by C. Gockel
From the back door comes Fenrir’s yelping.
Amy closes her eyes. “Could you please distract Fenrir while I finish?”
He stares at her. How many times has he heard Mimir say something similar? Loki, would you distract the butterfly snake while Hoenir reanimates the spider mouse? He is hit by a wave of desolation that is so intense for a moment he is motionless.
And then, almost automatically he says, “Of course.” He goes to the door, but the dog cowers, whimpers, and backs away from him. It takes Loki a moment to realize that the beast is afraid of Cera. In Russian he whispers, “Back off.”
“I don’t see how this helps,” Cera says bitterly. But the red mist withdraws until only a wisp of pink is left in the air.
Fenrir wiggles over to Loki. He scoops the beast up into his arms and rubs its head absent mindedly.
Distracting butterfly snakes was about the greatest boon Loki ever granted Hoenir. And yet Hoenir did so much for him.
x x x x
To save Anganboða from Baldur, the first step is saving her from her brother. Even if Loki hadn’t made an oath to protect Anganboða, it’s a task he would have relished anyway. It’s a game of wits, really — of playing up to passions and prejudices, and the prize will humble the crown prince. What was not to love?
He goes to Freyja, the would-be Goddess of Love and Beauty, his sometime bedmate and leader of the Valkyries. This morning she has ebony skin and long black braids of hair, like a dark vision from an Egyptian hieroglyph. But her ears are pointed like an elf’s and her eyes are deep green. Loki wonders idly what man’s fantasy she’s enacting. Freyja’s appearance is never the same twice. She waxes and wanes between lean and voluptuous. Her skin, hair and eyes have taken on every hue — even rare colors like lavender. The only thing that remains the same is her magic. It is always pink and very feminine. The problem with Freyja’s many guises is that beneath it all she is still Freyja, primarily concerned with herself and her position among the Valkyries.
But her predictableness is helpful. He feeds Freyja a sob story of a young maiden whose family wants to sell her to a vile lord to increase their social standing. He leaves out the part about the lord in question being the crown prince and plays up Anganboða’s intellectual talents and desire to be a tutor.
After such a story, were Freyja not to aid Anganboða she would face scorn among her Valkyrie sisters. As expected, Freyja immediately suggests a position tutoring the Valkyrie Göndul’s daughters and offers to recommend Anganboða immediately. But she wouldn’t be Freyja if she didn’t see ulterior motives in Loki’s interference. Smiling slyly she says, “A little tidbit you want for yourself, Loki?”
Loki rolls his eyes and sighs. “Actually, I’m under oath to observe her honor.”
Freyja lifts an eyebrow.
Waving a hand and looking to the ceiling, Loki says, “Hoenir extracted it from me. I think he fancies her.” He’s never known Hoenir to fancy anyone — woman, man, child or beast, but Freyja would never believe Loki made such an oath willingly. He barely believes it himself.
Freyja’s smile vanishes. “The last woman Hoenir fancied was Lopt.”
Loki straightens. Sometimes he forgets that Freyja is older than he, just as Hoenir and Odin are. And they all had lives before him. “Lopt was female?”
Eyes completely cold, Freyja says, “Lopt was a bitch. She was the one who suggested wagering my hand to the beastly giant who completed Asgard’s wall.” A feral smile stretches across Freyja’s lips. “She paid dearly for it.”
Restraining a shudder, Loki turns to the window. “This lady is so uncalculating it is dangerous to her own safety.”
Freyja’s voice softens. “I will help, of course.”
By midafternoon, Anganboða is installed in the hall of the Valkyrie Göndul. Her brother dares not approach her.
Baldur is another matter.
A week after Anganboða’s escape, Loki goes to Göndul’s hall to pay a visit. It is Anganboða’s one afternoon off. Göndul turns him away saying, “She is being swept away by the charms of the crown prince, Trickster. I think he fancies her as a mistress. I shall be sad to lose her, but it is good that such a fortunate ending could come to such an unfortunate girl.”
Loki feels himself go hot. For a moment he actually believes Anganboða is being swept away by Baldur, just like everyone else. He makes his exit, but sick fascination compels him to astrally project himself through Göndul’s home. He finds Anganboða and Baldur on a bench in the garden. Anganboða sits ramrod straight, face downcast, body like stone.
