I Bring the Fire Part III: Chaos

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I Bring the Fire Part III: Chaos Page 20

by C. Gockel


  He’s used to be called argr, and deviant, but an old fogey? This is new.

  Smirking, Loki hops off the counter and walks over to the chair. She cranes her neck to meet his gaze.

  No, she isn’t fierce, but he does like her. Bending down he kisses her, his arms wrapping around her back and pulling her up out of the chair. He’s just finished putting on his armor, but there are some pieces that can be removed quite easily, and he has no desire to leave just yet.

  For a moment she responds and then pulls back. He is about to protest but then her mouth drops open as though she is about to speak. No words come out, but in his head he hears her thoughts. If we start this now, I’ll never be able to go in.

  Loki takes a sharp breath. He hears her. She’s still part of his purpose.

  “You’re right,” he says, tilting his head, but not moving away.

  Putting her cheek against his armored chest she whispers, “Thank you so much for doing this.” Lifting her head, she meets his eyes. “I think I love you, you know?”

  Loki’s jaw gets hard. What does Amy know of love? Never married, no children...she’s practically a child herself.

  Still, he smiles and says as gently as he can, “Thank you for that.”

  Her body shrinks a little.

  “I need to get my helmet and sword,” he says softly. Kissing her head, he turns away and walks into the bedroom. Trying to lighten the mood he says, “If you want to be funny, stick to your quantum physics jokes.” He snickers. “If a photon crashes into a tree in a forest and no one is around, does it make any sound?”

  His words are drowned out by the sound of approaching helicopters, but he keeps walking. Picking up his helmet and Laevithin, he turns around. One of the helicopters sounds very, very close.

  Suddenly feeling wary, Loki flips the helmet onto his head and fastens it with careful fingers. Less haste, more speed as Odin once told him. The helicopter is nearly deafening, but over the noise a voice commands through a bullhorn, “Put your hands up,” echoing through his home, and a spotlight flashes by the bedroom window.

  Loki can’t see Amy but he can feel her annoyance, and in his mind he hears, You idiots. It almost makes him smile, both her lack of fear and the intimacy of their connection. It makes him feel warm and whole, and frantic at the same time. The men in the helicopter can’t have her.

  Grabbing Laevithin, Loki sprints down the hallway towards the living room. A step beyond the spotlight’s glare, the moment seems to freeze in time. His mind catches on extraneous information—raindrops sparkling on the window, and the delicacy of Amy’s profile lit in the harsh blue-white light as she obediently raises her arms. He might be hallucinating, or perhaps casting an illusion accidentally, because instead of two arms reaching heavenward, eight arms stretch up; they’re nearly blue in the spotlight’s eerie light.

  Time suddenly has meaning again. His body is moving forward, invisible in his magical armor, and his mind is trying to determine what is real and what isn’t, when from the bullhorn he hears a frantic, “She’s not human!”

  Lunging towards Amy, he hears the rapid staccato burst of gunfire, the thunder of helicopter blades, and the shattering of glass. Bullets and window shards pelt harmlessly against his armor, but Amy falls backwards, her body hitting the floor soundlessly in the din.

  Falling to his knees beside her and shielding her with his body, Loki sees red stains blooming on her blouse, and a trickle of blood from a bullet wound in her throat. Loki pulls her up into his arms, trying to make her smaller. He wants to walk the In-Between, but she is so limp, her eyes wide open, and the smell of blood heavy in the air. She might not be strong enough...and he still feels her. Her shock is like a cold rock in his gut. A strangled sound comes from his throat.

  You destroy everything beautiful. He hears Baldur’s voice in his head, as he sees Helen, Amy, Sigyn, and Anganboða, in his arms.

  And suddenly, the sound of the helicopter and gunfire is muffled by the sound of his own scream.

  The air around him ripples, and Loki turns his head towards the broken window. He barely sees the shadows of men standing on the helicopter’s landing skids, weapons raised. He barely sees anything.

  Another scream of rage and despair rips through him and magic whips unbidden from his body. Raindrops split into hydrogen and oxygen and burst into a solid wall of flame. There are more screams that aren’t his own, the sound of more gunfire, and an explosion. The spotlight winks out, the wall of fire dissipates, and the only light left is from the helicopter, a spinning ball of flame plunging to the ground.

