orca, though it’s skin is completely white, and unlike any orca whale Loki’s seen, it has claws at the end of its fins.

It lunges out of the icy water they must surely be standing on, bugling a blood curdling cry.

“We’re on the Southern Wastes!” Loki yells. “This must be Lake Balstead!”

The beast slithers forward with unnerving swiftness, mouth open, teeth glinting in the moonlight.

“Shut up and run!” shouts Thor.

Sometimes, for an idiot, Thor is very wise.

x x x x

“Dr. Lewis?” says Steve.

Amy jumps slightly. “Why do you need to know?” she asks.

“We’re going to take Gerðr back to her home. Open up diplomatic relations.”

Amy stares at Steve for a moment. And then she huffs. “Bull. You’re not taking Gerðr home for diplomatic relations.” It’s amazing what having hundreds of years of political intrigue in your brain can do for your understanding of such things.

Steve pushes himself up from the ledge and looks down at her, his jaw very tight. She hears Bohdi’s lighter flick.

Looking away, Steve says, “No, of course not.”

Amy blinks. “Besides King Sutr of the Fire Giants, King Utgard is the only credible threat to Odin’s rule.” She drops her eyes. “Are you going to join forces with him?”

“No,” says Steve.

Amy lifts her head. “Then—”

“We plan on taking them weapons and armor.”

Behind her Bohdi says, “Kevlar is resistant to spear points and can withstand plasma blasts. We haven’t tested incendiary rounds on Asgardian armor, but flamethrowers work great.”

On the bed Sigyn says, “And I doubt Asgardian armor could withstand some of your surface-to-air missiles, even with magic.

Amy blinks and looks down again. “I don’t know if even with those things, Utgard could win. Odin still has the power to create and destroy World Gates. And I don’t know if we’d want Utgard to win … he’s still a king.”

Steve sighs. “Our intelligence suggests that the Asgardians, Vanir, and Elves have turned the tide against the Fire Giants.”

Amy remembers Loki’s fears of Nari and Valli being captured by the Fire Giants. “I don’t think we want King Sutr to win either,” she says.

“No,” says Steve. “But we want to keep them busy.”

Amy raises her head. “A proxy war?”

“‘Cause that worked out well for the U.S. in Afghanistan against the Russians,” says Bohdi.

Steve’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t reply. Instead he takes a step closer to Amy. “We’re not trying to win any war. We’re trying to buy time. Humans are close to being able to stand up to Odin.” He gestures to his legs. “There’s what you’ve done, Dr. Lewis, and there is more.” Bending a little, so his eyes are closer to her level, he says, “We have physicists and Dark Elves working to create hybrid tech. Soon we’ll be able to destroy gates before they open and create gates that don’t exist. We’re working on better magic detection that won’t be susceptible to the likes of Freyja. We’ll be able to make our own Promethean wire.”

Amy’s eyes slip to the floor. Loki could destroy gates, Odin, too …but she knows of no other enchanters that can do it.

“Dr. Lewis,” Steve says, “Will you help us?”

Amy looks up at Steve without really seeing him. If they achieved such feats of hybrid technology, humans wouldn’t have to worry if Sutr, Utgard, or any other magical creature took the reins from Odin. Humanity would be independent—free to destroy themselves—but they’d never be the slaves of other races.

“Yes,” she says, her vision clearing. Steve is leaning over her, his expression gentle and kind. He nods at her.

“But how will you help us?” says Valli. And then to his mother, he says, “She can’t lead us through the Southern Wastes to King Utgard’s castle!”

Amy spins on her feet. “Yes, I can.” She looks to the window, darkened by Promethean wire. “I mean, I might, probably, depending on where in the Southern Wastes we arrive ... I’d need to get my bearings, but if we head toward the Canyon of Kings, then follow the trail over the mountains, we will arrive at the sea, which is frozen over most of the year at the Strait of Sorrows …we could walk across.” She rolls on her feet. “The trail through the mountains isn’t particularly hard, but it is cold, and you have to know what you’re looking for. And there are the Yeti—”

“How do you know this?” says Sigyn.

Amy’s eyes rise. “Errr … Loki went there?”

Valli lets out a long exasperated sigh. “We know that. The trouble is, The Canyon of Kings, and the very narrow trail through the mountains to the strait …are hard to find unless you’ve been there.”

“Ah …” says Amy, realization dawning.

Her eyes go to Bohdi, and he meets her gaze. “They’re sending a SEAL platoon,” Bohdi says. “Sixteen guys, Gerðr, Steve, Dale ... They’re going to go, whatever you say.”

Amy looks around the room at Loki’s family, feeling slightly sick. These are the last people she wants to reveal this to. It will lead to questions that she doesn’t really feel like answering. But people’s lives are at stake, and she has to get over it. She straightens her shoulders. “I remember the way …because Loki dumped his memories in my head.”

She takes a deep breath. Sigyn slips off the bed and comes forward, her elegantly coiffed head tilted to the side. She’s beautiful, can fire a gun, shoot a bow, raise babies, mend clothes and burns, cook better than Odin’s chefs, open World Gates, make herself invisible, and threw Loki’s bull poop right back at him. She’s not afraid of anything or anyone. How could Loki not have been in love with her?

“What? Why?” says Valli.

“To protect her,” Bohdi says and Amy almost sighs. He interprets it so much nicer than the truth.

Focusing on no one, Amy says, “No, because I was there. I figured out he was the incarnation of Chaos and …”

Valli takes a step forward. “How did you figure that out?” He sounds angry, insulted, and hurt.

Amy takes a step back, Bohdi steps closer to her, and Steve puts a hand on Valli’s shoulder. It must be a firm grip because Valli looks down at it, and then up to Steve, his face contorting into a terrifying snarl. Steve’s face is completely impassive—and somehow that is more terrifying. Nari puts a hand on Valli’s other shoulder, and whispers, “Brother,” but then his eyes go to Amy. He looks … distrustful maybe? Hurt?

Amy knows Loki was the incarnation of Chaos because Loki projected his other lives while he was sleeping. She sucks in on her lips. But that’s not all. “He was turning blue ... his hair becoming black ... And one day we were eating at an Indian restaurant, and it happened, and I saw a picture of Shiva, the Hindu God of Chaos, and I knew …” She raises her eyes. “And so did every person in the restaurant. They begged him not to dance.”

She looks to Sigyn. “I think, if he’d given the memories to you, he wasn’t sure Hoenir would explain, and you might not have any context …and he wanted to remember the next time, this time, that he isn’t evil. He doesn’t only bring destruction. He is change …wherever he is, whatever he is.”

Sigyn doesn’t look angry, only curious. She raises an eyebrow, and her lips quirk. “All his memories?” she says.

Amy’s jaw drops, and her eyes widen. She feels a blush spreading across her cheeks, and takes a step back, because now that Sigyn brings it up, the memories of Sigyn and Loki come back, too, and knowledge that there is one more thing that Sigyn is better at. She’s just all around …fearless.

Sigyn’s quirked lips break into a real smile.

Across the room, Nari says in a low, warning voice. “Mother …” He looks slightly ill. As does Valli. Steve and Bohdi are also looking at Sigyn. One of Steve’s eyebrows is up, Bohdi’s lips are parted, and he looks like he might drool. Amy’s brow furrows and she looks at her feet. Who isn’t Bohdi interested in?

A light hand lands on Amy’s arm. She looks up to find Sigyn standing next to her. “Forgive me,” the other woman says. “I made you uncomfortable. I shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that.” Squeezing Amy’s arm gently, she whispers, “Truly, Dr. Lewis, you have accomplished amazing things.”

Amy blinks. This is why Sigyn is perfect. She’s fearless and kind.

Beyond her, Nari wipes his face with a hand and mutters. “After hundreds of years ... it’s still uncomfortable thinking about one’s parents … ” Valli sticks out his tongue and shudders.

Bohdi rolls his eyes. “This is why Amy’s hypothesis on magic and memories doesn’t work.”

Nari and Valli look at each other. “Because our parents—”

“No!” says Bohdi, stepping closer to Nari. “Because if magic was the reason thousand-year-old creatures could keep their memories, then Amy shouldn’t have all of your father’s memories in her non-magical brain.”

Amy feels heat rise in her. She’s just admitted to something that she’s pretty sure is going to lead to, “so you had sex with my dad …” and dug up memories that are, frankly, painful, and he’s worried about proving he’s right?

A triumphant-looking smirk on his face, Bohdi puts his hand on his chin. His eyes sweep over the walls and ceiling. “And how do you even have access to them in a Promethean wire room?”

Amy’s skin heats. “Is that the most important thing right now? Proving your point?”

Bohdi’s mouth makes a small ‘o’. Clenching her fists at her side, Amy turns to Steve. “I’ll help in anyway I can.” From down the hall she hears, a “Woof” and then a “Hey, that puppy is in the food cart!”

“I have to go now,” she says.

Spinning on her heels, she turns to the door. Her hand is on the doorknob when she has a terrible realization. Her skin goes hot. Turning around she says to Bohdi, “Fine, you’re right. My hypothesis doesn’t work. Are you happy?”

Bohdi winces. “That’s a trick question, isn’t it?”

From the hallway comes a shout of, “That isn’t a therapy dog!” And then a shout of, “I’m calling animal control.”

Ire changing to alarm, Amy bolts from the room, the door slamming behind her.

x x x x

Bohdi jumps a little when the door slams behind Amy. “Sorry?” he says, not entirely sure what happened.

Carefully not looking at Nari—the bastard’s probably gloating—Bohdi turns around. Sigyn is eying him, one eyebrow arched. Steve’s massaging his forehead, giving Bohdi his patented “you are an idiot” look. Dropping the hand from his temple, Steve says, “That will be all for now.”

“You’ll take us, too, won’t you?” says Valli. “I want to be part of the struggle against Odin. You’ll find no swifter sword, and I am good shot as well. Nari … well he won’t slow you down, and mother is the Goddess of Victory!”

Steve turns to Sigyn, “Really?” His eyes seem too bright.

“No, Valli exaggerates,” says Sigyn, golden cheeks turning a few shades darker. “My name means victory woman, but I am no goddess.”

Steve rubs his jaw. “I could use all the help I can get.”

“You have my help,” Sigyn says.

“And ours,” says Valli, clapping his hand on his brother’s shoulders.

Nari’s eyes dart between his mother and brother. Clearing his throat he says, “Yes.” He looks paler than a few moments ago. Bohdi’s jaw tightens, his hand finds his lighter, and he gives Nari a smirk.

“Thank you,” Steve says. He shakes Valli’s and Nari’s hands, and dips his head at Sigyn. And then he puts a hand on Bohdi’s shoulder and says, “I need a moment with my right hand man ... If you don’t mind?”

Something makes both of Sigyn’s eyebrows jump, but she nods. “We will wait for you in the other room.”

From the hallway comes a shout. “Is that a wolf pup?”

“It sounds like Dr. Lewis could use some help,” Nari adds, heading with his family to the door. Bohdi’s hand tightens on his lighter, and his nostrils flare as the door shuts again.

“Have I ever told you how smooth you are?” Steve says.

Inspecting his lighter, Bohdi says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Steve snorts. Glancing down at Bohdi’s arms, he says, “What happened to the book I gave you?”

Bohdi blinks at him and pulls out his phone. “I downloaded it, Steve. I’m not some primitive savage.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Why haven’t you told Lewis?”

It takes Bohdi’s neural processors a while to catch up to what Steve means, and then to process his shock at Steve’s deduction. But Steve is Mr. On-top-of-things, isn’t he?

Flicking his lighter, Bohdi looks down and shrugs. “I’m not Loki.” When he looks up, Steve’s expression has softened. “No,” his boss says, “No, you’re not.” Bohdi feels his muscles loosen. He slips his lighter away.

“I’m going to need your help,” Steve says. “Can you tell when someone is telling a lie in a Promethean wire room?”

“I don’t know,” says Bohdi.

“Pretty useless to me if you can’t,” says Steve.

Bohdi sighs. “Yeah, sometimes I find it more of a burden than a gift. Especially when I was in boot camp and the guys were always lying about everything. I thought I’d developed an allergy to air.”

“That was a lie, Bohdi.”

Bohdi blinks. “Oh.” And then his eyes widen. “I can detect lies when I eavesdrop on the other side of Promethean wire!” Bohdi’s neural processors all shut down, and then light up at once. “Maybe the lie isn’t with the speaker, but in the lie itself. Wow, the philosophical implications of that—”

“Will have to wait,” says his boss. Bohdi feels some of the air go out of him.

Heading for the door, Steve says, “Right now I’m just glad it does work. We’re going to need every advantage we can get. ”

There is a knock at the door, and Steve opens it. His mother enters the room. “Steve,” she says, “Gennie Santos, the new candidate for mayor, is downstairs. The elves have her checked out. She and her entourage are all human. She wants to meet with you.”

Steve’s shoulders fall, and he takes a step back.

“Should I tell her now isn’t a good time?” Steve’s mom says.

Steve looks around the room. “No,” Steve says. “I’ll talk to her. Just give me ten minutes.”

Ruth nods and quietly leaves. Bohdi runs his hand through his hair. “How do your parents know so much about the elves?”

Steve sighs. “The World Gate the Dark Elf refugees are using is in their neighborhood. My mom found a little lost elf child in the alley behind the house.”

Bohdi snickers. “She invited him in and gave him cookies, didn’t she?”

Steve sighs. “And hot cocoa. She called me, and the next thing I know my parents’ house is the first stop in the Dark Elf Underground Railroad. I couldn’t convince them to stay out of it.” Steve frowns. Turning from Bohdi, Steve goes over to the window and looks out at the city. Bowing his head, he says, “At least the Dark Elves will give Claire magical protection when I’m gone.”

Bohdi’s heart falls. He doesn’t like the idea of leaving Claire, either. And she’s just an adopted kid sister to him. He remembers her look of fury earlier; she won’t be happy about this. “You know, I’m sure if you just walked out there right now, and told the world you’re recovered, they’d declare you the candidate, and you’d win, and have an armed guard all the time, and—”

“I had guards at the conference,” Steve says, putting his hands behind his back. “No, Odin wants me dead. And he’s already put civilian life on the line to achieve that. If I were mayor, every time I went out in public, I’d be putting civilian lives on the line. I’d be putting my family on the line.” He chuckles darkly. “And as mayor I might have more political capital, but I’d have less firepower behind me than I do at the FBI. The National Guard is controlled by the governor. I’d be at the mercy of politicians downstate.”

“Oh,” says Bohdi, feeling distinctly small. He hears someone walking by in the hall, most likely with a walker. Someone calls a nurse.

“Bohdi, why do people enter politics?” Steve says quietly.

“Patriotism?” Bohdi suggests. It seems like the safe answer.

Steve chuckles again and leans against the glass. “Vanity, power, and because they enjoy playing with people’s lives.”

“But not you,” says Bohdi.

“Don’t lie, Bohdi,” Steve says.

Bohdi’s mouth drops, about to protest, but Steve cuts him off. “It’s true. I always want to be in control.”

“Because you like to keep people safe!” says Bohdi. If it weren’t for Steve, he’d be in Gitmo. Steve is the most moral person he knows, next to maybe Amy, who wouldn’t let him go when he was falling to his death in Nornheim.

For a long moment Steve says nothing. And then, very softly, he says, “When I’m at my best.” He turns around. “But when I’m at my worst, I just find it ... fun.” His hands clench at his sides. “Doing this ... going to Jotunheim, will help keep people safe—my family safe. Maybe this is just the universe keeping me at my best?”

Bohdi shakes his head. “That sounds too much like fate to me.”

Steve’s eyebrows rise, but he doesn’t respond. Instead he looks around the room. “There are at least a half dozen reasons why it might be a good thing if the general population thinks I’m still incapacitated. Help me find me some hospital clothes.”

A few minutes later, Steve’s lying in the bed, a hospital gown thrown over his undershirt. Bohdi has Steve’s shoes and shirt in his hand. “Hide ‘em, will you?” Steve says.

There’s a knock at the door. Bohdi dives for the built-in cabinets, and Steve says in a very raspy voice, “Who is it?”

A little unnerved by how convincingly ill Steve sounds, Bohdi looks over his shoulder and whispers, “And you say I’m the trickster?”

From outside the door comes Amy’s voice, “It’s me.”

“Come in,” says Steve, in a clear voice this time.

Amy enters the room, carrying a bunch of medical paraphernalia and looking a little paler than usual.

Steve says, “What is it?”

“I need to collect some blood for some tests.” She shrugs. Not meeting his eyes she says, “The HIV strain you have shouldn’t show up on ordinary screens, but I should check.”

Steve’s eyes shift to the bag she’s carrying. “That’s fine …but that looks like a blood donation bag. How many tests are you going to perform?”

“A lot. Why are you in the bed? What is Bohdi doing?”

Stuffing Steve’s clothes in a drawer, Bohdi says, “Hiding Steve’s miraculous recovery from the general population.”

“Yes,” Amy says, going over to Steve. “We wouldn’t want to give quadriplegics undue hope.” Her voice has a touch of bitterness that Bohdi’s not used to hearing.

“It’s not about that,” Steve replies. “This is experimental technology that belongs to the United States government.”

Bohdi turns to see Amy hovering over Steve. He can’t decipher her expression. Scared? Angry? Both? “Of course,” she says, voice nearly inflectionless.

Steve rolls up his sleeve. “Go ahead and stick me. It will make this look more convincing. Bohdi, grab her that doctor’s coat, and then stand outside the room. Leave the door open, and keep your ears open …” Holding out his arm for Lewis he mutters, “After Gerðr tried to kill me yesterday I’d rather someone always be listening in.”

“What?” Amy and Bohdi say in unison.

There is at knock at the door, and Bohdi quickly throws the doc coat to Amy. As she slides it on, Bohdi opens the door. He finds himself face to face with a woman in her early fifties. She has medium length brown hair and is wearing a suit. She’s a little stout, but she’s not unattractive. Of course, Bohdi finds most women attractive ... Which paired with his ability to bring chaos, might be a reason Bohdi would make a very bad boyfriend.

Bohdi steps out of the Promethean wire room and holds out his hand. “Gennie Santos?”

“Yes.” She extends her hand and Bohdi shakes it. “How is he?” she asks.

“Fine,” says Bohdi absentmindedly, staring at their hands. She has a firm, honest-feeling handshake. His mind starts snaking off on an inconvenient trajectory of just all an older woman with a firm hand could do for him. He releases her hand quickly, but catches her giving him a too-knowing eyebrow raise. He smiles weakly and steps away. She strides into Steve’s room.

Bohdi goes and stands just outside the door. He hears Gennie Santos declare, “Steve, we’ll get the bastards who did this,” and he doesn’t have a single sniffle.

CHAPTER 14

Amy awakens with a start in near darkness, her skin slightly damp with sweat. She presses a hand to her forehead, and the movement causes the cot under her to squeak. She hears Fenrir shift beside the bed, and Beatrice’s breathing. Closing her eyes, she tries to go back to sleep, but it’s like every nerve in her body is set to awake. Whenever she starts to fall to sleep she sees the faces of the people who died in the troll invasion, or she thinks about laboratories and human test subjects with expressionless faces getting injected with serum.

Rolling over, she looks to where a bar of light is sneaking under the door. She’s in a room in ADUO headquarters. For now it is Beatrice’s and her bedroom. It has no windows. Her eyes go to the spot in the darkness where she can hear her grandmother breathing. Beatrice hasn’t left her side since they relocated to ADUO headquarters five days ago. It’s beginning to wear on Amy. Not that she doesn’t love Beatrice, but she already feels trapped. And love her grandmother though she does, she feels like Beatrice is one of the people trapping her.

As softly as she can, she sits up and pulls the blanket on the bed around her shoulders. She winces in the dark and rubs her shoulders. Besides tediously long conferences, in the past few days she’s been given some lessons in firing a rifle, self-defense, military first aid gear and techniques, driving a snowmobile—and then run through countless drills.

Biting back the urge to groan, she stands up and pads to the door. Beatrice doesn’t wake, but as Amy slips out into the hallway, Fenrir wiggles out beside her.

A motion in the corner of her eye makes her jump. She turns and sees a man in a black suit carrying a very big gun, some sort of rifle that she heard Bohdi say fires incendiary rounds. The man doesn’t move in Amy’s direction, and her body relaxes. He’s just doing his usual patrol.

She pushes a strand of hair behind her ear. When she made the decision to make the serum contagious, she expected men in black would eventually show up at her door to take her away. She didn’t realize she’d be living in men in black central for “security reasons.” At any given moment she feels like one of the agents will turn around and say, “Ma’am, you’re under arrest.”

She sighs—it seems unfair—even the SEALs and Marines going on the Jotunheim mission get to stay at the Hilton. The man in black stops his pacing and turns to her as though reading her thoughts. Amy’s heart stops.

“Ma’am, are you alright?” the man says.

She swallows. “Yes, just can’t sleep. Going to the rec room.”

He nods at her. As she turns away she resists the urge to sprint. A few steps later, Amy opens another door and enters a lounge area that has been turned into a rec room for Amy, Beatrice, Bohdi, Steve, and Loki’s family. There is a kitchen at the far end of the room, with a table and chairs. Immediately by the door there is a large TV against one wall, a couch and some beanbags. There are no windows. If there were windows there would have to be guards at them.

