by C. Gockel
It strikes her that she hasn’t been introduced to this Thor. “Amy Lewis,” she says.
Loki is scowling.
Thor is grinning like an idiot. “And the baby is magical. I could feel it, just touching her wrist.”
“Thor,” says Loki, “hush.”
Thor looks at him befuddled. Amy’s a little befuddled, too.
Loki looks between the two of them. “I’ve been going to a great deal of trouble to hide it from Heimdall,” he winces. “And Odin.”
Thor blinks. Amy’s brows go up. She hadn’t realized they were hiding anything.
“Why?” says Thor.
Loki bites his lip. “Well, for one, you know it’s mine and you know how these things go for me—”
Thor’s face softens. “It will be fine this time. You’ll see.”
Loki’s face tightens all the more. “And the baby is magical, as you noted—”
“It’s wondrous! And strong!” Thor says. “I’ve never heard of a half-human baby...” His smile drops. “Ah...I see your point. Some people might use the child against you.”
Thor drops a heavy hand on Loki’s shoulder. “You have my oath. I shall not speak of it to anyone, even my father. Especially my father.”
Loki visibly relaxes. “Thank you.”
Thor lifts his hand and hits Loki on the shoulder again. “But well done, Loki! Well, done!”
Amy feels her brows knit. She’s the one with the morning sickness and the sore breasts, and she’ll be lugging the baby around for the next 8 months—why is Loki getting all the praise? And technically it wasn’t even this Loki. It was her Loki that impregnated her. Her eyes narrow.
But then Thor turns to her and bows again. “And my lady, you have my vow, I will bring Loki home safe to you.”
Amy tilts her head. In another life Thor tried to strangle her, suggested Loki keep her as a servant, and also saved her life. This Thor seems just as blundering and oddly noble.
“Thank you,” she says.
“May I have my goodbye kiss?” says Loki. He’s looking down at her, one eyebrow cocked, a slight lift to one side of his lips.
And how can she resist?
A few minutes later, she’s alone. She stares at the money on the counter for all of 30 seconds, feeling sad that she won’t have Loki to herself today.
And then she remembers all the things she said she resolved to do when she decided to stay in this universe—going back to veterinary school for one. How did she let herself get so thoroughly distracted by of all things sex? She needs to get to work on fixing this right away.
She taps her chin. All of her high school, undergrad, and MCAT results probably exist in this universe, and her Social Security number is still the same. As long as no one Googles her and discovers she’s dead.
She looks to the office. She can’t go back to the school in Oklahoma, obviously. But she could go to the University of Illinois Veterinary School in Chicago. She’ll need to fill out the application forms and put her John Hancock on them...but Loki doesn’t have a printer.
She looks at the money on the counter. This Chicago seems far safer than her Chicago. Surely, when Loki said stay here he didn’t mean in the apartment? She taps her chin thoughtfully for all of another 30 seconds, and then bolts to the bedroom to get dressed.
Chapter 6
Amy gets out of the cab on LaSalle Street, just a block north of the Chicago Board of Trade. It’s not her destination, but it’s close enough, and she hasn’t been able to see the building up close since she arrived.
The building is classic art deco and it’s been a dark and foreboding extra in at least one dystopian movie. Now a blue light bathes the old clock at the buildings front, old brickwork, moldings, and the faceless statue of Ceres. It’s art deco as reimagined by Disney. Just above Ceres’s head the light condenses into a single beam the width of the building’s highest tower. The beam shoots up into the low hanging winter clouds. It’s beautiful and awe inspiring—magic and human engineering fused together into something better than either.
Absently rubbing her almost non-existent bump beneath her coat, Amy whispers, “Baby girl, you are going to have a beautiful world.” She smiles, a little bittersweetly. She’s given up a lot to stay in this world. She misses Beatrice, Fenrir, and her friends. Lifting her head, she squares her shoulders. There isn’t anything she can do about that.
