by Kendall Grey
I giggle with glee at the mischief I’ve created.
I may have screwed things up and brought Odin’s wrath upon my head, but look at all this chaos! Asgard Awakening fans run hither and thither. The lights from Asgard down to Midgard have yielded their beguiling charm and succumbed to shadows of patchy darkness. Yggdrasil has lost its gilded sparkle. And best of all, Odin and that smarmy wench Saga Leifsdóttir have been caught with their breeches around their ankles in an ice storm. My actions today will destroy this resort and cause countless grands in losses for the old goat.
Good riddance!
With the glamour gone and the Nine Realms Resort’s embarrassing nakedness on full display, the Midgardians run for the exits. Some seem scared, others confused. A few look angry. Ha ha!
I’m halfway down the tree, moving as fast as I can with only one good arm. Below me, Gunnar Magnusson heads toward Freddie and Alexander. Darryl Donovan in his Thor gear joins them. I spot Huginn and the cats behind the crowd. They seem to have been forgotten by the security guards, who are trying (and failing) to keep the guests calm as they suppress their own surprise at the transpiring devilment. Sparky washes his face with a licked paw as if he couldn’t care less about the burgeoning madness swelling around him. Wiggles chases the clucking Huginn in a wide circle. Some things never change.
By the time my feet touch the floor, I’m mentally invigorated with excitement, but my body has given up. I sit at the base of the dead tree trunk and disentangle myself from the webbed harness. I follow the line of Yggdrasil’s shriveled gray bark upward, noting the pock marks where runes exploded from their hiding places when I unlocked them. Not all that glitters is gold. Prophetic words.
Thanks, Muninn. Wherever you are. I tack on to the thought, Also, wherever you are, stay away from my friends, please and thanks.
Saga runs over to Yggdrasil, hands out, her round eyes glassy with pain. She plants her palms on the rough wood and mutters something I can’t hear. Tears stream down her cheeks. Poor baby lost her precious tree? She can consider it payment for whatever Gunnar Magnusson had to do to reclaim Kenaz for me.
I sneak past her toward Gunnar Magnusson, who seems to be searching for something. The hole in my skull where Kenaz was ripped out by my mother thrums with a subatomic call to its missing piece. Gunnar Magnusson frowns and dips his hand into the pocket where Kenaz rests. He looks around, alarmed. I run up to him, but he doesn’t seem to see me.
My fresh ink is (mostly) great, but how do I turn off the invisibility?
“Gunnar Magnusson,” I shout. That does it. My skin shimmers to life, and the itching stops.
His eyes widen as I barrel into him, clasping my right arm fiercely around his back. Kenaz is practically screaming at me from his pocket, but I won’t call it home. Gunnar Magnusson has to give it to me. The rune is his until he says it’s not. Fair’s fair.
“Loki?” he asks. “Where did you come from?”
I tighten my grip on him and press my face into his scraggly neck, inhaling him, worshipping him for all he’s sacrificed for me.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “Nothing matters. We have to leave before Saga sees me. She’ll know I did this. She and Odin will have my head for it.”
“I don’t understand.” Gunnar Magnusson tries to pull back to look at me, but I refuse to let go. “Are you bleeding?”
Itch, itch, itch.
No. “Yes.” I can’t lie. Damn it.
He wrenches away, despite my clinging, and gently touches my damaged shoulder. “We have to get you to a hospital.”
“Fine,” I say. “Whatever. Let’s go.”
Gunnar Magnusson starts toward Freddie, Alexander, and Darryl Donovan. I snatch his hand, partly because I need to feel him on my skin and partly because I’m afraid I may fall. He helps me over to the rest of the crew.
“What the hell did you do?” Freddie asks me with wide eyes and an awed smile.
“Never mind that,” I say. “You got the runes?”
Freddie holds up a small handful of bone chips. Alexander and Darryl Donovan open their palms to reveal a few more. I hold up my bag, urging them to drop the bones inside, inspecting each as it goes in. I keep a mental tally of which ones they found and add them to the list of runes I caught. Every Asgardian I can remember is accounted for except for two: Odin and Frigg. Odin isn’t a surprise, but Frigg is a mild one.
“We gotta fetch Huginn and the cats.” I point at the corner where I last saw them.
