“What?” says Steve, breaking into a jog toward his daughter.

  Claire blinks. “She’s gone…”

  “Who?” says Steve.

  Standing on her tip, toes, Claire scans the large room. “The woman you were talking to—”

  Steve looks and sees empty air where Sade had stood. Damn.

  Claire puts a hand on her hip. “She was checking her makeup in the mirror, turned around too quickly, and knocked this lady over!” The little old lady is still hanging on to Claire’s arm for dear life. The man, maybe her son, is trying to pull her away.

  Addressing the Chinese man, Claire says, “I think maybe she should see a doctor…”

  The elderly woman pats Claire’s arm and says something in Chinese. The man looks at Claire and says, “Thank you, thank you.”

  Steve appraises the elderly woman. She does look a little wobbly on her feet. Bending down, Steve looks into her eyes. Her pupils are too small. Pulling out his phone, he turns to the man, “Your mother has a concussion. She needs a doctor, I’m calling nine-one-one.”

  “Oh…thank you,” says the man. He turns to the old woman and starts talking in rapid Chinese. The old woman responds and pats Claire’s arm.

  A few minutes later, Steve, the man, and the department store staff have gotten the elderly woman to lie down while they wait for the paramedics to arrive. They sit quietly, and it’s uncomfortable, mostly because it gives Steve time to think.

  Why does Prometheus care about Amy? Ratatoskr, the squirrel messenger of the Norns, had told Steve to keep an eye on her, because “there is something not quite right about her.” He rubs his jaw in irritation. There is something not quite right about so many things: Amy visiting other universes—one where Steve was killed by Odin, one where Bohdi was killed by Loki; Bohdi’s memories in this universe; Beatrice being sharp as a tack and one-hell-of a shot; trolls still popping up downtown…

  Hernandez would say the common denominator is magic.

  Steve runs a hand along the back of his neck. But there’s more than that. He feels like he has all the pieces of the puzzle, but without the final picture, he doesn’t know how to put them together.

  As a reviled politician once said, too many “known unknowns, and unknown unknowns.”

  Interrupting his thoughts, the Chinese guy says, “You have a very good daughter.”

  A headache that had been brewing behind Steve’s eyes is suddenly gone. Steve hears rapidly approaching footsteps. The paramedics are arriving.

  He puts an arm around Claire’s shoulders. She’s ten years old, nearly as tall as the man, but thin as a bean pole. He kisses the top of her head. “That, I know.”

  “Dad!” says Claire, but she doesn’t pull away. Steve doesn’t let her go, but he doesn’t look at her for fear of getting misty eyed. He has one thing in his life he knows is perfect.

  As the paramedics come rushing in, Claire and Steve leave the scene, Steve’s arm still around his daughter’s shoulders. He gives her a squeeze, as his eyes sweep over the spot where he had been speaking to the Sade impersonator.

  Beside him, Claire says, “Who was that woman talking to you?”

  Steve stops for a second, something tickling the back of his mind. “I don’t know…”

  Chapter Ten

  “I don’t know…” Amy says, from above Bohdi, nervously scuffing the toe of her sneaker in the dirt.

  He glares up at her from where he squats at the riverbank, cool, enticing, water cupped in his hands.

  Amy is silhouetted by the Nornheim’s pinkish sun. Filtered through clouds of smoke, the sun’s light has taken on a foreboding red hue. Her winter coat is tied around her hips; a fleece sweater is drooping in her arms. She’s stripped down to an over-sized, unflattering boxy tee shirt with a picture of a cat on it. Above the cat, in an Old West font, are the words: Wanted Dead & Alive, Schrodinger’s Cat. And okay, it’s funny, but he’d think the God of Mischief’s girlfriend would have a little more body confidence. The tee shirt might as well be a muumuu. Why is she trying to hide? Even if her waist is thick, why not wear something that shows she at least has a waist?

  Amy presses her lips together. “Amoebic dysentery is a pretty bad way to die.”

  “So is dehydration,” Bohdi counters.

  “We don’t have any iodine tablets to treat the water with…” Amy says.