She looks so miserable. Loki lets the astral projection dissipate. Picking the gate of the garden he is soon approaching the couple from behind, passing curious gardeners and servants as he does.
“I beg thee, Lady. If I have offended, forgive me,” Baldur is saying. “I was overwhelmed by my passion for you. Take this small token as a gesture of my good faith.” He pulls from his cloak an elaborate wooden box. He opens it and Loki sees an exquisite necklace of Grecian design. “From the House of Thebes, my lady,” says Baldur.
“Please keep it,” says Anganboða, back rigid. A servant gasps somewhere.
They are dangerous words to a prince. Not for the first time Loki finds himself thinking Anganboða might be slightly touched. He also finds himself smirking.
Baldur stiffens. His upper lip trembles. For a moment Loki thinks the prince might strike her.
Before such a confrontation can occur, Loki says, “Excuse me, your highness. I have a parcel for Lady Anganboða that it is most urgent for me to deliver.”
Though taken in by Odin, Loki is technically only a retainer. Baldur is the crown prince. It would be customary to be announced first, but Loki’s relationship with Baldur’s father is...special. When Baldur stands and turns to Loki, his face is furious, but he does not admonish him.
By contrast, Anganboða’s face is radiant. “Loki!”
Bowing low, Loki does his best to stifle a smile, but it is creeping around the edges of his lips when he straightens. From his cloak he presents her with the parcel he intended to give her. It is a book, ragged, worn, and smelling slightly of mildew, even in the bright sunlight.
Baldur smirks and draws back.
“It is ‘The Book of Three,’ from Wales, m’lady,” Loki says. “I believe you expressed an interest.”
Anganboða actually bounces on her feet in delight.
Forgetting himself, Loki smiles. He’s won this game.
But for that smile he winds up summoned before Odin in the king’s private study not one day later.
Pacing the room, Odin does not meet his eyes. “The crown is a heavy burden, Loki. Monarchs deserve some compensation.”
Loki’s stomach rumbles, and he puts a hand to it. He isn’t quite sure where this is leading, or why he was called away from his breakfast. He looks out the window and restrains a sigh.
“I would ask you to leave the woman Anganboða alone,” Odin says.
Loki straightens; his eyes focus on Odin. Odin is not “asking” anything; he is commanding.
Before he can even ask why, Odin says, “You publicly humiliated my son yesterday, Loki — over a trifling dalliance, a passing fancy.”
Loki smirks. “Are you referring to your son’s intentions towards the lady, or my own?” He bows to keep from lunging, but his eyes are glued on the other man. “Because if you think my intentions towards her are anything but honorable, you are mistaken.” Damnable oath.
Odin stops his pacing. Turning to Loki, he scowls. For a moment his eyes are bright, but then he lifts his hand to his forehead and massages his temple. When his hand drops his gaze has a far off dreamy quality, as though he doesn’t quite know where he is or what he is doing. It’s a gaze Loki often sees when the subject is Baldur.
“Don’t be so selfish. It would give him comfort...” Odin says. “That he deserves...the weight of the crown...”
“He doesn’t wear the crown yet!” Loki says, his voice a low snarl
.
For a moment Loki’s words seem to reach Odin. The fog leaves his eyes and something calculating replaces it. Walking forward until they are just a pace apart, the older man says, “You are that interested in this woman, Loki? Do you intend to marry her? Give her children? Will you let yourself be bound so?”
Taken off guard, Loki’s mouth falls a little. And then shrugging as nonchalantly as he can, he smirks. “If she will have me.” It is surprising how much he means it. Whether it’s because he wants her, or because he can’t bear the thought of her with anyone else, he isn’t really sure.
“You’re right,” says Odin. “She probably is just a passing dalliance for Baldur.”
A weight drops from Loki’s shoulders, but almost instantly the fog drops in front of Odin’s eyes again.
Turning from Loki, he walks towards the bookshelf. “If you still want her when Baldur is done, I will not stand in your way.”
“What!” Loki steps forward, a small throwing knife from his sleeve falling into his hand, the air between him and the All Father starting to shimmer.
Odin spins towards him, eyes alight and Loki feels himself go heavy.
“I said, let him go!”
