Loki's Gambit, page 30
part #1 of I Bring the Fire Series
Scowling, Steve walks through him. “Care to tell me a little more about trolls so next time I run into one we’re better prepared?”
“Maybe later,” says Loki, and even though Steve can’t see him, he can still hear the smirk. All the Lokis suddenly disappear.
“Got it all,” says Brett.
“Good man,” says Steve.
He hears the voice of a woman in the distance. Looking up, Steve sees his agents keeping a small group of neighborhood residents at bay.
“What was that?” the woman says.
Behind him he hears the slam of car doors and someone shouts, “Chicago Police!”
Steve sighs. Plastering on his happiest smile he says, “Just a little horror movie shoot, people!” Pretty close to the excuse of an amateur fantasy film shoot that the FBI had used to explain the eight-legged horse on LaSalle a few weeks back.
“Where are the cameras?” someone shouts.
“What stinks?” says another.
Brett holds up his phone. “It’s an indie film—we’re going for the hyper realism look.”
One of the officers shouts, “We never got no permit for no film shoot.”
Steve sighs again. It’s going to be a long night.
Chapter Five
It’s 8:30 a.m., the morning after the troll landed in Chicago. A little later than Steve normally starts a day at the office. But then, he never went home last night. Steve, Brett, Bryant, and Laura Stodgill are in ADUO’s conference room, seated at a long table. There are two large monitors on the wall. Merryl is in one monitor, the shadow of a gray beard on his square jaw, dark circles under his eyes. Behind him are trees. In the other monitor is Director Jameson. Although he’s known informally as Director Jameson within ADUO, his full title is Executive Assistant Director of ADUO, and he’s just one step below the FBI’s Associate Director. Jameson’s narrow face is magically smooth, his blue eyes bright and rested. He’s even wearing a suit. Behind him is the emblem of the bald eagle.
Glaring at Jameson, Steve stands from his seat. “We need to let Chicago’s other anti-terrorist agencies and police know what is going on, Sir.” And they need to prepare the Chicago Board of Trade to pack up and move out before the sphere gets too much larger. But he and Merryl have been saying that for weeks now.
Straightening, Jameson tilts his head. “That is not a decision for you to make.”
“I agree with Agent Rogers,” says Merryl. “If Loki says that there will be other portals opening, Chicago needs to be prepared.”
Steve relaxes minutely but keeps his eyes glued on Jameson.
“Loki is an unreliable witness,” says Jameson.
Steve fights the urge to curse. Instead he smiles. “He has reasons to want to work with us on this —”
“—to distract us from paying attention to him! Where are you on finding out where he lives, on getting him into custody?” says Jameson.
Steve takes a breath. Nowhere. Keeping his face neutral he says, “Where are you in getting me access to the ballistics report on the Subaru that went to Alfheim?”
Jameson sits back in his chair. His lips tremble but he meets Steve gaze. “There was no ballistics to report,” he says. “The girl is also an unreliable witness.”
Keeping his eyes locked on Steve, Jameson smiles just a touch. He’s lying but thinks he’s getting away with it. Steve doesn’t roll his eyes, but it’s hard, really hard, even for him.
It’s then that Steve notices Jameson’s hand tapping nervously at the desk. He is scared. Steve feels himself wilt inside a little. Jameson’s background is law with an undergrad in public policy from an expensive but unimpressive private school on the east coast. He has no military or law enforcement background. He has a father who is a senator, and he’s had the job as ADUO’s director for a long time—since ADUO was essentially a joke.
Now he may hold the fate of the city of Chicago, hell the fate of the country, in his hands.
Jameson’s mouth tightens. “I will let you know when other agencies are allowed to become involved. That will be all.”
The screen goes black. Steve sits back in his chair and frowns. By limiting the city’s response options, Jameson is forcing him to rely on Loki. Like Hell, Steve will try to have him arrested.
His phone beeps with a text. Glancing down at it and seeing Amy’s name on the ID, he opens it. R u sure Loki is okay? The fire owl disappeared after I came home!
