He hurt. He hadn't hurt so bad since the time he and Thor had gotten into a drinking match to settle such a weighty matter as who among them was the better bard. Loki had woken up a month later, suffering from the worst hangover of his entire existence, in the form of a nanny goat. He'd crawled back to Asgard with his tail tucked between his legs. The Trickster never again challenged the god of thunder to a poetry slam.
"What a cry baby." Jake's mocking voice came from close. Curtain rings scraped on the rod; the drapes shut, plunging the room into blessed darkness. He stomped closer—each reverberation of his boots on the carpeting struck like thunder in Loki's throbbing skull.
"Can you walk quieter? Asshole. I'm suffering here." Loki clutched his head between both hands, hoping pressure would stop his brains from leaking through his ears. And what was that crunching sound—was the bastard stomping on packing bubbles just to torment him?
"The floor is covered in shit," Jake said gruffly. "Not many place I can put my feet without stepping on something."
"Oh." Loki wheezed because snot clogged his nose and throat. Wetness on his cheeks. He still had tear ducts... or they'd healed enough that he could cry. And damn it, they itched. "Is Michael okay?"
"Yeah, he's asleep in my room. The twins are taking turns watching him."
"What about the dís?" Loki rubbed his face against the back of his arm, applying pressure since digging in with his nails wasn't an option.
"Dead. Michael cut out her heart with Vanadium. The curse is ended." Jake's voice came from directly over Loki, indicating he'd come nearer without making any additional noise.
"Good." Satisfaction infused his voice. He didn't bother hiding it. He stopped scratching for a second but the stinging persisted—thousands of fire ants marched across his eyeballs. Moaning, he scrubbed his face again.
"Stop that. You're not supposed to scratch."
"I can't help myself. It itches." Loki whined, ending on a high note. He looked up and squinted, attempting to see but all he could make out was an indistinct form looming over him.
"Damn, I'd forgotten what a wimp you are when you get hurt. Can you see?" Jake sank to his knees beside Loki. Far from being reassuring, his rival's proximity was a great, looming threat.
"Barely. Bitch got me right in the face."
"I flushed your eyes with water. No idea if it helped."
"Gee, thanks," Loki said, mixed bitterness and sarcasm. "Guess you couldn't be bothered to heal me, huh? Figures..." A painful lesson. It served him right for trying to do the right thing by the child. No good deed...
"I'm unable to use healing magic. It's one of my mortal limitations." Jake's huge hand pressed against the back of Loki's skull and the other against his forehead. The man may only be human, but his mortal vessel possessed the strength necessary to crush a child's skull. Or maybe he'd drive his thumbs through the Trickster's damaged eyeballs, thus ending him.
Loki's danger sense went off like a five-alarm claxon. He jerked and twisted, a weak attempt to escape. "Don't touch me—"
"Quiet down. If I intended to kill you, you'd be dead already. Believe me, I considered it. That stunt you pulled was reckless. You put Michael in danger." Jake released Loki's head and reached for something. In all likelihood, a weapon.
"He was already in danger. I saved him."
"The only reason I haven't killed you."
Sure enough, Loki glimpsed a flash—light glancing off metal. Jake still intended to kill him. This had all been a setup, part of a sadistic game. The Trickster swallowed around a hard lump in his throat. Real fear formed in his gut. Not the distress the dís had caused, but true terror because he knew the old man's capacity for cruelty better than any other creature in the universe.
"Liar," Loki hissed, barring his teeth. He briefly considered changing shapes but then dismissed it. He lacked the strength necessary to put up a fight even if he managed to shift, and besides, being a boy might be the best protective camouflage he could have at the moment. Most people shied instinctively from the thought of harming a child. Maybe even Jake.
"Are you talking to me or yourself?" Jake's tone was quick and light.
"Does it matter?" Loki sensed tension building—something scary and momentous. He didn't want to be lying here like a sacrificial lamb when violence manifested. With an effort, he marshaled his strength and scooted away. He traveled less than a foot before he hit the wall.
"No, it doesn't," Jake said gravely. "Calm down. If I meant to hurt you, I'd already have done so."