  Chapter 11

  Bryant is next to Steve. Hand pressed to his ear, Bryant is relaying messages from his brother Brett, who is watching the SWAT team approach Loki’s home from his position atop a building less than half a block away.

  Steve has a dispatcher’s phone to his head. “Put Thor on, now!” Steve says.

  “Yes, sir,” says the police officer on the other end of the line.

  Beside him, Bryant says, “They’ve got one helicopter by Loki’s apartment, telling him to surrender. Guys are rappelling off another chopper onto the roof. Police are on the ground—”

  Thor’s slightly befuddled voice crackles at the other end of the line. “Is anyone there? Hello, hello? I am unused to Midgardian magics—”

  “Thor! This is Steve. We’ve found Loki and Lewis. Jameson and Mayor Ronnie have ordered a raid on his home. I need—”

  Cutting him off, Thor’s voice is suddenly confident and sure. “I will be outside your building in my chariot in five minutes. You will travel with me and lead me to Loki’s home.”

  “I’ll be there,” Steve says, dropping the dispatcher’s phone.

  Beside Steve, Bryant shakes his head, his face drawn. “Brett says they shot Lewis! They shot Lewis!”

  Hand still to his earpiece, Bryant says, “One helicopter down.” He meets Steve’s eyes just before Steve bolts for the stairs.

  A few moments later Steve is outside in a throng of reporters in the middle of LaSalle Street. A light drizzle is falling. Steve’s wondering how Thor will get the gauntlet of reporters to disperse when a bolt of lightning rips from the sky to the street a few feet away. Reporters and police bolt from the spot of smoking pavement. Steve runs towards it. A blur of gold streaks down from the sky towards him, and Thor’s chariot is by Steve’s side. Before Steve knows what’s happening , Thor’s hauled him in. “Which way?” shouts Thor, hand still on Steve’s shoulder.

  “South west,” Steve says. The chariot lurches forward and up so steeply Steve nearly falls off. “Lewis has been hit,” Steve shouts above the wind and popping of his ears.

  As they pull above the buildings roofs, Steve shouts, “If we hurry we may get there in time...”

  ...to save Lewis and Loki.

  The words never leave Steve’s mouth. The second helicopter that is flaming on the roof of Loki’s high-rise condo building is giving the location away.

  “Which domicile?” Thor shouts above the wind. A bolt of lightning from his hammer lights the scene.

  The lightning's glare is mirrored off the windows of Loki’s building, and makes the concrete support beams look white as bleached bone. But where a window to the southeast penthouse should be, there is a gaping black hole, a cavernous maw in the sky. “Where the windows are broken,” Steve shouts.

  Nodding, Thor pushes Steve down, and the chariot dips to the level of the cavelike opening. They bounce three times as they land in the penthouse, and over the rattle of his jaw Steve can just barely hear the crunch of glass beneath the rolling wheels. They skid to a halt and Steve’s head and shoulder slam against the chariot’s wall.

  “Stay down,” Thor says.

  Grabbing his aching shoulder, Steve blinks his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He takes a deep breath and swallows at the smell of blood, sweat and gunpowder. In the distance he hears the wail of fire alarms.

  Thor steps from the chariot and Steve hears the crunch of g
lass. Thor’s voice rings out, even, calm and controlled. “Loki? Are you here? It is I, Thor, and Agent Rogers.”

  There is no answer. Thor speaks again. “Both of us were opposed to this raid. We know the girl is hurt—you cannot heal her. You must give her to us if you want her to live.”

  Taking a shaky breath, Steve thinks of Lewis. It’s his fault she’s even here, isn’t it? How many times has Bryant pushed Steve to put her on witness protection? But no, Steve wanted a contact with Loki. Shutting his eyes, Steve silently thinks—or prays—he’s not sure, Please, Loki, we have to get her to the trauma unit. The center they set up above ADUO Headquarters is staffed with doctors with more experience in bullet wounds and blunt force trauma than any hospital in the city—and this being Chicago, that is saying something.

  There is an intake of breath not from Thor or Steve. Loki’s whisper slices through the darkness, sharp and soft as a knife blade. “What did you say?”

  Thor begins to speak, “I said—”

  “Not you!” Loki screams. “Steve! What did you say?”

