Table of Contents

Ragnarok I Bring the Fire Part VI

Copyright Information

The I Bring the Fire Series:

Acknowledgements

Author’s Note

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Author’s Note & Contact Info:

All Stories By C. Gockel

Appendix

Ragnarok
I Bring the Fire Part VI

C. Gockel

Published 2015

Loki vowed Asgard would burn.

Bohdi Patel, latest incarnation of Chaos, wants nothing to do with Loki’s psychotic oath.

Stranded on the icy world of Jotunheim with Amy Lewis, his friend Steve Rogers, and an unlikely band of civilians, magical beings, and elite military, Bohdi just wants to keep himself and his friends alive … but when you’re Chaos incarnate, even the simplest goals are complicated.

If Jotunheim doesn’t kill them, Odin will, and if Odin doesn’t, the secrets they harbor might.

In the final installment of I Bring the Fire, Bohdi, Amy, Steve, and their companions learn that Chaos cannot be contained, some secrets cannot be kept, and some vows cannot be broken.

Copyright Information

Copyright © 2015 C. Gockel

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author, subject “Attention: Permissions,” at the email address below:

cgockel.publishing@gmail.com

The I Bring the Fire Series:

The I Bring the Fire Series:

I Bring the Fire Part I

Monsters: I Bring the Fire Part II

Chaos: I Bring the Fire Part III

In the Balance: I Bring the Fire Part 3.5

Fates: I Bring the Fire Part IV

The Slip: A Short Story (mostly) from Sleipnir’s Point of Smell

Warriors: I Bring the Fire Part V

Ragnarok: I Bring the Fire Part VI

The Fire Bringers: An I Bring the Fire Short Story

Other Works: Murphy’s Star a short story about “first” contact

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Or email me: cgockel.publishing@gmail.com

Thank you again!

Acknowledgements

First and foremost, I want to thank my beta reader, Kay McSpadden. Kay read and reread this story more times than I can count. I also would like to thank Gretchen Almoughraby and Alex Block. Their suggestions helped me clarify situations and make the action more believable. William Sheehan consulted on military matters. My brother, Thomas, was great as a myth reference. Cherryl Crouch and Erin Conroy were the final editors of grammar ... they had a tough job. All mistakes are mine.

I also want to thank all of my readers. Your continued encouragement helped give me the confidence to write this story. I love you guys!

Finally, thanks must go to my husband Eric. If he hadn’t nagged me to stop writing fan fiction and start writing something I could own, this story never would have happened.

Author’s Note

This is the sixth in a series (plus one-half and a quarter!) I’ve tried to include brief descriptions at the introduction of each character to get readers up to speed. However, I’ve also included an appendix of names and places at the end of this story, for those who want more background.

Chapter 1

Amy Lewis is a woman at war … with her brain. She is riding on a make-shift sled of branches and duct tape. The sled is hitched to the back of a stealth-bomber equivalent of a snowmobile, and is racing over the ice of Lake Balstead in Jotunheim, land of the Frost Giants. The lake is filled with man-eating, claw-flippered, horned orcas that will pop out and eat anything or anyone who stops too long. Amy is stranded here with unlikely company—her grandmother Beatrice, Bohdi Patel, Steve Rogers, his daughter Claire, an elite military team, the Frost Giantess Gerðr, and Loki’s family—his ex-wife Sigyn, and their sons, Valli and Nari. Amy’s dog Fenrir and her spidermouse, Mr. Squeakers, are also with her. Odin blew up the World Gate to Chicago during what should have been a short exploratory mission. Without a way home, they’re making a break for the Iron Wood, hoping the Frost Giants there will be friendly. If the whales don’t get them, Odin will, and if Odin doesn’t get them, Jotunheim’s winter will—unless they get to the Iron Wood in time. Terror should be enough to keep her awake. Still, Amy’s fighting the urge to fall back on the gear behind her and go to sleep. If she falls asleep, she will roll off the sled. If she rolls off the sled, she will die.

But if she dies … she will be asleep.

Amy shakes her head and sits up with a start. Last time her brain hopped on that train of thought she wound up running her car off the road.

Her obviously traitorous brain whispers, “But that was all because of Loki. There’s no Loki here. It’s safe to rest your eyes for a moment.” Her eyelids start to droop, and then the nearly silent hybrid snowmobile pulling the sled hits a snowbank. Amy feels the sensation of weightlessness as she is briefly airborne, and then the sled lands hard. Her joints scream and she fights back a groan. She doesn’t remember the ride hurting when they started this journey. Why does she feel so stiff and achy now?

She takes a long breath and reaches to take off her hat. Even with the wind whipping against her back and the cold sled beneath her butt, she feels hot. She stops herself, mentally cataloging her symptoms: pain in joints, fever, and exhaustion. Carefully she reaches to touch the lymph nodes in her neck with her mittened hands and finds them tender and sore.

Awesome. She’s picked the perfect time to catch a cold.

She looks out at the other snowmobiles. Everyone seems to be sitting up and alert. Admittedly, she can’t see anyone’s face, and the only person she can identify is the Frost Giantess Gerðr. Gerðr’s magic makes her infinitely desirable to any man who looks at her. To protect the men on the team she’s wearing a magic-blocking cap and bracelets. The cap is visible just between her hood and her goggles, and it’s glinting faintly in the starlight. Gerðr has been a captive of the U.S. Government for many years. The exploratory mission was to prepare for a larger expedition to return Gerðr to her people—and to open up weapons trading with the Frost Giants.