“On it. Meet you at the van,” Freddie says and darts toward the animals.
“Are all of those your runes?” Gunnar Magnusson asks.
I zip the bag shut and wave him toward the exit. I can’t lie, but I can deflect just fine. “Don’t worry about it.”
He and Darryl Donovan hook their arms around either side of me. Blending with the fleeing masses, we limp out of the resort and head toward the parking garage. Outside is chaos. The lights that used to proudly beam the Asgard Awakening logo across the Las Vegas night sky have dimmed to pale, unreadable letters. Clumps of angry clouds flash jagged lightning smiles and belch threatening rumbles. I glance over at Darryl Donovan and cover my shiver under the guise of missing a step on my unsteady feet.
Both his and Gunnar Magnusson’s runes are inches away. Do they sense the power from their former lives like I sense Kenaz practically ripping through Gunnar Magnusson’s pants to come home?
We wait with a crowd of twenty for the parking deck elevator. By the time our turn comes to enter the traveling cube, Freddie arrives with Huginn, Sparky, and Wiggles in tow. No one seems to notice the animals. If they do, they’re so freaked out about what happened inside, they don’t care.
Midgardians are so gullible. They refuse to admit it was magic holding the place together.
A man projecting a self-important aura of authority blames the debacle on failed “holographic equipment”—whatever that is—and the rest of the sheep support his theory, nodding and assenting with murmurs of, “That must be it.” I believe the man’s explanation is what’s known as “mansplaining,” though I’ll have to confer with Freddie to be sure.
We exit the elevator, and Freddie says, “I’ll get the van and pick you up so you don’t have to walk.”
I nod my thanks just as some letters on a nearby license plate catch my eye. I pause and point at an exit sign on the other side of a line of cars. “We’ll meet you over there.”
Freddie trots off in the opposite direction, followed by the cats. I look up at Gunnar Magnusson and say, “Can you give Huginn and me a minute alone?”
He arches a suspicious brow at me. “Everything okay?”
“Oh, yes. Everything is great.” Not a lie. I smile.
He gestures to Freddie with his chin. “We’ll be with Freddie.”
“Okay.” I wait for Gunnar Magnusson and Darryl Donovan to leave. When they’re gone, I open my purse and dig through the pile of runes to the bottom. I withdraw every maxi pad I can find.
“What are you up to, Loki?” Huginn squawks.
I limp over to the shiny car with a small silver jaguar on its nose. Yep, I read the license plate right: Saga. I cup my hands and peer into the passenger side. On the seat lies a very old, very familiar ashen box.
I’ll be dipped in troll shite.
“Frigg’s eski,” I say. Frigg carried that stupid box around everywhere back in the day. I’m certain this is the same one.
“No way,” Huginn clucks.
“Yes way,” I say.
“I thought this was Saga’s car.” Huginn stops as recognition filters into his face. “Oh.”
“Yeah. Saga Leifsdóttir is Frigg.” With great pleasure, I peel off a strip to expose the adhesive on a maxi pad.
Huginn shakes his head. “Odin must know.”
“The old fart lied.” I slap a pad at eye level on the glass in front of the driver’s seat. “You wouldn’t happen to need to relieve yourself, would you?”
A slow smile creeps over Huginn’s beak, a
nd laughter spills out the sides. “I got shit for days. Give me a lift up.”
Wincing, I scoop him into my good arm and set him on the hood of the car. While Huginn strains and grunts, depositing his drippy leavings on the pristine, glossy black paint, I delight in plastering feminine products over every surface. For good measure, I drag out the thick black marker Freddie bought me and write across the line of pads, Farðu til fjandans á þessari bölvuðu eineygðu geit sem þú komst á, which roughly translates to “Fuck you and the one-eyed goat you rode in on.”
“That’ll teach her to mess with Loki,” I say, admiring my art.
“Maxi pads?” Huginn asks. “Really?”
“Just be glad they weren’t used.”
SQUARK! Huginn laughs.