Loki blinks. It’s Frigga’s voice, coming from behind. Odin is no longer in front of him. A beam of sunlight that wasn’t on the bookshelf before is illuminating the volumes. How did the sun move so quickly?
Loki turns slowly, feeling heavy and disoriented. Odin is standing just a pace behind him. How did he get there without Loki seeing him move?
In the doorway is Odin’s wife, Frigga. Next to her is Hoenir, Mimir mounted on a staff at his side.
Loki was raised by nurses and maids, but when he was a very small child Frigga used to come to him sometimes. She would play with him and read him stories, not so much a mother figure as a beloved aunt. She was very powerful in magic, and cunning, too. She was one of the few who would occasionally outwit Odin — and one of the few whom Odin would permit to do so. The humans called her the goddess of marriage and said Frigga spun the clouds and could see the future. Once when he was nine years old or so, Loki had asked her about this. Smiling, she had said, “Clouds are formed by water vapor. I do spin threads like the Norns though, on occasion.”
Loki remembered his heart beating at the mention of the women who supposedly spun fates. “You do see the future!” he had said.
Tilting her head, Frigga had smiled softly. “There is no future, Loki. Only possibilities that become probabilities and probabilities that become realities. The threads help me see the many possibilities. As realities take shape, I trim the threads to see how the probabilities have changed in this reality.”
“There is more than one reality?” Loki said.
Frigga laughed “No one knows. Perhaps there are just missed possibilities.” She’d rubbed his head affectionately and smiled at him.
It was a very happy memory. Her words had filled Loki with wonder and made his mind pleasantly dizzy with the implications of many realities, and many Lokis.
Now he blinks. When had those pleasant moments with the Queen come to an end? When she was pregnant with Baldur? Certainly by the time her little prince was born.
Even now she is not looking at him. She is scowling at her husband. “Hoenir and Mimir have told me of Loki’s affections for the young woman. Do not order them apart.” Her voice shakes. “In fact, tell Baldur to stay away from her.”
Loki’s jaw drops. He cannot see Odin’s face, but the older man straightens and murmurs something to Frigga.
Frigga snaps. “The trollop is beneath our son! You are his father and king. Order him to stay away from her.”
Odin turns. “You are free to do as you please, Loki.”
Loki bows to Odin. As he takes his leave, he bows even lower to Frigga. “Your Highness, I...”
Frigga’s voice is a low hiss. “Stay away from my son, Loki.”
Loki lifts his gaze, shocked. Frigga doesn’t meet his eyes, only walks towards Odin. Loki looks to Hoenir instead and mouths the words, “Thank you.” Looking sad, Hoenir pats him on the shoulder and turns away.
x x x x
At the time Loki believed that Frigga’s interference in Baldur’s “courtship” of Aggie was due to her respect for the institution of marriage. Now he wonders if it was more to buy Baldur time.
“Loki?”
He turns to find Amy wiping her hands on her hips, the bird, Fred, in the cage. She’s lost weight since she moved out of her grandmother’s house.
“Hi,” the girl says. Brow furrowed, she whispers. “I think you should probably know that the house is under surveillance.”
Loki blinks and raises an eyebrow. “And I think you’re not supposed to tell me that.” Nonetheless, he is touched.
She looks away. “No....but...” She shrugs. And then her phone rings. Pulling it out of her pocket, she says, “That’s Steve. I can try to cover for you...”
“Don’t,” says Loki. “You’re a terrible liar.”
She visibly relaxes. “Okay. I’m going to answer this then.” She puts the phone to her ear. “Hi, Steve.”
Fenrir on his arm, Loki walks over behind her and with a smirk says, “Hi, Steve.”
“Um, he’s here,” says Amy. “No, I’m fine. I don’t know...” She looks over at Loki. “Why are you here?”
Loki smiles, feeling the weight of his oath almost lifted. “To repay you, of course!”
Amy scowls, just a little bit. Loki hears Steve’s voice but can’t distinguish the words.
Nodding, Amy says, “Okay, I will. No, I think I will be fine.” She hangs up the phone and says, “I’m supposed to ask you how you know the Promethean Sphere is Vanir.”
Loki tilts his head, a little surprised that they aren’t talking about her payment. “The design,” he says. “But it looks...malformed...”
Amy leans in and whispers. “I think that was an accident.”