The TV is on, though the lights are turned off. Amy freezes in place. She silently begs the universe that it not be Nari, Valli, or Sigyn. They all intimidate her. Nari because he might have been interested, but now is a bit standoffish, Valli because he’s a psychopath, and Sigyn because she’s Sigyn. Amy’s eyes adjust to the gloom, and she sees Bohdi sprawled on one of the beanbags. Like her he hasn’t been allowed to leave the premises. Her body sags with relief. He looks up at her and hits the mute button. “Hey, can’t sleep?”

Amy glances up at the clock on the microwave. It says it’s 1:00 AM. She flops down on the couch with a sigh, picks up a throw pillow and pulls it into her lap. “No.”

“Me either,” he says. “Not in days.”

Fenrir trots past Amy and Bohdi, tripping over her now enormous paws. Fenrir looks more like a giant wolf cub than a dog; her shoulders are higher than Amy’s knees. She’s furry, adorable, and thankfully has a bit less of a chip on her shoulder. Since she’s gotten bigger Fenrir’s a lot less likely to attack random males for no reason. There is a stash of dog food bags that people in the office have been donating. Fenrir rips open one of the bags with her nails and begins to methodically eat the food that spills out onto the floor. Neither Amy nor Bohdi protest. Fenrir will clean up all the kibbles.

“She looks even bigger than she did this morning,” Bohdi comments.

“Yes,” says Amy. Loki once told Amy that magic just made you more of who you already were. Steve’s transformation is subtle. He says he just feels more alert. But Fenrir ... Amy restrains a sigh. Fenrir has always been a noble wolf trapped in the body of a rat-like little dog—she’s turning into what she was always meant to be. Amy swallows and feels a chill settle on her chest. Fenrir doesn’t mind the transformation … but a person … Is someone already undergoing a similar transformation in a laboratory somewhere? She bites her lip. If the virus escapes the laboratory, would it do more damage? But surely they’ll test their subjects, realize the serum is contagious, and it won’t happen? But then of course the virus will remain in the hands of the U.S. government and maybe that’s worse ...

“You shouldn’t worry about tomorrow,” Bohdi says.

Startled from her thoughts, Amy jumps a little in her seat. Her eyes go to Bohdi. Steve made him cut his hair. He’s sporting a look that she’s heard described as “high and tight.” Without his bangs he looks a little naked.

She gazes down at her hands, wrapped around the edges of the pillow. Tomorrow is a quick “recon” mission. The SEAL platoon, Gerðr and two female Marine guards, Sigyn, Nari, Valli, and Amy are going to Jotunheim for just a few hours. They’ll let Amy get her bearings. She’ll hopefully point them in the right direction, and then they’ll release some drones and some weather balloons. The team will go back a few days later without Amy and collect the data. Then in the comfort of a nice warm, relatively-safe conference room, Amy will pore over their findings. “I’m not worried about that.” She meets Bohdi’s eyes. “I wish you were coming, though.” Even if he can be obnoxious sometimes, she still wouldn’t trust anyone more with her life.

Bohdi gives her a thin smile. “Yeah, well, I’m not enough of a citizen.”

Amy rolls her eyes. “That’s so stupid.”

Bohdi puts his hands to his head, like he’s going to flip back his now non-existent bangs. “Yeah ... well, you’ll be safer with them than you were with me and a stick.”

Amy blinks at him. “Maybe,” she says. She hasn’t seen much of Bohdi the past few days. He’s been with Steve a lot, or positioned on guard outside his door. She’s been drilling for the recon mission.

“Me not coming isn’t what’s keeping you awake,” Bohdi says. “So what is?”

Amy meets his eyes. She wants to tell him. Maybe he’d come up with some grand scheme to spring her if she became imprisoned, maybe he’d think of some way to spirit her out of here before she is even caught … Maybe it would just be nice to talk to someone. She stops herself. Looking away, she says, “I can’t tell you that.”

“Because I’m not enough of a citizen?” he says, sounding surprisingly bitter.

She glares at him. Looking around the room, fearful of bugs, she leans closer to him and whispers. “I’m giving you plausible deniability!”

“Whatever,” he says and flips the mute off. He starts flipping through channels, his face set in a scowl.

“Why can’t you sleep?” she says, settling back on the couch. He shoots her a glare. She doesn’t sigh. He’s in one of his moods again. She used to associate Bohdi with a certain joie de vivre, or at least joie de obnoxiousness, but usually his obnoxiousness was funny ... like Loki’s. She looks at his silhouette framed by the TV’s glow. She’d even thought he was Loki, but without Loki’s careless disregard for life and basic human rights. But Thor had said Bohdi wasn’t Loki, and Odin, who could sense lies, had believed him and that idea had been shot to Hell—or Hel. Still, during their journey she’d come to like Bohdi a lot, even if he wasn’t Loki, or because he wasn’t Loki. They’d seemed so close. But now there’s a distance between them. Occasionally, the old Bohdi shows through—the old Bohdi had been there when they’d worked together to create the serum. Now it seems like he’s in another funk. She sighs. She’s not sure when the mood swings started.

Trying to snap him out of it she says, “You can tell me, I’m a U.S. citizen.”

Bohdi levels a withering glare at her, but she refuses to wither. Not answering, he turns back to the television and starts flipping through channels again.

“Is it because of what happened in Nornheim?” Amy says.

“Is what because of Nornheim?” Bohdi says, flipping the TV to mute.

“Your … ” she stops. What is the word? “Your depression.” Because that’s probably what it is, isn’t it?

Bohdi doesn’t look at her; he just keeps flipping channels.

Amy plunges on. “Is it about not finding your parents and not knowing who you are? Because if it is … ” She stops, what could she do? His whole world was taken from him. She takes a breath. “I’m sorry, if it is. I couldn’t do anything.” She looks at her hands. “I just don’t like seeing you sad and angry ...” She lets out a long breath. “Hernandez really hates you now. Maybe in his quest to prove you were once a member of a terrorism cell he’ll find out who you really are?” She winces, and drops her head into her hands. That’s the best she can do? She blinks. No, she has the serum she managed to save from the feds. But he doesn’t believe that it brings back memories, and he might be right. Maybe the reason Steve has his memories back is because his magical superpower is filling out forms. Could a good memory just be an extension of that? She peeks up at Bohdi through her fingers.

To her surprise he doesn’t look as angry as he did before. He gives her a crooked half smile. “I know who I am. I’m Bohdi Patel.” He grins. “It’s my name. I stole it fair and square.” He turns back to the television and the grin fades away. The screen is filled with victims of the latest troll attacks. He doesn’t turn on the volume, but he slouches deeper into the beanbag. They watch in silence for a few minutes. Amy feels her eyes get hot. But she doesn’t ask him to change the channel. Maybe this is penance?

Staring at the screen Bohdi says, “Amy ... I’m …” She hears him take a long breath. “I’m … good at killing things,” he says softly.

A picture of an adorable little boy comes on the screen, and it feels like her heart has been ripped from her chest and rung out to dry. He said he didn’t feel guilty, but saying and believing are two different things. “If you’re guilty, I’m just as guilty,” she says softly.

Bohdi turns his head and glares at her. “No, you’re not. You’ve never killed anyone, not even spiders or adze.”

The picture of a little girl comes on the screen. Amy says softly, “The trolls were my idea, setting the spider nest on fire was my idea, escaping on Sleipnir and attacking the guards was my idea.” And so was making the serum contagious, but she doesn’t mention that.

“None of that was your fault,” says Bohdi.

“Why not?” she says. “Because it wasn’t at my hands?” A little girl with red hair comes on the screen. Amy’s breath catches and Bohdi quickly changes the channel. They both fall quiet, and then the door opens suddenly.

Fenrir growls, Amy jumps, and Bohdi sits up fast. In the door frame is the guard. “Just making rounds,” he says. He exits and the door swings shut behind him. Across the room she hears Fenrir start eating her kibble again.

Staring at the door, Bohdi says, “I can’t stand being trapped here. I think I’m becoming claustrophobic.”

Casting the pillow aside, Amy pulls her feet up onto the couch and wraps her arms around her knees. “Me, too, I feel like the walls are closing in.”

Falling back onto the beanbag, Bohdi looks up at her and whispers. “In about two hours there will be a shift change. We could sneak out and go for a walk.” He grins at her and looks almost happy, even though the smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

The suggestion lifts a weight off Amy’s shoulders. She starts to imagine it. “Yes,” she says, lying down, body still curled in a ball. “We could get fresh donuts!”

The smile on Bohdi’s face turns genuine. “Yeah.” Leaning forward he whispers, “There’s a place near here where you can get a discount if you speak one of the Kashmiri dialects; and they make the best, most authentic green tea latte.”

Amy smiles. “That sounds great.” She can almost smell the early morning city streets.

Bohdi looks back to the clock, and then starts flicking through the channels. “Should we watch a movie until then?”

“Sure.” A scene she recognizes comes on, and she cries, “Stop!”

Bohdi puts the remote down.

Amy sighs. “It’s Cary Grant and Eva Marie Saint in North by Northwest.”

“What’s it about?”

Pulling a blanket from the back of the couch, Amy looks at the screen. “Two people who get caught in between the machinations of the good guys and the bad guys … but sometimes it’s hard to tell the two apart.”

On the screen, Eva’s character says to Grant’s, “Whose side are you on?”

“Your side always, darling,” Grant replies.

Amy sighs. “Most romantic line in a movie ever.” Of course by “romantic” she means “sexiest.”

Bohdi sniffs. “What’s romantic about that? Someone who is always on your side just doesn’t respect you enough to fight.”

Amy scowls. “You can argue with someone and still be on their side.”

Bohdi doesn’t respond, just settles deeper into the beanbag and stares at the screen.

Amy blinks. “Were you just trying to start a fight?”

He grins up at her. “Maybe.”

Amy closes her eyes. Not Loki, but maybe Loki light? Eyes still closed, she settles deeper into the cushions and pulls the blanket tight around her. Of course, Loki wasn’t the only good looking man in the universe with a mercurial temperament who was also an unrepentant flirt. She opens her eyes to see Bohdi, eyes fixed on the movie, and she’s suddenly hit by a wave of deja vu. It kind of makes her happy.

She pulls on one of the small couch cushions under her head, gets a little more comfortable, and closes her eyes just for a moment.

Amy opens her eyes to a morning talk show and the sound of Nari’s voice. “You call yourself a chaperone!” She has a moment of disorientation and panic. And then hears Nari say, “Oomf.”

Looking toward the sound she sees Beatrice pulling her umbrella away from Nari’s ribcage by the rec room door.

Amy looks to the beanbag. Rubbing his eyes, Bohdi tsks at her and whispers. “Lewis, that was the worst jailbreak ever. I’m blaming you.”

Amy throws her pillow at him. It misses by a mile. He grins and yawns. She glances at the clock. It’s nearly 8 AM. She blinks. That was the most sleep she’s had since—

Clearing her throat, Beatrice says, “Amy, you need to get ready to go.”

The walls start closing in again.

CHAPTER 15

Steve sits in his office, phone pressed to his ear. The clock says 8:20. He hears the phone on the other end ring a third time, and then the sound of it connecting.

“Hi,” says his daughter.

“Hi, Claire,” says Steve.

“Where are you?” says Claire.

Steve’s chest constricts. “Just in the office. You know that.”

It was decided that Claire shouldn’t stay at ADUO with Steve. Nari and Sigyn believe Odin is unlikely to strike Claire or his mother out of chivalry, and because he seems to care about his reputation with the U.S. people at the moment. In the end it had come down to a horrible gamble. Steve is certain Odin will attack him again, but he isn’t certain Odin will attack his parents. The Allfather doesn’t seem to have put together their connection to the Dark Elves. If he had, Henry would be dead, and the World Gate to the Dark Lands would be closed.

“Can I come to see you?” Claire says.

“What?” says Steve. “When?”

“Today, right after school,” says Claire.

Steve mentally calculates how long the mission to Jotunheim will take. Just a few hours ... He should see Claire today. Eventually, he’ll have to leave for the long trip to Utgard’s realm, and he won’t be able to see her again for months. But ... He rubs his jaw. If there is any sort of mishap on today’s trip ... He takes a deep breath. It’s unlikely that Odin will try something in Jotunheim. Even if he knows they have a Gate in Chicago, he won’t know where in the Southern Wastes it leads. No one knows where it leads. That’s the whole point of this first adventure. Still, even without Odin to worry about, things can go wrong. If Claire comes by with Ruth this afternoon and he isn’t here, they’ll both just worry. “How about tomorrow?” he says.

There is a too long pause on the other end of the line. “Okay,” she says, her voice a little too flat. “I’m going to class now.”

The line disconnects. Slipping the phone away, Steve rubs his forehead. Claire doesn’t belong here in the office with him. It’s a kindness to let her stay at her grandparents’. He and the team have been pulling twelve and fourteen hour days; he’d have no time for her.

His stomach growls, reminding him he didn’t have breakfast this morning. He’d walked into the rec room-lounge, seen Bohdi curled up on the beanbag and Amy asleep on the couch, and had come down to his office instead. Steve’s been sharing a room with Bohdi. Since the serum, Steve has been woken by strange dreams and too-vivid memories at least once a night. Every time, Bohdi has already been awake reading on his phone. The kid hasn’t been sleeping. And Beatrice has said Amy hasn’t either. He’d left them alone.

Shaking his head, he fishes in his desk drawer for a protein bar. There hadn’t been anything untoward in their sleeping arrangements. They’d been cute; both curled up in fetal positions, not touching but facing each other, and very close. In the drawer, Steve’s hand finds only empty air. His stomach growls again, but what is more disturbing than that is the feeling of cotton in his ears he always gets in a Promethean wire room. He scowls up at the stuff on his ceiling. Since taking the serum he hates it, even if he acknowledges the necessity. Standing, he starts to leave the office, just to go out and pace the halls and think, when he hears a knock at the door.

“Come in,” he says.

The door opens, and there is Amy. She’s holding the usual medical equipment and a digital tablet. He blinks. Bohdi should be at his post by the door by now, but the hallway is empty.

“I still need to examine you today,” she says. She rocks on her feet. “Even if we’re leaving.”

“I’m not turning into a wolf-man,” Steve says, trying to give her his most reassuring smile. She’s been so nervous lately, and he’s pretty sure Fenrir’s strange transformation is the reason. He takes a long breath. “Lewis, even if I did turn into wolf man, it would be better than what I was.”

She rocks on her feet. “Still …”

Steve sits down in a chair and begins rolling up his sleeves for the morning blood pressure, blood draw, head circumference, and foot size check. “Right,” he says. “For science.”

x x x x

Pulling the tape measure from Steve’s head, Amy allows herself a sigh of relief. “There’s been no enlargement.”

Earlier in the exam Dale had come into the office with an enormous coffee for Steve. From where he sits on a chair, flipping through a magazine, Dale says, “That’s good. If Steve’s head got any bigger it would pop.” His tone is a touch bitter. Amy’s heard him arguing with Steve several times about how he should be going on the trip today, even though Sigyn and Amy can translate Jotunn just fine, and Gerðr’s English has gotten better of late. It wasn’t Steve’s decision though, it was made by the Prometheans. Eventually, when they gather all the data and plot a course to Utgard’s realm, Dale will be going as the official translator.

Steve snorts and shoots Dale a look that looks more amused than irritated.

Amy takes a breath. “And your height is the same and—”

Steve cuts her off. “And my boots fit fine.”

Amy exhales. “Yes. And your blood pressure is great.” Better than it was before, actually.

Out in the hall she hears Fenrir whine and the sound of a plastic bag being opened. “Here you go, girl. Eat your pork rinds,” she hears Beatrice say.

“Have you been hungry?” Amy asks.

“Yes,” Steve says, “but it’s been manageable.”

Amy nods. “Magic raises your metabolism.”

Steve smiles. “More giant coffees with whipped cream and sprinkles for me.”

He’s trying to make her laugh. Steve always tries to make her comfortable when he wants something. Amy manages a small smile.

There’s a knock at the door, even though it’s not shut. Amy lifts her eyes to see Lieutenant Robert Larson standing there. He’s the leader of the SEAL platoon that’s taking them to Jotunheim today. He has dark blonde hair and blue eyes. He’s good looking in the way all of the SEAL guys are; they’re all incredibly fit, and seem to all have the same square jaw. Larson makes Amy uncomfortable, and it has nothing to do with his good looks. She just has a hard time getting a read on him. He’s very courteous and grasps situations quickly, but she’s never heard him crack a joke, or seen him express any emotion, unless focus counts as emotion.

He nods at Steve and then at Amy.

“Come in,” Steve says, and Larson enters the room.

“I was going to ask if you experienced any side effects besides the increase in appetite,” Amy whispers.

“Just very vivid dreams,” Steve says. “But other than that, I feel great.”

Larson cocks his head. “Pardon me for eavesdropping, but it could be this mission. All of us are having strange dreams.”

Amy freezes. Her jaw drops. It could be the mission. Or something else. But the government wouldn’t experiment with troops in the field, would they? That would be irresponsible and unethical. She bites the inside of her lip, and feels a sting in her eyes. What she did to Steve was only out of necessity.

“Dr. Lewis,” Steve says, apparently reading into her expression, “it’s going to be fine.” He gives her another smile that appears genuine. “This is a short trip, nothing you haven’t managed already. It’s the rest of us who should be worried.”

Amy nods. They anticipate no interaction with other hominids. It should be the easiest trip to another realm she’s ever been on, possible encounters with ice breaking whales notwithstanding.

“I should be coming,” Dale grumbles.

Amy glances over at him. His head is still bowed over the magazine. He won’t be needed on this trip. Sigyn and Amy will be able to translate for Gerðr if it’s needed. She shakes her head and mentally reprimands herself. She’s supposed to refer to Sigyn as Cindy, Nari as Nicholas, and Valli as Victor. It was determined that their identities as Loki’s family were better kept secret.

From the hallway she hears Bohdi say, “Still working for Steve and not for Odin?”

“What is wrong with you?” Agent Hernandez snaps.

“There are many theories about that,” Bohdi says. His voice is light and cheerful as it echoes into the office, and Amy finds herself smiling at the quip. She hears Bohdi’s voice carry again from down the hall, “But you didn’t answer my question.”

Amy turns around just in time to see Hernandez pushing Bohdi through the doorway. Bohdi’s carrying two paper cups with the emblem of a nearby donut shop on them. “Easy,” he snaps, eyes narrowing in Hernandez’s direction.

“I found him outside headquarters,” says Hernandez. Lip curling, he adds, “Defying orders.”

Amy hears Steve take a long breath. She doesn’t look, but she knows he’s doing that peculiar thing he does where he runs his tongue over his teeth. When he’s really pissed you can see him doing it from the outside.

Oblivious, or not caring, Bohdi walks over and hands her one of the cups. “Green tea latte. I like it for breakfast.”

As she takes it from his hands, Amy feels a warmth settle in the pit of her stomach that has nothing to do with the warmth of the cup. She tentatively takes a sniff, and then a sip. “It’s delicious,” she whispers.

With a huff, Hernandez walks over to Steve and hands him a digital tablet. “I did the research on Mr. Patel’s contacts like you asked.”

“What?” says Bohdi.

Proceeding as though Bohdi hasn’t spoken, Hernandez says, “The woman he’s living with is a tech recruiter, working for the Japanese government.”

“You’re living with a woman?” Amy says, the warmth in her stomach cooling fast. Realizing her tone might sound jealous, she hastens to add. “Did our pretend relationship mean nothing to you?” She follows it with what she hopes is a playful smile.

Bohdi takes a step back. “It isn’t like that!”

“She tried to poach one of our guys,” she hears Hernandez say. “Dr. Minokichi Ogawa.”

Bohdi looks at Hernandez, eyes wide. “What? I didn’t know that. Honest!” And then he blinks at Amy and shudders. “And I wouldn’t be sleeping with a woman I was living with. That would be like ... marriage. I’m more house sitting.”

Oh, well ... that’s ... She blinks. “You haven’t been back to your—her place—in almost a week.”

Bohdi shrugs. “It’s really okay, it’s not like she has a pet, or any plants to water …” He looks to the side. “ …since her plants all died for some reason. And she has all her mail redirected.”

Amy’s brow furrows. “Then you’re not really house sitting?”

Bohdi looks at the ceiling. “No, I guess I’m more—”

“Crashing on her sofa?” Amy suggests, smiling for real now.

“Actually, she has a guest room. It’s really nice, with a view of Lake Michigan and sometimes I even see Sleipnir and his unicorn honeys.”

Amy’s smile widens at the mention of the eight-legged horse, “Awww …I’m jealous! I would love to see Sleipnir again.”

Bohdi grins. “How long do you think it will be before I see tiny, eight-legged little unicorns?”

Amy’s lips purse. Sleipnir’s never had an eight-legged child, but there’s always a first time. Remembering Loki’s lessons with Hoenir and Mimir, she looks to the ceiling. “Unicorn gestation time is generally about eleven months.” Dropping her eyes to Bohdi’s she says, “If you see some you have to tell me!”