"Yeah, so you say. Or maybe you wanted me awake before you started." Exhaustion yoked him to a great burden. He began a hard scramble for enough energy to shift again. He could manage, but it wouldn't be fast enough to evade whatever harm Jake intended to do him.
Unable to see; nowhere to flee. Loki chose the only route open to him and wailed at the top of his eight-year-old's lungs. He sobbed, turning on the waterworks, and kicked his short legs in a full-fledged tantrum. "Puh-lease don't hurt me! I don't wanna die! I'm too young to die!"
"Sonofabitch. Knock it off. Do you really think I'd torture you with my boys just down the hall?" Jake dropped his huge hand over Loki's mouth, silencing him. The hunter's tone conveyed more threat than an armed nuke. "If you wake up Michael with this shit, I will kill you."
Loki flipped the switch and shut it down. He scowled. He couldn't speak over his gag so he projected his voice. "Good point. Sorry."
Jake lifted his hand a couple inches but paused, testing Loki's word. The hunter rumbled his frustration. "Why the hell are you everything and anything—but a man—when we speak?"
"What can I say—I was the female vocalist for Berlin." He grinned.
Jake's silence spoke for itself. The joke missed its mark—probably flew right on over the rainbow. Loki couldn't see his former friend's scowl, but he was confident it was there, covering the old man's confusion. Though, really, it was inexplicable. Inexcusable. Jake Barrett must've been...
"Cripes, how old were you in the 70s?" His face skewed while he juggled the numbers.
"None of your damn business." When Jake shifted, the floor boards creaked beneath him. His movements indicated the hunter was working with his hands.
Loki's sharp ears picked up the slick sound of a knife cutting through a firm substance. He sniffed, tasting the air, and detected the delicious aroma of something tart and sweet. It set his mouth to watering.
"What're you doing?"
"Repeating the mistakes of my past."
The Trickster hissed. The unexpected blow to his pride was far worse than the sting of his injured eyes. Unfair! And uncalled for! He, Loki, was not a mistake to be regretted. He bit his tongue to stay silent but anger fueled his tongue.
"How can you deny me so easily? We were brothers—does that mean nothing to you?" Loki demanded with a violent gesture.
Jake grunted. "Of course it means something to me. You're getting riled up over nothing. I wasn't talking about you."
"What then?"
"Me. I seem to be set on this doomed course. Put out your hand."
"Why?" Spots of suspicion multiplied before his blind eyes like a pox.
"Just do it."
"I must be out of my mind." Muttering, Loki stuck out his arm even though doing so was insane. The spider's venom must've eroded part of his brain. There was no other logical explanation.
"Then you're not alone." Jake took hold of Loki's wrist, turned his hand over, and placed something on his palm.
"What's this?" He closed his fingers and identified... Fruit. More specifically, a piece of fruit—probably a juicy apple from the texture. Loki's brow knit. Okay, well then. Jake Barrett was trying to hand feed him sliced fruit. Oh yeah, he'd hit crazy town for sure.
"Iðunn's apple."
"What? No way!" Loki sniffed it, mistrust diamond-bright and hard in his heart. The aroma remained fresh and inviting. He didn't detect so much as a hint of poison. Still, it was impossible. It had to be a trick. "The tree
hasn't produced even a flower more than two hundred years..."
"I know that."
"That would make this one of the last apples left in existence." Loki waved the suspicious prize in the air. "I can't believe you'd waste it on me."
"I can't either," Jake grumbled. "Will you knock that off and just eat it? This isn't a smart time to be screwing around. You're hurt worse than you think. Loki, I can see through you."
Loki shivered. His mind went straight to the hell that awaited him on the other side. Without hesitation, he shoved the slice into his mouth—
"Damn it. Chew!" Jake snapped.
Too late. Loki swallowed it whole. The second it had touched his lips, he’d experienced that special spark of magic. Tingling on his tongue that spread through his entire being. His eyes stopped burning quite so awfully. He squinted in an attempt to focus and detected marginal improvement.
"It helped."
"Of course it helped."
"I want more." He flexed his fingers—gimme paw.
"You're supposed to chew it. The apple's full benefit isn't realized otherwise."
"Geez, stop lecturing already. I'll chew next time." Loki struggled to sit upright. He put his back to the wall and shoved, shoulders hunched. His sight had improved marginally thanks to the regenerative properties of the apple but he wanted—needed—the rest of it.