Amy sniffles. Of course she would get a cold. She is the weakest link in the chain. Her eyes shift to Bohdi sitting with his back to her on the tail of the sled. He’s not supposed to be here—well—even less than she’s supposed to be here. Bohdi, Claire, and Amy’s grandmother had followed them to warn Amy, Steve, and the team Steve was leading that Odin was on to their exploratory mission.

She can’t see Bohdi’s face, but she can see the tip of the rifle he has balanced on his knees. No one had offered Amy a rifle … because she can’t shoot and probably could even miss one of the giant man-eating orcas if it was charging right at her. Bohdi could probably improvise a weapon with his hat and kill one in a single strike.

She’s glad he’s sharing the sled with her. It’s good to have someone on her side besides Beatrice and Fenrir. Some of the Special Ops guys don’t exactly trust her. Amy just found out a few hours ago her code name among the military top secret types is “Pandora,” after the woman in Greek mythology who let all the evil loose in the world. She smiles ruefully to herself. They don’t know how appropriate the pseudonym is. Amy made a serum that makes humans magical. She gave some to Steve to cure his paralysis. The government stole most of the remainder and gave it to the SEAL team. What they don’t know is that she made the magical serum contagious and that it’s already spreading on Earth. Bohdi, the only person who knows, thinks she’s saved humanity.

She bites her lip. She knows he’s wrong. The serum is untested; it could wind up a plague. Her eyes slide to her dog Fenrir sitting at the front of the sled, nose lifted to the wind. Her once tiny, nearly furless mutt got the serum and now is turning into an enormous wolf, thankfully with a thick luxurious coat. It is a transformation that suits Fenrir fine—but for humans would be unpleasant. She swallows. And magic development in utero, if excessive, can lead to miscarriages. That’s how her own child died. She may have condemned countless women to the same experience she had.

After she told him all of that, Bohdi kissed her forehead and said, “Amy, the only way you are like Pandora is that you saved hope.”

The memory is terrifying. Because he said it with the same conviction someone might say, “I love you.” Or maybe that’s just what her brain wants to believe.

Bohdi is a great guy, he wouldn’t leave anyone to be eaten by spiders or adze, or to become Odin’s latest pet. But he’s also not that guy. He’s not ready for commitment. She rubs her temple. In fact, right before they’d left Chicago, he’d had a one night stand. Sometimes he flirts with her—but he flirts with everyone. The best thing for her to do is to take it with a smile and a laugh.

With his back to her, Bohdi suddenly sits up straight.

Amy is about to ask him if he’s seen something when he slumps backward. His head lands on her lap, eyes closed, rifle still in a death grip.

Amy looks out over the ice. Nothing is moving. She hears nothing. She looks down at Bohdi. Flicking up her radio headpiece so she can’t be heard by the team, she whispers, “Okay … umm … that’s very funny …” They’re not supposed to talk; they’re trying to keep their trip over the lake as silent as possible so the man-eating whales don’t pop up for a snack.

He doesn’t move. His head lolls slightly to the side. He looks like a marshmallow person in all his winter gear. The only part of him that looks human is his dark skin between his muffler and his cap. She holds her breath. Any moment he’s going to open his eyes, grin, and say, “Beautiful night for a sleigh ride!” And she’ll flush, because she’s beginning to worry even though he’s obviously playing a joke on her. She should say something witty and clever, and he’ll laugh. She glances to the pocket of his parka and sees the top of a package of cigarettes. Trying to keep her tone playful, she leans forward and whispers, “If you don’t sit up, I’m going to throw your cigarettes out on the ice.”

Bohdi doesn’t move. Amy resists the urge to scream. Instead, she rips off a mitten with her teeth and presses her hand to his forehead. He’s burning up. She feels a rising wave of panic. She squashes it, just like she would in the operating room. Flicking her headpiece radio back into place, she says slowly and clearly, “Captain Rogers, Bohdi Patel has a fever, I’d guess at least 104 degrees. He just passed out. I want to check in and make sure no one else is getting sick.”

There is a pause, and then Steve says, “Dr. Lewis, I feel fine. But agreed, we need a check in. Team report.”

One by one all of the special ops team, Gerðr, Sigyn, Nari and Valli check in. They all feel fine. Amy’s brow furrows. “Grandma? How are you feeling?”

Beatrice doesn’t answer. Amy is about to turn around and look, but then a flash of black catches her eye. Her mouth falls as she digests what she’s seeing. “Captain, Claire is slumping …” Fenrir barks, the sled careens wildly and Amy, Bohdi, and Fenrir go rolling into the snow.

x x x x

Steve barely has time for Lewis’s words to sink in before the mutt barks, and he hears muffled thuds break the eerie silence of the Jotunheim night. And then he feels Claire slumping against his back, and Lewis’s voice is crackling in his ear again, cold and calm. “We’re overboard, but alright.”

“All halt,” Steve orders, his heart racing. He barely hears them as they slide to a stop. The winter gear the team wears is as high tech as the vehicles, and even when Steve catches glimpses of them, it’s hard to tell who is who—their gear covers them from head to toe. Through his green-tinted night vision goggles, Steve just barely makes out Lieutenant Larson’s snowmobile, distinguishable because it is a two seater with a sled attached to the back that Amy’s mutt is sitting on. The doctor and Bohdi should be on the sled too. The vehicle has veered off course by nearly ninety degrees. In the passenger seat, Beatrice is bent over sideways, held on only by her seat belt. Her weight is probably what caused Larson to swerve.