She is cared for. She looks down at her new clothes—an impossibly luxurious pink cashmere coat over an ivory silk sweater and tailored trousers. The Mary Jane flats on her feet alone cost an arm and a leg—although this Loki has as much a fascination with heels as her own, he didn’t want her to trip in ‘her condition.’ Amy is better dressed, and better fed now than she’s been, well, ever. And she has found herself in a new and interesting world. She will make the most of it.
Dropping her eyes, she brings her attention back to Earth. It’s a rare 55 degree December day in Chicago. The pavement on the street and the sidewalk is wet with melted snow. Around her men and women in suits walk past, many without outer coats. Amy has an inexplicable urge to smile and say hello to them. It strikes her that she hasn’t really interacted with anyone besides Loki and Miskunn since she’s been here. Her mood darkens slightly. She sees Miskunn twice a week now. Her baby’s magic is too strong; Miskunn is convinced that without someone to siphon all that magic away the extra energy will overwhelm the baby’s fragile developing body.
Squaring her shoulders, Amy wills herself not to think about such things. She does have Miskunn, and everything will be fine. Taking a breath, Amy forces her feet into motion and walks southward. In a few minutes her good cheer is restored. It feels good to be on her own and outside. A little jolt of exhilaration courses down her spine. She’s been having a great time with Loki, but she’s always been animated by having a purpose and a goal...now that she’s on track to realizing that goal she feels lighter and stronger at the same time. She is still herself no matter how everything has changed.
LaSalle Street dead ends at the Board of Trade and Amy turns east there onto Jackson. As she does she notices the pace of her fellow pedestrians picking up, their conversations stopping, and their eyes fixating straight ahead. It’s probably just the end of lunch hour. Nonetheless, Amy finds herself shoving her hands into her pockets and shivering, though it’s a mild day for December, and her coat is more than adequate to keep her warm.
Continuing a few paces down Jackson, she stops in her tracks at what she sees. In her world there is a courtyard between the Board of Trade and the adjacent building to the east. In her world there is also a walkway there beneath a bridge of steel and glass that spans the two buildings. Amy was planning on using the walkway as a shortcut to Van Buren. In this world the walkway still exists, but the whole courtyard is filled with men in uniforms, reminiscent of human camouflage fatigues, but dark gray. They stand at attention in six long lines of at least ten men each. All have large guns held in front of their bodies.
Amy stares at the soldiers. Loki had told her that the Board of Trade was used as Asgard’s ‘embassy’ on Earth. She expected a few men guarding the doors, but this looks like a small army.
She suddenly feels a hand on her elbow and instinctively spins away from it...and finds herself facing a businessman she’s never seen before. His blonde hair is tinged with white, he’s not particularly tall or short, he has an aquiline nose, a pair of glasses precariously perched at the tip. Behind his glasses his eyes are wide.
“Miss,” he says. “Don’t stare. You don’t want to draw their attention.”
From across the street comes a shout and the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps. “You there, woman? What’s your business here?”
Amy turns towards the voices and instinctively takes a step back. Four men in uniform are jogging towards her and the stranger.
“Too late,” the stranger says, taking her elbow. “Just keep calm,” he whispers. In her pocket Mr. Squeakers squeaks, and she wraps her fing
ers around him, half to keep him there—half to calm herself.
As the guards draw to a stop just a few paces away, the man beside her stammers and pushes up his glasses. “She’s just...lost.”
Slinging his gun behind his back, one of the four uniformed men steps forward. “What’s your name?” he says to the man.
“Ron Fleishman,” the stranger says.
“And yours?” the man says to Amy. She sees Ron tense beside her. Amy gives her name, noticing how people on the street walk by them, carefully not looking. The guard says, “We’ll have to see both of your IDs.”
Amy and Ron pull out their wallets and hand over their ID cards. The man looks at them both, pulls out his cellphone and holds both cards to the phone’s screen. The phone beeps cheerfully, Amy hears Ron let out a sigh, and then the uniformed man grunts and says, “Well, you both check out.” He looks at Amy and adds, “No loitering here.”
Amy nods, never so grateful Loki had gotten her the ID card. Ron grabs her elbow again. “She won’t,” he says. Spinning Amy around, Ron begins guiding her down the street. Under his breath he mutters, “Well, at least they don’t make us wear Stars of David.”
