Loki's Gambit, page 41
part #1 of I Bring the Fire Series
“Maybe it doesn’t need REM sleep because it is magical. Maybe that is its magical power!” says Loki.
Amy stares at him and then rolls her eyes. “Fine. Maybe it is a magical creature.”
“Ah - ha!” says Loki.
Rolling her eyes again, she looks out the side window.
But thinking of magical creatures has set her mind off in worrisome directions. “Do you think Mr. Squeakers will be okay?” When they’d stopped at her house to let Fenrir out, the spider mouse had jumped from her shoulder and dashed under one of her cabinets.
She turns her head back to Loki...and screams. The car right in front of them has just slammed on its brakes. She braces her hands on the dash for the impact...but it never comes. There is a skid of tires and a crash as the car right behind them barrels into the car that was right in front of them, but Loki has already swerved into the outer lane between two SUVs, with barely more room than he’d had when he parallel parked.
Hearing another crash, Amy looks back and sees a three-car pile up where they just were. She looks in front of them...traffic is slowing down everywhere.
Loki eases onto the brakes and then turns to her as though nothing has happened—and as though he isn’t driving a car and supposed to be watching where he is going. “I’m sure Mr. Squeakers is fine. He probably just spied a cockroach—they’re his favorite food. Hoenir can’t kill so he created the spider mice to deal with his cockroach problems.”
His face is so wide open and earnest. And then his brow tightens again and he looks back to the road. “Couldn’t kill. Had exotic animals.”
The air pressure in the car seems to drop. Outside traffic slows to almost a standstill. Neither of them says anything for a moment. Amy thinks of Beatrice and Hoenir...sighing, she turns on the radio and starts flipping stations.
“None of your modern music,” says Loki. “It’s too vulgar.”
Amy pauses. “Vulgar? You, Mr. I Like Big Boobs, is calling our music vulgar?”
Huffing, he says, “I have never called your divine bosoms anything so vulgar as boobs.”
Amy snorts and hits “Scan”. Over the radio speakers the Kings of Leon’s “Sex on Fire” suddenly blasts.
Loki snickers.
And okay. It is sort of funny. And it is good to see Loki happy again. Still, her face reddens as the singer belts out about his lover’s “sex” being on fire.
Loki snickers again.
“Maybe he has a rash?” Amy says.
Loki stares at her, face completely expressionless. And then he bursts out into cackles, his forehead colliding against the steering wheel. Thankfully they’re only going about three miles per hour and the next car is a good distance in front, so if Amy grabs the wheel...
Before she’s grabbed it, Loki must hit the gas because they suddenly plow into the car in front of them...thankfully not hard.
The car in front comes to a stop.
Loki is still laughing.
Amy swallows. “Um...Loki...”
And then her head jerks as the car behind them hits them, again, not terribly hard, but still...
Loki wipes his eyes. “Hmmm....” he says.
Amy sighs. “I guess I’m not going to that talk.”
The man from the car in front of them gets out and starts walking toward his back bumper, looking none-too-happy.
“Will the police be coming?” says Loki.
“Probably,” says Amy.
Loki grabs her hand and looks into her eyes. “You will get to your lecture on REM sleep in rhinoceroses on time! I give you my oath.”
Amy looks at the stalled traffic. “You know, even if we weren’t in an accident, I don’t know if —”
She blinks...Loki suddenly isn’t there. She looks down at her hand—she isn’t here either, she’s invisible.
“No!” says the disembodied voice of Loki. “We shall! It shall be a grand quest! Get out of the car!”
“Um...okay,” says Amy, grabbing her mittens and opening the car door as the door on the opposite side opens.
She slips out into the parking lot their side of the freeway has become and is immediately assaulted by cold, the smell of gas and exhaust and the sound of car horns. An invisible hand lands on her arm.
Speaking in the direction she thinks he’s in she says, “But what about the police?”
Dragging her toward the median, he says. “I’m sure they’ll be able to handle it. Come on, hop over.”
“Ummm...” she says as she’s forcefully pulled over the median.
“I gave you my oath!” says Loki, dragging her away from the scene. “You will get there on time!”