“Lewis, Patel!” Steve growls.

Amy’s eyes slide to her boss and the other men in the room. Dale and Larson are looking at Bohdi and her with expressions halfway between amusement and annoyance. She blinks—with much more annoyance than amusement, though. Bohdi clears his throat, leans closer to Amy. “I’ll be sure to let you know if—”

“Patel, you’re dismissed.” Steve snaps.

Bohdi’s eyes dart between the four men in the room. “Um, yes, Ste—Sir.”

He backs out of the room, closing the door behind him, leaving it open just a crack.

The lieutenant clears his throat, “Captain Rogers, Agent Meechum, I was actually here to say Streets and Sanitation has gotten back to us.”

“Time to go?” Steve says.

“Yes,” says the lieutenant. “But if you don’t mind, I’d like to discuss some details with the two of you privately.”

“That’s fine,” says Steve. “Hernandez, Lewis, you’re dismissed.”

Gathering her equipment and her latte, Amy follows Hernandez to the door. She’s almost out when Steve says, “Dr. Lewis, not going to collect any blood from me today?”

Amy freezes. It takes her a minute to realize he’s joking. “Nope,” she says trying to flash a game smile. “Not today.” And then she scurries out of the door. Bohdi and Beatrice are standing just outside. Dropping all of her equipment, she cradles her latte to her stomach and leans against the wall. She closes her eyes. She’s been collecting Steve’s blood. Part of her “evil” plan was to introduce it into the ADUO trauma center’s general supply. Steve’s O negative blood type makes him the perfect donor, but Fenrir’s transformation made her chicken out. For now Steve’s blood sits in a separate fridge. She is the worst super villain ever.

She opens her eyes and finds Bohdi and Beatrice exchanging worried looks.

An agent walks by with a donut. Fenrir bounds to her feet and gives chase. “This has got to stop,” says Beatrice, running after Amy’s dog.

Amy meets Bohdi’s eyes. His face is serious. He looks worried, like he did last night. “Thanks for the tea,” she says, trying to make him unworried. “It was really nice of you.”

Bohdi shrugs. “It was nothing. Don’t think about it.”

At that moment Sigyn—Cindy—strides down the hall and stands between them. “May I enter Steve’s office? I was summoned for a meeting.”

Tilting his head, Bohdi says, “That depends. Still on our side?” There is a slight smirk on his face. Is he flirting with Sigyn? Amy swears he was flirting with Gennie Santos the other day.

Mirroring his expression, Sigyn says, “Yes.” She arches an elegant eyebrow. Is she flirting back?

Giving a small bow, Bohdi says, “Be my guest.”

Definitely flirting. Amy has the same sensation she does watching experienced figure skaters at the Millennium Park ice rink—she feels clumsy and out of place. Sighing, she picks up her equipment. “Thanks again for the latte,” she says. She smiles at Bohdi, and hopes it doesn’t look forced. Raising her cup, she leaves them and retraces Beatrice’s and Fenrir’s steps. As she does, she looks down at the latte, still warm in her hands. It was a nice gesture, even if it wasn’t romantic. Turning a corner, she almost bumps into Beatrice. Fenrir is in her arms, snout covered with powdered sugar, a happy dog smile on her face.

“You’ll be leaving soon,” Beatrice says over Fenrir’s wiggling form.

Amy’s heart falls. “It will be quick, Grandma. Only a few hours. And Sigyn and Gerðr will be there if I have to come back quickly.”

“I want to be there,” says Beatrice. Amy puts a hand on her grandmother’s arm. “I know. I wish you could come.” She lets out a long breath and looks down again at the latte. She wishes Bohdi could come, too.

x x x x

As soon as Lewis is out of the office, Dale stands up and comes over to Steve’s desk. Dale’s eyes fall to the digital tablet. “I know you say that Patel is loyal…”

Larson stands a little straighter. He doesn’t have to say anything. His eyes echo Dale’s suspicions.

Steve runs his tongue over his teeth. He couldn’t get authorization from the higher ups for Bohdi to come on this stint of the mission. Or the data gathering mission. He hopes that before it is time for the trip to Utgard’s kingdom, he’ll wheedle permission out of the Prometheans for Bohdi to go; but the kid is not making it easy.

“He is loyal,” Steve says. So loyal that he’s been taking his responsibility to weed out Odin’s people a little too seriously. His constant probing has been irritating to everyone.

“Even if he is,” Larson says, “that inability to follow orders could get people killed.”

“I know that,” Steve grinds out. He shakes his head. “Besides Lewis and her grandmother, he is the only other human who has experience in other realms. That experience might balance out his eccentricities.” And in a mission so fraught with the potential to go wrong, Bohdi’s ability to make things go impossibly right might be just what they need.

Larson makes a sound that is almost a huff. “Well, he’d be more useful than Lewis. Her shooting ability isn’t bad for someone with her experience. But her performance during her crash course in self-defense makes me think she’ll never be able to shoot anyone.”

Steve rubs his temples. He’s heard Lewis was unable to perform the most basic of throws. And Mills described her punches as “so soft it was like she was swatting a fly.” It makes him wonder how she ever managed to escape alive from Alfheim, Asgard, Nornheim, or Svartheimer. Of course, she always had Chaos with her.

Larson tilts his head. “It’s too bad none of the Asgardians know the way through the Southern Wastes. Cindy, Nicholas, and Victor can all pull their weight.” He shakes his head. “Lewis is a liability.”

Bohdi is listening just outside the door—Steve knows he can hear everything—Steve made sure he could so he could detect any lies told in the room. “She has medical training that could be handy in the field,” Steve says. It is a truth. No sneeze sounds from the hallway where Bohdi stands guard. But Steve thinks overall, she’d be a liability more than an asset, more likely to be hurt than to fight.

A knock sounds. “Come in,” Steve says. The door opens and Sigyn is standing in the doorway. She’s wearing a smart black suit, with a skirt that hits just below her knees. Her blonde hair and too tan skin make her look like a California beach bunny that’s decided to go corporate, but she has so much easy confidence in her bearing only an idiot would take her for a shallow blonde. Even Larson gives her a small smile when he nods at her and says, “Now we can begin our meeting.”

The next few minutes are just a rehash of the plan. Everything seems in order. Despite all his misgivings about eventually having to leave Claire, Steve feels his excitement building. His first trip to another realm—barring the time he stuck his nose into Nornheim with Gerðr after Thor ‘kidnapped’ Amy and Bohdi. He’s never been a day dreamer, or entertained ideas of being an astronaut or explorer. Still, he finds himself feeling like Neil Armstrong, even though he technically won’t be the first person to put boots—or snowshoes—on the ground.

They’re just wrapping up the meeting, and Steve’s dismissing everyone when his hand brushes the digital tablet that Hernandez left on the desk. Hernandez must not have had a lock on the device, because it immediately opens up to the picture of the elegant Japanese business woman that is—or was—Bohdi’s roommate.

Sigyn sucks in a breath. “Why is a picture of that woman on your device?”

Dale and Larson spin around. Too quickly, Dale says, “That is Patel’s roommate. Why?”

Sigyn draws back a step. She looks down at the picture, meets Dale’s eyes and says smoothly. “Oh, excuse me. I mistook her for someone else.”

A sneeze echoes from the hallway. Sigyn turns to Steve. “May I speak with you for a moment?” There’s a slight smile on her lips.

Steve feels himself flush, and is thankful it isn’t visible on his dark skin. He tries to keep his outward demeanor untroubled, but he knows she’s cornered him somehow. “Sure,” he says. He nods for Dale and Larson to go. As soon as they’re out of the door, Sigyn calls out, “Mr. Patel, would you care to join us?”

Steve levels a glare at Loki’s ex-wife. He tries to look confident, but his knees feel weak. He doesn’t like where this is going.

Bohdi comes into the room. Smiling, Sigyn holds up the picture of the woman. Apparently, still feeling guilty after Hernandez’s revelation, Bohdi throws up his hands and turns to Steve. “I didn’t know she was a recruiter, I swear.”

The smile leaves Sigyn’s face. “Recruiter?” she says, her voice no longer confident.

Raising an eyebrow, Steve takes a step closer to Sigyn. “A tech recruiter. But you know her as someone else. If it can affect our mission, we need to know.”

Sigyn puts the tablet down. Leaning on the desk, Sigyn traces the picture with her fingers. “It doesn’t affect the mission… She is not your enemy.”

“Of course she’s not the enemy,” says Bohdi, hands still in the air. Dipping his chin, looking like a guilty puppy, he clears his throat. “I mean, recruiting may be her job, but it doesn’t make her a bad person. Ama-chan is very sweet.” Dropping his arms, he looks at the floor and taps his chin. “A little weird … but sweet.”

Sigyn bolts upright. “Ama-chan? You call her Ama-chan?”

“Um,” says Bohdi.

Pointing at the tablet, Sigyn says, “Before Odin ordered all magical creatures to leave Earth, this woman was worshiped by the Japanese as goddess of the sun. She is Amaterasu, sister to the Queen of the Light Elves, one of the most powerful enchantresses in the Nine Realms, and you call her Ama-chan? Do you realize how familiar and inappropriate that is?”

Bohdi turns to Steve, eyes wide and pleading. “I didn’t know! We met at a bar, my sublet was ending … ” He does a little wobbly thing with his head, and looks at the ceiling. “Okay, I neglected to pay my rent … But she said I could stay at her place.”

Crossing his arms, Steve resists the urge to swat him on the back of his head. “And that didn’t seem at all weird to you?”

Bohdi shrugs. “Of course it seemed weird. But it also seemed free. She said she wanted us to be friends, and that she hoped someday I could love her like a sister … and then she said she had to go back to Japan since her country’s enemies were rising. She actually offered to take me with her if I wanted.” He looks back up at the ceiling. “Actually, that is really weird.” He shrugs again and meets Steve’s eyes. “But it’s a really nice place—her apartment, I mean, though I’ve heard Japan’s great, too, if a little xenophobic—and she didn’t force me to go to Japan so … ”

Steve rubs his forehead. Only Bohdi …

Picking up the tablet, Sigyn steps closer to the kid. “She had a brother a long time ago. His name was Susanoo. The Japanese believed he was the god of storms and the sea.”

Bohdi blinks. “An incarnation of Thor?”

“No,” Sigyn says. “Susanoo was no hero. He was very violent and destructive.” She turns to Steve and meets his eyes.

In that moment Steve knows Sigyn knows exactly who, or what, Bohdi is. For a moment Steve’s heart stops. And then she says, “Odin must never know.” She hands Steve the tablet. “The secret identity is safe with me.”

“And me,” says Bohdi. “I wouldn’t want Odin to get hold of Ama-chan. She’s weird, but sweet.”

Steve and Sigyn’s eyes both slide to Bohdi. He’s rubbing the back of his neck. Steve doesn’t sigh. For all his cleverness, Bohdi hasn’t picked up that Sigyn knows. His eyes slide to the woman. Is she not revealing her knowledge out of respect for his privacy? A worry that the walls have ears? Or as a bargaining chip for later? “Thank you,” Steve says, to her. “Do you know what she’s doing here on Earth?”

Sigyn cocks her head to the side. “I have no doubt that she meant exactly what she said. Odin means to control Earth. She has returned to Earth because she wishes to protect Japan.”

Hope rises in Steve’s chest. “Will she help us?” Any magical ally they can have in this war is worth pursuing.

Sigyn looks to the window. “She won’t, not now … ”

“Why?” Steve takes a step closer to her.

She meets Steve’s eyes again. It strikes him that her blue eyes are so dark, they’re almost violet. When he looks at her, he doesn’t have that peculiar sensation of looking through her that he sometimes gets with blue-eyed people. “Because Asgard is friendly with North Korea and will soon be friends with Pakistan as well. Both are nuclear powers. She won’t leave the islands she considers her home while they are in danger.” Looking back to the tablet, she says, “There may be other magical beings who are returning to regions of Earth they feel attached to, but finding them is a quest for another day.”

Steve’s eyebrows jog upward. “I did not know you followed current events on Earth.” He is very impressed.

Sigyn smiles. It’s sly, confident, and sexy. “There is a lot you don’t know about me.” She tilts her head. “Now if you don’t mind, I need to get ready to go. I’ll leave you and your right-hand man alone.” With that she turns and walks to the door. Steve’s eyes glide down her body before he catches himself.

As soon as the door closes behind her, what he expects to happen, happens. In a sing-song voice, Bohdi says, “Ooooooooo … Steve, you like her.” Steve turns to see him doing an obnoxious Bollywood dance move.

It is fortunate for Bohdi that Steve has a lot of practice in not strangling him. “Are you thirteen?” Steve demands. Before Bohdi has a chance to reply, Steve says, “A recruiter who was trying to steal one of our people and a Japanese so-called-goddess. What were you thinking?

Bohdi scowls. “What? Do you expect me to ask every woman I meet, ‘Excuse me are you a goddess, because you look like one to me?’ Because frankly, that is cheesy. Even for me.”

Steve glares at him.

Bohdi rubs the back of his neck. “And I didn’t know about the recruiter thing, honest.” He looks up at the ceiling. “Well, she said something about being a recruiter, but I didn’t think she would be trying to recruit one of our—”

“Bohdi!”

Bohdi blinks at him.

“I believe you.”

Bohdi’s body sags, and he nods. Again Steve restrains a sigh. Loki had a reputation as the God of Lies, but Bohdi’s feelings are completely transparent. Bohdi’s so lost. Which makes it easier for Steve to keep him somewhat in line, but sometimes it’s painful to watch. Walking over to the kid, Steve puts his hand on his shoulder. “And thanks not for taking her up on her offer to go to Japan.” He’s being sincere… which doesn’t mean the move isn’t carefully calculated.

Bohdi looks at the floor, but Steve can see him smile. “Wouldn’t want to miss going to Jotunheim,” the kid mumbles.

Steve gives the kid’s shoulder a pat. “Thank you.”

Lifting his eyes, Bohdi says, “Do you have anything more you need me to do?”

Steve almost says no. But then he realizes there is something else he can give the kid, a chance to say goodbye to Lewis. Inclining his head to the door, Steve says, “Why don’t you go get Lewis. Make sure she gets to the meeting place on time?”

“Sure,” says Bohdi, with a smile.

Steve watches him leave the office. Lewis can’t go on the final trip to Jotunheim and Utgard’s realm. But Bohdi will remember Steve’s endorsement of Lewis’ medical ability, and Steve’s offer now, and put all the blame on Larson and the Prometheans.

x x x x

Bohdi walks down the halls, fingers tight around his lighter. He’s worried about Ama-chan and hopes that the FBI won’t give away her location to Odin. He’s afraid to email or text her from his phone or anywhere in the office for fear his message will be intercepted. He really had no idea that she was a magical creature. It’s not like she volunteered that tidbit of information, and not like he asked. But Ama-chan is still a nice person, or elf, and he doesn’t want her to get in any sort of trouble with the Evil One-Eyed Santa.

He flicks his lighter. He’s also flustered because he can’t find Amy. He grinds his teeth. Steve gave him one job: find her, and he’s managed to fail at that. He went by her office but the door was locked. He peeked in the little window in her door; she wasn’t inside … although he’d seen her phone sitting on her desk next to her pack.

Some special ops guys in winter gear pass by him without acknowledging his presence. Flicking his lighter, Bohdi feigns obliviousness. He turns a corner and enters the main foyer. He looks out onto LaSalle Street. And then he shakes his head. Amy wouldn’t leave headquarters. Some guys come in the door, wheeling a huge something on a push cart. The offices are busy with the team getting ready to depart, and some research labs that are being relocated to the building. Bohdi jogs around the movers, turns a corner, and sees Brett and Bryant with two female Marine corporals, Mills and Harding. Steve persuaded the higher ups to bring the two Marines on board so that Gerðr can always have female guards in Jotunheim.

“Here’s two extra rolls of duct tape for luck,” says Bryant.

Mills says, “Awww … ” and Harding says, “Thanks guys,” smiling a little too much. Bohdi blinks. He’s heard Brett describe the tall, dark-haired Mills as Zena the Warrior Princess and the cute blonde Harding as her sidekick Gabriella. It fits. And damn, if Brett and Bryant were with either of them the universe is completely unfair. He shakes his head. Brett and Bryant are his buddies, and being jealous is just … he thinks of Mills and Harding lifting weights in the gym in tight tee shirts, their bare arms glistening with the tiniest hint of sweat. Jealousy is completely natural, even if it’s wrong.

He sighs. He is too much of a gentleman to interrupt such a touching goodbye, so he doesn’t ask them if they know where Amy went to. Instead, Bohdi turns a corner again, jogs to get around some more movers carrying a desk, plunges through the door to the stairwell, and charges up to the roof, slipping his cigarettes out of his pocket as he goes. A smoke will clear his brain and let him think. When he reaches the door to the roof, he resists the urge to plunge through it. Instead he opens it slowly and steps out carefully, raising his hands to show he is no threat to the rooftop guards. He meets the eyes of one of the guys patrolling the deck. The guy nods in recognition. Dropping his hands, Bohdi pivots on his feet and jumps. There are agents standing at all the corners of the roof armed with sleek new Barrett M107s sniper rifles, but that isn’t what makes him hop. Standing in between the agents amid the sprouting grasses of the green roof is Amy, tossing Fenrir some treats. Beatrice is with her, of course. Except for last night, Bohdi hasn’t once seen Amy without Beatrice.

Last night Amy had looked cute and disheveled in too-large pajamas. Now her usually slightly messy hair has been pulled back in a military regulation neat bun. She’s wearing a tight black silken shirt that clings to her curves. It looks like an outer garment, but it’s actually the under-layer for the arctic gear everyone on the team will wear. She’s wearing arctic camouflage pants on her bottom half, and the puffy white “bunny boots” that are standard issue military gear. The military bun is too severe, but the tight top and the loose fitting gear on her lower half are a surprisingly good look on her.

From across the roof he hears Beatrice say, “Did you pack extra socks? You’ll never be warm if your feet are cold.” Her voice is unusually tremulous.

“Two pairs of extra socks,” Amy says. “And one extra pair of everything else.”

Fenrir cocks her head at Bohdi, and Amy turns in his direction. Loud enough that everyone on the roof probably hears, Amy blurts out. “And I still wish you were coming.”

Shoving his cigarettes into his pockets, Bohdi walks over. “Yeah, me, too.”

Beatrice’s face gets tight. For Beatrice, or for Amy, or himself, he says, “You’ll be safe. A whole team of special ops guys will be with you. They’re all good guys.” It’s the truth, even if he hates it. He hasn’t sniffed out a single traitor.

“Yes, but I trust you,” says Amy.

Bohdi has no desire to sneeze. He ducks his head. He will not be sappy or show that his stomach is tying in knots. Steve and Amy in a another realm makes him feel vaguely ill—they’re always there for him … the thought of possibly losing them both at once … Mustering up his game face, he leans in and says, “You’ll be back soon. And then maybe we can steal the serum that was confiscated.”

Amy’s mouth drops, and then she whispers. “You said my hypothesis—”

Bohdi shrugs. “Is flawed, but I’m not arguing the stuff works.”

Amy and Beatrice share a look. Closing the box of dog treats, Amy says, “Come with me.” She whispers again. “Too many ears out here.” Without further explanation, she heads for the stairs, Fenrir at her feet, and Beatrice at her side.

Bohdi taps the cigarettes in his pocket. He feels a burning need for one, but he follows Amy without a word.

A few minutes later, he’s in Amy’s office, and Beatrice is closing the door behind them. In the tiny space there is a little humming refrigerator, a low bookshelf, and Amy’s desk. The walls are lined with pictures from something called the Encyclopedia Mythica and personal photos. Some of the photos look like they were probably taken in vet school, in Oklahoma. At least it looks like what he imagines Oklahoma to look like, wide open plains and horses. There’s also pictures of Amy as a toddler, a little girl, and a teenager. The pictures feature Beatrice and an older white-haired man. He feels a pang. To have so much history …he thinks about the picture of his maybe parents and compulsively touches his phone but doesn’t pull it out.

He turns his gaze from the wall to her desk. The military backpack he saw earlier is still resting on top. The pack is open, revealing what looks like medical supplies.

Turning to Bohdi, Amy wrings her hands. “I have more serum,” she says. “I thought you weren’t interested, because you pointed out the flaw in my hypothesis, and you were right …”

Bohdi’s breath catches. The faces of his smiling maybe parents flash before his eyes. He rolls up his sleeve. “I’m ready; let’s go.”

“But Fenrir … Maybe you want to wait,” says Amy. “I mean we don’t know … I just thought I’d tell you and maybe … ”

“No, I want it right now,” Bohdi says.

“But … Fenrir is turning into a wolf … I think.”

Bohdi opens his mouth to insist, and then catches himself. Thor said being human allowed his magic not to be seen by Odin. Of course, he isn’t the incarnation of well-thought out choices, and anyway, Sigyn says she can’t see Steve’s magical signature yet and can only feel it if she touches him. Bohdi will have some time. Holding out his arm, he says, “Hit me.”

Amy doesn’t move.

“Please, Amy.”

