by C. Gockel
The room is loud, and people are jovial. He sees movement from the door they just entered, and then Thor enters the room with Heiðr, his Asgardian entourage behind him. The volume in the room doesn’t change, but he feels the mood becoming darker.
Moments later, Heiðr sits down next to Steve, and Thor sits beyond her, the rest of Thor’s people begin to sit down on the opposite end of the table. The mood is just beginning to lift when Steve hears Claire shout above the din, “I am not a little boy!”
The room goes silent. Steve and every member of his team stand up. At their end of the table is one of the Asgardians and Claire. The man laughs. In Jotunn he says, “You think you are a man?”
What happens next seems to occur in slow motion … but it’s so fast Steve can’t stop it. Claire takes a step back, lifts a leg, pivots, and kicks. Steve hears a collective intake of breath. The man goes hurtling backward, and the crowd parts like the Red Sea. The Asgardian hits a wall fifteen feet away and slides to the ground. Steve hears what sounds like whips. He turns, and his heart stops. Branches have fallen from the rafters and have wrapped around Claire’s legs and are pulling her up to the roof.
Letting her legs open to Russian splits, Claire rolls so she’s hanging upside down. “Give me knives,” she shouts to the SEAL team. The guys jump, and she has one in either hand before Steve can extricate himself from the bench. With a cry of rage, Claire slashes at the branches holding up her legs while swinging her body. Steve shouts her name, but it’s too late, she’s falling, about to break her neck … but she does a somersault in midair and lands on the table, knives still in her hands. Branches fall again, but this time she slashes them before they reach her. The severed ends fall on the table and writhe like snakes.
“I am a girl!” she shouts. More branches whip from the rafters. She slashes at them, but more come. It seems like the very roof is caving in. Steve runs toward her, but the guys are already there, their knives drawn as more branches whip toward her with adder-like speed. Claire cuts through them quickly, but larger ones move in the wake of the slender branches, and she has to hack at those. A branch the width of Steve’s waist begins to creep down toward Claire, groaning as it does. Steve jumps up onto the bench and tries to rip it away from her. It’s like trying to move an oak tree.
He hears Thor roar, “Rogersdottir! You must calm down!”
With an angry shout, Claire yanks a branch out of the tree. It’s the width of Steve’s wrist. The action seems to excite the other branches. As she swipes at the one moving toward her wrist, others snake around her waist. Swinging around on the large branch, trying to keep himself between it and Claire, Steve yanks at one of the creeping tentacles, trying to tear it down just as Claire had. But he can’t dislodge it. Claire yanks another from the tree and whips it down onto the table. More branches zip from the rafters.
“Rogersdottir! They want your magic!” Thor bellows, so close the sound waves seem to reverberate in Steve’s skull. “You must be calm!”
Claire shouts, “I’m not afraid of any man or tree!” She twists and tries to kick away a branch. A branch as wide as Steve’s bicep begins to slink around her chest. He hears wood chipping and sees Tucker embedding his knife in the creeping vine. Claire roars, tries to push the branch away, but it tightens quickly as a noose, and then more branches become wrapped around her wrists.
“Be calm!” Thor says, as Claire, Tucker, and Steve try to rip the branch away.
Claire’s body goes limp and she gasps. Steve’s heart stops. But then the branch begins to budge, and the other snaking branches stop their advance. Still hanging onto the enormous vine, pulling the one around Claire’s waist, Steve gasps. He can barely see the rest of the room—they’re surrounded by a curtain of vines. Thor is on the table, half-kneeling in front of Steve’s daughter. Behind him Steve can just barely see Bohdi and Amy, holding back more branches. The entire SEAL team is in the web. He notices that a few of them have vines wrapped around their wrists.
Thor says, “Now stay calm,” and gently disentangles one of her wrists. Steve does the other. They offer no resistance. A moment ago, Steve had seen them as almost sentient, and sinister at that. He yanks one off of Claire’s waist, and it’s just a plant.
He feels the hairs on the back of his neck rise. “How were you able to fight them at all? Shouldn’t they have sucked the magic right out of you?”
Claire rubs her wrists. “They tried,” she snarls.
Thor huffs. “It was sucking the magic out of her. But she called more. Some are able to call it to themselves more easily than others. Rogersdottir, you are able to call it, and then to let it go when you no longer desire it.”