“Well...” says Amy.
Pulling her firmly, invisible Loki says, “Also, the car is stolen, so it would be best if we were far away when the police arrive.”
“You told me it was a rental!” says Amy, slapping the invisible hand.
The hand withdraws and Amy is looking at a woman perhaps in her twenties. She has brown hair and large, doe-like brown eyes in a gentle rounded face. “A stolen rental,” says the girl in Loki’s voice. Amy looks her...Loki...up and down. This new illusion isn’t voluptuous, or scantily clothed. She’s wearing a long white sweater wrapped at the waist, and an A-line baby blue skirt that hits just below the knee. On her feet she’s wearing ballet slippers.
Amy’s mouth drops. “You look so wholesome.” Last time Loki adopted a girl disguise he’d been a scantily clothed Amazon.
The girl Loki smiles charmingly. Clearing her throat she speaks in a voice that is delicate and light. “I know.” She holds up a hand as though to flag down a taxi. “Believe me, every man with an ounce of chivalry in his bones is going to want to rescue us.”
Amy’s eyes widen as several cars slow, nearly causing an accident. “Are you sure we’re not just fishing for psychopaths?”
Girl Loki turns to her. “Oh, yes, they’ll stop, too. But don’t worry, I’ll have no qualms about killing them.”
Amy blinks at that, just as a taxi skids onto the median just in front of them. A young driver of indeterminable ethnicity jumps half-out and starts gesturing wildly for them to get in. “What are you doing! You’ll be killed out here! Get in! Get in! You don’t even have to pay!”
“Rats,” says girl Loki, dragging Amy by the hand. “I don’t think my killing skills will be needed.”
“No,” Amy is saying to the cabbie as Loki sags in his seat. “We—I—can pay, really.”
Loki wishes she’d be quiet. The sound of Cera whining in his ear, and the cab driver’s radio tuned to a weather report, is adding to the headache he’s had all day.
“You could go to Vanaheim right now,” Cera says, as though privy to his thoughts.
Loki inhales sharply. He’d made a goal for himself...if he hadn’t cracked the outer containment sphere by this day he’d travel back to Visby, slip through the World Gate, and risk being arrested by the Vanir mages at the Royal Library.
...of course he could have left sooner. But as much as Cera annoys him, the thought of leaving her unprotected makes him feel faint and slightly nauseous.
Also, he just hates giving in to her petulant demands. He made it a point to book his plane flight for tomorrow, and he came out today, to be distracted from his burdens, partly just to annoy his whiny child.
“You can’t do it! You are a liar and a failure! Others are coming! They will help me.” Cera screeches.
Loki puts a hand over his eyes. He’s heard this before.
“No, really,” Amy is saying, her voice far off and distant. “It’s alright. I can expense it.”
On the radio an announcer says, “This just in, a storm is brewing in Iowa. It’s taking meteorologists completely by surprise.”
Cera starts to hum. “Someone else has come. He’s stronger than you! He’ll help me lead the revolution. You’ll see!” Her misty form fades to pink and then vanishes.
Loki sits up in his seat, eyes wild, his heart beating in his ears. Over the radio the first announcer says, “None of our models forecast this weather pattern...”
“Loki, are you alright?” says Amy, her eyes wide.
Loki blinks. And then he smiles, his headache melting away. He has nothing to fear by who has come. Laughing, he snatches one of Amy’s mittens and swats her with it. “The man doesn’t want your money, Girl!”
Amy scowls and swats his cheek with the other mitten. “It’s not my money, it’s ADUO’s!”
Swatting her right back, Loki says, “Are you challenging me to a duel?”
She scowls. “Give me back my mitten!”
“Here!” says Loki, swatting her against the shoulder and cackling.
Leaning in, she tries to snatch the mitten from his grasp. Snickering, Loki leans back and holds the mitten just out of reach. She falls against him, delicious and soft; she hardly weighs anything...in fact, she’s quite comfortable. Sighing happily, he switches the mitten to the opposite side.
“Gimmee!” says Amy.
“No,” he says with a snicker. Glancing up into the reflection of the rear-view mirror, he notices the cab driver’s eyes are wide...and the man is licking his lips.