"Here." Jake tossed another slice at him. It hit Loki's cheek and bounced off but he caught it against his chest. He shoved it into his mouth and—with an effort—chewed three times. The apple's flesh was firm; the juices succulent. He gulped and said, "Just give it to me already."
"No. I know how you eat."
"I—geez. Cut me a break already. You haven't spent quality time with me in centuries." Loki noted a distinct improvement in his sight already. Not quite 20/20 but soon...
"Some things don't change." Jake pared another slice with his knife and cast it toward Loki with a flick of the blade. Half the golden apple remained.
This time Loki caught it out of midair. In the same smooth motion, he popped it into his mouth. He sank his teeth into the fruit so the golden skin faced outward and flashed Jake a shiny smile. "See, chewing..."
"Yeah, I see." Jake sounded unconvinced.
Loki masticated with his mouth open so each bite was visible. Unfortunately, Jake appeared unperturbed by the gross out. But then, Loki supposed that raising sons could do that to a man. Swallowing, he asked, "You gonna tell me where you got it?"
"No." Jake paused and then countered. "You wanna tell me why you didn't come to me for help tonight? My son's life was at stake. I'd already agreed to work with you if you had a viable plan but you excluded me... I'm thinking on purpose."
"I was working on the fly—making things up as I went along. I didn't have a plan." Loki scowled because, damn it, Jake sorta had a point. And the Trickster lacked a neat answer. Honestly—and he used that phrase with only the utmost irony—including Jake hadn't even occurred to him.
"Your con is falling apart," Jake said in a tone rife with cynicism. "This whole ploy for us to work together was a ruse right from the start. I can't believe you ever intended to cooperate with me if you couldn't even overcome your hatred to accept my help."
The Trickster's shoulders jerked. He sat straighter. "You still think I'm running a scam? I almost died!"
"I think you worked hard and took the risk necessary to put me in your debt. When the time comes you'll call in the marker." Jake tossed the remaining half apple overhanded like a baseball.
Loki's hand shot up. He snatched it out of the air but he was too pissed to take a bite. The injustice of the other man's summary riled him to real anger. His first truly unselfish act in a century reduced to just another manipulative scheme. "It figured you'd twist it like that—"
"Remember who I am, Loki. I've known you too long to be fooled." Jake eyed him with unadulterated cynicism. "Let's not play pointless games. You protected my son; I owe you. I'll do whatever I have to to make you whole."
"Whole! I can't be made whole." Loki scoffed. "You wrongly imprisoned three of my children!"
Jake's hard gaze never wavered. "You sired monsters fated to destroy the world."
"No!" Loki's free fist struck his thigh. "You made them what they are."
"I saw what they'd become. I tried to protect the nine worlds by banishing them."
"Always with the excuses—"
"Explanations."
"Excuses! You've got one for everything. How about this? Nari and Vali were ten when Thor murdered them. That's four years older than Michael. You were too much of a coward to even do your own dirty work. How do you live with yourself?" Real tears streamed down Loki's cheeks but he was too far gone to care. Thor had transformed one of Loki's twin sons into a wolf who'd in turn murdered his brother. The Thunderer had gutted both children and used their intestines to bind Loki's greater form.
"That's on me. The time is coming when I'll pay for what I've done but you're not without blame." Jake's face set into a stony mask from flinty eyes to gravelly voice. No doubt, his heart was an iron ingot in his cavernous chest. "There's blood on your hands, Loki. Baldur—"
"Not my fault! I warned you! I warned Frigg! 'Don't fuck with Fate,' I said. Did you listen? No one ever listens!" He howled with frustration. His imperfect vision fogged with reddish haze.
"You could've tried harder." All the sudden, Jake sounded immensely and thoroughly exhausted. He created a dismissive gesture with his hand. "This is all pointless. We're going in circles, arguing about things done centuries ago. Our legacy is nothing but betrayal and bitterness..."
"Let's talk about what's been done lately then..." The last couple minutes had served to convince Loki that Jake was right about one thing: he should regard the aid he'd rendered Michael as a marker to be played at some future date and time.