  Bohdi closes his eyes. “We don’t have anything.” Besides his knife and lighter, they have their phones—powered down now, possibly of use for light later, Amy’s protein bar, some tissues (a few slightly used), a couple of hairpins, some condoms Amy snorted at when Bohdi pulled them out of his wallet, and the branch Bohdi picked up when the fire first started—slightly shorter now than it was then. They also have two Archaeopteryx feathers that Amy found in her hair and is ridiculously giddy about—they’re not even pretty feathers. They’re tiny little white things that could have been pulled out of any duck’s butt.

  Bohdi looks down at his makeshift club. He’s not sure what kind of wood the branch is, but it is still smoking at one end. Bohdi’s heard wild animals are afraid of fire, and he’s hopeful the smell of smoke will keep predators at bay.

  As if to punctuate that thought, something, somewhere, gives a blood-curdling howl.

  Bohdi almost snorts in exasperation. His tongue is parched, his lips are cracked, and his eyes are burning from soot and exhaustion. “I’m drinking,” he says. “Didn’t you tell me that Thor has healing powers? If we don’t find him, we’ll die anyway, with or without amoebic dysentery.”

  With that, he lifts the water to his lips and slurps it down. It is just as delicious as he imagined. With a squeak, Mr. Squeakers hops off Amy’s shoulder, settles himself beside Bohdi, and dips his whiskers into the water.

  Bohdi smiles smugly at Amy. He slurps down a couple more handfuls before she grudgingly squats down beside him. As she drinks, Bohdi picks up the branch and looks northward in the direction they came from. Smoke is pouring from the trees into dark clouds. If Thor is up there, Bohdi can’t see him.

  A brisk wind from the east ruffles his hair. So far, the fire’s path has been mostly westward, but it’s spreading southward along the river’s path, too, just at a slower pace. They have to keep moving. As long as they keep following the river to the Norns, their path and Thor’s should intersect.

  Bohdi scans the river. Framed on both sides by high boulders, right now it is about as wide as a four-lane highway and so slow moving, it mirrors the sky. As he watches, a reflection of a dark cloud slips across the river’s surface from the south up toward where Amy is drinking.

  Bohdi blinks. The wind is from the east… “Amy! Get back!” he shouts, raising the branch with both hands.

  Amy skitters backward on her hands like a crab, just as something lurches out of the shallows, making angry slurping noises.

  The creature comes up to about Bohdi’s chest. It’s roughly hominid but has a face like a snapping turtle and a carapace on its back. The crown of its head is inverted, like a dinner plate. With a gurgly growl, it snaps its jaws and flexes spindly claws at the ends of its too-long arms. With a yell, Bohdi whips the branch around and knocks the creature in the side of the head. It staggers back a half step and then comes forward with an angry snap. Bohdi jams the end of the branch in its face. The smoldering end hits the creature’s skin with a long hiss and a cloud of steam. The creature gives an anguished cry and plunges into the water, just as another pops out of the river.

  Springing to her feet, Amy says, “There are at least two more along the bank.”

  With a snarl, Bohdi jams the tree limb into the second creature’s jaw. It screams and dives back into the shallows and streaks away. Bohdi smirks. The bastards don’t like fire.

  A shape streaking toward them from the left catches his eye. Twirling the hot end of the branch in his hand, he jams it into the approaching creature. Crying in agony, it veers into the water.

  Bohdi almost laughs. He has an odd sensation—the same adrenaline rush he gets when he’s at the end of a run, when he feels like he’s flying. His mouth tastes like metal. He’d swear his vision has become sharper, his hearing more acute.

  From the boulders around them, angry gurgles sound. Bohdi raises his eyes. Peeking out of the rocks are at least twelve more of the creatures.

  “Run for it?” Amy suggests.

  Frowning, Bohdi pauses. “Thinking about it…” Running will leave their backs exposed. Taking a step forward, he swings the branch experimentally. As it whistles through the air, the creatures draw back.

  He might smile at them. Or maybe he sneers.

  A gust of wind ruffles the back of his head, bringing with it the smell of burning trees and vegetation. The creatures give a few nervous clicks with their snapping-turtle jaws. One breaks away and dives into the river. The others stare at Bohdi and Amy, and then—almost in unison—turn and bolt from the boulders to the river, disappearing into the slow moving current, leaving only a few angry waves in their wake.

  Spinning the branch around, Bohdi exclaims, “What were those?”