Loki’s eyebrows go up...of course, he looks like a demure young woman. What a delicious opportunity for mischief! In the most dulcet tones possible, he coos, “Oh, no, a button on my sweater has come undone...now my bra is showing!”
“You faker! Give me my mitten!” Amy shouts, redoubling her attack.
“Oh, there goes another button!”
The cabbie swallows audibly, the car careens dangerously, and Amy’s breasts press just below his chin.
Excellent.
“And that concludes the question and answer segment of our lecture. Thank you, Dr. Grossman,” says Katherine.
Amy claps as the lights in the conference room come on. Sitting next to her, a dozen muffin wrappers and a cup of coffee in front of him, Loki is whispering. “You mean you can also measure brain activity, not just sleep cycles?”
“Yes,” Amy whispers back. “Different equipment though.”
“Do they have such equipment here?” He’s back in male form and leaning very close to her ear. He seems...happy, almost bubbly. He’s seemed so since the Great Mitten War.
“I’m sure they do,” Amy whispers.
He looks contemplative. “How big is it? How much does it weigh?”
Amy blinks. “Well, there are different machines used, too —” Her eyes widen. “You’re not thinking of stealing it, are you?”
Waggling his eyebrows, he smiles mischievously and she tries to scowl. Before she can give him a lecture about property rights, Katherine materializes behind her. “Hey, Amy, I’m so glad you could come.”
Amy turns and smiles. “Hi, I’m so glad we could make it—sorry we were late. This is Loki, Loki this is Katherine.”
Amy tilts her head as Loki shakes Katherine’s hand. Katherine is one of those people who can only be described as classically beautiful. She has wide brown eyes, a delicate nose, bow-shaped lips, and thick chestnut hair. She is usually the epitome of graciousness, too, but tonight Katherine’s face looks pinched, and her movements are a little jerky.
“How are you doing?” Amy asks.
Katherine shakes her head. “I’m...” She rolls her eyes. “I could really use a drink. Want to go to the pub?”
Before Amy can respond, Loki shouts an enthusiastic, “Yes!”
“My boss said he’d clean up. I’ll get my coat,” says Katherine, running to the door.
“Um...Okay,” says Amy. Loki is already hopping out of his chair and following Katherine.
A few minutes later they are stepping out into the chill night air. Loki is quizzing Katherine on the weight and size of various neuroimaging devices while Amy gives him dirty looks. Hearing rapid footsteps, Amy turns around to see James, Katherine’s husband, running up to them.
Breath rising up in a cloud, he doesn’t stop until he is right in front of them. “Katherine? Where are you going?”
“I’m going to drink with Amy and Loki,” says Katherine. She says it like someone might say I am going to war.
Amy stops short. And so does Loki.
“Are you sure that’s wise?” says James, as though Loki and Amy aren’t even there. “I mean since we’re trying —”
“I don’t care if it’s wise!” Katherine interrupts, her voice cracking. “I just found out today that my chances of getting pregnant without time-consuming, invasive procedures are less than 1%! I. Want. A. Drink.”
James draws back. Amy’s mouth drops. Katherine stops, and her shoulders droop, but she meets James’ gaze head on.
Amy bites her lip, suddenly feeling like she’s invaded their privacy. She’s not sure of what to say, even if she agrees a little with James.
“Your wife deserves a drink,” says Loki. Amy thinks that he might be the little devil that sits on cartoon characters’ shoulders—though he doesn’t look cartoonish in the least. He isn't wearing his trademark smirk, and the humorous edge to his voice is gone. Everyone looks at him. The corner of his mouth turns up, but it isn’t precisely a smile. “Trust me, I’ve...had friends in your situation.”
Amy tilts her head, suddenly hit with the realization he isn’t talking about a friend. He may look like he’s only a few years older than her, and sometimes his behavior might seem years less mature, but he’s much older than any of them. He’s lived lives.
Loki looks down, and then lifting his head again, he claps a hand on James’ shoulder. “First round is on me.”
As they head toward the pub, the wind picks up around them. Amy thinks it carries the scent of rain.