  “Agent Rogers said nothing—”

  “I heard him!” Loki says.

  Standing up, wincing at the pain in his shoulder, Steve turns towards Loki’s voice but sees only a floor-to-ceiling window facing the blinking lights of the southern part of the city. “We have to get Lewis to the trauma unit.”

  Light rises in the room, but Steve can’t detect a single source. Magic? Loki stands before Steve and Thor silhouetted by the window. He’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt, his skin is pale and pink, his hair ginger.

  Running a hand nervously through his hair, Loki says, “I hear her, Thor...she can’t die!”

  Nodding, but without making any sudden moves, Thor says, “Then you must trust me to help her, Loki.”

  Smirking, Loki says, “Trust you, Thor?”

  Flushing, Thor licks his lips. “I won’t fail you again. You know you can’t heal her, Loki.”

  Loki’s lips curl at that, his hands fall to his sides and Steve swears he sees him tremble. Steve bites back the urge to shout, Don’t waste time.

  Loki’s eyes flash to Steve.

  From behind comes the crunch of glass. Turning fast, Steve sees a shimmer of light, and then there is Loki again, emerging from a shadowy hallway that runs past a kitchen. Loki is wearing the alien armor that blends so seamlessly into the surroundings. Steve might not see him at all if his visor wasn’t up. His face is blue, almost glowing. Lewis is draped in his arms, he sees bloodstains on her clothing, but most worryingly is the blood soaked cloth wrapped around her neck.

  “Loki,” Thor whispers. “You’re blue....what’s happening to you?”

  Ignoring Thor, heart racing at the sight of Lewis’ limp and bloody body, Steve says, “Loki, we have to get Lewis to the trauma unit. There are police vehicles below. I know you may not trust them but—”

  “No!” Loki says. “Thor, she’s fading. Can you help her?”

  Thor holds out his arms. After a moment’s hesitation, Loki passes Lewis to him. Gazing down at her head, Thor’s brow furrows and his jaw tightens, he mutters something in another language. Steve’s just about to tell them they need to move her, now, when Amy’s eyes bolt open and she gasps. Her lips part, as though to speak, but nothing comes out.

  Pulling off his helmet, Loki puts a finger to her lips. “Don’t worry, I hear you.” He’s smiling, a little sadly, a little deranged.

  “Loki,” Thor says. “She does need to go to the trauma unit. There are bullets, glass and fabric in her body—and their tools are sharper than mine.”

  Loki meets Thor’s eyes. “You will take her in your chariot, and you won’t leave her.”

  Eyes locked on Loki’s, Thor says, “The Norns as my witness, I swear it.”

  Loki stands stock still for a moment. And then nodding, he backs away. Thor bends low over Amy and whispers something in her ear. Her eyes drift shut, and Thor turns around and steps into his chariot, Amy in his arms. Thor says something in his own language, and the chariot backs, turns and lifts—much more gently than when Steve had been in it. With a gust of air it takes off into the night.

  Alone with Loki, Steve looks around the apartment and his heart sinks. Along the hallway Loki had emerged from are prone bodies.

  “They attacked without provocation,” Loki says, chin tilted downward, eyes unfocused.

  Gritting his teeth, Steve says, “I need to get them medical attention.”

  Loki lifts an eyebrow. “That won’t be necessary.”

  Jaw tense, Steve taps his phone, “I’m going to call for an ambulance...ambulances...”

  Loki shrugs. “Ambulances are already on the way. There are fires in the stairwells, a few of your agents trying to come up from the ground got...” He stops, looks at Steve and smirks. “Are getting...cooked.” His eyes narrow at Steve, “But don’t worry, they called for help.”

  Steve stands frozen, hand on his phone.

  Loki smiles. “Well, are you going to arrest me?”

  Steve tilts his head, eyes narrowed. “What do you want, Loki?”

  Loki’s smile drops. “To be close to Miss Lewis...for the time being.” He licks his lips nervously, and looks away. “She’s in my head.” His eyes go back to Steve. “As you were.” Blinking his eyes rapidly he says, “Like everyone seems to be lately. If you arrest me, you’ll take me to headquarters—that’s right below the trauma unit, is it not?”

  Steve nods, dumbly.