Steve’s attention returns to his own passenger. “Claire?” he says. He gets no response. Unlike some of the snowmobiles, Steve’s is a one-person vehicle, but his ten-year-old daughter Claire is so slight she fit behind him with room to spare. They’d used bungee cords to strap her to him—they may have saved her life—now if he moves he will pitch his daughter into the snow.

“Claire,” he says again. Her silence fills him with a panic greater than thoughts of man-eating orcas.

“I’ve got Bohdi!” Lewis says. “I can pull him onto the sled.”

“We don’t have any more bungee cords,” says one of the guys. “Should we take some off the gear—”

“No!” says Warrant Officer Harding, one of the two female Marines on the team. “We’ve got duct tape.”

“Use it,” says Steve. A moment later, Harding is running toward them. She’s the easiest to recognize in all her gear. Harding’s the smallest, but she moves with a lot of power despite her size. Beneath them the ice groans.

Over the radio, someone’s voice cracks, “Bogies underneath us.”

Behind Steve, Harding whispers, “Sir, she’s very hot.” Her voice shakes. Steve knows it’s not because she hasn’t seen men and women in worse situations, but Claire’s a kid, and a sick kid just sucks at your heart.

“Just move as fast as you can, Marine,” Steve says, lifting his arms to give the woman room. Harding begins taping Claire to Steve. Over the radio Warrant Officer Berry’s voice crackles. “There’s a thermal vent in the ice at ten o’clock, about eighty-five meters away.”

Thermal vents are where the whales congregate and come up to breathe. Steve’s team can’t stay in one place on the ice for very long; they need an island away from the whales and a safer place to check out their teammates. He glances over at Berry. The short, stocky man is standing on the back seat of one of the double seaters, binoculars in his hand. Berry is a warrant officer with a specialty in tactics. He is part of the original SEAL team—unlike Warrant Officer Harding who is a Marine on loan. Because of his experience, Berry probably commands more respect among the men than Steve or Larson, though technically they outrank him. Berry’s voice cracks in his ear. “There is an island about two clicks away at two o’clock. We can stop there.”

Exactly what Steve needed to hear. Scanning the lake, he just barely makes out a jagged rise covered by wicked-looking black trees.

“Done, sir,” says Harding, patting his side.

“Beatrice is secure,” says Larson.

Fenrir starts to growl. The ice below Steve groans. “Get to your vehicle, Marine.” Revving his engine, Steve shouts, “They know we’re here. Everyone head to the island, combustion engines on!”

The words are barely out of his mouth when the ice between Steve and Harding explodes and a giant white-horned whale breaches the surface.

Harding leaps onto her machine, but the beast spins and lunges toward her snowmobile. Before Steve can swing his rifle around, it slides toward Harding, propelling itself with the talons attached to its flippers. She guns the engine, but the whale grabs the gear loaded on the back, swings its head, and Harding and the snowmobile go flying through the air.

Steve speeds toward Harding and her life flashes before his eyes. He’d insisted that she be on this journey because they needed at least two team members with combat training and winter survival skills who wouldn’t be affected by Gerðr’s glamour. Harding is all that and is a warrant officer with a specialty in communications, but she’s so damned small. He sees her rolling through the snow and his gut wrenches—she has to be stunned. Just as he thinks that, she springs up, covered in snow, rifle on her back. “Get on,” he shouts, sliding to a halt just beyond her. He feels the snowmobile sink behind him and Harding shouts, “Go! Go! Go!”

He hits the gas, and they jerk forward. The whale lets loose a bugle that makes every hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Steve feels Harding grabbing his parka and has to lean forward to keep from slipping backward. She must be sitting on the sloped area of metal just behind the seat; it won’t be easy for her to stay on.

He hears another bugling sound behind him and another crack of ice. An instant later he sees another whale bobbing across the snow and ice in front of him. The snowmobile he’s on can reach speeds of one hundred fifty miles per hour when it’s not in stealth mode, but that’s with one rider, not with three. “Hold on!” he shouts. Hitting the gas, he swings around the new whale in a wide arc, and then hears a ripping noise and prays it isn’t his parka.

Someone’s voice cracks over the shared frequency. “Two more bogies. Ten o’clock and two o’clock!”

Ten, two o’clock, and two more at six o’clock … Something in Steve’s mind sparks. He sees his teammates as though suspended in slow motion, like he is just an observer behind glass. Suddenly, he knows what is about to happen. “Prepare for incoming twelve o’clock!” he says, veering his own snowmobile to the left.

He hears the ice explode exactly where he thought it would, someone shouts, and there is the roar of one of the snowmobile’s forward guns.

The whale at ten o’clock lunges toward Steve’s vehicle, the whale at twelve o’clock does likewise—probably picking the straining one seater as the weakest target in the herd. Harding swears. The whale at ten o’clock collides with the tail of the snowmobile and they go skidding toward the whale at twelve o’clock, furiously clawing its way onto the ice. Steve turns into the skid and throws down a leg, barely managing to keep his snowmobile upright.

Before they come to a stop, Steve hits the gas, and the overloaded vehicle strains forward. Over the engine he hears the ripping sound again, and the sound of whale talons clicking on the ice. The ice starts to crumple under them, and cracks directly in front of them as the whale behind them tries to haul up its weight. Even gunning the engine the snowmobile barely moves.

He hears a Barrett rifle firing very close, and he feels Claire jolt against his back. Harding whoops, “Got it!” There is a splash, the incline flattens out, and the snowmobile shoots forward right over the crack. If they can just keep ahead of the one to their right ...

A shot rings out, again Steve feels recoil, and Harding shouts again, “Two for me!”