  “Kappa,” says Amy. Her voice takes on a slightly distant air. “They were in Japan back in the days of the Heian Empire…Loki and Thor helped clean them out…”

  Bohdi frowns as he looks out at the water. One more nasty to look out for. “The smell of fire scared them away,” Bohdi says, almost absentmindedly. He feels loose and a little strung out, as though he’s spent some time out of his body and is just coming back to it.

  “You’re really good at this,” Amy says softly, from behind him.

  Flushing at what must be a compliment, Bohdi ducks his head. Good at what? Staying alive? “You saved me from being a spider snack,” he says. And she had refused to let him go when he was falling… He still feels weird about that.

  As he turns to her, Mr. Squeakers runs up her arm to sit on her shoulder. Face flat and unreadable, she says, “You’re better with a stick.”

  Bohdi looks down at the branch in his hand. Is he? “In boot camp, we trained with pugil sticks.” Bohdi had been decent at it, but had gotten verbally reamed for cracking jokes… How did you not joke about giant Q-tips?

  Idly scratching, Mr. Squeakers’ head, Amy’s eyes on him don’t waver. “Huh.”

  He gets the disturbing feeling like she’s looking through him, not at him. The wind whips around them, settling into a southwest direction. Running a hand through his unruly bangs, Bohdi says, “We better move.”

  Nodding, Amy turns from the bank. Shifting the branch in his hand, Bohdi follows.

  They make their way to a trail they’d found earlier. It follows the river and is wide enough to walk side by side. What sort of creature makes a path wide enough to walk side-by-side? Bohdi’s stomach flutters and he glances up. Still no happy hammer-toting alien in a physics-defying chariot in the sky…

  A crash in the underbrush makes them both stop in their tracks. They turn toward the forest to their right. Bohdi’s eyes go wide. A cat-like thing the size of a tiger is slinking through the forest not twenty feet away. It has huge canines protruding from its jaw. His hand tightens on the branch. “Is that…”

  “A saber-toothed tiger,” Amy whispers.

  The cat lifts its head briefly in their direction, flicks its ears, and then continues on its way.

  Bohdi stands slack-jawed. A creature that doesn’t think they’d make a tasty snack?

  Beside him, Amy says, “It’s running from the fire. I’ve heard of predators and prey animals taking shelter together during natural disasters.”

  Above their heads come eerie calls. Bohdi looks up to see a flock of large crane-like birds flapping above the trees, heading south.

  Without a word, Amy and Bohdi start walking again, but at a slightly faster pace. The thin fern-like trees still predominate in the forest. But they begin to see trees with trunks as thick as a small car, soft, velvety-red bark, and tree tops with dark green leaves that spread out like giant mushroom caps. In the next hour, they see more animals: a bear, some deer, and even a unicorn. At one point, a pack of large slender wolf-like things with spikey lizard-like tails lopes onto the path in front of them; they barely glance at Bohdi and Amy before trotting away.

  Bohdi’s stomach is growling for food; he’s sore and tired, and he feels…amazing. He’s walking side-by-side with fierce and magical creatures in an exotic alien landscape. Bohdi feels like he’s connected to something larger than himself—something that is everything, the animals, and the alien world they inhabit. He steals a sidelong glance at Amy. Her chest is heaving, and she has streaks of soot on her face. Her eyes are wide, her full lips slightly parted—not in fear, but a look of wonderment. He feels a connection to her, too. He reaches out and almost takes her hand. And then he realizes it’s all a lie in his head, probably brought on by lack of sleep and adrenaline. He has to kill it.

  “So,” he says, feeling a wave of bitterness he can almost taste, “I know why you are trying to find Loki, and why Thor’s trying to find Loki, but why is Odin trying to find Loki?”

  Not meeting his eyes, Amy huffs. “You don’t know why I’m looking for Loki.”

  He’s broken the spell and made her angry already. “Sure I do,” he says, lifting his chin. “He’s your boyfriend.”

  Casting him a glare, she says, “As you pointed out, he may be a she.” Looking away she adds, “And possibly not even hominid.”

  Bohdi gives her a knowing grin. “But you hope he’s a he.”

  Her cheeks redden. Bingo. She’s here looking for a ghost. He frowns.

  Quickening her steps, she says, “What I want, what I hope, doesn’t matter. I have to find him…her…it…”

  “Why?” Bohdi needles.