Without a word she goes to the refrigerator. She comes back with a little white plastic case marked with a red cross. She gazes down at it. “There’s something else you should know about the serum—”

A knock sounds at the door.

“Just a minute,” she calls.

The door opens. Jung Park, the only special ops guy with whom Bohdi is on a first name basis, enters the room. “Dr. Lewis, Ma’am, we have to go.”

“Alright, I’m just packing a few more medical supplies,” she says. “Can you give me a minute?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Jung doesn’t move.

Amy stammers. “I … um…”

“We have to go, and I was ordered to retrieve you, right away,” Jung says.

Bohdi sighs inwardly. The special ops guys are all good guys, and Jung in particular might be alright—he’s first generation Korean-American and has taught Bohdi some nifty Korean swears—but they’re all sticklers for orders.

Jung’s eyes fall on the little white case in her hands. “You may pack that.”

Amy just stares at Jung. Bohdi’s jaw twitches. Is this interruption Chaos doing bad, or Chaos doing right? Maybe this shouldn’t happen right now? Rolling down his sleeve, he says, “You can give me that shot when you get back.”

Amy looks at him, wide-eyed and apologetic. He shrugs. “I’ll see you in a few hours, right?”

She nods, but he sees her hand shaking a little.

Turning, she heads back to the refrigerator with the white case of serum, when Jung says, “Ma’am, don’t you need to take your Red Cross kit?”

“Oh, right,” says Amy. She wraps the kit up in an article of clothing, quickly tosses it into the pack, and zips it up. “Just nervous.” She grabs her parka from a hook on the wall and swings it on. She gives a hug to Beatrice, turns, looks like she’s about to give Bohdi a hug, but then Jung clears his throat. “We have to go now, Ma’am.”

Bowing her head, Amy heads out the door, looking chastened. Jung follows and shuts the door behind him. Bohdi scowls. Hug blocked? He considers revising his assessment of Jung as a “good guy.” From the ceiling comes a frantic squeak. Bohdi looks up and sees Mr. Squeakers dropping on a bungee line of silk.

“Amy can’t go without Squeakers!” Beatrice says.

Catching the spidermouse in his palm, Bohdi says, “I’m on it.” Heading out the door, he chases after Amy, shouting, “You’re not getting away that easily!”

She turns, too quickly. Jogging past Jung, he squeezes her as tight as he can with the pack and the parka on. Even with the gear, she still feels good and he holds her too long, or maybe she holds him too long. Bohdi hears a bang somewhere in the building, and a shockwave reverberates through the floor.

“Someone dropped something big,” Jung says.

Bohdi releases Amy, but manages to slip Mr. Squeakers from his pocket into hers as he does. “For luck,” he whispers.

She meets his eyes, and for a moment he thinks he might kiss her. He backs away quickly and says, “Check your pocket.”

Amy dips her hand into her pocket. “Oh.”

“Ma’am,” says Jung.

Amy drops her head. “Right.” Turning around, she heads down the hall. Just before she reaches the fire door, she looks back. “Thank you.” And then she disappears.

Bohdi’s hand finds his cigarettes. He turns around and sees Beatrice standing in the doorway of Amy’s office. “Thank you,” she says. A gray blur shoots past her legs and down the hall in the opposite direction. Spinning around, Beatrice raises her hands. “Fenrir, not again!”

Bohdi heads to the stairwell to have his smoke.

CHAPTER 16

Amy sits in the back of the specially modified Streets and Sanitation van near the doorway. The van is sort of like a delivery truck—shaped like a box and nearly as wide as a semi. Unlike a normal Streets and Sanitation van, it’s as long as a school bus. Amy’s flanked by Nari and Sigyn. Valli and Gerðr are on the other side of the aisle. She can just make out the gleam of Gerðr’s Promethean wire-lined cap. Steve and Lieutenant Larson stand at the doorway. The rest of the special ops team lines the sides of the van, backs straight, chins high, faces serious. Everyone is in layers of puffy white snow gear; it conjures up images of marshmallow men. Amy bites the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Instead she pats her side. She can feel Mr. Squeakers tucked safely in her pocket, and Loki’s little white book.

Machines that look like the unholy union between stealth fighters and snowmobiles fill the aisle. The machines are loaded vertically, so that twelve of them fill the small space. The paint on the machines is shimmery and pixelated, and is closer to light blue than white, but she’s heard that they are almost invisible when they’re on snow. They also have hybrid engines, and can run on electric or gas power. Not only will that extend their range, it will make them nearly silent if they have to cross Lake Balstead.

Across the aisle, one of the guys breaks into a grin. “Fuck damn, this is exciting.”

Larson and Steve both shoot reprimanding looks. Clearing his throat, the man says, “I meant frack darn it’s exciting.”

Amy sees a few lips quirk, and there is a subtle shift in the atmosphere in the back of the van. Like everyone exhaled at once. Amy appraises her stiff-upper-lipped companions. Any of them could probably kill her with a pinkie, but they’re also mostly younger than she is, and none of them has been to another realm.

Larson touches his earpiece. “We’re nearly at the drop zone.”

Jumping from his seat, Nari looks up and raises his hands. “Stop.”

“You heard him,” Steve says.

From the front of the van the driver says, “Yes, sir!” and the vehicle comes to a halt. Three ops guys wearing Street and Sanitation gear, carrying traffic cones and stop signs, stand and exit the van through the front.

Nari drops his head and concentrates, clutching something to his chest that Amy can’t see. He takes a step forward and disappears. Amy hears a collective intake of breath from the rest of the team.

Nari reappears. “The gate is open,” he says, stepping to the side. “Go now!”

“Move out!” says Steve. It’s a tiny thing, but Amy notices the eyes of the ops team go quickly to Larson. He nods almost imperceptibly. The exchange lasts less than a second, and then everyone is up and moving, but Amy catches Steve frowning.

With machine-like precision, the team unhooks the snowmobiles from the roof, lower them, and then push them through the Gate. It’s impressive, especially since they’re wearing snow shoes. Standing, Amy scrambles to get her pack on, and then when everyone but Nari, Valli, and Larson are through, she scampers forward, Larson leading her by the arm.

Cold air hits her face. She finds herself on a wide open plain of snow. No dead grasses are poking through. “We’re on ice,” Amy says, visions of whale horn-saws filling her mind. “We have to find higher ground. Now!”

Like everyone, Amy’s wearing a radio headset. It buzzes and someone says, “3 o’clock.” Amy looks in that direction and sees a jagged peak covered with short, strangely thin, black trees rising above the icy plane only about 100 yards away.

“Move out,” Larson says into his mouthpiece, voice calm. “Silent mode.”

Larson directs Amy to one of the snowmobiles. All of the machines have guns mounted on either side. Some are single seaters, but a couple have room for two. Larson sits in front of one of the two seaters, and Amy sits in back. Snowmobile driving was actually the only thing she’s been good at in the past few days, but since she’s the weakest member of the team, she gets to sit with the head guy, not drive. Larson says, “Hang on.” Amy knows the snowmobiles are hybrids, still, she expects to hear at least a hum, but the snowmobiles take off over the snow-covered ice in near silence.

Despite her fear of a giant whale saw ramming through from below, Amy finds herself relaxing and almost happy. Maybe it’s because there are no men in black out here to take her away. Maybe it’s because the sky is a brilliant blue vault above her head with not a cloud in sight. Here and there chunks of ice jut up through the plain, catching the color of the sky and shine like blue jewels. Larson takes them over a snowdrift, and briefly they are airborne. Amy has to fight to keep from laughing. “It’s like flying,” Amy says. She feels the oppressiveness of the past week’s confinement lifting from her shoulders.

“Silence, Ma’am,” Larson says.

Amy falls silent, but her spirits stay buoyant. She refuses to let them fall. Soon enough she’ll be back in white halls, awaiting the inevitable knock on her office door after they find out what she’s done with the serum. For now she has sunshine and fresh air and she will enjoy every moment of it.

They quickly reach the island and coast up to higher ground. “Are we safe now, Ma’am?” Larson asks. Amy blinks and remembers she’s the expert. She looks around the island. Jotunheim is very seismically active; between the trees, boulders jut out here and there. Up ahead she sees a rocky, treeless outcropping far enough from the beach to detract any adventurous whales. “Let’s get to those rocks and then get off.” Larson barks an order and sets out in the direction Amy indicated. A few minutes later, the silent snowmobiles glide to a halt. Over her earpiece Amy hears someone say, “Darn it, I wanted to see a saw-nosed whale.” Chuckles echo in her ear.

Hopping out of her seat, Amy searches and finds Steve dismounting from a single-seat snowmobile. She slaps her mittened hands together, in glee, not due to cold. It can’t be but a few degrees below freezing, easy peezy for a Chicagoan. The air smells crisp and clean and oddly a little like sage brush. She beams at her boss. “Wow! That was the smoothest trip to another realm I’ve ever had!”

Steve scowls at her for some reason. Everyone on the team looks at her, except Sigyn, who is rubbing the bridge of her nose.

“How many realms have you been to?” says Harding.

“This is my fifth,” says Amy, brightly stamping her snowshoed feet. “And you know, there aren’t any angry knights on hadrosaurs, or angry Einherjar and Odin, or adze and—”

“Dr. Lewis,” Steve grinds out.

Amy blinks, and then remembers this is one of those things she’s not supposed to talk about. She’s just been billed as a Jotunheim expert based on her “association” with Loki. She maybe should care … but can’t bring herself to. Shrugging, she smiles. “I was never special ops material.”

Steve arches an eyebrow at her. “No.”

Amy laughs at his deadpan delivery. Spinning on her feet, she scans the horizon. In the distance she sees a gray clouds—no, not clouds—mountains rising above Lake Balstead. Here and there, she sees pools of sapphire blue water in the lake’s icy surface. Steam rolls off the pools. Gerðr’s voice rattles over the radio in Jotunn. “There are thermal vents in the lake beneath the pools. The water isn’t really hot, it just appears to steam because the air is cold.” As Sigyn translates that into English, in one of the closest pools a giant stream of water squirts up. Gerðr ’s voice buzzes in the radio, this time in stilted English. “Whale emptying its nose.” Chuckles rise up, and Gerðr says, “I say wrong word?”

Larson’s voice comes over the radio. “No, ma’am, I think you got it about right.” There are a few more chuckles over the shared frequency, and then Gerðr says in English, “I believe this is falling … I mean, autumn.”

Amy eyes the nearly leafless black-trunked trees. Up close they aren’t as thin as they appeared from the lake. Their trunks are more elliptical than round, and they’d been looking at them from the side. A memory of one of Mimir’s lessons comes to her. “Loki, if you ever find yourself stranded on the Southern Wastes of Jotunheim, look to the trees. The bark on the equatorial side of the trees produces chlorophyll, and allows the trees to produce energy during the long cold months, when there is lots of sun, but it is bitterly cold. In autumn, the bark will be green so dark it is nearly black, in winter emerald … are you listening to me? Loki! Put that snake down, it’s venomous!”

Amy blinks away the memory. She approaches the tree, and takes off her mittens. The trunk is warmer than the air. She thinks she remembers Mimir saying the trees siphoned heat from the ground to keep them from freezing during the winter. As she paces around the tree, the bark goes from black to darkest green. “You’re right, it’s fall,” she says. She lifts her head to the mountains on the northern side of the tree. That is the direction the team will need to go to get to Utgard’s kingdom. The lake between the mountains is dotted with more islands, and pools of blue water. Amy doesn’t need to worry about that. Her journey through Jotunheim ends on this island. She lets out a breath. All the beauty of Jotunheim, hardly any of the danger. She smiles. It will be her easiest trip to another realm, ever.

Sidling up beside her, Harding hands her some binoculars. “So what realms have you been to?” the other woman whispers.

Before Amy can answer, Steve’s voice crackles over both of their earpieces. “That’s classified, Marine.”

“Yes, sir,” Harding says, and then heads off to unload some gear.

Amy sighs. On those previous dangerous trips, the company had been a lot more fun.

x x x x

Bohdi is not having any fun. Crouching down low, he scans beneath the tables and chairs in the cafeteria. He blanches. There is a lot more gobs of gum stuck beneath the tables than he would expect straight-laced agents to leave. “I’m sorry, Beatrice, I don’t see Fenrir.”

“Amy will never forgive me,” Beatrice says. “I’ll go check the break room, you check the kitchen.”

Bohdi nods and bumps his head on the table. As he rubs the spot, she leaves the cafeteria. Standing up, he walks over and slides around the cafeteria counter. Fortunately, there aren’t any workers about guarding their turf. He’s just about to go through the swinging double doors to the kitchen, when the television mounted in the corner switches from a commercial back to the news. The news anchor’s voice echoes through the empty cafeteria. “We’ve just learned that Pakistan has officially recognized Chernobyl as a territory of Asgard.”

Bohdi stops and turns to the TV, a chill running through his veins. He doesn’t even know if he’s really Indian, but the news fills him with a nearly overpowering sense of dread. He stares at the television. He stands for a few minutes transfixed, learning absolutely nothing important. The so-called news authorities know less about Asgard and Asgardians than Bohdi does. When the program switches back to a commercial, it’s almost a relief. Bohdi turns, about to head into the kitchen again, when his phone starts to play a theme from The Princess and the Frog. Putting it to his ear, he says, “Claire?”

“Where’s my dad?”

“Uh…he’s at a meeting?”

“Don’t lie. Where is he? I need to talk to him right now!”

Her voice is so angry and so strident, Bohdi almost tells her. Then he remembers he’s talking to a ten and a half-year old.

“Where are you?” he shoots back.

There is silence on the other end.

“Claire?”

In a tiny voice, much more her age, she says, “I’m outside. Can you come get me?”

Bohdi reaches to push back his bangs, and then remembers he’s had a haircut. “Outside where? School?” That would be difficult, since he’s not supposed to leave the premises … but not impossible.

“No … ” Claire says softly. “Just outside.” Bohdi blinks and then goes to the window and peeks out. Standing on the sidewalk below the offices he catches sight of her pig-tailed head.

He blinks. “I’ll be right there.”

Minutes later, he’s at the front door. One of the guards steps out in front of him. Bohdi pulls out his pack of cigarettes and waves it. “I’m just going to the curb.” The guy rolls his eyes and lets him pass. He steps out into the April sunshine. Claire’s standing by the curb, arms wrapped around herself. She’s gone through another growth spurt recently and is about 5’ 4”. Still, with her childlike face and beanpole frame, she’s obviously still a child; he’s surprised she hasn’t been turned over to a truancy officer. “Hey, kid,” he says. “How did you get here?”

She raises her chin. “I took the ‘L’.”

At mention of Chicago’s subway system, Bohdi takes a half step back. “Wow, that’s pretty gutsy.” Shoving his hands in his pockets he gives her a grin. “Do you want me to—” Bohdi stops himself. His grin shrinks. His first instinct is to ask her if she wants him to call school for her, tell the office she’s sick, and then play video games with her on ADUO’s super-zippy supercomputers. But it’s possible, as the incarnation of Chaos, his first impulse might be wrong.

“Where’s my dad?” she says again.

Bohdi sighs. “He isn’t here. Let me call your grandmother—”

At that moment, his phone starts to buzz. Seeing Beatrice’s number, he answers. Her voice immediately rings in his ear. “Dr. Ogawa has Fenrir in his lab on the fourth floor, and he won’t release her. You have to talk to him … and if that doesn’t work, steal her!”

“Uh, okay,” Bohdi says. He rubs the back of his neck. Where has he heard the name Ogawa before?

“Hurry! He might be performing experiments on her!”

“On my way!” Bohdi says. Turning to Claire, he says, “But first, we’ve got to save Fenrir.”

Nodding, eyes wide, Claire says, “Okay!” She bounces on her feet. “Then you’ll take me to my dad?”

“Then I’ll call your grandmother.”

She narrows her eyes at him. Nostrils flared, brow furrowed, she looks so much like Steve on a bad day that he almost shudders.

x x x x

Claire follows Bohdi up to the fourth floor. She scowls at his back. He won’t tell her anything. No one will tell her anything, but Bohdi is supposed to be her friend! It makes her more angry at him than anyone else. Something big is happening, something more than just her dad “staying at the office for a few days,” and no one wants to tell her what. Her face crumples, and she feels her eyes get hot, but she doesn’t let herself cry.

They reach a door that is marked with a yellow and black radiation sign. Bohdi looks at it and then at her. “Uh, maybe you should wait here?” Without waiting for a response, he goes in.

The door starts to swing closed. Claire’s skin heats, and her fists clench. She’s always being left behind. By her mother who wouldn’t take her to the palace in Kiev, and by her father, and now by Bohdi. If he can go in, so can she. Lifting her fist, she bangs through the door before it can click closed.

She finds herself in a science lab. There are lots of boxes. Agents Brett and Bryant are sitting on the floor next to something that looks like a dishwasher with lots of wires sticking out.

“Hey, guys,” Bohdi is saying to them, “what are you doing here?”

Bryant shrugs. “Steve’s had us working with the physicists for a while. They’ve got a lot of sensitive equipment that breaks all the time. It can takes weeks to get new parts—”

“Or we can fix them with bubble gum and duct tape,” says Brett.

Bryant nods. “Our mom always did say we were the gods of small engines and electronics.” His eyes go to Claire. “What are you doing here, kiddo?”

Claire runs her tongue over her teeth. Does everyone have to call her kid or kiddo?

Before she has to respond, Amy’s grandma bursts into the lab. “Where is Dr. Ogawa? Where is Fenrir?”

At the far end of the lab, a door opens. A man walks out, wearing what almost looks like a space suit. It’s baggy, his mouth and eyes are covered by a mask, and he’s wearing great big gloves. The mask snaps up and Claire finds herself staring at a man who might be Chinese or Japanese, but he’s got bright green eyes. He’s handsome … but ancient … like maybe thirty or something. A gray blur streaks by his feet, and he says words that Claire can’t understand in the same tone she’s heard her dad say words she’s not allowed to say.

“That,” the man says, “is not a dog.”

Claire looks at the animal. “Fenrir?” she says. “How did she get so cute, furry, and big?”

No one answers her.

“Of course it’s a dog,” says Bohdi.

“It just ate two kilos of yellowcake,” says the man.

All the adults’ mouths drop open. Claire stands up straighter. At last she has something she knows about! “I had a dog named Buster. He ate a whole sheet cake once. He just got a little sick—I think Fenrir will be fine.”

Fenrir wiggles by Claire’s feet, looks up, and gives a bark. Claire’s about to pet her when Bohdi swoops down, scoops her up, and says, “Maybe you shouldn’t touch her just now.”

The man with green eyes turns to Claire. “Uranium yellowcake,” says the man. “It’s radioactive.”

Claire gasps. But the man leans down a little, so his eyes are level with hers. “Don’t worry. She’s perfectly fine.” His lips quirk. “She’s not a hot dog…” Straightening, he turns to the adults. “Although she is humming with magic… and she vomited this.” He holds out his hand. In it are what appear to be tiny lumps of a shiny dark rock. Everyone in the room steps forward. “It’s lead,” he says. “The end byproduct of uranium decay.”

“What is the usual half-life of uranium?” Bohdi asks, voice hushed.

“Four point six billion years,” says the man in the space suit. “Would you please explain to me how that happened?” He smiles pleasantly.

“Oh,” says Beatrice.

“Uh…” says Bohdi.

“Fenrir’s magic like my dad!” says Claire.

The green-eyed man turns to her. “Really?”

A knock comes at the door, and Uncle Dale walks in. “Hey, techie guys, I sent an email to Steve, and it bounced back to me … something wrong with the servers?”

Brett checks his phone. “I don’t have any alerts.”

“Maybe it was a fluke,” says Bryant.

Uncle Dale’s eyes go to Claire. “String Bean, what are you doing here?”

Claire huffs. “Looking for my dad.” Dale knows where he is. Everyone knows … except maybe the doctor who doesn’t even know that her dad and Fenrir are magic.

Uncle Dale’s face goes a little paler than it usually is. “Ah. Well … ”

The lady lawyer, Laura, pokes her head in the door. “Brett and Bryant, is there something wrong with the servers? My email to Steve bounced.”

“This is weird,” says Brett staring at his phone. “The Chi Queen says the National Guard is on its way to Chicago. ”

“Who’s the Chi Queen?” says Beatrice.

“A local social media gossip,” says Bryant. “She usually knows what’s going on.”

Brett continues. “Says there is a new gate opening up. They want to close it, and they’re rerouting all the buses that go to the Greyhound station on Harrison.”

“That’s right by Des Plaines bridge where Steve and the team are,” says Dale.

Claire finds herself slowly backing away, like her feet are moving without her body being in control. Everyone looks very worried, but they aren’t looking at her.

“I’m calling the guys stationed there, right now,” says Dale.

“Checking email administration,” says Bohdi.