  Loki smiles again, and holds his wrists out. “Come on, Steve, take out your handcuffs. This is your chance to be a hero!”

  Taking a man who’s just taken down two SWAT helicopters to headquarters is just about the dumbest thing Steve could think to do. It is also, doubtlessly, what Jameson will order.

  Not bothering to take out his cuffs, Steve grabs his shoulder. “Come on, let’s go downstairs.”

  With a smirk and a shrug, Loki obediently lets Steve lead him down the hall.

  x x x x

  Steve sits next to Loki in the van the SWAT team is using to take them to HQ. Hands bound behind his back with the same cuffs they had used on agent Hill, Loki is leaning forward slightly. Where the cuffs wrap around his wrists there is a line of pale blue on one side, the other side just shows blackened metal.

  All around the van agents sit glaring at Loki, rifles at the ready.

  Rocking and humming, Loki seems for the most part unconcerned. But every now and then Steve catches Loki scowling. Steve looks down at his phone. There is a text from one of the nurses. Turning to Loki he says, “Thor got Lewis to the trauma unit. They’ve begun operating.”

  Loki nods. “I know.”

  Glancing, down at his phone again, Steve sees a message alert for his email. He clicks over to a short message from Amy. Loki said he’ll help with the gates. We need to find a way to meet without Jameson finding out.

  Steve hadn’t realized his heart could sink any lower, but it does.

  “Hmmmm....” says Loki, voice near his shoulder. “She must have sent that just before she was shot.”

  Steve’s eyes slide to him. Sitting as far back as he can with his hands behind his back, Loki eyes the other agents in the van. “I was going to help...I can close gates, you know.” His voice darkens. “But at the moment I feel strangely disinclined.”

  Not one of the agents even moves a muscle. Loki gives him a tight smile. Steve wants to say something, to smooth things over. Running a hand over his chin, feeling the bite of stubble, Steve can’t find it in himself to say anything. His mind is filled with the memory of the empty eyes of the dead agents in Loki’s apartment, and the memory of Lewis draped in Loki’s arms. A wrong for a wrong was not right.

  “You look a little pale, Agent Rogers,” Loki says, his eyes hard. His lips quirk. “Or is it not politically correct to say that? I can’t keep all the rules straight.”

  The van draws to a halt, shouts go up inside and out, and Steve is spared from having to respond.


  As the doors open, SWAT team members fan out to clear the path. Before anyone has a chance to shove a gun in Loki’s direction, Steve takes him by the shoulder again and says, “Let’s move.”

  They’ve just hopped out of the van and are making their way to the doors of the building when Steve hears someone say, “Fuck me. Shiva?” Loki and Steve both turn their heads in unison. There’s the Indian—or something—cab driver Steve met earlier, his eyes wide, body stock still, looking for all the world like a deer caught in headlights.

  As some agents push the kid away, Loki smiles and blows a kiss. “Maybe some other time!”

  The kid’s eyes suddenly regain focus, and even with the guys pushing him away, he manages to bring a fisted hand to his face, bite his thumb and then flick it in Loki’s direction.

  Loki smiles as Steve steers him through the door and towards the interrogation room.

  x x x x

  There is no one-way mirror in the interrogation room, just cameras in all the corners, and speakers. Loki rocks in a squeaking chair, hands behind his back. There is a table next to him, and an extra chair. He scowls. As soon as they’d seated him, they’d placed a strange little helmet of Promethean Wire on his head. On the one hand, it’s put an end to Cera’s nagging. On the other hand, he’s finding it difficult to focus his magic. He’s not frightened—he can slip the lock picking tools out of his wrist armor easily enough. From there it would only be a moment to remove the helmet and World Walk—or just walk out of the room.

  He is annoyed though. He wants to know how Amy is doing. He can’t leave without her, and he can’t do that until her condition is stable, and he can’t know if she is stable because of the damnable helmet. Grinding his teeth he rocks faster in his chair, causing the metal to groan and squeak.

  From behind the door, he hears shouting. Craning forward, he tries to piece out the words, but they are too muffled. Still, he does recognize Thor’s voice among the participants.

  His eyebrows rise. Either Amy is dead, or she is in a state where Thor does not feel she will suffer without him. He bites his lip.

 

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