Loki is very curious as to what she knows. And fairly certain she shouldn’t be talking about it.
Shaking his head, he puts a finger to her lips. She doesn’t withdraw. The trips through Afghanistan and Pakistan’s tribal regions were not uneventful. It has been, he suddenly realizes, a rather long while since he has touched anyone in anyway that was not calculated to bring pain or death. The moment feels heavy, her lips extremely soft. He lifts his gaze to her eyes; they’ve followed the motion of his finger and are now very crossed.
Seductress she is not. He almost snorts. The headache he’d felt earlier begins to rise behind his eyes — when had it gone away?
He takes a breath and then wrinkles his nose. “Is something burning?”
x x x x
Steve climbs out of his car on the quiet street Amy Lewis lives on. He immediately looks up into the trees. Sure enough the ravens are there. He grits his teeth. This is the third time this week they’ve shown up.
Bobbing up and down, one of the ravens says, “Think you can escape our sight by driving?”
Hopping on a branch, the other says, “Not in Chicago’s traffic, Roger’s son!”
Steve wants very, very, very badly to whip out his piece and shoot them, but he doesn’t. Instead, he locks his door and walks down the block to another familiar car.
As he does, one of the ravens swoops over his head and says something to the other in a strange slavic-sounding tongue. Steve is sure he hears the word Loki. Both rise up into the air and disappear. He glares at the retreating shadows. After some debate it’s been decided that ravens don’t benefit from the Bill of Rights, even if they do talk. They’ve tried to bring them down with tranqs, but somehow Steve’s feathery shades always escape. He shakes his head and grits his teeth.
A few minutes later he approaches the car Agent Bryant McDowell sits in across the street from Amy’s apartment. McDowell and his brother, Brett, were primarily ADUO’s tech guys until recently. This is one of Bryant’s first field assignments. McDowell is of medium height and build. His hair is a
nondescript brown. He isn’t ugly or particularly handsome either. You wouldn’t look twice at him; which makes him, by appearances at least, the perfect spy.
Bryant is also a comic book aficionado. The first time he met Steve he said, “Captain Steve Rogers, just like Captain America!”
Steve Rogers was the comic book hero Captain America’s real name. Steve had sighed. He’d heard it before. “Yes, that’s right, Agent. If Captain America was a large black man and a Marine, not a soldier, I would be him.”
As usual, it had earned Steve a laugh, and as expected gotten him in ADUO’s tech department’s good graces.
Slipping into the seat next to Bryant, Steve asks, “How’s she doing?”
Nodding at the radio, Bryant speaks with his slight West Virginia twang. “Listen for yourself, Sir.”
Amy’s voice fills the car. “Like you can cook better?”
Raising an eyebrow, McDowell looks at Steve. “She burnt the bulgar and tofu.”
Steve grimaces.
Loki’s voice comes over the speaker. “You know I could if you had anything in your house that wasn’t rabbit food!” There is a sound like a refrigerator closing.
“It’s only a little burned,” says Amy.
There is a snort. “I’m starving and you couldn’t get me to eat that. We should cook Fred. Here birdie, birdie!”
There is a whack and Loki yells. “Ow!” But there is a very audible smirk in his voice. “You’re right, he’s too small. Fenrir, come here. Ow! Ow! Ow! Stop hitting me!”
“This guy is dangerous?” says McDowell. Steve just shakes his head. This is why the guy is dangerous — pretending to be harmless is just a game to him. He can set things on fire or kill a man with a stick, and then dance with your granny, and make jokes in your kitchen.
There is a feminine huff. “Did you come here just to insult my cooking?”
“I came to repay you.”
Amy huffs again. “You do realize that anything you give me ADUO will probably confiscate?”
Steve blinks. That’s true. A lot of people want to know where Loki is from, where he’s living, how he’s living. Anything Loki gives Amy will be taken as evidence. The only reason there isn’t a warrant for Loki’s arrest is the word from Prometheus, and quite frankly because if there was a warrant no one’s really sure how they’d catch him. Prometheus’ word or no, ADUO’s Director Stuart Jameson would like to get Loki behind bars. But Steve’s convinced him that trying to arrest Loki will only piss him off. For now, they think their best option is to study him, try to figure out the extent of what he can do, and how much he knows about the thing under Chicago’s streets — the thing that is still growing.