Chapter Fourteen
Steve’s door is open and the office is humming despite the late hour. He has a weather map open on his computer. The freak storm that arose in Iowa is moving toward Chicago. Steve is one of the few privy to the knowledge that there are fighter jets scrambling above and around the storm’s epicenter as close as they dare.
“We traced the car,” says Bryant, knocking on the door but not bothering to stop.
Steve meets his eyes.
Bryant shakes his head. “The Second City Exotic Car Rental is owned by a Frank Galuzzo.”
Steve raises his eyebrows at the name.
Bryant nods smugly. “Yeah, of the Galuzzo family. He’s got mafia connections...but seems relatively clean himself. Frank borrowed the car from his business for the week; apparently he likes to do that. He’s out of town, though—spending a few days in Paris with his girlfriend.”
Steve snorts. “Must be nice.”
Nodding, tiredly, Bryant says, “Yeah, near as we can tell, Loki must have stolen it from his garage. No alarms or anything went off, though...technically he could have borrowed it from Frank—we haven’t been able to contact him yet. Anyway, it hasn’t been reported stolen.”
Rubbing his eyes, Steve sighs. “Frank’s going to be real happy when he gets home.”
“Yeah, Loki’s probably endeared himself to some very unsavory characters,” says Bryant.
“He’s good at that,” says Steve. Just at that moment, Steve’s cell buzzes with Jameson’s phone number.
Meeting Bryant’s eyes, he says, “Rogers here.”
“Got word he’s out with Lewis again,” Jameson says without preamble. “Where are they now? What are they doing?”
Amy dropped her phone on the way out of her apartment—or Loki dropped it for her. The tail Steve had on them lost them on the freeway after the accident.
Steve scowls. “I have no idea.”
“It doesn’t matter,” says Jameson. “When he brings her home he’ll head off to get a late night snack.”
“If he follows his standard routine, yes, Sir,” says Steve. He knows where this conversation is going. He doesn’t agree with it, but his opinion has been discounted long ago.
“Are our operatives in place?” says Jameson.
“Yes, Sir,” says Steve, looking at the computer monitor showing the storm’s progress.
The smile is audible in Jameson’s voice over the phone when he says, “Loki will be in our custody by the end of night, Agent Rogers.”
Steve’s hand tightens into a fist as the line goes dead.
Bryant is still in his office.
“What?” snaps Steve.
“I don’t like that we don’t know where Amy is,” says Bryant.
Steve doesn’t roll his eyes, but his nostrils flare. He has an idiot boss to contend with and Jiminy Cricket here trying to be his conscience. “I’m sure she’s fine.”
Bryant glares at him. Narrowing his eyes, Steve says, “Pranks aside, have we ever had reason to believe that Miss Lewis isn’t safe in Loki’s company?” And even if she wasn’t completely safe, who else is going to talk to Loki?
“He’s going to take advantage of her,” says Bryant.
Steve sits back in his chair. “Your fears to the contrary aside, Miss Lewis has so far been very adept at keeping her head on her shoulders when it comes to Loki.”
Bryant snorts. “Yeah, right.”
Steve steeples his fingers. “I’m sure we have nothing to worry about.”
Rolling his eyes, Bryant turns and leaves the office.
The pub is very loud. And very crowded. Amy leans on the large round table James, Katherine and a half dozen of their very close friends managed to commandeer. She stares into her empty glass. “How many of these have I drunk?”
The chair she’s sitting on shifts beneath her—because it’s not really a chair, it’s Loki’s knee. And that’s okay. It’s just friendly. And practical. The place is packed and there aren’t enough chairs. Across the table April is sitting on Mark’s lap, Samantha is sitting on Todd’s, and Katherine is sitting on James’s lap—okay, maybe the last isn’t the best example.
A warm hand settles on Amy’s hip, and Loki speaks into her ear. “Only your second, I think.” She absolutely doesn’t shiver at the warmth of the hand. She squints at her empty glass. Lust is just a biological joke played by evolution to get her to participate in an awkward disappointing activity that has the added disadvantage of the potential for unplanned pregnancy and disease.
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