He runs a hand over his face and then looks down at his phone just in time to see another text pop-in.
He’s here! Loki...not the owl.
Steve sighs and starts typing furiously with his thumbs. Ask him to breakfast.
A few seconds later another note pops in.
But I’ll be late ???
Steve looks at the guys around him. “You’re dismissed,” he says curtly.
As they file out, Steve types back. Is ok. Have questions for you to ask him. Discreetly.
He taps all the questions out, and then shaking his head, hits send.
He is going to have to rely on Amy Lewis, too.
It’s a dreary gray afternoon, about a week after the troll in the park and breakfast with Loki.
Amy looks out the window of Chicago’s Redline ‘L’ train. There must be an event of some kind because even though it’s Sunday, the train is packed.
Amy’s on her way home after visiting Beatrice. She should visit Beatrice more often, but it’s an hour and a half away by public transit, and Beatrice shows no sign of recognizing her—or anyone. It’s...discouraging.
Amy looks down at her hands. Her mother has put Beatrice on the waiting list for a cheaper nursing home outside of Chicago. When Beatrice gets in, it will be even more difficult to visit. That is both saddening and a horrible relief.
Amy closes her eyes and leans her head against the cold glass of the window. Her stomach growls, she hasn’t eaten anything since breakfast. “Next stop Belmont,” the train conductor says. Amy lifts her head, suddenly struck by inspiration. As the train shudders to a halt, she jumps from her seat and barely makes it through the crowd in time. A few minutes later she’s walking along Clark Street.
“My, aren’t you far afield?”
Amy stops, feeling a spark at the base of her spine she tells herself is magic. She turns and smiles.
Loki isn’t in any sort of disguise, besides the blue jeans and leather jacket she’s pretty sure aren’t real. When they went out for breakfast he’d made himself look like a younger incarnation of Bob Marley.
Her brow furrows and she looks around for the agents she knows are following her.
Lifting an eyebrow, he says, “You lost your tail on the train.”
She turns back to him. “Are you hungry?”
Loki tilts his head. “Does a cockatrice shit on stones?”
Amy blinks.
He looks heavenward. “Maybe the Midgardian expression is ‘Does a dragon shit in a cave...’? No, no, that can’t be right.”
She bites back a laugh. Grabbing his arm and telling herself she absolutely does not go warm at the touch, she pulls him along. “Come on, I know a place that serves all you can eat Indian.”
“Please, Sir,” the manager of the Indian restaurant says to Loki. “Please—we have no more.”
Loki looks hard at the man. “You’re lying.”
“Loki —” says Amy, looking sideways at the empty buffet. This perhaps wasn’t the best idea she’s ever had.
Bowing, the little man says, “The food I have left in the kitchen is for dinner service—please. I beg you. No more! ”
Loki stares at him. “Oh, very well. But my companion and I desire tea.”
“Yes, sir! Yes, sir! Coming right up,” says the manager, stepping quickly away.
“Now, where were we?” says Loki, tearing off a piece of naan bread still at the table. “Oh, yes, nanotechnology with bacteriophage delivery systems.” He smiles. “If your kind doesn’t destroy yourselves, you’re going to make the nine realms so much more exciting.”
Amy wants to answer with something she read in Science, but she suddenly notices how late it’s getting. Fumbling in her pocket she pulls out a folded sheet of paper. “I should probably ask you Steve’s questions.”
Something wicked flashes through his eyes. “I wouldn’t let you forget.”
“Right, well...” Amy clears her throat. “First off, they still want to know if Cera is conscious or not.”
“And my answer is still, I’m not telling.”
Nodding, Amy says, “Right.”
Pulling out a pencil she jots that down.
Loki snorts. “I believe you’re supposed to work these questions into the conversation and keep mental notes.”
Amy glances up. “That’s what Merryl and Steve say, but I’m supposed to earn your trust. How can I get that by pretending I’m not spying?”
Loki chuckles. “You’re funny.”