Another shot fires and Berry’s voice crackles. “Got our friend at two o’clock.”

Air rushes out of Steve’s lungs—he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding his breath. Over the sound of engines, and the distant bugle of the one remaining whale, Steve hears Harding chuckle. “I win.”

Steve almost laughs in relief. Shaking his head, he says, “Marine, how are you holding on?”

“Duct tape.”

Over the radio he hears someone laugh. “You can’t see her, Captain. She’s taped herself on side saddle.”

Steve almost smiles, but then he feels Claire’s head slip lower behind him. He’s soaked with sweat beneath his gear. Still, he shivers.

x x x x

Amy gulps as they clear the whales. At the front of the sled, Fenrir has stopped barking. On the snowmobile, Beatrice is slumped to the side, only in a sitting position because of the duct tape.

She looks down at Bohdi passed out in her lap. Putting the rifle next to her, she puts her hand on his forehead. His lashes don’t even flutter. Despite his dip in the snow, he’s still too hot. He’d gotten deathly ill in Nornheim, too. Amy’s been to Nornheim, Asgard, and Alfheim, and this is the only time she’s gotten even a tiny bit sick. Her brow furrows. Asgard and Alfheim have had enough recent contact with Earth to explain why she didn’t get sick there, but she should have gotten sick in Nornheim, like Bohdi ...

Searing pain flashes behind her eyes. Squeezing them shut, she shakes her head. In Nornheim, Bohdi’s lungs had been flooded with water, but not hers. That’s why he’d gotten sick. Taking a deep breath, she takes off Bohdi’s cap and runs her fingers through his now short hair. She’d done the same in Nornheim. She bites her lip. Bohdi’s an unrepentant flirt, a serial bed hopper, and the most dependable friend she’s had in a crisis since … ever. The sled hits a bump, they are airborne, and their snowmobile lands with teeth-rattling force. Bohdi doesn’t even moan. Amy’s shoulders slump. “Don’t do this to me, Bohdi,” she whispers, dropping her face to his.

His lips split in a wide grin. “Are you going to kiss me again?”

Amy sits up with a gasp, expecting him to laugh. But his eyes don’t even open, and the smile fades away.

Amy swallows at the reference to the kiss in Nornheim. It had been part of her ploy to convince him that his mind was stronger than the disease that was killing him—and for a little while it had worked. He’s never teased her about that, until now … Her brow furrows. Maybe he isn’t teasing. Her head hurts and her stomach flutters, but not in a good way. Under usual circumstances she wouldn’t want to kiss anyone feeling like this.

Larson must change the snowmobile’s course, because the sled slides sideways, and Bohdi nearly rolls off. As they straighten out, Amy adjusts his body as best she can. He is absolutely silent, his body completely pliable. It’s terrifying.

Fenrir gives a little bark. Amy turns her head and sees an island coming up fast. She looks to the side, they’re at the back of the snowmobile pack, and no one can see. She drops her lips to his and kisses him.

He doesn’t respond. Not that she expected him to, but maybe she had hoped. She almost pulls away, but then his lips move softly against hers. It’s just relief that makes her press her lips more firmly against his. And then heat floods her, burning away the unease in her stomach, and the headache behind her eyes. The power of that heat is so unexpected she jerks away. Bohdi opens his eyes. She expects another joke, but he just looks up at her with deadly seriousness. It’s the same way he’d looked at her when she told him the magic serum is contagious. “Thank you,” he whispers. And then his eyes slip shut.

Closing her eyes, Amy silently wills Bohdi, Beatrice and Claire to hold on, and desperately wishes she knew some way to help them. She blinks in the darkness, and looks back at her pack, eyes wide. She does know how to help them.

x x x x

Putting his feet down on either side of the snowmobile, Steve tears off his hand protection with his teeth and starts ripping off the duct tape strapping his daughter to his back. Harding, loose locks of blonde hair encrusted in snow, bolts off the sled and out of his way. Moments later, he’s gathering Claire in his arms, reminding himself there are three magic users on the team and one will know how to make her well. Still, as Steve ploughs his way to the tent that’s already been put up in record time, the first name on his lips is, “Lewis!”

A light goes on within the command tent. The doctor pokes her head out. “I know how to help them,” she says, drawing back in. How did he know she would?

Steve strides into the tent. Bohdi and Beatrice are already stretched out on sleeping bags on the floor. Fenrir is sitting at attention beside Beatrice’s head; Steve would swear the dog’s grown since that morning. She looks to be the size of a small German shepherd, but with outlandishly large paws and head. Members of the SEAL team are milling around; he can read their uncertainty in their furrowed brows and uncharacteristically fidgety stances. They all have advanced emergency trauma training. Any of them would know immediately how to patch up a gunshot wound, or set a bone, but this is different.

Steve kneels down beside a bag opened for Claire, but doesn’t put his daughter down; instead he clutches her more tightly to him, resisting the urge to kiss the top of her head.

“Nari and I can offer some aid,” says Sigyn, stepping into the tent, her son beside her.

“And I too,” says Gerðr, too quickly, as though she’s afraid of being left out.

Dropping to her knees beside a pack, Lewis says, “We should do that, but it will only be a temporary fix… until they… we... get sick again.”

Steve looks up at Sigyn. She nods. “What the doctor says is true.” She swallows. “And I should say, none of us specialize in medical magic.”

Gerðr puts her hand on Beatrice’s forehead. “Thor trained long years in biological magic. He can heal you humans in minutes, but not us.” Sighing, she comes over to Steve. She reaches toward Claire, but before she can touch her, Steve draws Claire closer, tucking her head beneath his chin. He doesn’t meet Gerðr’s eyes, and the giantess withdraws.