"I could just call us even," Jake said, severe in tone. "I haven't forgotten—you engineered Daniel's death."
Loki forgot his clever retort and fell silent. Against his will, he replayed the whole sordid affair that had resulted in the murder of Daniel Barrett. An unfamiliar sense of shame flooded him. He didn't want to own it. A conscience was a disgrace for a giant to possess. His differences had always set him apart from his own people—the primary reason he'd sought a home among the Aesir; called one his blood brother over his own kin.
The silence endured, demanding fulfillment.
"You got Daniel's soul back in the end." Loki turned his child-sized face toward the apple and took a huge bite. He was beyond caring what anyone thought of him, especially Jake.
Did he care? Nope, not caring.
"Did you plan that too?" Jake's face brightened with sudden enlightenment—brown eyes gleaming with murderous intent. His hands flexed.
Aware he'd miscalculated, Loki shifted and squirmed beneath the old man's regard but it was too late. Time for a major diversion. "I saved Michael. That should count for something."
"It does." Jake leaned back, colliding with the wall behind him.
Curt but encouraging. Loki diverted his gaze, making a casual sweep of the child's trashed bedroom. The spider's mangled and dismembered body rested atop the shattered remnant of the bed. Everywhere he looked—dried ichor and destroyed furniture. "Damn, the kid's gonna need a whole new decor."
Jake grinned. "He's already said he wants to redo it in Spiderman."
"Cool." Loki tried to smirk, but was sure it bore closer resemblance to a Charlie Brown smile. Apprehension ate at him, couldn't be helped. If he failed to forge an alliance with Jake against the Norns, then they were both guaranteed to lose. Hell, the whole damn world—all nine of 'em—would burn.
"This can't work if we don't change," Jake said heavily.
Those words, coming from Him, shocked Loki. In the old age, the time of mist and myth, Odin had been versatile and dynamic, but those days were long since gone. The One-eyed God had grown stagnant and apathetic centuries ago. BUT, as the Trickster had observe
d before, the mortal incarnation of his old friend was different.
Loki forced out the impossible confession. Truth-telling ran counter to the fundamental nature of his soul. "What I did to Daniel made me sick. I saw what I'd become through the eyes of others..." He shrugged. "I gave his soul back. I could've destroyed him. Bringing him back was the best I could manage."
"We fought tooth and nail to win back my son's soul."
"Yeah. If I'd made it too easy, you'd've assumed it was a trap."
Scowling, Jake scoured his face as though searching for a clue. "Thousands of mortals are dying at the hands of your undead army and I'm supposed to believe you feel bad about my son dying?"
"Those mortals are dying to become my army. I don't have a choice—"
"Sure you do. Order the Necromancer to stop."
"I can't."
"You won't."
"I can't!" Loki swung closed fists, bashing the wall. The impact created concentric circles on the plaster.
"You're as trapped in this as I am, ain't'cha?" Jake gave him an odd look—part soothsayer, part sage. But the truly objectionable thing was the pity that shone in the old man's eyes.
"Yes." He had more than his fair share of pent-up anger and frustration. So much of his rage was directed at Jake, but even more for the Sisters Wyrd, the witches who'd cursed them to ruin. "I'm trapped at the bottom of a pit. All my efforts to get out dig me in even deeper. There has to be some way out..."
He huffed and stared at the ground, determined to sublimate his emotions and restore his facade before he said another honest word. One of the spider's fat severed legs lay too close to his foot for comfort. The thick hairs were almost touching the sole of his shoe. Face contorted, Loki extended his leg and pushed it away.
"'This is a waste of time." Jake declared in cold dismissal. "We can't change—too old, too set in our ways. Change is hard. It'd require effort. Sacrifice—"
"You're calling me incapable of change? You want to talk sacrifice—do you have any idea what it cost me to steal that dagger from Freya?" Infuriated, he hurled the uneaten half of the apple at Jake. Thanks to his faulty vision, it smacked the wall beside the older man's head. Reckless words followed. "CENTURIES of plotting, manipulating, and scheming—wasted! All on the remote possibility that you could pull your head out of your narrow-minded ass long enough to even consider working with me. But no, that was too much to ask—"
Wolf's Cross: Book 4 (Loki's Wolves) Page 30