The more I think about Saga-Frigg, the angrier I become. The bitch took advantage of Gunnar Magnusson to get back at me for some perceived slight buried in the past. Okay, maybe giving blind Hod a mistletoe arrow and impeccably good aim was a mistake, but how long is she planning to carry that grudge? Baldur died hundreds of years ago, for Odin’s sake. For all I know, he’s been reincarnated and is currently sucking on a WeedPop on a yacht in the Pacific. The point is, she used Gunnar Magnusson, and that shite will not stand.
I spy the van amid the sounds of revving engines and squealing tires. I pick up Huginn, gleefully lob a bottle of hot pink nail polish at Saga’s car with a satisfying SMASH, and limp-run toward the exit sign. Gunnar Magnusson gets out and opens the sliding door for me. He stares at his feet.
He feels bad.
I do too.
But I won’t let him simmer in his own guilt. He did nothing wrong. In fact, he did everything right.
I’m dying for him to kiss me. He doesn’t. I peer into his eyes and shift my focus to his lips, hoping he’ll get the hint. Nope. I blink meaningfully. He still refuses my bait. I suppose I’ll have to take matters into my own hands.
I pass Huginn to Darryl Donovan sitting in back, swing my right arm around Gunnar Magnusson’s neck and lay a cracker of a smacker on his lips. A surprised puff of air through his nose tickles my cheek.
Our kiss is long and deep and full. It feels like a thousand baby ravens leaving the nest of my stomach all at once. I don’t remember ever experiencing this sensation when I was a god. Maybe that’s the difference between mortality and immortality. Mortals feel more than gods because they have so much more to lose.
I torque a leg around his calf, dragging him fully into my personal space. The oozing blood from my shoulder leaks onto his suit, but I don’t care. Gunnar Magnusson, like Sigyn, saved me. I close my eyes and deepen the kiss, hoping he’ll understand what I cannot say with words.
He relaxes enough for me to notice he’s returning the affection in his own way, on his terms. After everything that’s happened with me, with Saga, with us, he needs time to process. I will give him as long as he wants.
Our lips still locked, I sense movement at his side. A bolt of pure ecstasy slams into me as he gently presses something cool and flat into my hand. I don’t have to look to know it’s Kenaz, which seems as happy about our reunion as I am. Fire sears my skin, excavating a blazing tunnel through my wrist, arm, elbow, shoulder, neck, until it settles into place, filling the empty hole in my skull like a puffin come home to roost.
Gunnar Magnusson breaks the seal on our face embrace and murmurs, “It was in her necklace.”
I give him more of my mouth, devouring him with hungry lips and occasional tongue bumps.
I burn all over. I burn for him.
He pulls away. I want to be close, but I’m aware of our audience, and of Gunnar Magnusson’s reticence. I could stare into his sad eyes forever and never tire of him.
I gather my courage and whisper, “I know what you did to get it for me. Thank you.”
He smashes his lips together. They’re wet with spit. My spit. Not Saga’s, I think proudly.
“I just … I just want you to be happy,” he says softly.
“I’m happy. So happy.” He has no idea.
A car horn blares, destroying our moment. I throw out twin middle fingers and scowl at the driver.
“Uh, lovebirds, you might wanna get in,” Darryl Donovan interrupts. “The line out of here is already out of control—”
Freddie turns around wearing a smart-ass grin. “No, let them enjoy this. Do that kissy thing again. It was kinda hot.”
Gunnar Magnusson’s cheeks burn red, and he lowers his head. “I think I’ve had enough of putting myself on display for other people’s pleasure to last a lifetime.”
I wince at the jab and let it go. He has to live with whatever he got up to with Saga, not me. Jealousy is not an option, considering he did it for me. And I’ll admit, it’s poetic justice, considering the many times I cheated on Sigyn. I understand this type of cosmic payback. I don’t like it, but it’s fair.
Prompted by another horn blast, Gunnar Magnusson helps me into my seat and sits next to me. I smile shyly at him. He smiles shyly at me. Our relationship has leveled up. I’m not exactly sure what that means, but whatever happens between Gunnar Magnusson and me from now on is going to be different.
“Where to?” Freddie asks.
“The hospital?” Gunnar Magnusson says as if Freddie asked the dumbest question in the world.
“No time for hospitals. I’m starving. Stop at the convenience store for a bottle of super glue, and I’ll patch myself up. If I don’t have a gods-damn goat in my mouth in ten minutes, I will literally murder someone,” I say, already feeling better now that I’m reunited with two of my runes.