Gently brushing away a vine, Thor says, “Both abilities are rare, to have both together is extremely rare … but then you also harnessed it and turned it into strength. Who taught you how to do that?”
“Dr. Lewis,” says Claire.
Lewis’s head pokes between two large vines. “Umm … what?”
“You showed me what muscles and bones look like under a microscope, and you showed me how they connect through tendons and ligaments,” says Claire as though it’s obvious. She scowls and weaves her fingers together. “You showed me what muscles look like when they’re working, how they contract and scrunch together. When I want to be strong, I imagine my muscles full of light, tightening and pulling and not breaking!” As she says the words, the branches whip around her wrists once more. Claire growls and takes a deep breath. Her features go smooth, and she gently pulls the snaky vines away.
“Really? That’s all?” says Redman, his face appearing in the vines.
Claire blinks. “Well, you have to have that feeling …” She touches her head and then her stomach. “That magic feeling.”
Steve stares at his daughter. What she’s saying sounds crazy. What’s crazier is he knows exactly what she’s talking about. He felt that feeling, too, this morning, when he’d talked Thor out of a standoff. It felt … the closest word he can come to it in English is flow, that sensation you get when you’re doing something that engages you so completely on every level that you lose track of time and it’s like you’re outside yourself, like you are being controlled by a divine operator. This morning he’d felt that, but more. It had been so intoxicating he’d had to fight to keep from laughing aloud.
“I know it,” says Redman. “I feel it when I’m drawing or making a sculpture.”
“I know it, too,” says Larson. His blue eyes flick to Gerðr.
There is a moment of quiet that becomes ominous. Steve suddenly remembers where they are. He pulls Claire from the webby cage of vines and guides her down from the table. He feels her shaking a little beneath his hand, despite all her bravado and strong words. As they emerge from the vines, he sees all the Frost Giants and Asgardians staring at them, mouths agape. There are a few serving people standing in the crowd, with heaping plates of food and drink sagging in their arms. No one seems to notice. A cold breeze blows through the room. Steve looks up … or maybe the cold is just all the heat being sucked into the new hole in the ceiling.
Finding Heiðr’s face among the crowd, Steve puts his hand to his chest and bows slightly. “Heiðr Gullveigsdottir, my apologies.”
“No apologies needed, Captain,” she says. She smiles, and it’s shark-like. Taking a mug from a servant’s platter, she steps up onto the table. Holding it aloft she shouts, “To Ragnarok!”
The Frost Giants go wild. Bohdi smirks at Steve. “Crisis perverted!” His voice is just barely audible above the din. Steve gives him a good-natured glare, but Chaos’ latest incarnation is hot on Dr. Lewis’s heels as she heads back to her seat.
Servants start filling the tables with food and drink, and the din in the room becomes thunderous. As Steve leads Claire toward his own seat—he’s not letting her get into trouble again—he notices the Asgardians don’t look as enthusiastic. What was the definition of Ragnarok? Twilight of the Gods? Well, no wonder they look unhappy. His eyes sc
an the crowd, and he sees one Frost Giant wiping her eyes. Tears? He blinks. It’s Jarnsaxa, Thor’s … well, the word girlfriend doesn’t really seem to do the relationship justice. The Frost Giantess finishes drying her eyes, bites her lip, raises her head high and smiles. It almost looks genuine.
x x x x
Bohdi stands with three mugs of what the Frost Giants call ‘honey fire.’ It tastes more like fire than honey, and it is awesome. Which is why he offered to get three more mugs of the stuff for Amy, Thor, and himself—apparently, after the initial dumping of food and beverages on the table, the “wait staff” was allowed to get drunk.
Offering to get three mugs alone was a strategic blunder. His hands aren’t free, and he’s defenseless in the crowd. “Um, pardon me,” he says to the tall redhead in front of him. Or he thinks that’s what he says. He’s speaking Jotunn, and can barely hear himself think. Which until now has made him decidedly happy … the noise had crowded out a lot of depressing thoughts. He’d just been enjoying sitting next to Amy, letting his hand trail down her spine as Thor told everyone about their Nornheim adventures. She’d leaned into him when he did that, and she’d whispered in his ear, “Maybe you can use Gullveig’s mirror to find your family!” He had wondered about that, too. That Amy seems to think it’s possible gives him hope.