Amy blinks, and Ron gives a tight smile. “Humanity’s all in this together this time.”
Amy’s eyes widen. “Is it that bad?”
Ron releases her arm, his jaw going slack. Then he waves a hand, and in a very good imitation of a famous Jewish faux news anchor and comedian says, “I kid, I kid. My people. We whine. We exaggerate.” He puts a hand on his chest and blinks at her. “It’s what we do.”
Amy’s eyebrows shoot up. Not sure if he’s joking about joking...or what.
Ron gives her a smile that seems a little strained and starts to back away from her.
Before he darts away completely, Amy says, “Wait! Can I get to the library if I walk down State Street?”
Face neutral, Ron says, “Of course.” Pushing up his glasses, he gives her a curt nod and says, “I have to go.” Turning on his heels he walks back the way they came, pulling out his phone as he does.
“Thank you!” Amy calls after him. Ron waves a hand and walks faster.
Amy blinks. Shaken by the whole exchange, she resumes walking. She reaches State Street with its familiar throng of shoppers and heads South, her feet moving faster and faster. By the time she reaches Harold Washington Library she’s practically running.
x x x x
Harold Washington Library is the same as Amy remembers it. On the outside, retro-gothic blue-copper owls perch on the corners of the roof. On the inside, warm beige, black, and gold granite stone graces the floors; the high ceilings are flooded with light; and the sound of running water in the fountains fills the lobby.
By the time Amy reaches the librarian’s desk on the third floor, her heartbeat is almost back to normal.
Hadn’t Loki told her that the Board of Trade was the most logical place to keep dangerous magical criminals bound up in Cera’s magic? Valli was there, and some dark Elven mages. It wasn’t just Asgard’s City Hall located on Earth. It had a multitude of functions...nuclear and chemical waste disposal among them. Odin wouldn’t want someone getting their hands on nuclear waste and making a dirty bomb. She wouldn’t want that either.
...and maybe’s Ron’s comments were just hyperbole, tinged with frustration of...well...
She doesn’t really know and that is the problem.
Handing her ID to the librarian at the desk, Amy says, “I’d like access to a computer with internet and a printer.”
Looking a little embarrassed, the librarian takes out a paper ledger and asks, “May I ask what you will be using the internet for?”
For a moment, Amy can’t speak. They never asked that in her world. Giving a tight smile, Amy says, “To research veterinary schools and print out applications.”
The librarian’s frame visibly relaxes. She takes a note of Amy’s name, the date and time, and purpose for using the internet, and then leads her to the computers.
As soon as the librarian is gone, Amy navigates to the late night faux news show’s website. As the screen comes up, she breathes a sigh of relief. The show still exists...and no alarm bells are blaring in the library alerting anyone to the fact that she isn’t searching for veterinary schools. She peeks past the edge of the monitor. The librarian is bent over at her desk.
Exhaling, Amy looks back at the screen and some of her relief dissipates. The show is still running, but the comedian Ron had imitated is no longer the ‘anchor.’ Opening another tab, Amy Googles the comedian’s name.
She gets an obituary.
Amy sits back in her chair. Something soft brushes against her neck. Reaching up, she pulls the warm, comforting form of Mr. Squeakers into her hand. She starts to absently stroke his fur when she remembers she’s in public with a spidermouse. She turns her head. A few seats away an African American man with long dreadlocks and caramel skin obscured by a patchy beard is staring at her, his eyes wide.
Licking her lips, Amy says, “He’s a...” The words die on her tongue. It’s a good wig, and he’d pass, if she didn’t recognize him. “Bohdi,” she hisses.
Without a word, Bohdi pushes back his chair and jumps from his seat, walking quickly towards the book stacks.
Jumping from her seat, Amy follows him.
Bohdi takes a look back at her and walks faster. He’s heading for the fire exit hidden in the stacks, Amy realizes. Clutching Mr. Squeakers in her hand, she breaks into a run.
Bohdi must hear her footsteps because he bolts into a sprint and darts down a row of stacks.