Pulling a rolled article of clothing from her pack, Lewis shakily unwraps it and reveals a plastic first aid kit. Opening it, Lewis exhales in audible relief. “They aren’t frozen.”

“What’s not frozen?” says Steve.

“We’re sick because we’re not magical,” Lewis says, waving to Bohdi, Beatrice, and Claire.

“But we’re not magical, either,” says Jung Park.

“Yes, you are,” says Nari.

Berry’s face flushes a deeper shade of red, and he clears his throat. “We should probably tell them about that, Captain.”

“We’ll discuss it later,” says Lieutenant Larson. Murmurs rise in the tent.

Ignoring them, eyes on Lewis, Steve blinks. “You’re sick too?” He takes in her flushed cheeks, her too bright eyes, and her slightly sloppy movements. “I see,” he says. “Why aren’t you unconscious like them?”

Lewis sighs. “I’m not as sick for the same reason some people don’t get AIDS and some people survive smallpox, cholera, and the Black Death without modern medical care.” She pulls out a hypodermic needle and a test tube. Stabbing the top of the test tube with the needle, she says, “Lucky genes.”

Steve feels like his hair has been rubbed the wrong way. She didn’t get sick on Nornheim, either. He’s heard people of European descent have greater resistance to disease. The theory goes that during the Middle Ages, Europe was a cesspool and those who survived had to have hardy immune systems. His eyes drop to Beatrice. European ancestry can’t be the only factor. He has the nagging sense of missing something important, but Claire’s body sags hopelessly in his arms, and he pushes the thought away. “What is that, Doctor?”

Lewis taps the air out of the needle. “The same serum that made all of you magical.”

Steve’s chin drops, a dark thread of suspicion entering his mind. “I thought that was confiscated?”

“Nope,” says Lewis. “I knew they’d do that, so I kept some for Bohdi, Beatrice, and me so we could get our memories back and …” she nearly falls over, clutching her head with one hand.

One of the SEALs, Corporal Tucker, drops beside her and puts a hand beneath her elbow.

Amy mumbles, “I’m okay, really.”

Steve’s jaw ticks. The serum has given Steve access to memories he hadn’t known he’d had. Loki had wiped out Bohdi’s memories when he made him the incarnation of Chaos. Bohdi braved going to another realm to recover them, so of course he would brave an injection of a barely-tested drug. He probably convinced Lewis it would be good for her and her grandmother to get the serum, too. Steve exhales. He’s furious at the deception, but it was understandable, and maybe now it will save Claire. Steve tilts his head. “You have enough for all of you?”

Lewis rubs her forehead. “No, I only have three doses.”

For a moment Steve cannot even find the energy to breathe.

Lewis continues. “Enough for my grandmother, Claire, and Bohdi.”

Pulling down his muffler, Corporal Tucker says, “What about you, Doctor?” His blue eyes are on her, a furrow is between his brow, and his hand is still beneath her elbow. Steve tenses; his brain calls up everything he knows about Tucker: good kid, stable two-parent home, father a retired factory worker in Kansas.

The doctor shrugs. “I’ll be fine. This illness isn’t any worse than a nasty cold for me.” She smiles thinly. “The longer we stay here the more likely we are to be attacked. My grandmother and Bohdi are as good in a fight as anyone.” Steve hears some harrumphs and men clearing their throats in the tent. Lewis doesn’t respond to them. Eyes on Steve, her face crumples. “And no one is going to give the serum to me when it can be used to save a little girl.”

The room falls silent. Steve wills no one to argue, especially Tucker, looking too earnestly at the doctor. It’s the choice Steve would have made. Bohdi and Beatrice will be useful when Odin’s men attack—and Claire—well he would always choose Claire. He closes his eyes, gives in, and kisses Claire’s head. Beneath his lips she’s too hot, and she smells like fever. She doesn’t stir. “Thank you, Doctor,” he says. He opens his eyes, tries to meet hers, and wills her to see his gratitude, but Lewis’s eyes are unfocused. Staring at a point on the floor, she says, “I really need to take a nap. Does anyone here know how to administer an intravenous injection?”

“All of us,” says Tucker.

Lewis hands him the needle, walks on her knees over to her grandmother, and falls over.

“Lewis!” Steve says.

She waves a hand. “I’m fine. Like I said, I just need a nap. Best way to let the immune system take over.” Her eyes slip shut.

“Someone check her out,” Steve says, his heart jumping. Take care of Lewis, Prometheus had said.

Tucker puts his bare hand on Lewis’s forehead, looks up at Steve and shrugs. “She’s only a little hot.”

Lewis makes a raspberry noise with her lips, but doesn’t open her eyes. “Nobody listens to me. Sometimes I don’t even know why I bother to speak at all.”

Steve feels the skin on the back of his neck prickle. There’s something about her words…

Still holding the needle, Tucker says, “Sir, should I give your daughter the first injection?”

Steve looks down at Claire, her skin flushed dark. He looks up to Sigyn. She nods. “The doctor’s logic is sound. Being magical gives an extra boost to the immune system—it’s why we are so poor at dealing with infections. We rarely have to.”

Kneeling next to Beatrice, Nari says, “I would recommend administering the serum immediately.”

“I agree,” Gerðr says softly.

Steve looks down at his daughter. She hasn’t been so pliant since she was an infant. “Do it,” he says, laying Claire down on a sleeping bag spread out on the ground. He begins unzipping her parka.

