by C. Gockel
Gerðr looks down at the floor. “Nonetheless, if you were to give me the choice of myself and my people being magical, or not magical, I would say let them be magic no matter how I suffer. Odin is clever. He will learn to use your atom power and your firearms against you. He can be invisible, see anything not enmeshed in Promethean wire, and he can be persuasive. The only reason that he hasn’t obliterated you thus far is …” Her brows draw together. “He probably wants your weapons and technology for himself, and he needs to keep you alive long enough to teach him how to use them against my people, and the Fire Giants.”
Steve looks past Amy into the fire. “Odin walked past me in the tunnels beneath Chicago. He survived touching Cera, then he picked me up with a single hand and read my mind. He could trigger a nuclear strike if he wanted to. He may or may not have figured it out.”
Sigyn says, “He doesn’t like the slaughter of innocents.”
“But he doesn’t tolerate dissent,” says Nari grimly.
Valli looks into the fire. “He will give you the choice of slavery or destruction. With magic you will have hope. Right now it is the only weapon humans don’t have.”
“I still don’t like it,” says Larson. “You’ve made magic contagious, Dr. Lewis … and you don’t know what it will do. If it is similar to AIDs it’s going to affect even the unborn—it’s given Claire incredible power—but what would that power be like in a nervous system even less developed than hers?”
Amy takes a deep breath. Larson is smart, very smart. Bohdi hadn’t put that together without her painting a picture. Beatrice puts a hand on her arm. Bohdi glares at Larson.
Amy nervously tucks her hair behind her ears. She’s about to say she doesn’t like it either, when the door bursts open. Claire is standing there, Tucker and Park behind her. “Is everything okay, Dad?” Claire says, and Park says, “Sir, I didn’t know how to keep her outside—she’s a kid.”
Tucker stares at Amy—his expression holds none of its baby-faced innocence, there is a line between his brows, and his cornflower blue eyes aren’t meeting hers. Amy remembers how well she could hear Rush’s advances on Harding from outside. She wonders how long they’ve been standing there.
Chapter 15
Steve steps through the door of the team’s shelter into Jotunheim’s pale morning light—made darker by the weblike tangle of tree branches above his head. Beyond the branches the sky is robin’s egg blue. There’s a bit of wind from the north that smells like salt and ocean. It’s the morning after Lewis’s reveal. His jaw grinds. He’s still ticked: at Lewis for what she did, at Bohdi for not telling him when he found out, and himself—he should have sensed Lewis’s prevarication.
Steve nods at Nari, standing guard outside the door. Most of the team are still inside getting ready to hit the big room for breakfast. Around the corner of the shelter he hears Fenrir woof, the sound of one of her live round-fueled belches, and then Bohdi’s laugh. Bohdi also pulled early morning duty. From the same direction, he hears Thor. “Are you sure you won’t come with us for a lion hunt? We leave tomorrow at first light.”
Steve draws up short, feeling his heart skip a beat. Technically, Bohdi’s under no compulsion to stick with the team. He’s a Marine only in the sense that he made it through boot camp. He was discharged; he has no love of God and country … He could tromp off with Thor any time he wants, or hell, walk beyond the forest limits, lift his head to the sky, and say, “It’s me—missing link in your trinity! Take me home, Heimdall,” and Odin would open a Gate for him, and probably escort him to Asgard himself.
Bohdi’s voice drifts around the building. “Nah, I’m sorry, Big Guy. My peeps … they’d miss me.”
Steve wipes his jaw. The only reason Bohdi is here is because Odin ticked him off by threatening Lewis. Steve has to make nice with Lewis and Bohdi. He looks at the dirty packed snow beneath his boots. Not make nice, be nice, appreciate what they are … His teeth grind. He swears, they’re both Chaos incarnate. But the only reason he is standing on two feet right now is because of the stunt they pulled, the only reason Claire is alive is because Lewis was secretive and kept some of the serum for herself, and if they do get help from home it will only be because she made it contagious.
He wipes his brow. Also, he needs Bohdi’s lie-sniffing abilities to confirm that the way to the World Gate to Alfheim’s Dark Lands is impassable until spring.