Claire’s back hits the door. Her dad made her memorize all the major streets from Lake Michigan out to California, and from Division down to Cermak. She knows the exact place they’re talking about. Chicago is on a grid system. Every block is an eighth of a mile. She ticks off the street names on her fingers. The Des Plaines bridge is three quarters of a mile away. Claire has been taking ballet since she was three, and she’s very tall and strong for her age, even if she is a “string bean.” She can run a mile in less than eight minutes; she can be to the bridge in five. She doesn’t move. The thought of being out again alone on the streets makes every muscle in her body go cold. But then in her mind she pictures it. She’ll run to her father, and he will get down on one knee, look her in the eye and listen to her. She will tell him something is wrong and the National Guard is coming. He will put his hand on her shoulder and tell her how brave she is. How strong. And how he will never hide anything from her again.

She quietly sneaks her hand to the doorknob. No one says anything when she slips out.

CHAPTER 17

Bohdi clicks through the FBI’s email administration. Technically, he’s not supposed to have access to this, but he’s never been one to let technicalities stand in the way of necessity. He scans the recent activity. “Steve’s email account was canceled by the FBI director…” He checks an angry note that is in the email admin queue. “It looks like he was trying to have it forwarded to his own email account and blew it.”

“Calling the general of the Illinois National Guard,” says Brett.

“Trying to get in touch with someone I know in the governor’s mansion,” says Bryant.

Bohdi reaches up to push back his bangs. His fingers connect with empty air. He scans the room absently, without really seeing it … and then feels his heart sink in his chest. “Where is Claire?”

Phone to his ear, Dale says, “I can’t get hold of the guys standing guard outside the van.”

“We have to go to the Gate!” says Beatrice. “My granddaughter’s there.”

“I’m getting a car ready!” says Laura, head to her own phone.

Bohdi spins in place. Is she hiding behind some of the boxes? He wants to go with them. He wants to help save Amy and Steve … but he also wants to find Claire … if anything happens to Claire, it will kill Steve.

Dr. Ogawa meets his eyes. “The girl just left the room.”

Bohdi slips his phone away. Claire knows all the streets. Steve made her memorize them in a bout of post near-apocalypse paranoia. She came here … she’s not afraid to travel them on her own.

“I’m going to get her,” Bohdi says, running for the door. “I’ll meet you there!” He tears into the hallway, Fenrir at his feet. He runs to the stairs, leaps down the steps, gets to the ground floor, and crashes through the emergency exit into the alley, not caring about the alarm. Sprinting to the sidewalk, he bounces on his feet to see over the pedestrians on LaSalle. Where LaSalle intersects with Jackson, he hears cars come to a screeching halt and sees Claire dart across the road and head west.

“Claire!” he shouts, racing down LaSalle to Jackson. Traffic is whizzing by, so he runs down Jackson on the north side of the street. He’s almost parallel to her. He yells, “Claire, wait!” and prepares to cut across the street when his view is cut off by a flotilla of City of Gods tour buses.

x x x x

Claire hears Bohdi call her name but doesn’t slow down. She dashes down Financial Place, catches the crossing signal on Van Buren, and then turns right and races west. The elevated tracks of the ’L’run above Van Buren, and the screech of train wheels keeps the pedestrians away. She doesn’t have as many people to dodge, and the air is cooler. She opens up her stride and runs as fast as she can, ignoring the strange looks and the beat cop that yells at her. She sees the incline that leads to the bridge across the river and the hulking form of the old post office beyond the bridge. It’s when she crests the arch of the bridge that she first starts to feel tired and the first burn in her muscles. She forces herself to take deeper breaths and to pump her arms in better time.

She races through the shadow of the post office and reaches the Van Buren and Canal Street intersection. Only one more full city block to go. As her feet reach the corner of the intersection the light changes in her favor, and she races across. The street slopes downward and she can see all the way to Des Plaines Avenue. There are cones, police officers, and a crowd of people. They’ll never let her through. They’ll say she’s a kid and that they’ll get her father for her. She stops, her breath ragged, eyes beginning to go hot again. And then she looks left. The bridge that goes over Des Plaines actually is a long overpass that carries interstate 290 over the city streets. She remembers a trip she took to the bus station to pick up her second cousin from Alabama. There is a narrow street that goes right under 290 and opens up by Des Plaines. She can spy the opening to the side street from Van Buren. There are no police cars, so she runs toward the small roadway. She reaches it and pauses to catch her breath. The street is dingy, filled with potholes, and in the shadow of the overpass. It is dark and spooky, too, a place where trolls would pop out. She hesitates for an instant. Then she thinks of her father, telling her how brave she is. She charges down the street.

There are a few more intersections to cross, but the streets are mostly empty. Up ahead she sees a man wearing a yellow and orange vest, a street cleaner. She might be faster than him. As she gets closer she sees a boxy-van-truck thing that says Streets and Sanitation on the side. Behind her, she hears Bohdi shout, “Claire, wait!”

The guy in the yellow and orange vest turns sharply in the direction of Bohdi’s voice. His eyes go to Claire, get very wide, and he moves to intercept her.

She keeps running.

Behind her, Bohdi shouts again, “Catch her! That’s Steve’s Rogers kid!”

The sanitation guy moves too fast. He’s in front of Claire, grabbing her by her wrists before she can dodge him. She tries to pound her fists into his shoulder, but he’s too strong. “My dad’s in trouble! My dad’s in trouble! Something’s going wrong!” she says.

“Shhhhh … I know,” he says, dropping his face so he can meet her eyes. He’s a white guy, and his eyes are very blue. His hat is funny for a sanitation guy. It looks like a soldier hat, but it’s white.

“Did you run all the way here?”

Claire nods, still trying to pound her fists into his shoulder.

“You’re very brave,” he says.

Claire stops struggling.

CHAPTER 18

Bohdi sees one of the special ops guys, Corporal Ruger, catch Claire and hears him say to her, “Now I need you to be a little braver and tell me everything you know.” Fenrir is wiggling at Claire’s feet.

Bohdi looks down the street. About forty feet away, he sees Lieutenant Hobbs, the second in command of the SEAL platoon, arguing with Gennie Santos. His nose tickles, and he sniffs.

“The National Guard is coming!” Claire says.

Bohdi’s phone buzzes, and he looks down to see a text from Bryant. They’re closing down the 290 overpass. Bohdi looks at the wide overpass above his head. He’s filled with sudden cold certainty. “They’re going to blow up the bridge.”

Ruger looks at Bohdi. “Not while we’re here. They wouldn’t do that …”

Bohdi’s eyes slide to Gennie Santos and he remembers her handshake, her promise to get the guys who got Steve … she was good, he knows that … but now his nose tickles and he remembers the FBI director’s attempt to reroute Steve’s email to his own box. “The director of the FBI has been compromised.”

“This mission is sponsored by the Senate Special Committee,” says Ruger. “Not the FBI. They don’t know.”

“Yeah, well, one of the senators is playing for the other team,” Bohdi snaps. He looks at the van under the overpass. Even if it were a tank, all of the cement and steel falling down on it would crush it like a tin can.

Lieutenant Hobbs comes jogging toward them. “I don’t like this. I’m going to authorize Nicholas to open the Gate.”

“Respectfully, sir, the team won’t have completed their mission,” says Ruger.

“I know that,” says Hobbs. He touches the radio he’s wearing in his ear. “Damn, it’s broken.”

Bohdi remembers Dale trying to call. “No, jammed.”

Hobbs doesn’t ask any questions, just starts jogging toward the van. Ruger follows, still holding Claire by the arm. She doesn’t fight him. “Sir, if we just play dumb we can buy more time. They won’t drop the bridge on civilians.”

From down the street comes the sound of tires screeching. And then Dale’s voice roars, “FBI, let me through!”

Bohdi turns his head and sees Gennie Santos standing in front of Dale, blocking his path with a hand. She must be wearing a microphone, because her voice carries all the way to Bohdi, even though her back is turned. “I’m Gennie Santos—”

Bohdi doesn’t hear the rest; he’s too caught up in a horrendous sneeze. His brain puts together the pieces. Not Gennie, but she must be a magic user to look like Gennie … Oh, no, no, no …

“My friend Steve Rogers is in there! Let me through now,” Dale says.

Bohdi bites his lip. That idiot. The city thinks Steve is still paralyzed and laid up in a hospital. They’ll think Dale is crazy. Sure enough, the police swarm Dale, saying things like, “Sir, please be calm.” As they close in on Steve’s friend, a movement at the edge of the crowd catches Bohdi’s eye. He blinks and then sees Beatrice darting past the police line toward the van.

That is the moment Bohdi first hears the jet fighters. Dale must hear them, too. He barrels through the police line.

Bohdi turns and runs to the van, Fenrir at his feet. Somewhere, someone fires a gun.

The back door of the van opens, and Ruger throws Claire through the opening into the arms of Valli and Nari. Hobbs and Ruger go next. Bohdi races for the front door, just as Tucker, one of the special ops guys dressed in Street and Sanitation gear, peers through, an M4 in his hand. Fortunately, Tucker recognizes Bohdi and Fenrir and doesn’t shoot. Bohdi dives for the floor. Fenrir lands on his back knocking the wind out of him. Bullets ring on the van’s exterior. The sound of fighter overhead planes goes from a distant growl to a scream.

Someone shouts, “Agent Dale Meechum is down!” Swatting Fenrir away, Bohdi rolls onto his side and has a clear view of the back of the van. The double doors are cracked open. He sees Beatrice holding her umbrella open and turned toward the incoming fire, as though it will stop bullets.

“Ma’am!” shouts Ruger. “Get in!” The door opens a bit more, and Ruger and Hobbs haul Beatrice into the van. She closes the umbrella on the way in, and Bohdi sees she’s got her flamethrower strapped on. He also sees Dale, in the sunshine beyond the bridge, lying on his stomach.

“Do I return fire?” the special ops guy in the front shouts. Beatrice raises the flamethrower.

“Negative, there are still civilians,” shouts Hobbs.

“Damn,” he hears Beatrice mutter.

“Shouldn’t we evacuate the area?” Nari says.

“We are not leaving the team stranded on the other side of the Gate!” Hobbs shouts.

Somewhere above them comes a whistling.

“Incoming!” someone shouts.

“Open the Gate!” shouts Hobbs.

There is the sound of explosions above, and then the van rocks as debris drops from the overpass.

Someone says, “I can’t see Keyif.”

“One more hit and we’re done for!” cries another agent.

The sound of the jets overhead becomes screams again.

“It’s open!” shouts Nari.

“Everyone through!” shouts Hobbs.

Bohdi and Tucker clamber up and into the back of the van.

Whistling sounds overhead. Blasts rip above them, and the sound of shearing metal comes from the roof. The back doors explode inward. Turning, Ruger throws his body against the doors, but can’t quite get them closed. Hobbs grabs Claire and Beatrice by the shoulders and pushes them into the space just behind Ruger and they vanish. Fenrir gives a yelp and plows through the Gate after them. Tucker and Valli follow and then just Nari, Hobbs, Bohdi and Ruger remain. Ruger turns, slumps, stumbles forward, and disappears through the gate.

“Into the rabbit hole,” Bohdi hears Hobbs say, and then they step into the space Ruger had occupied moments before. There is light and color, and then the air is cold and snow is spilling over the edge of Bohdi’s sneakers, soaking his socks. There is the horrifying groan of metal and a crack. He sees Ruger lying in the snow a few steps away and hears Claire crying. The ground beneath him lurches, he hears a rumble loud as thunder, and he almost stumbles backwards.

Bohdi looks behind and sees Nari stumbling through the Gate. A thick metal support from the overpass is emerging from a spot in the air just to Nari’s right and embedding itself into the snow beside Loki’s son. There is the sound of another crack. Nari stumbles forward just as the space where he stood is showered with falling chunks of cement. Valli is instantly beside his brother, pulling him away from the Gate as rubble spills out onto the snow. Bohdi hears shearing metal, the support stops its descent, and the mini landslide stops. The ground beneath Bohdi’s feet lists backward, and ahead there is the sound of another crack.

“Get up! Get up!” Claire cries, falling to her knees in front of Ruger.

Ruger lifts his head and Bohdi hears him whisper. “I’m fine, you gotta run.”

“You have to get up!” says Claire.

Ruger’s head hits the snow. And Bohdi sees blood blossoming out from below him.

“Ruger’s wounded,” Hobbs says. Something crackles in the Lieutenant’s ear, and the ground dips dangerously, again.

“Run,” someone says.

Time stands still. Hobbs reaches for one of Ruger’s arms, and Bohdi, without thinking, grabs the other. “Run, Claire,” he shouts, “We’ve got him.”

Claire jumps up and runs. She leaps up and over the ground that is rising in front of them with more grace than the guys in all of their gear. He sees Tucker grabbing her by the arm and pulling her in the three o’clock direction. Beatrice is not far behind them, followed by Nari and Valli. And then the ground in front of Bohdi and Hobbs juts upward, and in front of them is a huge, jagged column that looks like a giant, pearlescent saw.

A jumble of thoughts crash through Bohdi’s mind. They’re on ice. And pretty soon they are going to be in the belly of a whale.

“This way!” shouts Hobbs, yanking Ruger’s body to the right. Bohdi follows, right hand tight around Ruger’s wrist. There is another crack, and another pearlescent saw cracks through the ice to Bohdi’s left. Another crack comes from the right, and Hobbs swears. “We need assistance!” There is the sound of Bohdi’s breathing, and his feet thudding through the snow. Hobb’s radio crackles, and someone somewhere is shouting.

Bohdi’s feet strike some slippery ice beneath the light snow cover, and he pitches forward, barely keeping his feet. Hobbs shouts, “Run.”

Scrambling to right himself, Bohdi doesn’t even bother to nod. Hobbs is carrying a Barrett rifle; it can take out a tank, and probably a whale … but that won’t save them if they get dunked. Together they charge across the plain. From the corner of his eye Bohdi sees Hobbs stumble and thinks the lieutenant has also hit a patch of ice. He slows and watches in horror as the ice three feet to the right of Hobbs explodes upward. He sees crystal clear water streaming down, spilling onto the snow, and then he realizes that what he thought was ice is actually a giant orca-like creature, but bone white, wide as a car, and with sharp plates on its back. It disappears back beneath the surface. Bohdi releases a breath, and then the ice directly beneath Hobbs explodes and Hobb’s legs and the bottom of his torso disappear. Bohdi staggers backward, dragging Ruger with him. His eyes go wide. He’s watching Hobbs be eaten … he yanks out his knife, as small and pathetic as that is, leaps over Ruger … and then Hobbs is gone and the water turns red.

“Run,” someone screams. He hears bullets, looks down and sees Ruger’s Streets and Sanitation vest is red brown where it should be bright orange and green. There is nothing Bohdi wants more than to leave him, run for his own life, but he can’t. He will not be purely Chaos. Bending down, he maneuvers Ruger’s body into a fireman’s carry. He hears more bullets, and more shouts, but can’t make out the words. With a deep breath that sounds like a sob in his ears, he lifts Ruger from the ice. Feeling his back becoming sticky and wet, he straightens as much as he can and then runs and stumbles across the ice to the voices. He hears ice cracking behind him, closes his eyes, and wills his feet to move. He almost slips, opens his eyes and sees snow drifts, and then Claire, Beatrice, and Fenrir running toward the trees just beyond the banks of snow. He hears a radio crackling in Ruger’s ear, the sound of ice cracking, and another sound, a sort of clacking, followed by a low-pitched whistling and shrieks.

It’s then he realizes the drifts are members of the special ops team, and they’re aiming guns right at him.

CHAPTER 19

From the embankment where she stands, Amy sees Steve shoo Beatrice and Claire into the safety of the trees. Fenrir, a gray bouncy blur, follows at their heels. And then her heart sinks as she watches helplessly as Lieutenant Hobbs disappears into the water. She bites her lip, and for the first time, realizes how desperately she’d wanted to believe Loki’s memories of the whale were wrong. Wild orca’s on Earth don’t attack people, in fact they’ve been known to save them from sharks. But these aren’t really orcas, and this isn’t Earth. On the plain of ice, Bohdi hauls the fallen ops guy over his shoulder and stumbles forward. The extra weight bends Bohdi’s wiry frame, and his normally lightning-quick speed is reduced to a crawl. Amy puts a hand to her mouth in terror. Behind Bohdi more whales are climbing up onto the ice, pulling themselves along with their wicked looking, clawed flippers. If Bohdi knows that, he gives no sign.

Beside her, Larson says, “Patel picked him up.” There is disbelief in his voice.

“Of course, he did!” Amy snaps. “Bohdi wouldn’t leave anyone behind!”

She hears Steve’s voice crackling on the radio and just barely sees the men he’d led down the slope on snowmobiles hop off their vehicles and move across the snow-covered ice. Their camouflage make them nearly invisible in the snow; but she can just make them out—kneeling and aiming their rifles.

Bohdi doesn’t veer from his path. The pod of three orca creatures follows just behind. The movements of their bodies are halfway between the movements of a snake and a seal. Their weight causes the ice behind them to break into canals of brilliant blue water, and the ice in front of them and Bohdi to crack and buckle—that must be why Steve didn’t send the snowmobiles out there. She sees Bohdi stagger, trying to keep his feet and has the awful sensation of watching a nightmare in slow motion.

“Take me down there!” Amy says.

“My orders—”

Amy turns and starts jogging down the slope, her pack bouncing awkwardly on her back.

She hears Larson shout, “Come back!” She doesn’t slow. She looks sideways out onto the lake. Bohdi is still staggering forward, eyes straight ahead, and it hits her he doesn’t know he’s being chased. He may not even see the guns … Gunfire erupts, and the two whales that were at the side of the pod come to a sliding halt. The ice cracks beneath them, and then they sink beneath the icy water.

She sees Steve rip off his gloves, hat, and scarf. His nearly black skin is in stark relief against the almost blinding white of the snow. He starts gesturing for Bohdi to change course. For a heart-stopping moment, Bohdi keeps running forward, the last orca closing the distance—and then Bohdi veers left. He’s slow with the weight of the man he’s carrying, but as soon as he is out of the line of fire, gunfire erupts.

The whale comes to a skidding halt, and then starts to sink into the ice. She swallows. Bohdi’s in the clear—except for the ice that’s breaking apart around him. She starts to run down the slope again. Behind her she hears a soft skidding sound. Panting, she turns her head and sees Larson on the snowmobile. “Get on,” he says.

She keeps running—if you can call it that in snowshoes with a pack. It’s more like a slow walk through Jello.

“I’ll take you down there,” he says.

Amy changes course, waddles as quick as she can over to the snowmobile, and throws a leg over the seat behind him.

“Thanks!” she says.

“You weren’t going to pay attention to me anyway,” he says.

“Nope,” she agrees, as he puts the snowmobile into gear, and they coast swiftly and silently down the hill.

x x x x

Bohdi turns his head and sees the whales start to sink into the ice. He hears a groan, a split, and a crackling. He changes course and runs toward the line of special ops guys. He sees fissures forming in the smooth snow. He hops over one small chasm. Ruger’s weight causes him to misjudge the leap, and he slips backward, feeling the surface beneath his feet dip and bob. Body bowed with Ruger’s weight, legs starting to feel like overcooked spaghetti, he keeps going. He lurches over another crack as wide as his forearm and feels merciful solidity beneath his feet. He lifts his head. Steve is coming out to meet him, rope in hand. Somewhere in Bohdi’s mind it registers that Steve shouldn’t be doing that, that he should probably be standing back, since he’s the leader and most important, and highest ranking.

But he really doesn’t care. He’s just really glad when Steve slides Ruger off his back. And then they each take one of the fallen man’s arms over a shoulder and carry him toward the shore. More ops guys move around them, forming a protective circle, rifles ready. But no more whales emerge, and the ice stays firm. He hears Steve speaking into his radio, saying, “Get me Lewis!”

As if by magic a snowmobile glides silently to a stop about ten meters beyond them. “Stay there,” Steve orders. “We’re bringing him to you. Everyone off the ice!”

They pull Ruger into a copse of naked black trees just beyond the shoreline and lay him out on a thermal blanket on his back. Claire and Beatrice hover beyond the injured man; Valli and Nari are nearby; and so are Sigyn and Gerðr. Bohdi’s only half aware of them. His attention is riveted to a dark black splotch at the center of Ruger’s abdomen, a red-brown bloom of blood around it. Amy and one of the ops guys drops to their knees. Their fingers go to Ruger’s neck, but Amy’s eyes go to the black splotch.

When Amy speaks, her voice has a calm inflectionless, professional quality. “It looks like he sustained a perforation to the abdominal aorta.”

“Agreed,” says the special ops guy. “It looks like a piece of sheared rebar.”

Bohdi doesn’t know much about medicine, but he knows that’s very bad. “He’s going to die?”

Amy looks up at Bohdi. “He’s already dead.”

Running his hands through his hair, Bohdi turns away. He thinks he hears Claire start to cry. His own eyes feel hot. Steve puts a hand on his shoulder. “You did good.” His voice is tight. Bohdi’s legs bend beneath him. Maybe it’s from hauling Ruger’s weight, or maybe it’s just the feeling of helplessness coursing through him. Sitting on his heels in the snow, he runs his hands through his hair and takes deep breaths, his vision a blur of snow and camouflage.