Amy curses under her breath. She’ll never outrun him, she has to outthink him. Gritting her teeth she darts down the row of stacks parallel to his. As soon as she’s in the canyon of books she slows and crouches down. Mr. Squeakers chooses that moment to slip between her fingers and leap into one of the bookshelves. Amy stifles another curse but keeps moving down the aisle.
She hears what sounds like a squeaky wheel but can’t see the source. And then from down the aisle Bohdi took she hears the thud of books hitting carpeting and an angry woman’s voice. “No running in the library!”
“Uh, yes, ma’am. Excuse me, ma’am,” she hears Bohdi saying.
Amy darts down the stacks as quickly as she can. Up ahead there is a break in the shelves where another aisle cuts perpendicularly between the stacks. Amy hears what sounds like the squeak of wheels and then just the very front of an enormous book cart appears in the intersection of the aisles. Amy peers through the books and sees Bohdi trapped by the cart and the librarian in the next aisle over. He’s looking back the way he came, probably wondering where Amy went.
Biting her lip, Amy crouches down and slips as quietly as she can down the aisle until her nose is just a few handbreadths from the cart. The librarian and Bohdi don’t seem to know she’s there.
“Are you looking for something?” the librarian says to Bohdi.
“Eh...no...” says Bohdi, his voice a little winded.
The librarian tsks and the cart starts to roll down the middle aisle. Straightening, Amy puts her back as close to the shelf as she can. Nose in a book, the librarian doesn’t see Amy as she trundles the cart through the central aisle.
Turning her head, Amy sees Bohdi look cautiously in either direction, and then begin to retrace his steps. Amy slinks around the shelf until she’s in his aisle. His back is still to her. Holding her breath, Amy steps forward...
Her coat swings against her side with a light swoosh. It’s enough. Bohdi turns towards her sharply, a knife out and open in his hand.
Amy gasps. From behind Bohdi comes a hiss.
He turns his head and immediately holds up his hands. “Is that yours?” he says, eyes wide, skin going sallow.
Amy follows the direction of his gaze. Mr. Squeaker’s dangling from a line of silk cutting off Bohdi’s retreat.
“Yes,” says Amy, closing in cautiously.
Mr. Squeakers gives another hiss.
Mr. Squeakers gives a warning hiss, tiny teeth glinting.
“Call him off, please?” Bohdi says, voice shaking, eyes still on her mouse.
Biting her lip, Amy fists her hands at her side. She needs to be tough. “You know what a spidermouse is. How?” she demands.
Bohdi’s gaze slides to her. The fluorescent lighting dulls his skin, but even in the harsh light, it strikes her that the brown of his eyes is so rich, they almost look orange. Now those eyes narrow. “You were supposed to be killed by a serial killer, and then Loki took you away at sword point and you’re still alive. How?”
“He didn’t take me away at sword point...” Amy stammers and then remembers how Laevateinn was so close to her nose at the time. “...I mean...I guess it maybe looked like that...but it wasn’t....” She tilts her head. Bohdi had already left the scene at that point, so how does he know? She shrugs and tries to play cool. “We have a relationship.”
Bohdi’s chin drops and his gaze darkens. “You have a relationship with Odin’s butcher?” His lip curls up in disgust.
Amy’s jaw sags. “What..no...he’s not...”
Seemingly forgetting Mr. Squeakers, Bohdi chuckles. It’s not a nice sound. His head does this little bobbing tilt Amy associates with people from India and he smirks. “Yes, I suppose those political prisoners he killed last week during the prisoner transfer fell on their own swords.” He rolls his eyes. “Oh, wait, they didn’t have swords.” He sneers. “Or maybe you didn’t care because Malson just happened to be with them at the time and he died, too?”
He takes a step towards Amy and Mr. Squeakers flies through the air and lands on his shoulder with a hiss.
“Squeakers!” Amy says, darting forward and plucking the mouse away just before his little teeth attach to Bohdi’s neck.
Bohdi leans back against the shelf behind him, hand to his neck, his eyes wide. His gaze lingers on the mouse in Amy’s hand.