“Someone get the old woman and Patel prepped,” Larson says.

A few minutes later, Claire and Beatrice have both received their injections. Bohdi’s arm is bare, and Steve is kneeling beside him. Tucker is just about to inject the serum when Steve catches his wrist. “Stop,” Steve says, heart picking up in his chest.

“Captain?” the SEAL murmurs.

Steve looks down at the kid. Odin hadn’t been able to identify Bohdi as the incarnation of Chaos because Bohdi’s humanity made his magical aura invisible. Sigyn can only detect Steve’s aura when she’s very close, but she says it grows stronger every day. If Bohdi receives the serum, it will only be a matter of time before Odin and others recognize him. What would Odin do to Bohdi if he found out he’d known he was Chaos and still fled Asgard?

“Worried about him becoming more powerful?” Sigyn says above him, her voice sharp.

Steve’s eyes snap to hers, the meaning of her words connecting in his mind. She’d pieced together who Bohdi is. Now she thinks Steve is stopping the injection because Bohdi will become … well, Loki.

“No,” Steve says, and it surprises him how much he means it. His jaw ticks–the choice is between death taking him now, or Odin trying to take him later. To Tucker, Steve says, “Do it.”

As the SEAL slips the needle into Bohdi’s vein the kid doesn’t even twitch.

Crossing her arms, Sigyn watches Steve through narrowed eyes. He sighs. He is a manipulator, and sometimes walks the line between manipulating for personal gain and the greater good. But this time … Shaking his head and meeting Sigyn’s gaze head on, he whispers, “I’m afraid for him.”

Chapter 2

Bohdi is in a room he doesn’t recognize, lying on a strange bed, completely naked, but he is not afraid. His legs are covered by a duvet, his chest is bared to cold air and it feels like someone left the window open. He is absolutely not going to do anything about it though, because Amy is straddling his hips wearing nothing but a plush white robe, open in the front. The curves he’d imagined when she’d worn the princess get up in Asgard are on beautiful display. She’s hovering above him, smiling—a little coyly, a little shyly—and it’s perfect. Their bodies are not joined, but he is ready for them to be. He reaches up to stroke her cheek, to entice her closer … and for the first time notices his skin is the same sapphire blue as the pools of Lake Balstead. He flexes his fingers before his eyes in wonder.

“You’re blue, again,” Amy whispers, taking his hand and kissing his knuckles. Her lips are even softer than he had imagined, and her skin is shockingly pale against the blue hue of his.

He is the color of a cloudless sky and in bed with Amy, and it feels completely natural. Obviously, it’s a dream, and there’s only one rule for a dream like this: don’t wake up. Giving her a smile, he slips his free hand down her side. She feels warm and silky and Bohdi’s not sure if he wants to slow this dream down or speed it up.

“The blue doesn’t bother me,” Amy says, massaging his hand. Her fingers are very small next to his. She bites her bottom lip, the pink fold beneath her teeth going white. “Don’t let it bother you.”

Bohdi pulls his hand away from hers and brushes her cheek. The fingers on his other hand come to rest on her hip. “Don’t worry, I am so not bothered.”

She smiles, warm and wide and genuine. “Oh, Loki, I’m so glad.”

Bohdi wakes up.

He takes a deep breath. The air is shockingly cold. He catches a whiff of burning wood and roasting meat. Someone is snoring. Outside he hears footsteps and Larson’s voice. A snowmobile revs. He finds himself staring at a grayish ceiling—the tent—but without the Promethean wire up, which means Heimdall, Asgard’s magical all-seeing sentry, can see if he’s looking in this direction. More immediately, his top half is freezing and he’s very, very, hungry. He rubs his eyes. Why did he wake up? He really feels the cold now, and he’s still aroused and …

Amy’s voice sounds to his left. “Bohdi?” And suddenly she’s in his line of vision, distressingly dressed in full winter gear. She smiles, warm and wide and genuine and his brain short-circuits. He almost reaches up to stroke her cheek.

“You’re awake, I’m so glad,” she whispers. She bites her lip, and his eyes drop to where the pink flesh turns white beneath her teeth. “Have your memories come back?”

“What?” he says. It comes out a squeak.

The smile drops. “We were all sick. I think we caught a viral or bacterial infection from the bear. We were running fevers, and they had to give you, Beatrice, and Claire the serum. You were talking in your sleep in Hindi, I think … ” Her eyes drop. “I was hoping that your memories were coming back.”

He rubs his arm; it does feel a little sore inside the elbow. “The serum?” He blinks and she nods. The last thing he remembers is sitting on the back of the sled, a rifle between his knees. He remembers feeling warm, even though it was cold, and weirdly elated. He’d just found out the magic-bestowing serum Amy gave Steve was contagious and spreading on Earth while Odin thought all he had to do was hunt magical humans down here.

His breath catches. He has been given the serum! It brings back memories. He’ll know who he is soon; he’ll remember all the memories Loki stole. For a moment he is overwhelmed and awed, and then a horrible thought occurs to him. Was what he just experienced a dream or a memory? The vividness of it, the blue skin against Amy’s, her lips pressed to his knuckles ... hadn’t Amy said Loki had turned blue at the end? Closing his eyes he mumbles, “No, no, no.” Those aren’t the memories he wants—well, he kind of wants them—but not with Loki in them.

“Oh,” Amy whispers. “They didn’t come back, I’m sorry.” He hears her gulp. “I need to check your temperature…” She drops her hand on his forehead. Her fingers are just as soft as the dream. “You don’t have a fever,” she says, mercifully withdrawing.