“No need for a pardon,” a blonde, one of the redhead’s friends, answers … they’re almost all blonde. She squints and leans closer to Bohdi, nearly pushing her admittedly-impressive decolletage into his mugs. Not as impressive as Amy’s in the dream, but still … Bohdi’s eyes can’t help but wander.
“You have all your teeth!” she declares. Which shocks Bohdi’s eyes right back to her face. “I’m not a horse.”
The girls laugh. “He’s so tall! Look at him, we thought humans were small like dwarves!”
“You’re tall, too,” Bohdi says, lifting his mugs higher. He’s trapped by all the bodies in the room, and he’s pretty sure he’s supposed to be diplomatic. “I have to get back to my Lady Love,” he says, quoting Thor and hoping they get the hint.
“Why? Humans are very open before marriage, right?” says Red, sliding her hand along Bohdi’s stomach. And Norns help him, he can’t move. Wait, did he just invoke the Norns?
“Your eyes are dark, but they are not shaped like Park’s,” says Red.
“Your skin is dark, too …” says blonde number two.
“Is it dark everywhere?” says Red, and all the girls giggle. Bohdi scowls. His eyes flit between them. They wear long dresses that dip low in the front and are laced up the middle with leather thongs. They’re shapely, healthy, and obviously ready … which is not how Bohdi’s usual encounters go. It’s true he does have the advantage of an FBI badge, but he doesn’t look like the typical agent, nor is he beautiful like Nari or Valli; he has to persuade and be charming … this situation is contrary to the laws of the universe. He’s not sure he likes it. Someone’s hand starts to drift below his waistband. Maybe it’s post-Norns PTSD, or something inherently contrary in his nature, but he is deeply, and overwhelmingly, uninterested.
Twisting away, he smiles at them. Diplomacy be damned. “If you don’t move, I’m dumping these down your fronts.” They look surprised but not offended. Just to be clear, he says, “And not to lick it off.” For emphasis, he sloshes some over the edges of the mugs in their direction, but smiles as wide and charming as he can manage—no need for an onlooker to think he’s being threatening. The girls draw back, and Bohdi finally slips through … just as the room goes quiet.
Ahead of him, Heiðr climbs up on a bench and puts one foot on the table. In her own language she shouts, “And now Captain Rogers, leader of the humans, will treat us to the music of his realm!”
The crowd roars almost as loud as they did when Heiðr declared Ragnarok. Standing on his tiptoes, Bohdi scans the room but doesn’t see Harding. His eyes meet Claire’s. She has her arms wrapped around herself, and she’s biting her lip and shaking her head. For the first time this evening she looks terrified. Justifiably, Steve’s singing will do that to you. His eyes slide to the man. Steve is looking stoic, but also like he’s about to walk the plank. After a beat too long, he steps toward Heiðr and clears his throat.
At that moment, Harding breaks through the doorway, backpack slung over her shoulders, parka abandoned, dog tags swinging around her neck. “Captain! I’ve got your musical entertainment!”
Bohdi’s body sags in relief. He pushes his way through the crowd, finally able to return to his seat … and finds it’s occupied by Beatrice. As he approaches, she smiles up at him and in a stage whisper says, “Saw you flirting with those girls. You’re very popular here.” There’s too much glee in her voice. Bohdi’s skin heats. The fire nearest them spits and hisses.
Thankfully, Amy doesn’t seem to be listening. Her back is turned to them as she watches Harding set up her equipment. The murmurs of the Frost Giants rise around them, as they crowd around the “human’s magical music box.”
Bohdi sits down on the seat beside Beatrice, puts his elbows on the table, preparing to indulge in a sulk … and then the music comes on. The Frost Giants draw back. He hears whispers of “Sorcery!” and “Why aren’t the trees devouring it?” And then, “Hush, it is only a strange instrument, not magic … don’t be rude. Shhhh …” Then, their hosts fall silent.
The comm speakers are not meant for music; they sound tinny, and the song is not a song Bohdi particularly likes. He feels a lump form in his throat anyway. It’s old, maybe from the 1970s. It’s about Lake Shore Drive, the road in Chicago that twists down Lake Michigan.
The lump in his throat becomes heat in his eyes. It’s not just that it’s about Chicago. It’s that it’s about home, Earth, driving and cars, lights that shine with “heavenly grace,” skyscrapers and a real human city, and about having nothing to do but enjoy a night out on the town. No fear of death, of killing, of dying in the snow ...