  Slowing, Amy exhales. Jaw tight, she says, “He has to know the truth.”

  “Which is?”

  Amy stops, and turns to him. “Are you Hindu?”

  Bohdi shrugs. “Who knows what I was? But cow is delicious.” He grins.

  Rolling her eyes, Amy says, “In Hinduism, there is a trinity: Krishna, the preserver; Brahma, the creator; and Shiva—”

  “The Destroyer,” Bohdi supplies. He gives her a tight smile. “Hoping it would help me remember anything, I went through a phase where I investigated Indian religions.”

  Leaning closer, Amy says, “Then you know Shiva is also the transformer. Destruction isn’t necessarily evil… The Hindu tradition isn’t black and white like Christianity.”

  Bohdi’s lips quirk. He loves poking holes in blanket statements like that. Clearing his throat, he says, “To everything there is a season…A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up.”

  Amy blinks.

  His lips slip into a smile. “Ecclesiastes, King James Version.” He looks at the smoky sky. “I did paraphrase a bit…”

  Amy gives up a sigh and then starts walking. “Fine. The point is, the concepts of creation, preservation, and destruction are all equal, all necessary, and in balance, all good.”

  Falling into step beside her, Bohdi says, “I’m not going to argue about that, but what does this have to do with finding Loki?”

  Not looking at him, Amy says, “He needs to know that he’s not evil, that he isn’t just a destroyer…Odin won’t tell him.” She stops again and looks at Bohdi. “The next Loki has three choices.” She holds up a finger. “He can be a tool of Odin.” Raising a second finger she says, “He can be an agent of pure chaos, bringing about senseless destruction without meaning or purpose.” Holding up a third finger she says, “Or he can be a transformer—like he was for us when he transformed Cera and saved our universe.”

  Scratching the stubble on his chin, Bohdi mulls her words. And then he snorts. “He killed himself transforming Cera…” Shaking his head, he says, “Those are all shitty choices, Amy.”

  Amy exhales. “I know…but being a tool is the worst…”

  Quirking an eyebrow, Bohdi says, “I guess it would depend on what you were being used to do. I mean, technically, we’re all tools. I’m a tool for the FBI, I hack into their systems to make them more secure—” He grins wickedly. “Well, no I hack into their systems because it makes the tech guys in D.C. go ballistic, but the end result is the same.”

  Amy huffs. “Odin used Loki to destroy his problems.”

  Bohdi remembers pictures of bodies strewn about Loki’s apartment after Steve’s old boss sent in a SWAT team. “Like an assassin?” he says, his voice becoming hushed. Steve’s old boss was an ass, but the guys on the SWAT team probably thought they were doing the right thing.

  Amy shivers. “Sometimes. But sometimes it was more mental…Loki was, is…” she blinks. “…probably every time, very clever. When there were problems that Odin couldn’t solve, he’d call in Loki.”

  “Problems like?” Bohdi probes.

  Amy smiles tightly. “Like any change that was a threat to Odin’s power.”

  Loki peers from behind Odin’s shoulder as the Allfather sits upon his throne. He hasn’t been here since before the incident with Rind, before he went to Aegir’s feast and was implicated in the death of a servant, and before he went to the cave as punishment for two hundred years.

  Loki’s life before the cave seems like a dream. Sometimes he wonders how much of what he remembers is real, what is imagined, and what he hopes he imagined. Maybe it is time that has softened Loki’s memories of Odin and Rind. Maybe it is that Odin showed him mercy during his imprisonment, giving Sigyn a magic bowl that caught the snake venom bathing the cavern. Or maybe it is that Odin has been kind and attentive, since Loki’s punishment ended—perhaps time, and Loki’s penance in the cave allowed the Allfather to forgive Loki for Baldur’s death.

  Whatever, Loki doesn’t feel the same anger he did to the Allfather. But he doesn’t feel the same love, the same reverence he always hid with irreverence, either. He feels hollow as he stands behind the Allfather. An actor just playing his part.

  Freyja, the Vanir princess humans call the Goddess of Love, Beauty, and War, is kneeling before Odin’s throne. Long ago, she came to live among Asgardians, and long ago, Asgard accepted her as one of their own. As always, she is surrounded by her magic’s pink glow. After two hundred years with nothing to do but practice magic, Loki doesn’t have to concentrate to see auras.

 

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