“Literally?” Darryl Donovan arches a disapproving brow.
“Literally.”
“Let’s find this woman a goat,” he says.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“I gotta admit, you’re a pretty badass Thor,” I say, waving a curry-drenched bone at Darryl Donovan.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” he replies with a bright white grin.
We’re sitting in the middle of a venue swathed in gold similar to that of Nine Realms (pre- rune debacle), except this one is outfitted with elephant tapestries, colorful pillows, carved furniture positioned among crimson walls, and burnt orange rugs with yellow accents. Kenaz especially is drawn to the fire of the place. My rune and I have lots of catching up to do, but right now it’s settling back in, getting the lay of the new land, and helping me heal as I gobble goat.
Freddie says the cuisine we’re eating is called “Indian,” and I’m enamored of its spiciness. My mouth is burning from the curry. It gave me the shakes and a bad case of sweaty balls (sans actual balls), but I couldn’t stop eating.
So good. Everything is good.
None of us has changed our clothes. Darryl Donovan still wears his Asgard Awakening Thor costume, complete with fake Mjolnir, whose handle is resting against his leg on the floor. Freddie and Alexander cozy up to each other in matching cowboy finery. Gunnar Magnusson has been quiet. He looks uncomfortable, but I think he’s okay. Or he will be.
Under the table, I lay my hand on top of his and give it a squeeze. When I start to pull away, he catches my fingers and wriggles his between them. Heat rises up the column of my neck, and those baby ravens crank up again with their flapping in my guts. Or maybe it’s the curry. Or the heart condition. Could be any or all of the above.
“What happened with your Thor buddies, anyway?” Freddie asks Darryl Donovan.
“The Black Thors had another engagement, but they were happy to provide their services,” Darryl Donovan says. “They asked me to convey their thanks for the invitation to disrupt the Gullveig show. They claim they’re a bunch of anarchists, but I think some of them are really just spotlight whores.”
“I wish I could’ve seen them,” I say with a heavy sigh.
“You’d have loved it, Loki,” Darryl Donovan says. “By the time security arrived, we were posing for pictures and signing autographs. Those people had no idea who we were, but they didn’t care. T
hey thought we were famous, so we were famous.”
“A wise Norn once told me that words create reality. Not the other way around,” I say, lifting my water glass for a drink. The liquid cools some of the fire in my throat. I turn to Freddie. “And what about you? How’d your ‘date’ with the security guy go?”
Freddie glances appreciatively at Alexander. “As soon as we got word that the Black Thors were on their way, we snuggled up to Pooch with a proposition he couldn’t resist.”
“Pooch?” I say. “His name was Pooch?”
Freddie grins. “Cute, right? Anyway, when the Gullveig people asked for backup, we got Pooch alone in the control room. Alexander cut the security feed, and we took turns seducing him. Only problem was he had the opposite of erectile dysfunction and sneezed his load sixty-seven seconds after we started calling him home for supper. Then he passed out.”
My eyes widen. Yep. Freddie’s definitely Freya. “Damn. You’re good.”
“You have no idea, sister,” Freddie continues. “Once Pooch was out of commission, Alexander and I got into a tickle fight and ended up in our underwear. I’ll spare you the rest of the details. Let’s just say it was an epic night.”
Alexander agrees with a satisfied smile. “It was.”
“What went down with Gunnar and Lady Saga?” Freddie asks.
I fix my gaze on the goat chunks swimming in curry sauce on my plate and resume stuffing my face.
Gunnar Magnusson shrugs. “I checked out the box of runes and realized they couldn’t have belonged to Loki. The dating was too recent for ninth century Iceland. Saga found me looking through the artifacts and asked what I was doing. As we talked, I noticed the feather pendant hanging from her necklace. Something from within caught my eye. It was like a burst of fire that sort of … winked at me. That’s when I realized it had to be Kenaz. Loki had said she felt the rune close in the room where Saga detained her. It was there, just not in the box where she thought.” He trails off and doesn’t elaborate on how he ended up on Asgard level with his hair messed up, his shirt wrinkled, and Kenaz in his pocket. Thankfully.