Sitting up, avoiding her gaze, he says, “I feel fine.” He’s only wearing his skivvies. Shivering, he rubs his naked arms.

Holding up a pile of neatly folded clothes, Amy pointedly looks up at the ceiling. “You were burning up, we weren’t sure how much clothing to put on you.”

As Bohdi snags an undershirt from the top of the pile, he notices that she’s flushing. He wants to give her a suggestive smile, but he’s still too flustered from the dream.

“How long will it take to get to where we’re going?” he asks, to try and think of anything else. Amy and their magical companions believe the dwellers of the Iron Wood are their best hope of finding someone willing to give them shelter from the Jotunheim winter and Odin. He doesn’t say the name of the place aloud in case Heimdall or Odin’s other spies might be listening.

Amy sighs. “I think about a week.”

Bohdi’s jaw gets tight. Odin’s going to attack before that. He shakes his head. They’ll have to deal with it when it comes.

As he slips the under layer over his head, he notices that the team sleeping around them are sharing sleeping bags. He sees Claire and Beatrice still asleep in a double bag, and Mills and Harding snuggled up together in another. Bohdi’s eyebrows rise looking at the two women Brett and Bryant dubbed Zena and Gabriella. Harding’s blonde hair is tangled with Mills’s long black mane; Mills is nearly six feet tall, and she has one arm draped protectively over tiny Harding. They look very innocent, but thoughts of the two of them snuggled like that is going to keep the guys warm enough at night. And then he realizes why they are sharing. Tucker, Claire, Beatrice, Nari, Valli, and Bohdi aren’t supposed to be here. They don’t have enough gear.

The tent flap opens and Steve steps inside. “Bohdi, you’re awake,” he says, keeping his voice low.

Glancing up at Steve, Bohdi nods, and then proceeds to struggle to put on his long johns.

Steve takes a step closer. “We were worried about losing you. I gave you the serum to save your life … I hope … it doesn’t cause you any trouble.”

He says it in the same tone someone says, “I’m sorry.” Bohdi stops struggling and looks up again. His friend-boss-whatever looks distinctly uncomfortable. Steve doesn’t apologize. Bohdi’s neural circuits spark, and he pieces together what Steve is saying. Bohdi won’t be invisible to Odin much longer. Bohdi had planned on taking the serum anyway … but, he’s not going to tell Steve that. Instead he just nods. “It’s fine. You did what you had to do.”

Steve lets out an audible breath, and then taps his head and gives a smile Bohdi thinks is supposed to be encouraging. “Maybe you’ll get your memories back.”

Bohdi has a sudden flashback to Amy’s breasts spilled out inches from his lips. Restraining a groan, he manages a tight smile. “Yeah, maybe.”

Turning to Amy, Steve whispers, “Claire and your grandmother?”

“Their fevers broke a few hours after Bohdi’s did,” Amy says. “They’re still asleep, but I think they’ll be fine.”

Steve looks to his daughter, and then back to Amy. “And you, Dr. Lewis?”

That’s right, she’d said “we were sick.” Bohdi’s gaze slips to Amy.

“I’m fine,” she says. She shrugs. “I wasn’t that sick to begin with. And anyway, Beatrice got the serum. Maybe she’ll be able to fill me in on the missing hour?”

Pulling on his undershirt, Bohdi raises an eyebrow at the mention of Amy and Beatrice’s “missing hour.” In the hour between the time Loki destroyed the World Seed, and the FBI retrieved Amy from Loki’s apartment, someone had teleported Beatrice from a nursing home to Amy’s side, and cured Beatrice’s dementia. The same person had also completely healed some nasty stomach lacerations Amy had gotten when the Chicago Police Department had made an ill-advised raid on Loki’s apartment. Most people think Loki healed Amy and rescued Beatrice. Amy has always insisted it couldn’t be—that Loki’s magic didn’t work like that. Now … he eyes her carefully. There is something about her tone and the openness of her expression. She sounds relieved, not disappointed that the mystery has not been solved.

Bohdi sees Steve’s eyebrows lift, but his boss doesn’t ask Amy any more questions. Reaching into his pocket, Steve pulls out a razor and a fresh blade. Handing both to Bohdi, he says, “Shave and get cleaned up. You can’t have a beard in this cold. You don’t want to wear ice on your face. After you’re done, come around front and get something to eat.” He looks once more at Claire. Outside, someone calls, “Captain!” and with one last worried look, he ducks out of the tent.

A few minutes, and a very rough shave later, Bohdi steps outside. They’ve pitched the tent among the strange black trees that dot the islands of Lake Balstead. He adjusts the collar of his too big, borrowed coat. It’s windier than he remembers, colder, overcast, and it looks to be late afternoon. Out of the corner of his eye, a figure leaning against the tent makes him jump. Spinning, Bohdi draws back. A woman he’s never seen before, dressed in weirdly tight-fitting camis, loose muffler, and a jauntily-placed helmet is casually leaning against the tent frame. She doesn’t move when Bohdi stares at her, nor does her smile slip. She doesn’t even blink.

Bohdi takes a step back in awe. It’s not a real woman, it’s a snow sculpture of a woman. The muffler and hat are real. Someone has given her eyes black charcoal pupils, and gray charcoal irises—both make her disturbingly more lifelike.