With a sigh, he steps around the corner of the building. Thor’s got his hand on Bohdi’s shoulder. He nods at Steve, and Bohdi turns. Bohdi doesn’t nod. Shoulders slightly slouched, chin dipped low, he looks cautious. Last night wasn’t their best moment.
Steve opens his mouth, trying to formulate what he needs to say to make it better, when from the roof of the shelter comes the sound of rapid footsteps. The three of them spin; Steve pulls his Glock, Bohdi raises his M4, and Thor raises his hammer—and then curses when branches whip down around it. Fenrir woofs.
Over the eaves pokes Claire’s head. “Hi!”
Steve swears and puts down his pistol.
“How did you get up there?” asks Bohdi, grinning wide.
Claire waggles her eyebrows. “Watch this!” Her head disappears. Steve hears fast footsteps getting closer on the roof. “Wait, Claire!” shouts Steve.
But it’s too late—Claire’s a shadow above his head, leaping off the roof impossibly far, she’s over twelve feet from the ground and … branches whip from the trees. Claire grabs one, and it swings with her momentum, wrapping around her waist as it does. Claire hangs on for a moment, the branch around her waist slackens, she slides down, and then jumps to the ground before the branch has even stopped swinging. She curtsies and then grins triumphantly at the men. Steve stands dumbstruck.
“Wow! How did you do that, Claire?” Bohdi asks.
Claire turns excitedly to Bohdi. “When I want them to catch and lift me I feel the magic, and when I want them to let me go I don’t feel it anymore.”
Steve can’t move or speak, trapped between relief and wanting to strangle her for what she just pulled.
“How do you make yourself feel the magic?” Bohdi says, bending down so his face is level with hers.
Bouncing excitedly, Claire says, “Well, it helps if I do something with my body … like this!”
Steve takes a step forward, the word, “No …” on his lips, but Thor grabs his arm.
Claire throws up her arms, like she does in ballet, runs two steps and then leaps. She springs nearly six feet above the ground, performing splits in midair as she does. Branches whip from above, wrapping around her legs and pulling her into the sky; she lifts her arms higher as though welcoming them.
Steve tears his arm away from Thor.
“Don’t, Captain Rogers,” Thor says.
“She’s going to get herself killed!” Steve hisses.
“Yes,” says Thor, and the certainty in his voice makes Steve pause and his mind race. He looks up. High above him, Claire laughs, grabs hold of a branch and swings. “And that’s how I go up if I want to go up!” she shouts, as Bohdi rubs his head below. Claire is safe, for now … his gaze drops to Thor.
Thor makes a sound between a snort and sigh. “You’re raising a Valkyrie, Captain Rogers. You’ll never be able to keep her away from danger. Fight beside her, not against her.” Thor bows his head. “You can try to break her spirit, but you’ll fail and only drive her away. Then when she does die, you will not be at her side.” Steve knows like he knows how to breathe that Thor is talking from experience. The man looks younger than Steve, but he’s ancient, as old as Loki was. He has children—and has lost children. “I’m sorry,” Steve says, and has a weird sense of déjà vu. Hadn’t he said the same words to Loki on a snowy morning on earth not long ago?
Thor waves his hand and starts walking away. “I will see you at the break of fast,” he says, voice too gruff.
Steve watches him go and then walks over to where Bohdi is standing, watching Claire swing like Tarzan. Bohdi’s shoulde
rs are slumped, and he’s frowning.
“Don’t feel the magic?” Steve says.
Bohdi adjusts the strap holding his rifle. “Only feel it when I’m killing people.”
For a moment, Steve doesn’t know what to say, and then he remembers his attack of PTSD last night, and of seeing Loki in place of Bohdi. “You didn’t feel it last night, when you and Lewis were hitting the floor?”
Bohdi huffs and looks down at the snow. He tilts his head, a ghost of smile playing across his lips. “Okay, maybe I felt it a little bit then.”
Steve tries to smile. He’s not sure if he likes that answer. The trees weren’t whipping at Bohdi and Lewis last night—they were whipping in a mad frenzy, as though magic was everywhere, which doesn’t make sense. He brings his mittened hand to his temple. He definitely hates magic.
“So what’s on the docket today?” Bohdi says.