“You need to change. Your clothes are wet.” He’s dimly aware of Mills standing above him. It takes a moment for Bohdi to process her words. And then he realizes his back is soaked, even though he doesn’t remember getting splashed. He shivers, the cold suddenly coming down on him as sure if he’d been dunked in ice water. Still squatting, he strips out of his shirt and undershirt and sees why they are wet—they’re stained with blood. He throws them to the ground and slips on the clothes Mills has proffered as quickly as he can.

His eyes flick to Steve. He’s running a hand over his jaw and looking out over the plain of ice. Bohdi follows his gaze. In the plain of snow the metal support strut juts upward, surrounded by a small island of broken overpass. There’s even a green traffic sign, dangling on a piece of twisted metal.

Voice tight, Steve says, “I take it the Gate has been closed on the other side?”

Claire shouts, “We came to warn you!”

Steve turns around. So many expressions pass over his face, Bohdi can’t read them all, but he sees fear and fury. “Why aren’t you at school?” Steve’s voice cracks just enough for Bohdi to understand it isn’t the voice of anger speaking.

Claire’s face crumples. “You don’t care!” She shakes her head. “You never care. You’re always leaving!”

Steve takes a breath with such force it sounds like a hiss. “We’ll talk about this later,” he says. He turns to the rest of the team. “We need to get to the command tent. Now.”

Claire stamps her foot, turns and runs into the trees.

“Claire!” Steve says, his nostrils flared, every tendon in his jaw and neck visible.

“I’ll get her,” Sigyn says quickly.

Steve doesn’t respond.

“I know what to say,” Sigyn says.

Steve’s body sags, and he nods.

Swinging her rifle back over her shoulder, Sigyn strides to one of the snowmobiles and slips astride it with so much self-assurance no one asks her if she knows how to drive. “We’ll meet you at the tent,” she says. Moments later she is gliding silently into the trees.

CHAPTER 20

There are not enough snowmobiles. Amy watches with admiration as Mills and Harding, apparently instructors in some hardcore cold weather survival training, turn a few saplings and duct tape into into a makeshift sled. The other guys tie it to one of the snowmobiles. They use the sled for Ruger’s body. Bohdi volunteers to sit with Ruger to keep him from rolling off. Amy gets to ride behind Larson again. Valli, Nari, and Beatrice also get to ride on a snowmobile since they don’t have snow shoes. The guys without a seat jog behind them.

As they’re going up the hill, they hear a gunshot echo through the trees. Steve’s voice immediately comes over the radio in Amy’s ear. “Sigyn, what happened?”

Sigyn’s voice crackles back. “A bear charged us. But we’re fine. Nice rifles, by the way.”

From where she sits behind Larson, Amy sees Steve’s body sag.

“We’ll be at camp in just a few minutes.” Sigyn says, and then the radio goes silent.

When they arrive at camp, Steve starts giving orders for getting gear for the people who have arrived from Earth. While he’s busy, Amy walks over to where Bohdi is sitting on the sled. He’s sitting cross legged, Ruger’s head on his lap. Someone, maybe Bohdi himself, has crossed Ruger’s hands over his chest and closed his eyes.

Not looking up at her, Bohdi says, “I couldn’t save him.”

Amy looks at Ruger. The blood from his abdominal wound hasn’t yet started to freeze.

“No,” she says. “But you brought him back.”

Head bowed, eyes obscured by long black lashes, Bohdi snorts. “I’m sure he’s comforted by that.”

Amy remembers Bohdi going into shock when he killed the Einherjar in Asgard, their shared dismay over the spiderlings’ screams in Nornheim, and how brave it was of him to lug Ruger over the ice. She would have been terrified if she was in his shoes… and probably wouldn’t have been strong enough.

She kneels down beside Ruger and Bohdi. “You know,” she says, “science knows a lot of things, but they really don’t know what consciousness is. There is plenty of evidence from people who have been clinically dead, but revived, that consciousness hangs around, even after the heart stops.”

Beatrice comes over and stands on the other side of them, Fenrir at her side. For once, Fenrir isn’t whining for food, and Beatrice doesn’t snip at Bohdi.

“That sounds very new agey,” Bohdi says, softly. “Where is the evidence from, psychics out to steal people’s money?”

“No,” says Amy. “From the research of doctors in the field of resuscitation medicine.”

Bohdi looks at her sharply.

She shrugs. “You can read about it in online—” She stops herself. He can’t read it online; they’re in Jotunheim. Her stomach sinks. And they’re unlikely to be going home soon.

“So he might be hanging around and watching?” Bohdi says.

Amy nods. “Yes. And I’m sure if he is, he’s grateful to be with his friends.”

Bohdi looks to her again; this time his expression strangely vulnerable.

A movement in the trees makes both of them start, and Beatrice spins around, flamethrower upraised. Amy lets out a breath, and her body relaxes. It’s just Sigyn, gliding into camp on her snowmobile, Claire wrapped in a thermal blanket behind her. Steve goes over to them. He hugs his daughter and pulls away. Not meeting his eyes, Claire nods and say something too quiet to hear. Steve pats her shoulder and then stands up and says, “Patel, Lewis, Larson, Berry, Gerðr, Cindy, and Nicholas to the command tent. Victor, you can stand guard outside. Everyone else, get ready to move out.”

Bohdi looks down at Ruger and doesn’t move. Claire, still wrapped in a thermal blanket, crunches over to them through the snow. Putting her hand on Claire’s shoulder, Beatrice leans down so she’s nearly at Bohdi’s ear. “Don’t worry, I’ll look out for him. He helped save my life back there.”

“He was nice to me, too,” says Claire, she sniffs, and then starts to cry.

Amy looks up to her grandmother and hopes she sees the gratitude in her eyes—that she is alive, and that she is being kind to Bohdi.

Gently lifting Ruger’s head, Bohdi slips off the sled and steps backwards. Just before Amy rises, she touches Ruger’s hand and silently thanks him for saving her grandmother. Despite what she told Bohdi, she doesn’t know if he hears, but she hopes he does. And then she follows Bohdi to the command tent. It’s a long white structure with an arched roof. As they walk there, other members of the special ops team nod respectfully at Bohdi. One of the guy even slaps a hand on his shoulder and says, “You military?”

Bohdi’s spine straightens and he says, “Yes, Sir. Marines.”

The guy gives his shoulder another pat, and says, “Good man.”

And then they continue walking to the tent. Sigyn is standing just outside the door, blocking their path. She’s holding her hand outstretched in front of her, palm up.

“Is something wrong?” Lieutenant Larson says.

Sigyn tilts her head, holds out her hand and says, “I would like to shake your hand, Lieutenant.”

“What?”

“Please,” she says.

Their way into the tent blocked, Amy and Bohdi draw to stop beside the two.

“Ma’am, with all due respect, this isn’t—”

Sigyn spins to the tent. “Gerðr, will you come out here and shake this man’s hand, without your magic-blocking hat or bracelets!”

“What is it?” says Steve, emerging from the tent. Gerðr pokes her head out beside him.

“Maybe nothing,” says Sigyn. “Gerðr ?”

“What’s going on?” Larson says. “Sir, I don’t really have to—”

Gerðr takes her hat off and slips off her bracelets, and Larson falls silent. To Amy, she doesn’t look any different than she did a moment before: blonde-white hair, too pale skin, her figure obscured by military fatigues. But Larson’s jaw drops. Steve looks pointedly at the sky, and Bohdi covers his eyes with his hand. Someone whistles. A guy who is walking by drops the gear he’s carrying and just stares slack jawed.

Gerðr holds out her hands. Larson peels off both his mittens, lets them drop into the snow, and puts his hands in hers. Gerðr’s eyes go to where their hands are joined. She turns to Sigyn, eyes wide. “Yes.” Releasing Larson’s hand, she goes back into the tent. Larson’s jaw drops and he staggers back, looking vaguely confused. Then he scoops up his mittens and plows into the tent. Steve follows him.

“Is she gone now?” says Bohdi.

“She went back into the tent,” says Amy. “It’s lined with Promethean wire.”

Sighing, Bohdi drops his hand.

Sigyn steps out of the way to let them pass. They step into the tent. The ceiling is over six feet high, but even standing dead center beneath its arched roof, Steve has to stoop slightly. He is with Warrant Officer Berry and Nari, leaning over a table where a paper map is laid out. One of the guys, Redman, drew the map in pencil based on information they’ve pieced together from balloons, drones, and telescopes. The lines are alternating thin and thick, with shaded areas for forest, and notes in a strikingly neat hand. It looks like something you’d see at the beginning of a fantasy novel. Amy reaches toward it, mesmerized by its simple beauty, but stops herself for fear of smudging the crisp graphite lines.

“The Prometheans sold you out,” Bohdi says, shocking Amy into the present. “Someone knew there was a Gate, that you were going, and they had the clout to send in the National Guard and drop the bridge on it.”

At the table’s head, Nari says, “I sensed Freyja’s magic … I think she may be impersonating Gennie Santos.”

There are collective intakes of breath around the room. Steve straightens as much as he can beneath the low ceiling. “Dale, does he know?”

Bohdi’s shoulders slump. “He knows you were in danger … he was with us, and argued with Gennie—Freyja, but he was shot … he fell …” He bows his head. “I don’t think the bridge fell on him though, he was too far back.

For a long moment Steve says nothing. He stands absolutely still. When he speaks his voice is almost a whisper. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

Bohdi nods. “Everything was normal, mostly, except for Claire, and Fenrir. And then your emails started bouncing …” When Bohdi is done with the whole harrowing tale, Amy thinks everyone in the tent, even the stalwart, expressionless Larson is slouching, as though bowed by an invisible weight.

Berry speaks first. “Keyif?” Amy looks at the Warrant Officer. Mills had explained to her that Warrant Officers are special. They don’t have the rank that a regular officer does, but they have more respect among the regular guys—they earn their rank through experience, and “the school of hard knocks.” There are two Warrant Officers on this trip: Harding is a communications specialist, Berry’s specialty is tactics. He’s not much taller than Amy, but he’s broader. His hands are huge, and his face is weathered.

Bohdi shakes his head. “I don’t know what happened to Keyif.”

Berry nods. “He would have been watching the southern perimeter by the bus station. If he survives, and reports to our superiors … ” He doesn’t finish the thought. On the table his hands ball into fists.

Amy swallows. Would whoever ordered the destruction of the overpass kill Keyif outright?

Sigyn says softly. “I don’t think all the Prometheans sold you out.”

“Explain,” says Steve.

Sigyn’s eyes go to Larson. “Because someone has made Larson, and all of his companions, magical.”

For a moment there is absolute silence in the tent. And then Larson shakes his head and actually smiles. “No, Ma’am. I am not magical. I’m not like you or … ” His eyes flick for a moment to Gerðr. He shakes his head again, and says, “No, Ma’am.”

“It is true,” says Gerðr. “I felt it too.” She says it with her head raised, looking down her nose, as though observing a bug.

“And the other men as well,” says Sigyn. “I first sensed it this morning, when Mr. Berry was helping me with my gear.”

The grizzled veteran at the table steps back from the table. “Errrr …” he says.

Sigyn continues. “But I thought I was imagining things. And then Harding’s hand brushed mine a few minutes ago and I became suspicious.”

“There was more serum leftover. It was confiscated,” Amy whispers. She turns to Larson and Berry. “Did you receive inoculations in the last week?”

Berry absently rubs his shoulder. “We were told it was to combat alien viruses and bacteria.”

Gerðr lifts an eyebrow. “It help with that,” she says in her slightly broken English.

Larson stands up straighter. “Well, I can’t lift rocks or spaceships with my mind,” his eyes flick to Gerðr. “Or see the future—”

“Us either,” says Nari. “That would be quite a trick. Only a very experienced magic user could perform telekinesis, and no one can really see the future.”

Larson blinks at him, mouth slightly ajar. Amy wonders if she should explain the cultural reference, but then the Lieutenant shakes his head and says, “This is extraneous conjecture. We need to focus on what we do now.”

“Agreed,” says Steve.

Larson lifts his head. Eyes on Steve, he says, “Sir, we have some explosive ordinances. We can blow those pieces of bridge up on this side of the Gate, and then we can blow up the rubble on the other side.”

Amy’s eyes widen. “That might work. Bohdi has a theory that a Gate is actually more of an envelope in space time, a sort of magical event horizon. Just because it’s closed over there, we still might be able to open it and blow it up from over here!”

Bohdi’s chest puffs up a little. “You have enough explosive power to blow up the collapsed overpass?” His lighter flickers and his face becomes animated. “I have some experience in explosive ordinance disposal … which was mostly blowing things up, and—”

“We don’t have that kind of power,” Berry says. “We might clear the mess on this side of the Gate, maybe—but not the rest of the overpass on the other side.”

Amy sees the air leaving Larson’s chest. “We have to try!” he says. “We have to warn people about what’s happening.”

Amy’s heart rate quickens. “If Odin has a contact among the Prometheans he has to know we are in the Wastes. They are looking for us, and they will find us soon. There are other paths back to Earth … ” Though not direct routes.

“You believe we should find another way back?” Steve says.

Amy looks around the tent. All eyes are on her. She thinks of the whales, the ice, and the number of troops Odin will have at his disposal. They didn’t escape Odin last time because of the trolls, or even Beatrice’s flamethrower … they escaped because Odin didn’t want a public-relations disaster. He may have been able to justify his attacks on the embassies in Eastern Europe on their countries’collusion with Dark Elves … but so far the U.S. government’s hands are clean, never mind how long that might last if a proxy war begins. Her eyes go to the door of the tent—there will be no one to witness their deaths here. “Yes, I think finding another way would be better,” she says.

Steve’s eyes go to Gerðr and the two Asgardians. “And your analysis?”

“The same,” says Sigyn. Nari nods. And Gerðr says, “My king may help, too. He knows Gates even I don’t know.”

Amy’s eyes go quickly to Gerðr, something nagging at her mind. Before she can get a word out, Larson says, “Respectfully, Sir, these—people—are not Americans. Their interests do not align with ours.” Amy remembers the guys in the van, looking to Larson before following Steve’s orders and she shivers.

“But Amy is American,” says Bohdi. “Not that citizenship should matter. I’m pretty sure lots of countries have a lot to lose, considering Odin’s established diplomatic relations with two nuclear powers.”

Ignoring Bohdi, Larson points at Amy and says, “I’ve seen her file. Pandora here is Loki’s ex-lover. How much can she be trusted? She colluded with a man who destroyed half of Chicago.”

Amy takes a step back, startled by the accusation, the force of Larson’s words, and confusion. Pandora? Before she can get her bearings, the doors of the tent fly open and Valli charges in, sword upraised. In a voice loud enough for the whole camp to hear he shouts, “I am Valli Lokison! My father died saving your miserable life! Take back your words!”

Amy hears clicks sounding around the tent. Bohdi’s arm goes around her and pushes her down. Ducking her head, she raises her eyes and sees Steve, pistol out, pointed at Valli’s head. Berry and Larson are in the same position. Sigyn and Nari exchange looks, but neither makes any move to raise a gun.

Valli, sword still upraised, grinds out. “Mother, Nari!”

Sigyn, eyes on Larson, says, “Valli, they don’t know. You can’t hold them responsible. Lower your sword.”

Valli slowly lowers the weapon. Bohdi lifts his arm from Amy’s back, but he still stands very close.

As soon as the sword is down, Nari says, “Well, now we can all be honest with each other.” Amy might be imagining that he raises an eyebrow in her direction. “I am Nari Lokison and this is my mother, Sigyn.”

“Loki’s ex-wife,” says Sigyn, head tilted, eyes swiftly scanning the eyes of everyone in the room. “But our relationship ended on good terms.” She gives everyone a tight smile.

Larson’s jaw ticks. “Is this why Odin is fighting us? Because we’re on the side of Loki—of Chaos, and destruction, and—”

“Loki isn’t the devil!” Bohdi blurts out. There’s something a little plaintive in his tone.

Larson turns to face Bohdi, his gaze very hard and cold.

Bohdi’s lighter flares in his hand. “I know … I didn’t believe it either. But he isn’t, or wasn’t, and Odin isn’t God… And Odin even told Amy and me that Loki saved the world.” His eyes go to the side, and he shrugs, “And if Odin—you know, Loki’s biggest frenemy—said that, I think it was true.”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s true,” Berry says, stepping toward Larson. “Bob … I agree, the American people need to know what happened here today … but we can’t get through this Gate. We’ll die here—if not at Odin’s hands, of starvation. And it will be in vain.”

It’s the first time Amy’s heard Larson called by anything but his last name. She remembers what Mills told her about Warrant Officers commanding more respect. Larson drops his eyes. “I don’t like being stuck here, unable to protect our home.”

“Believe me, I sympathize,” says Gerðr. Her tone isn’t particularly sympathetic. But she’s not looking down her nose for once.

Larson looks to her. For a long moment he says nothing, and then he nods. “Okay, right. We go to this King Utgard.”

Amy feels a chill race down her spine.

Berry addresses the table, “If Odin’s infiltrated the Prometheans, he’ll be expecting us to go there. But if Utgard will give us aid—”

“He won’t,” Amy says. Her hands ball into fists at her side.

Gerðr gasps.

Amy turns to the giantess, “He’ll give you aid, Gerðr. You’re his own people. He’ll have an excuse to take you back. But without a gift, without some game changer … he won’t risk Odin’s wrath.” She drops her head. “And you know it.”

x x x x

Despite the rumors, the palace of King Utgard does not float in the clouds. Rather, it is carved into the living rock of a mesa so high that clouds often surround it. Leaning over the terrace of the palace, Loki can see the World Gate he and Thor should have emerged on. Roads converge at the Gate and then stretch across the plains that surround the mesa. The plains, unlike the Southern Wastes, are green. Enormous beasts graze among steaming geysers. And though Loki cannot see it, he knows beneath the plain and in the mesa are vast caverns. Edible tubers and other plants that feed on geothermal heat grow there.

The mesa is a strange place. Some say it was once the seat of power for all the realms and was built by King Ymir. According to legend, King Ymir enchanted it so that he’d always have magical energy at his disposal, and that is why magic thrums in the stones.

It is the sort of place that should make a strong magic user like Loki feel invincible. Unfortunately, he feels like he will hurl.

“I can’t believe you lost that eating contest,” Thor says, smacking a hand on Loki’s shoulder.

Loki groans, puts his elbows on the wall of the terrace, and rests his head on his hands.

“Sorry,” Thor says, drawing his hand away. “It’s just… How could that Logi fellow best you?”

“He claims to be the spirit of fire,” Loki mutters. “And fire consumes everything … ”

“But fire is your element!” Thor says. “Didn’t humans say you were God of Fire, or some such?”

Loki groans. “Maybe they got the wrong guy.”

“Logi looks a lot like you,” Thor says. “Do you think he might be a relative of yours?”

“How should I know?” Loki grumbles.

A door opens somewhere, and music comes pouring out onto the terrace. Someone calls,“You, Whale Slayer! You’re wanted in the hall.”

Thor knocks Loki with an elbow, and Loki whines. Oblivious, Thor says, “Maybe they want to hear again how I electrocuted the whale again.”

Sensing another retelling, Loki squeezes his eyes shut. “No, Thor, no … ” he begs, and not just in deference to his stomach. As soon as Loki and Thor reached dry land and were no longer in danger of a dunk, Thor’d just struck the creature with his hammer. It was really quite anti-climactic. But from Thor’s retelling, you’d think the creature’s death throes shook all of the Southern continent.

The Frost Giant crossing the terrace shouts, “You’re wanted for a contest of strength, Thor!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Loki sees Thor puff out his chest.

Loki sighs. “Just go.”

“Are you sure?” asks Thor.

Loki groans.

“All right then,” says Thor, brightly. “See you later.”

Loki would roll his eyes at the fickleness of his so-called friend, but in his current condition he’s afraid it would make him sea-sick. The wind blows across the terrace, making a forlorn whistling sound. Loki shivers. Gritting his teeth, ignoring his belly, he focuses on the magic beneath his feet, imagines it traveling through his body and surrounding himself with warmth.

The trick actually works. Loki wonders about Odin’s grumblings about being careful when using his magic here—something about Utgard’s having it fixed so that his tricks will turn against him—when the cloud of warmth around him abruptly turns to a burn.

Loki jumps and sees flames slinking down his cloak. Hopping up and down he rips the cloak off and stamps it beneath his feet until the blaze is gone. He blinks, befuddled, and then realizes the discomfort in his stomach is completely gone.

From behind him he hears music again. He turns, expecting to see Thor. Instead he sees King Utgard walking slowly across the terrace. Utgard refuses to be bribed with Idunn’s apples. He stays alive due to his own magic, and the magic of the stones. Utgard is Odin’s age, but unlike Odin, he shows it. His hair and beard are white and wispy, his eyes are nearly as white with cataracts. He has a walking stick that he leans on and wears a long cloak of bear hide that seems to hold him up rather than the other way around. Still, the man hums with as much magic as the mesa, as though he is a part of it. Normally, Loki finds the strength of his magic distracting, but tonight he is distracted for another reason. Escorting Utgard across the terrace is Gullveig, leader of the tribes of the Iron Wood and Anganboða’s cousin. Even in her youth, Gullveig was never as beautiful as Aggie. Where Aggie was tall and willowy, Gullveig is tall and lanky, without Aggie’s softness and curves. Their faces look like they were carved by the same sculptor. But Aggie’s face had been so flawless it was almost painful to look at. Gullveig looks like the sculptor did a rough sketch in the same marble and then never got around to finishing it. Still … Gullveig has the same bright blue eyes … and once her hair had been the same brilliant black. But she hasn’t had Idunn’s apples either, and now her hair is streaked with gray.