Amy looks down. “Next question: you said beyond fully sentient creatures we can expect more trolls, wyrms, kappas, and possibly unicorns...” She blinks at her notes, “And unicorns are very dangerous.”
“Probably not to you,” says Loki. He smiles at her. Amy bites her lip. Flushing, she says, “You know I’m not really a...”
His eyebrows rise above wide eyes. Leaning closer he says, “A what?”
Face hot, Amy looks down. “Never mind. Okay, the guys in the office want clarification on what a wyrm is.”
Loki scowls, and looks up as though searching for a word. “It’s a dragon—without legs or wings,” says Loki. “How can they not know that?”
Amy shakes her head. “That’s what I thought! No one listens to me.”
“Hmmm...you might want to look out for the occasional Al-mi’raj,” says Loki.
Amy looks up at him. “Ferocious, predatory, horned rabbit,” Loki says as the tea arrives.
After the waiter departs Loki steeples his fingers and says, “What of the surveillance I suggested around those places in Europe and Asia? Has that been put into place?”
Amy looks at her notes. “Steve says he’s working on it.”
“What?” says Loki, throwing his napkin on to his empty plate.
“Steve says —”
“I heard you!” A burst of orange light makes Amy look up. The napkin on Loki’s plate is on fire.
One of his fingers is tapping agitatedly on the tablecloth. “I can’t tell if you’re lying because you don’t know if you’re lying.”
“Ummmm...” says Amy looking at the fire.
Smacking his hand down and extinguishing the flames, Loki says, “What we need is a teleconference.”
Amy looks up and taps her chin with the pencil. “Well, I guess if we —”
And suddenly the light shifts and she’s staring up at a ceiling much closer than the one in the restaurant. Her hands grip the table—she feels it under her fingers but when she looks down she sees empty air...and tiny little black and white tiles. She looks directly in front of her. Steve is standing there, back to her, wearing only a towel. She blinks. Loki is sitting on a toilet across from her and next to Steve. He raises his eyebrows and smiles.
Amy looks down. She appears to be seated on the edge of a bathtub.
“Are we in Steve’s bathroom?” she says.
“No,” says Loki, tilting his head.
Steve spins around, razor in one hand, his other hand going to hold the towel. Half his face is covered in shaving cream. He’s actually...really well put together. Amy’s eyes go wide, and she looks down at the floor.
“What are you doing here!” Steve says, his voice icy.
“Oh, don’t worry,” says Loki. “We’re not really here. This is just illusions I’ve created for everyone’s convenience.”
“Convenience?” says Steve.
“Shhhhh...” says Loki. “Your little girl is in the other room. We wouldn’t want to upset her.”
Amy’s eyes go to the door. That’s right. Steve’s divorced and has a kid.
Steve’s staring at Loki. It’s hard and frightening. “My daughter...” He points the razor at Loki. “If you...”
Loki’s face goes livid; his upper lip starts to tremble. For a moment Amy swears she feels the air around her get hot.
And then Steve puts down the razor. His eyes narrow and he smiles, though it looks forced. “I forgot...you don’t hurt women or children, right?” He turns back to the mirror and starts to shave.
The air seems to cool. Loki’s lips purse. “Oh, I’d hurt a woman.” He turns to Amy and says brightly, “I am a feminist.”
“Errr...” says Amy.
But Loki’s already turning away. “Now, Steven, I told you to arrange for surveillance around the gates to Vanaheim —”
Continuing to shave, Steve says, “And I’m trying to. You’re suggesting covert operations in foreign countries. That requires coordinated efforts across multiple agencies—which is hard enough. Throw other countries into it—“ He shakes his head.
Loki’s nostrils flare. “And?”
Grabbing the edges of the sink, Steve bows his head. “And some people aren’t convinced of the threat.”
“Convince them,” says Loki.
Steve turns and gives Loki a look that is completely withering.
Loki glares right back.
“Um...guys,” says Amy. “We’re all on the same team here, right?”
Both of them turn their glares on her.
“Or not...” Amy says.
A knock sounds at the bathroom door, and the muffled voice of a girl. “Daddy? Daddy? Is everything alright?”