The question is a peace offering. Steve drops his hand and holds out his own olive branch. “Well, I need you to talk to Heiðr. See if she’s telling the truth about us being stuck here all winter.” Bohdi nods. Steve continues. “For the rest of us, we need to find that hidden room and secure it before Odin or the Asgardians find it.” He looks up at where Claire is slowly lowering herself down to the ground. “It’s going to be a job. The place isn’t the way Lewis remembers it. The entrance could be in someone’s shanty or under snow. We have to look without appearing like we’re looking.”
Looking down at the snow, Bohdi says, “I would like to find the mirror. I might be able to find my family if we do.”
The simple goal, the innocence, and the yearning in Bohdi’s voice catch Steve off guard.
Fenrir woofs and heads around their shelter. “Amy must be up,” says Bohdi, and he follows the giant mutt.
Claire comes running over. “Did you see me, Dad?”
“Yes,” Steve says, but he can’t quite bring himself to smile. Claire takes off and runs around the building after Bohdi. Steve follows, rounding the corner, and nearly runs into Larson. Steve glances beyond the lieutenant and sees Bohdi talking in whispers to Amy. His face is very serious and so is hers.
Larson follows his gaze. “Sir, with all due respect, we can’t trust them. They’re both unreliable and undisciplined. They don’t obey orders. They act on their own, without consulting anyone else.”
“We’re both alive because of them,” says Steve.
“Aren’t we here in this mess because of them?” asks Larson.
Steve fixes him with his most withering glare. “If we weren’t here, we wouldn’t be fighting this battle, because we’d both be ignorant. Is that what you would rather have?” When the words come out of his mouth he feels it, that magic feeling.
Larson stands straighter, and his jaw gets hard. “No, Sir. No, I wouldn’t.”
It’s exactly what Steve knew he would say. No fighting man would ever want to stay out of the fight.
Steve’s eyes slide back to Bohdi and Lewis. “The trick,” he says, “is figuring out how to channel them.” Steve feels a tickle in his ear, like a mosquito. He smacks the offending tickle and catches a tiny branch.
“Your eyes are glowing, Sir,” says Larson. And then the lieutenant’s gaze slides to where Bohdi, Lewis, and Fenrir are heading off between the ramshackle buildings. The three pass right by the path that leads to the dining hall. The muscles in Larson’s jaw pop. “There they go; it’s not even 07:00.” He looks like he is about to break after them, but Steve says, “No. Let them go; Bohdi’s shift is over, and they’re not off to cause trouble.”
Larson snorts. “Yeah, they’re off to make out. That will do wonders for discipline.”
“They’re going to find Gullveig’s cavern,” says Steve. He tilts his head and smacks a branch away. “And just the two of them will draw less attention than having all of us running from house to house and shoveling the alleys.”
Steve sees the lieutenant’s jaw grind. He has to show he has faith in Bohdi and Lewis so Larson will have some faith, cut them some slack, and not destroy the team with his suspicions. “They’ll have found it before breakfast is over,” Steve says, and instantly regrets it. That’s too soon. There is over a square mile to explore.
The side of Larson’s mouth ticks up. “Green sausage says they don’t.” The lieutenant holds out his hand, waiting for Steve to secure the bet. Silently cursing himself, Steve shakes it.
x x x x
Steve is silently cursing again nearly an hour and a half later in the dining hall. In front of him sits a plate with a green sausage. Even over a foot from his nose, Steve finds the stink disgusting.
Sitting across from him, Larson has a barely perceptible smile on his lips. He taps the plate closer to Steve. “You lost, Captain.”
Steve tastes bile in his mouth, and it’s not just a result of the sausage stink. He hates losing.
Berry is sitting across the table from Steve. Giving Steve a pitying look, the weathered warrant officer bows his head. Gerðr, the only other person at the table, just looks disgusted.
“Breakfast isn’t over,” Steve says.
Larson looks over his shoulder at the one other occupied table, looks back to Steve, and raises an eyebrow.
Steve takes a deep breath—it is a mistake with the sausage so close. He grimaces, and Larson chuckles. And then behind him, the door slams, and Larson’s smile drops. Steve hears paws and Lewis and Patel’s feet. He feels his heart rate speed up and finds himself holding his breath—and not just because of sausage stink.