“King Utgard,” Loki says, bowing his head, in deference and maybe to avoid looking at Gullveig. Forgetting himself, he falls to one knee.

Utgard snorts. “Get up, get up, we don’t stand on ceremony here.” Loki rises. Utgard is the most powerful king in Jotunheim but doesn’t demand the same deference Odin enforces in his court. Gullveig’s place on his arm is case in point. She isn’t royalty; Odin calls her a rabble rouser.

“It’s been a long time, Loki,” Gullveig says, and he is forced to look at her. Up close he sees her cheeks are gaunter than he remembers. Her forehead is crossed by lines, and creases dart from the corners of her eyes … but they’re still bright. Her stance is stronger than Loki remembers it, and magic hums around her. It’s nearly the same color as Helen’s was. She wears a wolf pelt over black leather armor, and a sword hangs at her side; Loki doesn’t doubt that she’s hiding as many knives as he is. Warmth that isn’t magic thrums through him, and he finds himself licking his lips. He wouldn’t say she’s grown more beautiful over the years … but she’s grown more attractive.

“So, Luthor, are you satisfied with my loyalty?” Utgard says, interrupting his thoughts.

For a moment, the name takes Loki back. He touches his side where Luthor’s journal is tucked beneath his armor. Does the old man sense Luthor’s magic?

Gullveig whispers, “It is Loki, Utgard.”

Utgard’s brow furrows, and then he waves a hand. “Luthor, Lopt, Loki, their magic is all so similar.”

Loki shivers, and not from cold. He decides that if it isn’t a faux pas to be compared to the dead, it should be. He glances at Gullveig again, and his chest goes heavy.

“Just answer the question,” Utgard says. He pokes Loki’s stomach. “Whatever your name is.”

Loki puts his hand to his chest. “I’m afraid I don’t catch your meaning.” He lies. Of course Thor and Loki are here to assess the old king’s loyalty.

Gullveig huffs. “Mastodon dung, Loki. No one comes to Jotunheim for pleasure.”

Grinning and raising an eyebrow, Loki says, “But they should.” He waves toward the horizon where the sunset is coloring the glaciers spilling over the distant mountains pink and lavender. “The views are beautiful and the whales are delicious.”

“If you find it so beautiful,” Gullveig says, “perhaps you should consider staying among your own kind?”

Stepping forward, Loki sweeps up her hand and kisses it. “The offer is tempting my lady.” It isn’t. Too many of his fellow Frost Giants would love to see him dead. Also, the health benefits of Asgard are too immense to ignore. He gazes down at the hand he holds. Gullveig’s fingers are rough and callused by work, weather, and age.

“Liar,” Gullveig says softly. Loki drops her hand too quickly. There is something too reminiscent of Aggie about her tone.

Utgard gives a snort. “Enough of this flirting.”

Loki blinks. For a moment he is unsure of whether he was flirting or not. He scowls. If anything came of it his wife would find out and kill him. He frowns. His maybe-wife.

Rapping the walking stick on the stones, Utgard says, “Loki, I have no plans to overthrow Odin at this time. Tempting as it may be with the recent skirmishes with the Fire Giants and the Black Dwarves that has thinned your ranks … I’d still lose.”

Loki barely manages to keep his jaw from dropping to the ground. It’s as close to treason as he’s ever heard from anyone in a long, long time. Not that Odin can do anything about it. The magic of the mesa makes Utgard nearly undefeatable on his own turf. Odin might oust him, but he’d be so weakened by the venture, he’d lose Asgard. Beyond the mesa, Utgard is weaker. His forces, and the forces of the lesser Frost Giant kings loyal to him, are vast, but the Einherjar and Odin still have better armaments. Utgard might still win, but he’d be weakened and one of those “loyal” lesser Frost Giant kings would soon have his head.

Giving him a twisted smile, Utgard says, “Did I say I wouldn’t go to war because I’d lose? I meant I wouldn’t go to war because of my eternal and constant devotion to the Allfather. All hail his greatness.” The lie makes Loki’s skin crawl. As if sensing his discomfort, Utgard cackles. On Gullveig’s arm he hobbles toward the wall of the terrace.

“Oh, look,” the old King says. “Odin or Hoenir has repaired the Gate. Traders are no longer being diverted to the Southern Wastes, and the Frost Giants are better for it.” Loki’s skin crawls again. Utgard gives him a smile. In the dimming light his teeth appear dark, and nearly pointed. “Go home, agent of Odin. I bid you goodnight.” Utgard sets off for the door, but Gullveig stays behind.

As soon as the king is inside the palace, she turns to Loki and says, “You will always be welcome in the Iron Wood … safe from Odin, and welcomed by your own kind.” He senses no lie. Her features are blurred by the dim light of the setting sun, and she looks so much like Aggie that Loki wants to reach out for her.

He almost does, but then the door from the palace bangs open. Thor’s voice roars across the terrace. “Loki! We must leave at once!” A moment later he is grabbing Loki by the shoulders and shaking him. “An old crone just beat me in a contest of strength. This place is bewitched!”

Gullveig laughs. “Age and treachery will always beat youth and valor, young prince.”

Thor actually jumps, spins on his feet, and grabs his hammer. And then his shoulders drop. “Oh, Gullveig, for a moment there I thought you were a ghost.”

“You’ll be coming again to the winter hunt?” Gullveig says, stepping over to Thor.

Loki blinks. He didn’t know that Thor and Gullveig were on speaking terms. How is this possible? Odin hates Gullveig; he would think Thor would kill her on principal. Loki shifts on his feet and feels a sting of annoyance. Worse than his surprise, he is suddenly, unaccountably, and irrationally jealous.

“Aye.” Thor grabs one of Loki’s shoulders again, and Loki nearly falls under the weight. “And Jarnsaxa and our boys will be with me, but Loki and I are leaving this place at once.” He shudders and whispers, “It’s creepy … and I don’t trust Utgard, Gullveig.”

She sighs. “You can trust Utgard to do what’s best for Utgard.”

Dragging Loki toward the door, Thor says, “To me that is the same as being untrustworthy.”

x x x x

Bohdi looks at Amy. Her head is dropped, but he can see her eyes aren’t focused on anything in particular. She’s remembering something. Stamping his wet feet to ward off the chill, he turns to Steve. “In Nornheim, when we met Loki, he said that he had to close the Gate from Asgard to Jotunheim in exchange for sanctuary from King Utgard.”

“You met our father?” says Nari, straightening so fast his head hits the roof of the tent.

“Sort of,” says Bohdi. “Through a magic mirror, and a Column of Fate and—” He looks at Larson and Berry. “You’re not buying any of this.”

“No,” says Larson, crossing his arms over his chest.

Raising an eyebrow, Berry says, “It’s a lot to take in.”

“Dr. Lewis is right,” Gerðr says. Bohdi’s eyes go to the Frost Giantess. She’s staring at Steve. Before Bohdi can decipher her expression, she drops her gaze and says, “King Utgard has been king long time. He may not be friend of Odin … but he not fight if not win. Without guns, or other big gift, he not help you.”

“Where do you suggest we go then?” says Berry.

Gerðr wraps her arms around herself. Head still bowed, Amy speaks quietly. “King Utgard may be the only credible threat when it comes to overthrowing Odin, but there are places in Jotunheim that Odin would still think twice about going.”

Gerðr uncrosses her arms, Sigyn’s eyes narrow, Nari clears his throat, and Valli gives a shark-like smile that is absolutely terrifying. “The Iron Wood,” he says.

Amy meets Bohdi’s gaze, and then her eyes go to everyone’s in the tent. “The magic of the trees blocks Heimdall’s view. It makes logistics in the forest difficult for invaders.”

“People of the Iron Wood … no king or queen … savages,” whispers Gerðr.

“Heiðr Gullveigssdottir might give us aid,” Nari says. “She is almost family.”

“And no Gullveig was ever known to bow to Utgard or Odin,” says Sigyn.

“Do we have any other choice?” says Berry.

No one answers.

“Then it’s decided,” says Steve. The Warrant Officer gives him a nod. Leaning on the table, Steve turns to Amy. “Do you know the way?”

She nods. “We still need to go to the mountains … it’s getting dark outside though and—”

“We have night vision goggles,” says Berry. His eyes go to Sigyn. “We don’t have enough food. Care to show me to the bear you shot?” Sigyn nods and Berry turns back to Steve. “Permission to be dismissed.”

Steve’s eyes go around the room. “What we’ve just discussed, our destination, we don’t talk about it outside of this tent—and only in this tent when the Promethean wire is up. You are to presume at any given moment you are being listened to by Odin’s spies.”

“Yes, Sir,” Berry and Larson say.

Everyone else, including Bohdi, just nod.

To Berry, Steve says, “Dismissed, Officer.” His eyes go around the room. “You all are.”

Berry picks up the map on the table, and everyone starts to move toward the tent flaps. Bohdi almost goes too, but Steve isn’t moving. His boss’s eyes are on Amy. She’s holding her side with one hand, as though clutching something beneath her coat. Squeakers maybe? As soon as it’s just the three of them, Amy says quietly, “Pandora?”

Steve sighs. “It’s your code name.”

Bohdi shifts on his feet.

Amy gives a tight smile. “The Goddess who let all the evil loose in the world.”

Curling his toes, trying to keep them warm, Bohdi remembers the story. Pandora was a Titan woman in Greek myths. The gods had given her a box and commanded her not to open it. She did, and every human vice escaped the box just before she shut it. In the legend, she closed the box just in time to save hope.

“I didn’t choose it, and you know you’re not that,” says Steve.

Amy huffs softly. Her breath curls in the air in front of her. Her bottom lip trembles slightly.

Standing as tall as he can in the tent, Steve says, “What are our odds that Odin’s forces will intercept us before we get to the Iron Wood?”

“I’d say about one hundred percent,” Amy says. Outside, Bohdi hears the team packing up: shouts, foot steps in snow, and metal things clanging. Someone says, “Turn the engines on to recharge the batteries,” and the snowmobiles rev up. The hum of the engines is so Earthlike and human that it makes Bohdi’s gut twist. A weight of certainty settles on his shoulders, and he feels his legs get weak again. It’s not just their lives that are at stake—or the SEAL’s precious U.S. of A.—it’s their world that is being overrun by an insidious alien power. Earth has more people, and better tech, but Odin has a power that humans don’t have, can barely measure, and don’t understand. And the only humans who do possess that power are here, cut off from the full potential of human technology. “He’s trapped all the magic humans here,” Bohdi whispers. He meets Steve’s eyes, “So he can slaughter all of you.” And Odin must know about the Dark Elves in Chicago—they’ll be contained soon enough. Ruth and Henry are bound to wind up in the line of fire. In his pocket, he finds his lighter; his fingers ache with cold and he feels impotent rage. They’ll all die, here in the snow, unable to protect Earth, or Ruth and Henry, or Brett, Bryant, Laura, and Dale … and it will be for nothing.

Steve looks down at the table and gives a tight smile. “He will try.” Outside the tent someone shouts, “Captain Rogers!”

“I have to go,” Steve says. He takes a breath. “I know you’re not Pandora, Dr. Lewis.” And then he leaves the tent.

Amy doesn’t respond, but her chin trembles and she looks like she might cry. Bohdi blinks. Amy doesn’t cry … not about danger. He rubs the back of his neck. Before he can ask what’s really wrong, Amy ducks her chin and heads out of the tent. He follows her out into the cold, shaking his feet as more snow slips into his sneakers. He sees Claire with a few other members of the team putting tree boughs and stones over Ruger’s body. One of the guys looks like he’s making a snow tombstone at the grave’s head. Bohdi lifts his eyes. The sunset is backlighting jagged mountains in the distance; they look like a rough maw … a mouth that will take them in and chew them up.

Beside him, Amy starts over to where Mills and Harding are loading comm equipment onto a snowmobile. Bohdi takes quick strides to keep up with her.

They’re almost to the two Marines when Harding says, “Bear meat … Glad we let Brett and Bryant convince us to have breakfast in bed.”

Bohdi’s eyebrows shoot up. He was right, Brett and Bryant were with Mills and Harding. Amy draws to a halt so fast he almost hits her.

“Breakfast in bed?” she says. “With … Brett and Bryant?”

Beatrice, walking over to Ruger’s grave with a large tree bough leans in and whispers, “I think that’s a euphemism, dear.” Amy stands immobilized and slack jawed, as Beatrice takes the bough over to the grave.

Where she’s loading a pack, Harding’s eyebrows go up. “Uh… you weren’t dating one of them, were you?”

“We didn’t know if you were!” Mills says.

“No, no, no!” says Amy, throwing up her hands. “It’s just …” She doesn’t say anything more, but Bohdi can hear her breathing coming fast and loud. She turns around and starts walking back the way they came.

“Well … that was weird,” says Harding. Turning to Bohdi she says, “Is she always so sensitive?”

“No,” he says. Without a backward glance he sprints to catch up with Amy.

CHAPTER 21

Bowing her head, Amy smacks her mittened hands together. Her fingers and feet aren’t exactly cold, but a chill seems to have seeped through her gear and all the way into her bones. She isn’t sure if it’s prolonged exposure to cold, or if it’s the knowledge of what’s happening on Earth. She takes a mitten off and rubs her brow. It’s what she wanted, right?

She hears snow crunching behind her, and turns to see Bohdi approaching. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing.”

He sniffs, and stamps his feet. “Is this the Pandora thing?” he asks.

“No,” Amy says. But it is, sort of, isn’t it?

Rubbing his nose, Bohdi says, “Don’t lie.”

Amy puts her head in her hands. “It’s better if you don’t know.”

“Look, trying to protect me from the wrath of Hernandez or the U.S. government isn’t really necessary anymore.”

Dropping her hands, she finds Bohdi very close. The steam of his breath is hanging in the air between them. He gives her a twisted half smile. “We’re probably going to die out here before they can get me.”

Amy drops her eyes.

“A secret can weigh heavily on you,” he says.

She looks up at him sharply. He hasn’t been given a hat yet. Some drops of melted snow glisten in his black hair.

He shrugs. “Or so I’ve been told.”

Her eyes drop to her feet. He’s probably right, they probably are going to die. And she is so tired of holding this in. Amy looks over her shoulder. Everyone is busy packing up. The sound of snowmobiles charging their hybrid batteries will muffle their voices.

“Come on,” Bohdi whispers. “What are a few felonies among friends?”

Amy looks back to him. “I don’t care about felonies—what’s right is right … ” Her voice drops to a whisper. “But I’ve done something terrible.”

Stepping back, Bohdi cocks his head “You? Nah. You’re one of the nicest, most moral people I know … even if you get a little touchy about your theories.”

Amy stamps her foot and feels like she might throw up. “No, I’m not nice.”

“Prove it,” Bohdi whispers. She hears his lighter click. She remembers him hugging her and slipping Squeakers in her pocket. He never told Steve about her little mouse and kept her secret about Loki’s memories, too … mostly. She glances up at him. There’s something in his eyes—faith? Certainty? She hates it, and wants to destroy it, because she doesn’t deserve it. She rubs her eyes, looks at the door to the tent, looks back to him, and then whispers, “Come with me.”

Without waiting for his response she goes into the tent. She hears the snow crunching behind her as he follows.

As soon as they’re both in, and she’s sure the door is shut, she says, “I made the serum contagious.”

She glances up at him again. It’s getting dark outside, and in the tent it’s even darker. Bohdi’s features blend together, and she can’t read his expression. She sees a flash of white and realizes he’s grinning. And then he laughs. “And people think I’m trouble.”

Wrapping her arms around herself, Amy stamps her feet. “Don’t you get it! I’ve unleashed an untested virus with unknown side effects out into the world.”

Flicking his lighter, Bohdi snickers. “No, I think the SEAL team out there unleashed the virus out into the world when they had that night of R and R two days ago.”

“Bohdi, it’s not funny!” she says, keeping her voice hushed.

“No, it’s not.” His grin fades. When he speaks his voice is reverent. “It’s awesome.”

Amy looks down at the ground and almost growls in frustration. “Bohdi, I don’t know what will happen. Maybe most people will be alright, but maybe they won’t. Maybe some will change into other things, like Fenrir. Maybe Odin will hunt them. Even the people who are only mildly affected aren’t going to know what’s happening to them.” Amy shakes her head. “They’ll be alone … with no one to explain.” That isn’t the worst of it, but she can’t bring herself to say the worst part. She finds herself desperately wishing he’ll be clever enough to infer the full extent of the consequences.

Bohdi huffs. “Yeah, it will be like waking up and not knowing who or what you are.” His lighter flares again; the flame’s flare brings out the orange in his eyes. Looking slightly demonic, he smirks. “Can you see where I might not have any sympathy?”

Amy swallows. He isn’t clever enough to figure it out, and she has to say it. “Bohdi,” she whispers, “Eisa died because she was too magical.”

At the mention of the little girl she lost during her miscarriage, Bohdi’s smirk vanishes. The light at his thumb snuffs out.

Amy bows her head. “Maybe babies conceived while their mothers are infected will die … maybe I’ve planted the seeds of end of the whole human race.”

Bohdi’s lighter flares again in his hand. He stamps his feet, and she realizes he’s only wearing sneakers, and no gloves or mittens. “No,” he says. “No, I don’t believe it.” He shakes his head, and the lighter goes out again. “No, it won’t happen that way. I can’t keep a houseplant alive, and a baku died on my lap, and even when I just want to knock a guy unconscious, I kill him. But you fix things, Amy Lewis. You fixed Steve and Fenrir. You kept me alive in Nornheim, and you saved the baku pups.”

“Bohdi, that’s—”

He puts his hands on her shoulders. Her eyes go to where he’s touching her. She swears she can feel the heat of his fingers all the way through her thick winter parka.

“Amy, I was just thinking how we were all going to die, and Odin was going to win … but he won’t. He may kill every single one of us here in Jotunheim, but it doesn’t matter. While he’s chasing us, magic is spreading on Earth. Humans will win even if we die.” He laughs and it’s low and a little frightening. “Odin loses, no matter what.”

He lifts his hands from her shoulders and brings them to her face, but he doesn’t touch her. Amy’s mouth opens, but no words come out, and she can’t move. Fingers just inches from her cheeks, he makes a sound halfway between a chuckle and a growl. Leaning just a little closer, he whispers, “Amy, the only way you are like Pandora is that you saved hope.”

Amy wants to tell him that he’s wrong, but she can’t speak. There is something in the way that he is looking at her. He looks very serious, and it’s scary.

His raises his hands, as though he might touch her cheeks—but he doesn’t. “You’ve taken on Odin, and the military industrial complex, and you’ve won … How could Loki not love you?” She can feel the heat of his breath on her forehead.

She looks down at her feet. She wants to protest, wants to push his hands away, but can’t bring herself to move. Outside the tent, she hears Steve says, “Lewis, Patel, we need to take the tent down.”

Bohdi leans forward, or his shadow leans forward, Amy can’t bring herself to look up. And then she feels his fingers on her cheeks, warm and sure, and he kisses her forehead, just below the brim of her cap. His lips are soft and cool, but heat floods through her all the way to her toes. Her eyes slip closed, and she almost leans into him.

Outside, Steve clears his throat.

Bohdi pulls away. She opens her eyes. He isn’t smiling. He backs up a few steps and then calls over his shoulder, “Coming right out.”

He inclines his head to the door. Amy walks forward, feeling like her legs may give out at any moment. She stumbles out of the tent, into the cold air, and feels rather than sees Bohdi behind her.

Someone shouts, “Patel, we have some gear for you! Get over here.” Bohdi puts a hand on her shoulder, and then jogs off through the snow.

Amy glances up at Steve. He raises an eyebrow. “Did you have a nice chat?”

“Um … I guess?”

He studies her face for a moment, frowns as though she hasn’t said what he wanted to hear, or doesn’t see what he wants to see. And then he walks away.

Amy blinks. Well, that was weird.

x x x x

Bohdi slips borrowed boots over his borrowed socks. Maybe it is a good thing that Amy didn’t give him the serum. With the way Bohdi feels he thinks he might set the forest on fire. Maybe it’s adrenaline, or lust. Or maybe it’s purpose. He feels, at risk of being overly poetic, like he has ignited. A few moments ago, he had seen the wilderness of Jotunheim as a trap for them. Now he sees it as a vast hide out.

In Asgard, Odin told Bohdi that the incarnation of Chaos was destined to die in pain and fire. Later, Thor advised him to find something worth dying for. Leading Odin’s attentions astray while Earth has time to figure out World Gates, and hopefully shoving a few nukes up the Allfather’s “throne” … It seems like as good a cause as any. He smirks. The ultimate trick, and a fitting way for a trickster to go.