He hears a sniff and sees that Amy has started to cry. He shifts in his seat, and his eyes go wide. Several of the SEALs have wet eyes, too. Claire wipes her cheeks and begins to softly sing, and then Thomas joins in, and then Tucker, and soon everyone is singing … well, thankfully not Steve, but he pats out the rhythm on the table. It’s weird, and kind of great. Bohdi feels his own eyes get wet … despite everything, despite magic, death, and murder. They’re still human, and they have this cheesy 1970s music that they all know to remind them of it.
When it ends, the whole room is hushed and quiet.
Steve growls out, “Harding, what was that hippy shit?”
It’s perfect to say, because it lets everyone laugh, and Bohdi’s heart hurts so much after that sad mournful song that he needs a way to burst without sobbing. Down the table Thomas mutters, “That wasn’t hippy shit, that was Aliotta Haynes & Jeremiah’s Lake Shore Drive, it’s a classic,” and Tucker says, “Jeez, Rush can sing.”
Amy wipes her nose and sniffles, her eyes bright, and Bohdi really wishes Beatrice wasn’t sitting between them.
“Chicago mix, Bryant made it for me,” Harding whispers, leaning over her phone. “I didn’t think my death metal would be appreciated.”
“More, more, more,” shout the Frost Giants.
An electric guitar begins to play. Their hosts get quiet. Bohdi looks around—the Frost Giants look confused, maybe even frightened.
“I set it to random,” Harding says. “Should I change it?”
The sound of the Blues Brother’s Sweet Home Chicago rings through the speakers, loud and strong.
Steve smiles. “Nah, we need something upbeat.” Standing up, Steve shouts, “This is a song about our home town!” He claps his hands above his head, and the SEALs join in. The few Frost Giants still sitting jump from their seats and join in the clapping, and then the tables and benches spread out around the room are hoisted up on shoulders and pulled out of the way. Some of their hosts start stamping their feet and doing a sort of jig thing. Claire starts dancing in place. Tucke
r bows down in front of her, takes her hand with exaggerated gallantry, and then they start to dance—Tucker mostly standing in one spot, twirling Claire around. Berry gives the same bow to Redman, and everyone roars as the two begin imitating Claire and Tucker. The floor beneath Bohdi’s feet shakes, and his ears ring, as their hosts get going in earnest.
Bohdi tilts his head. When in Jotunheim … his eyes slide to Beatrice. She meets his gaze and glares. Bohdi grins, leans back, reaches around Beatrice, and taps Amy’s shoulder.
Amy leans back; her eyes are still red. And it makes him pause … but what’s the worst that could happen?
x x x x
Amy watches the Frost Giants kick up their heels to Sweet Home Chicago. Their enthusiasm is infectious, and she feels her spirits lift a little.
Amy absolutely did not cry during the first song because Beatrice pointed out Bohdi’s flirtation with the three, tall, gorgeous Frost Giants. She was just crying because the song was about home, and it was like remembering a dream you can’t go back to. Her nails bite into her palms. They will get home … somehow. A traitorous little voice whispers in her mind, And when you get home you’ll face Freyja and her minions. Amy grits her teeth and quashes the voice. It’s not over until it’s over.
She feels a tap on her shoulder. She leans back and meets Bohdi’s eyes. He’s grinning, but it fades. Then he asks. “Hey, wanna dance?”
He extends his hand. For a heartbeat she just stares at it. It’s so loud in the room she can feel the noise in her feet. And she really wants to be part of it, the noise, and the life. Even if Bohdi is a flirt, this is just dancing, and who knows when they’ll have a moment that is this happy, this safe again?
She takes his hand and sees Beatrice scowl. She doesn’t care. She scrambles out from the bench. It’s just dancing.
x x x x
Steve is clapping his hands in the corner opposite the comm equipment. He’s watching the Frost Giants and the few Asgardians. Even Thor’s people seem to be grudgingly enjoying themselves. Perfect. He feels a gentle thrum of electricity race along his spine, that magic feeling. He takes a deep breath and wills it away. His gaze slides around the room. Rush and Cruz are hollering along with the song and waving their arms. Tucker is still twirling Claire around in circles. Redman and Berry are still being goofs. Larson is standing back, watching everything, just like Steve is, Gerðr beside him. The lieutenant has his head cocked toward her. He’s nodding as she speaks. Beatrice is talking to Nari, he’s shaking his head, stepping back, and looking like he’s trying to get away.