Loki grinds his teeth, and the scene fades away. As it does Amy hears Steve saying jovially, “Everything’s fine! I’ll be out in a minute —”
And then Amy is sitting at the table in the Indian restaurant. She turns her head cautiously to the side. The manager, a waiter and a busboy are all staring at them with mouths agape.
Loki peers over. “Oh, yes, they’ve just been watching us have a three way conversation with empty air for the past few minutes.”
Amy holds up a hand. “Check!”
A few minutes later they’re out on the street, fine mist settling on their shoulders. Amy’s staring down at her now damp notes. “I have a few more questions for you,” she says.
“Proceed,” says Loki.
They’re standing in the middle of the sidewalk blocking traffic, so Amy starts walking toward her intended second destination. “Steve’s been doing some research on trickster gods —”
“That’s not a question.” Loki says.
Ignoring that, Amy says, “— Iktomi, Aunt Nancy, Prometheus...Any of them ring any bells?”
Loki looks into the distance. “Prometheus.”
“You know him?” says Amy.
“No, I just had a fondness for Greek literature.” His voice gets quiet. “I named my daughter after Helen of Troy...”
It’s the first time he’s mentioned Helen, or any of his family since before Beatrice’s accident. They’re all gone. “I’m sorry,” Amy stammers.
Loki looks sideways at her, and then his eyes drift to the horizon. “You were saying?”
She swallows. “I...so Prometheus is just a myth?”
He stops walking. “I don’t know...”
“Before your time, maybe?” Amy says. And then she notices his irises are doing that funny thing where they start to turn black.
Loki starts to tremble. “I don’t know.” The skin around his eyes and at the edge of his fingers is starting to turn blue again. Remembering how he fell last time, she slips her arm into his. He looks down at it and his lips quirk. Her stomach does an inappropriate little flip flop.
“Loki,” she whispers, leaning closer. “You’re starting to turn blue.”
He shakes as though she’s hit him. The blue recedes. The quirk of his lips vanishes. People are starting to stare, so Amy steers him down the street once more.
His face becomes pinched. “Amy, after discovering the elf queen’s name was in one of your movies, I would hesitate to call anything just a myth.”
Amy straightens. “I thought you said you didn’t know her name?” But, actually, now that she thinks about it, he might have called her by name as they left the kingdom. Her brow furrows—yes, maybe, but she thought he was joking.
He shrugs, not releasing her arm. “It came up in conversation.”
Her eyes widen. “When you left the banquet and came back without your shirt or your armor...” She feels like two neurons in her brain have suddenly fired exceptionally brightly. “Did you and the elf queen...”
He smirks.
Her mouth falls and her childhood smashes into a million pieces. “No...with the queen of the elves?”
His eyebrows dance. The smirk widens to a leer.
Going hot, her eyes narrow. “Is that why she chased us out of her kingdom?”
Loki snorts. “No! Believe me, she was completely satisfied. In fact, I reminded her of a former lover. A female lover.” He sighs happily. “My technique is very good.”
Amy scowls. “So good we wound up on the run from knights trying to smash us with their hadrosaurs!”
“She didn’t want to incur the wrath of Odin!” Loki says, his voice turning angry. “She had to make our escape look difficult.”
“By setting her own knights on fire?” Amy says.
Loki seems not to have heard her. He is looking down the street at a group of people who have a thing for leather lingerie as outerwear despite the cold weather. “What have we here?” he says.
“Oh, they’re probably going to the Alley,” says Amy. “It’s a store for—”
Loki is already yanking her down the street.
“Hey! Stop! I wanted to go to the comic book store!” But he yanks her right by Chicago Comics and before she knows it she is standing among the black and metal studded clothing of the Alley, shopping center for all things punk and goth. Plastic skeletons and plaster gargoyles are grinning down at them. People with multiple piercings and tattoos look at them curiously. Modelling a black leather brassiere—thankfully over his clothes, Loki juts out a hip. “What do you think? A gift for Thor, maybe?”
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