He squints in the low lights. He sees Amy beyond Ruger’s grave, behind a snowmobile, with Claire, Beatrice, and one of the guys. His elation begins to sink. Claire and Beatrice are wearing borrowed clothes, and Claire in particular looks tiny. Beatrice … she’s an adult and has shown herself to be able to handle herself in these situations. Amy—well, weirdly he doesn’t think Amy can die—she just, no, she can’t. She’s been through too much. But Claire is a child, in body and mind. He feels the bite of helplessness again. He blinks. The serum, Amy has the serum in her pack. He sets off in a lope in her direction—and nearly hits Ruger kneeling beside his own grave.

“Whoa,” Bohdi shouts. “What the—”

Jung Park, passing by carrying a large branch, says, “Redman made that.”

Bohdi looks again at the kneeling form. It’s an exact likeness of Ruger made of snow. “Wow,” says Bohdi. “This is incredible.”

Redman himself comes over, carrying another branch. “Oh, thanks, man. Seemed appropriate.”

“You did this in just a few minutes?” Bohdi says. He takes off his mitten, and before he catches himself, almost reaches out to touch the sculpture’s face.

“I uh… yeah… it was… I don’t know, my hands knew where to go. It was kind of strange.”

The stumbling words make Bohdi glance up. Redman shrugs. Redman, like all the SEALS guys, generally exudes an air of competence and confidence, but now he looks distinctly uneasy.

Jung snorts. “You’re an artist, man! I’ve seen your letters home. Filled with drawings.”

Before Redman has a chance to respond, someone shouts, “Park, Redman! Over here, now!”

Carrying his branch, Redman hurries away, as though he’s grateful to escape.

With one last glance at the statue, Bohdi trots over to where Amy, Beatrice, and Claire are backing the snowmobile with the sled over to a snowdrift. Sigyn and Berry are standing beside four other snowmobiles that look like they’re about to be swallowed by said snow drift. As Bohdi gets closer, he sees the snowdrift is actually a giant white bear. Ropes are tied from it’s front paws to the snowmobiles. “It will be easier to pull if it’s on a sled.” Berry says. “Would be better if we had time to dress it, but can’t be helped.” Several of the guys, Nari, and Valli come over, but the carcass barely budges. Without thinking, Bohdi runs over, slips off his mittens for a better grip, and joins in. Beatrice, Claire, and Amy also join in. Even with a lot of people, the bear’s still really heavy. Fenrir watches the whole proceedings quietly from the side.

As she tugs on the bear, Amy looks at the dog. “Strange. I would have thought she might try to eat it.”

“Fenrir ate something before we left,” says Claire, pushing the bear’s tummy.

“What was it?” says Amy, giving a huff as she lugs on a paw. “She must have eaten a lot.”

“A cake,” says Beatrice too quickly. “A yellow cake.”

Claire’s eyes go wide, and her jaw drops open. Bohdi puts a finger to his lips and shakes his head. No use having Amy worry about that. Claire nods and says nothing.

Harding puts a hand to her chin and says, “We’re going to have to split this beast up between a few sleds. Maybe we could use a machete …”

“How about a magic sword?” says Valli. “It should cut through the beast like butter!”

Bohdi blinks, interested in seeing that show, but from behind, someone shouts, “Patel!” Turning, he finds Lieutenant Larson approaching, holding a rifle in front of his chest. To Bohdi he says, “Can you handle one of these?”

“Handle it?” Amy says with a little humph. “Handle it? He doesn’t even need it. He can kill a giant spider with a toy airplane, a kappa with a stick, and take down an Einherjar with a shovel."

Larson blinks.

Bohdi doesn’t feel the urge to sneeze. But he still feels distinctly uncomfortable. Clearing his throat, he looks sideways at Amy, “Um, thanks … but I’d rather have the rifle.”

Even though the light is very low he can see her cheeks turn a little pinker. “Oh, right. Of course.”

Bohdi nods at the Lieutenant.

“Here you go,” says Larson, offering the rifle to him. And then Bohdi’s brain does a little short-circuity thing. He’s heard Larson talking in Steve’s office. Larson doesn’t like him, or trust him, but he’s offering him a very nice weapon … Hesitantly, Bohdi takes it.

As he lifts it from Larson’s hands, the Lieutenant says, “What you did for Ruger … ” Larson’s jaw gets stiff. “Thank you,” he manages.

Bohdi just bows his head, barely able to nod. His stomach twists into a knot. He stares at the rifle. Back at headquarters, he’d never been given permission to carry a gun. He remembers the guys nodding at him after he carried Ruger over the ice … he’d failed to save their teammate, and yet now they trust him more than he was trusted back on Earth.

From behind him he hears Claire say, “It’s rolling over.” He turns and sees Valli and Berry deep in discussion as the bear lists to the side. Before he can sling the rifle out of the way, Claire darts forward to brace the bear in place. Even on its back, the thing is nearly as tall as her chest. Bohdi has a moment of panic and thinks she’ll be crushed. But then Steve is just there, and then a few of the other guys too, and they right it. As soon as it’s stable, Claire touches the dead form with her bare hands. “It’s still a little warm,” she whispers.

Valli unsheathes his sword. “I have it from here.”

Steve drags her away from the bear, and the potentially gory scene. “What were you thinking?” Turning her around so he’s got a hand on both of her shoulders, Steve leans down and says, “That thing was too heavy for you! You could have been crushed!”

Ducking her head, Claire says, “I was just trying to help.”

Steve sucks in a long breath. The hairs on the back of Bohdi’s neck rise. He has a feeling like Steve’s trying to muster every ounce of his self-control.

“I know,” Steve says slowly. “You’ve got to be careful though. What we need to do is very, very hard.” His words come out very soft and slowly. Bohdi swallows. Steve is terrified for his little girl. Bohdi catches Amy and Beatrice’s eyes. They look as worried and uncomfortable as he feels.

“I know that!” Claire says. Lifting her chin, she meets her father’s gaze. “But we’ll make it.” Bohdi feels the air leave his chest. Her open face, her confidence. She has no idea.

Steve’s mouth opens, but he says nothing. Beatrice walks over and puts a hand on Claire’s shoulder. “Of course, we will,” she says, and Bohdi sniffs.

Steve’s eyes go over Claire to Bohdi. Bohdi feels his friend’s desperation, as surely as though it were a lead blanket draped over his shoulders. Mustering up the most confident voice he can, Bohdi says, “We have a few tricks up our sleeves.”

He hears the crunch of snow beside him. He looks down to find Amy looking up at him. She knocks him with her elbow, lightly, maybe a little shyly, and then to Steve she says, “We’ve outfoxed Odin before. We’ll do it again.”

Bohdi doesn’t sniffle.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Yeah.”

And Bohdi doesn’t have the faintest urge to sneeze. Steve gives him a nod. Amy knocks him with her elbow again. Bohdi’s eyes dart between Steve and Amy. One has confidence in him despite knowing what he is, or maybe because of it. The other has confidence in him because she’s seen what he can do. Both feel good.

Bohdi drops his gaze to the snow. He’s outside, in the wilds of a foreign realm … and yet … he has the strangest sensation. He looks again to Steve. He’s patting Claire’s shoulder as Beatrice whispers something in her ear. He looks down at Amy and feels an echo of the buzz he’d felt in his lips when he’d kissed her forehead. He adjusts the rifle slung behind his back ... Around them, Bohdi can feel the night getting colder and the wind picking up. Still, he feels warmth radiating from his chest to the tips of his fingers and toes. He has a feeling of belonging that’s overwhelming. He looks up to the sky because he feels like if he looks at Amy, or even Steve and Claire, his heart might burst. Above the trees he sees a tiny pale moon rising.

“Time to move out,” Steve says, snapping Bohdi’s eyes back to earth—or Jotunheim, as the case may be.

Tapping his ear, Steve inclines his head to a snowmobile with a sled made of branches and duct tape behind it. “Patel and Doctor Lewis, you’ll be in that sled over there.”

Bohdi nods. He’ll have time to bring up the serum next pit stop. Without a word, Bohdi jogs with Amy over to the empty sled. Bohdi takes the back, Fenrir takes the front, and Amy sits between them, leaning sideways on her pack. Lieutenant Larson gets into the front seat of the snowmobile, and Beatrice sits behind him.

Leaning toward Bohdi, Amy whispers, “Wait until we hit a snow drift on the ice. It’s like flying!”

“I’ll expect you to keep quiet back there,” Larson says. He pulls a pair of night vision goggles off his helmet and over his eyes. “We don’t want the whales to hear us on the ice.”

Amy sucks in on her lips. All the snowmobiles’ combustion engines flip off. Before Bohdi has a chance to take it all in, they’re slipping silently down the small incline back toward Lake Balstead. As soon as they’re on the open plain of the lake, Larson hits the accelerator, and they pick up speed. He feels Amy close behind him. Cold prickles his exposed neck, but he still feels warm. As soon as they hit the treeless plain of ice, the sky becomes a vast roof of stars. Bohdi smiles and looks up. To no one in particular he whispers, “So this is home.”

There is only one more installment in the I Bring the Fire series! It's called Ragnarok and will hopefully be done by December 2014. Don't miss it!
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APPENDIX

The Nine Realms

Alfheim – Realm of the Dark Elves and Light Elves

Asgard – Realm of the Aesir, “gods”

Jotunheim – Realm of the Jotunn, or Frost Giants

Midgard – Earth, realm of humans

Muspellsheimr – Realm of the Fire Giants

Niflheim – Realm of mists, location of “Hel” – the place where Loki’s daughter Helen and other plague-ridden Asgardians died.

Nornheim – Realm of the all-seeing Norns

Svartálfaheim – Realm of the dwarves

Vanaheim – Realm of the Vanir. Formerly rulers of Asgard, the Vanir retreated to their home world after they were defeated by Odin’s forces.

The Humans & Their Organizations

ADUO – FBI Department of Anomalous Devices of Unknown Origin

Warrant Officer Edward Berry – Navy SEAL, specialty tactics

Amy Lewis – Veterinarian for ADUO. Loki’s former “lover.”

Beatrice Lewis – Amy Lewis’s grandmother. Translator of Ukrainian and Russian, works for ADUO.

Bohdi Patel – Real name unknown. Computer programmer employed by ADUO.

Agents Brett & Bryant McDowell – Twin brothers, ADUO agents. Their specialty is technology.

Claire Rogers – Steve Rogers’s ten-year-old daughter

Warrant Officer Melinda Harding – Marine, specialty communications

Agent Hernandez – Agent of ADUO, second in command at the Chicago Branch Office

Lieutenant Hobbs – Navy SEAL, second in command

Lieutenant Robert Larson – Navy SEAL platoon leader

Corporal Karen Mills – Marine

Corporal Jung Park – Navy SEAL

Laura Stodgill – Legal Counsel at ADOU

Dr. James Swanson – Rhodes Scholar, Doctor of microbiology at the University of Illinois. Amy and Loki borrowed his lab to investigate ADOU’s “magic detectors”. Loki treated him and his wife Dr. Katherine Swanson to drinks with Amy and a few friends the night after Katherine discovered she was incapable of having children

Dr. Katherine Swanson – Doctor of Neuroscience, researcher at the University of Chicago. Amy and Loki attended her lecture on REM sleep in rhinos. Loki treated her and her husband Dr. James Swanson to drinks with Amy and a few friends the night after Katherine discovered she was incapable of having children

John Redman – Navy SEAL

Steve Rogers – Director of Chicago’s Branch of ADUO

Ruth Rogers – Steve Roger’s mother

Henry Rogers – Steve Roger’s father

So-called Gods & Others

Adze – Carnivorous hominids with dragonfly wings. In Ghana legends, the source of malaria.

Aesir – Denizens of Asgard, “gods”

Allfather – Another name for Odin

Andvaranaut – Cursed ring in Norse Mythology–part of a ransom an incarnation of Loki paid to a dwarf for Hoenir’s release.

Anganboða/Angrboða – Also known as “Aggie” by Loki. Loki’s Jotunn wife, mother of Helen. In myths, Angrboða, meaning “grief bringer.” In reality, her name was Anganboða, meaning “bringer of joy.” One of the few to see through Baldur’s glamour.

Baldur – Son of Odin and Frigga. Possessed a magical glamour that made him appear beautiful, wise, and kind. Tried to abduct Nanna, the beloved of the human warlord Hothur. Used enchantment to create a magical plague that killed Loki’s daughter Helen.

Bifrost – “Rainbow Bridge” between realms

Cera – A.k.a, the World Seed. A being of infinite magical power, tricked by Loki into destroying itself in the In-Between.

Diar – Odin’s council

Einherjar – Mortal warriors recruited by Odin or Freyja. They are given access to Idunn’s apples of immortality.

Eisa – In Norse mythology, daughter of one of Loki’s incarnations and Glut

Fenrir – In Norse mythology, Loki’s wolf son by Angrboða. In actuality, just a wolf Loki and Aggie adopted when they thought they could not have children. Also the name of Amy’s vicious, tailless, rat-like, Chihuahua-poodle mix.

Fire Ettin – Fire Giant

Freyr – Originally a Vanir, Freyr remains on Asgard. Associated with fertility. Former husband of Gerðr, brother of Freyja, son of Njord.

Freyja – Originally a Vanir, Freyja remains on Asgard. She is associated with love, beauty, and war. A master of magic and illusion, she can alter her appearance to match anyone’s romantic ideal. She is a cunning warrior and leader of the Valkyries. Sister of Freyr, daughter of Njord.

Frigga – Wife of Odin, Queen of Asgard. In Norse mythology Goddess of Motherhood and Marriage, believed to spin clouds and to see the fates of all beings of the Nine Realms. One of the few to challenge Odin’s authority and get away with it.

Frost Giant – Another name for Jotunn, the natives of the realm of Jotunheim. Not really “giants.” They are tall by modern standards, but nearly giants compared to ancient humans.

Gerðr – Jotunn enchantress, former wife of Freyr. Gerðr led a team of Jotunn from Jotunheim across a World Gate on a hunt for Cera. Realizing the danger of Cera’s power, she grudgingly aided humans in trying to control it.

Gleipnir – Magical, unbreakable rope. In Norse Mythology, believed to be used to chain Fenrir, Loki’s wolf son. In reality, used to control Sleipnir, eight-legged stallion, and one of Loki’s incarnation’s children.

Glut – “Glow,” the wife of one of Loki’s previous incarnations

Gullveig – In Norse myths a Frost Giant witch and leader of the Iron Wood who the Aesir burned at the stake; Loki ate her heart in the stories, and all the monsters in the world were born of the resulting bowel movements. Sometimes believed to be Loki’s wife Angrboða, sometimes believed to be Frejya, in reality she was a witch, leader of the Iron Wood, and Angrboða’s cousin.

Gungnir – Odin’s magical spear. A gift from Loki to the Allfather. Broken when Loki destroyed Cera.

Heiðr Gullveigssdottir – Gullveig's daughter, dweller in the Iron Wood

Heimdall – Servant of Odin. Creator of the classes among men. All seeing and hearing–if he happens to be gazing in your direction.

Hel – In Norse Mythology, Hel is Loki’s daughter. It is also a place in Niflheim.

Helen – Loki’s daughter, in Norse Mythology known as Hel. Half-blue, Helen had the ability to reveal the lies around her. As such, she was a threat to Baldur’s power. After Baldur killed her, Loki, with Odin’s approval, killed Baldur.

Hisbernia – In Celtic myth a grower of magical apples. In reality, half-elf daughter of Idunn and a grower of Asgard's immortality bestowing apples.

Lieutenant Hobbs – Navy SEAL, second in command

Hoenir – Gardner of the Asgard and a powerful enchanter. Loki’s friend.

Hothur – Human warlord, slayer of Baldur–with Loki’s help.

Huginn and Muninn – Odin’s raven messengers

Idunn – A Light Elf, Idunn is a denizen of Asgard and grower of magical apples. Mother of Hisbernia.

In-Between – A place beyond space and time. Magical philosophers suspect it may be a place beyond the universe. Loki can step into the In-Between for inter-realm travel, but not for travel from realm to realm. For that he needs a World Gate (also called the Bifrost).

Jarnsaxa – Frost Giantess queen, lover of Thor, mother of his sons Magi and Modi

Jotunn – Natives of the realm of Jotunheim, also called Frost Giants – though not really “giants” per se.

Jörmungandr – The “world serpent,” guardian of Asgard’s seas. In Norse Mythology, the son of Loki by Angrboða.

William Keyif – Navy SEAL, location unknown

King Billings – Frost Giant, father of Rind

King Geirod – Frost Giant, held Loki prisoner for thirty days and thirty nights

King Sutr – Fire Giant, one of only two beings that pose a serious risk to Odin’s power

King Utgard – Frost Giant, one of only two beings that pose a serious risk to Odin’s power

Laevithin (Laevithinn) – Loki’s magical sword. Charged with Cera’s magic.

Laugauz – Loki’s Fire Giant incarnation

Lopt – Female incarnation of Loki

Lothur – Incarnation of Loki

Loki – Frost Giant incarnation of chaos. God of Mischief, Chaos, and Lies. Friend of Hoenir. Associated with fire and feels when lies have been uttered. In mythology, blood brother of Odin, destroyer of the gods and bringer of Ragnaork.

Magi – Son of Thor and his lover, the Frost Giantess and queen, Jarnsaxa

Mimir – The severed head of Jotunn, animated by Odin. Knowledgeable about all things magical.

Mjolnir – Thor’s hammer. A gift for Loki offered in reparation for cutting Sif’s hair.

Modi – Son of Thor and his lover, the Frost Giantess and queen, Jarnsaxa

Mr. Squeakers – A venomous spidermouse given to Amy by Loki. Hoenir used to use spider mice to eat cockroaches that invaded his hut.

Nari – One of Loki’s sons by Sigyn. According to Loki, “the incarnation of democracy.”

Njord – Vanir, father of Freyr and Freyja. Associated with the sea. Married for a short time to Skadi. His father was the leader of the Vanir before he was slain by Odin.

Norns – Watchers of fate, compared to the three fates in Greek mythology. Powerful enchantresses.

Odin – King of the Aesir, and leader of the Nine Realms. Also known as the Allfather. His magic lies in preservation. Willing to sacrifice his own son for the benefit of the Nine Realms.

Ord – Husband of Freyja

Prometheus – In Greek myth, the titan that gave fire to mankind. In modern times, the FBI’s source for information on all things magical, and Promethean wire.

Promethean wire – Magic-conducting wire. Any magical being or object placed in an unbroken sphere of Promethean wire will have its magic blocked. Blocks the eyes of Heimdall. However, a sufficient magical charge to Promethean wire can cause a tear in space time.

Pru – Thor's daughter by Sif

Ragnarok – End of the world, or “Twilight of the Gods”

Ratatoskr – Gossiping and extremely powerful, magical squirrel. Servant of the Norns.

Rind – Jotunn princess and enchantress, daughter of King Billings. Raped by Odin after the death of Baldur.

Corporal Ruger – Navy SEAL

Sif – Wife of Thor. Associated with fertility and harvest. Her long golden hair was famously snipped off by Loki.

Sigyn – Asgardian, friend of Angrboða. Sigyn became Loki’s wife after Angrboða died.

Skadi – Native of Jotunheim, one of Loki’s former lovers. Her father was the giant that built Asgard’s great wall; he was killed unfairly by the Asgardians. Seeking vengeance for his death, Skadi came to Asgard. She agreed to forgive the Aesir if one of their number could make her laugh, and if she had her choice of Asgardian men for a husband. She chose Njord, father of Freyr and Freyja, and God of the Sea. Loki was able to make her laugh.

Skirnir – A powerful enchanter and servant of Frey. Skirnir blackmailed Gerðr into marrying Frey.

Sleipnir – Odin’s eight-legged steed, Sleipnir is the son of one of Loki’s incarnations and Svaðilfari, the stallion that helped the giant build Asgard’s wall.

Thor – Son of Odin and an unknown giantess. Carries the hammer Mjolnir that makes lightning and summons storms. Associated with strength, healing, industry, and fertility.

Ullr – Son of Sif by an unknown father, adopted by Thor. Became Skadi’s second husband.

Valli – Son of Loki and Sigyn, twin of Nari. According to Loki, he would be the “incarnation of armed rebellion.”

Valkyries – Winged women warriors of Asgard

Vanir – A person from Vanaheim

Idunn – An elf who lived in Asgard, and grew the magical apples they ate every year to restore their immortality.

World Seed – A being of nearly infinite power. It called itself Cera. Tricked by Loki into destroying itself in the In-Between.

World Gate – Any place where the fabric of space time is weak and allows magical beings to travel between one place or another.

World Tree – Also called Yggdrasil. In Norse mythology, the “tree of life” and the connection between the realms. A way of describing the universe, worlds within it, and connection between worlds.

ALL STORIES BY C. GOCKEL & CONTACT INFO

The I Bring the Fire Series:

I Bring the Fire Part I: Wolves
Monsters: I Bring the Fire Part II
Chaos: I Bring the Fire Part III
In the Balance: I Bring the Fire Part 3.5
Fates: I Bring the Fire Part IV
The Slip: a Short Story (mostly) from Sleipnir's Point of Smell
Warriors: I Bring the Fire Part V

Other Works: Murphy’s Star a short story about “first” contact

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JUST A FINAL THANK YOU

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