“We found what we were looking for,” says Lewis, her voice excited. She bends down and whispers, “The entrance to Gullveig’s cavern.”
Bohdi slips into the opposite bench and Lewis continues, “It’s past the edge of the current town. There is a tree growing on top of it; we’re going to have to dig in from the side.”
Tapping the plate toward the lieutenant, Steve can’t help smiling.
Larson’s eyes flit between Lewis and the kid. “What? No! How?”
Sliding into the bench, Lewis says, “Bohdi figured out that since the tunnel goes underground, that there was bound to be an updraft that would melt the snow.”
Bohdi raps his lighter on the table. “And Amy pointed out that gunpowder has a distinctive smell.”
“You two aren’t bloodhounds!” Larson says. Steve tries to school his expression to neutral, but it’s hard with the tiniest glint of sweat appearing on Larson’s brow.
Lewis and Bohdi look at each other, mouths forming tiny ‘o’s of disbelief. Speaking in the slow voice he uses when he’s trying to explain complicated tech, Bohdi says, “Of course not, we asked Fenrir for help.”
At mention of her name, the dog barks. Steve puts his hand over his mouth to hide his widening grin.
Larson looks down at the sausage and back at Lewis and Bohdi. “The dog doesn’t take commands.”
“No …” says Lewis in the same slow careful voice Bohdi used. “But she does take suggestions. Also, technically, she’s more a wolf now. I think she prefers to be called that.”
Fenrir barks and wags her tail.
Gerðr sighs. “You lost, Robert.”
Larson stares at the sausage.
“So can we start digging?” Bohdi asks, flicking his lighter.
“We should put a shelter above it first,” says Berry, rubbing a hand over his ruddy chin. “We’re going to need someone to stand guard and they’ll need shelter.” Steve gives the warrant officer a nod, he’s right, of course.
“But—” says Bohdi, lighter rapping fast on the table.
“Agreed,” says Larson. “Maybe we can—”
Steve narrows his eyes at the lieutenant. “Don’t stall, I won fair and square. Pay up.”
Larson meets Steve’s eyes. Steve leans back and allows himself a smile.
Picking up his knife and fork, Larson glares at Steve and stabs the hunk of maybe meat with too much force. At the clink of his silverware, Bohdi grimaces. Lewis catches Larson’s hand
. The doctor’s eyes flash in Steve’s direction. “Larson,” she says, “did you make some sort of bet with the Captain?”
Steve’s smile turns to a glare. “And I won, fair and square.”
“Bull poop,” Lewis says.
Steve’s jaw grinds.
Bohdi snickers. “I think the sausage is actually from a type of reindeer thing.”
Berry spits out his drink, and Lewis looks like she’s going to burst out laughing, but she keeps her eyes trained on Steve, hand on top of Larson’s. “It couldn’t have been fair and square,” she says. “Steve’s magic is knowing everything … and … and ... sneakiness.”
Steve’s skin heats at the word.
Glancing at Steve, Bohdi says, “You resemble that remark.”
She’s one to talk, is on the tip of Steve’s tongue, but he bites it back, knowing how well that will go over with Bohdi. Putting his elbows on the table, he steeples his fingers and speaks in his most authoritative tone. “The word you’re looking for is cunning.”
Amy snatches the fork from the lieutenant’s hand, and holds the sausage out to Fenrir, who swallows it whole before Steve can protest. Hands going to her hips, she says, “Let him off the hook, Steve. Magic was involved!”
Steve’s eyes slide between Lewis and Bohdi. He feels his shoulders get tight and his nostrils flare.
One of the Frost Giants, on his way out of the feast room, says, “What is it that you found, humans?”
Berry and Larson freeze, mouths agape, and Steve’s mind whirls. There are spies even among the Frost Giants; they shouldn’t be having this conversation in the open.
Bohdi casually runs a hand through his bangs. “Oh, the pipes for the drainage of the old toilets.” Waggling his eyebrows, he flashes all his teeth. “We’re really excited.”
The Frost Giant’s jaw sags, his skin goes a distinct green, and without a word, he walks away. Steve’s jaw ticks. That lie is not one that puts them on better footing with their warrior hosts—fixing elevators is seen as work for dwarves—he can only imagine what they think of plumbers.