Around the corner of the tent steps Redman, with an armful of branches. Redman’s mouth opens in a small ‘o.’ His green eyes slide to the statue, and his cheeks, already pink with cold, go bright red. “Uh … sorry if she scared you. Don’t know what came over me. Just, I dunno … my hands knew where to go, and it didn’t take any time.” Tipping up his helmet, he scratches at his sandy brown hair and then scurries away in a very un-Special Ops-like way. Bohdi blinks, unable to look away from the statue. It is eerily lifelike, just like the statue of Ruger, the slain comrade Redman had created. He hears another crunch of snow and turns his head.

Walking up to him is Jung Park, holding a hunk of dark meat on a bone. Inclining his head to the statue, Jung says, “Redman’s girlfriend. Freaky likeness.”

But Bohdi’s lost interest in the statue. His eyes have fallen on the meat Jung is carrying. It’s dark, smells gamey, and is glistening with fat. Bohdi’s stomach physically aches with hunger, he starts to salivate, and it’s an effort not to rip it from Jung’s hand.

Bohdi’s vaguely aware of Jung nodding. “Magic. They say it’s making us all extra hungry.” Jung holds out the meat. “Go ahead, take it.”

Yanking off his gloves, Bohdi takes it by the bone and tears off a hunk with his teeth. “Thanks,” he manages to say. The meat tastes somewhere between lamb and beef, but sweeter, a little stronger, and very fatty. Taking another bite, he says, “What is this?”

“It’s bear,” says Park. “The guys say you’re supposed to take off the fat, but we need the calories. Tastes better than anyone expected. The Frost Giant lady says that this time of year it’s probably been eating the sweet tubers and nuts that grow around the geyser vents around here.”

Someone shouts, “Park!” and Jung heads off with a wave.

Tearing off another piece of meat, Bohdi hears a clicking sound below him, drops his eyes, and sees Fenrir chewing on something like it’s bubble gum. She’s nearly the height of his thighs now, and the fur that a few days ago looked like someone had played a cruel joke with electric clippers now looks thick and full. Looking up at him, she wags her tail, teeth flashing.

He swallows a hunk of meat and raises an eyebrow. Fenrir seems to be growing several more sets of canines, and whatever it is she’s chewing on clacks between her teeth and sounds vaguely metallic.

“What cha’ eating, Fenrir?” Bohdi says.

Growling, Fenrir backs up.

“Sheesh,” Bohdi says. “It’s not like I’m asking you to share your metal bubblegum.”

Still chewing her mystery thing, Fenrir narrows her eyes up at him, swallows whatever it is, and then trots over to the tent. Bohdi looks down at the bone in his hand. What could be more interesting to a dog than meat with a bone in it? Shrugging to himself, he saunters off to the other side of the camp. The ground turns steep more quickly than he expected. He sees the guys on patrol, waves at them, and bites into another hunk of bear meat. He follows the rise of ground with his eyes, and then, almost unconsciously with his feet. The trees are interesting. The closer he gets to them, the more he realizes they’re not so much black, as very, very, dark green. Still chewing his breakfast—or is it dinner?—he inspects the bark. It’s actually tiny little leaves. He looks around. So they’re evergreens maybe? That’s kind of cool.

He sees a bit of steam wafting up ahead. Curious after Jung’s talk about geysers, he heads toward it, sucking on the now bare bone as he does. He looks down at the bone. A bare bear bone. Heh.

He’s about thirty meters from the camp, and ten meters away from the wafting steam when it occurs to him that he is eating a bear because there are bears in these parts, in fact this one attacked Sigyn. He looks down at the bone. He doesn’t have a rifle on him. He’s heard that bears are really smart; would they take extra offense to him eating one of their own? Bohdi’s eyes slide to the side. Suddenly anxious not to have any evidence of bear slaughter on him, he tosses the bone to the side without watching where it lands. He hears the sound of bone hitting metal, and then a very unbearlike curse. He doesn’t know what the swearer is saying, but he recognizes the language. Spinning back to camp, Bohdi sprints down the hill through the trees. At the top of his lungs he shouts, “Asgardians!” as a bolt of plasma streaks above his shoulder.

x x x x

As Bohdi leaves the tent, Beatrice murmurs, “We have to go. The FBI will be here soon.”

Amy turns to her grandmother. “Grandma?” But Beatrice is sound asleep. Amy puts her hand on her forehead. Beatrice’s eyes flutter open and then go wide. Beatrice sits up fast. “I have to take care of you. Where are my clothes? Where is my umbrella? My rifle and pistol?” Her voice is almost a shout. Around them the men stir.

Amy blinks. Picking up Beatrice’s winter gear and umbrella, she says, “Here, Grandma.” Beatrice takes the pants from the pile and begins slipping them on in the sleeping bag. “I have to protect you,” she says. “I can’t sleep.”

Amy’s mouth falls open. “It’s okay. We got sick, but I gave serum to you, Claire and—”

Beatrice looks at her sharply. “You didn’t get sick.”

Amy freezes. And then she shakes her head. “No, I did, but not as bad.”

Pulling on the outer layer of waterproof pants, Beatrice says, “You can’t die.”

Amy blinks. “Well, I’ll try not to …”

Beatrice’s nostrils flare. “That’s not funny! You took the serum … you know ...”

“No,” Amy says, shaking her head. “There wasn’t enough. I gave the last dose to Bohdi.”

Where she’s furiously pulling on her middle upper layer, Beatrice stops. Her brow softens. Outside the tent Amy hears paws, and a moment later, Fenrir slips inside, casually wagging her tail. Amy takes a breath. Her dog seems to have grown again overnight. She’s the size of a full-grown German shepherd now—but her paws and head are still too big. Amy holds out her hand, and Fenrir walks over, collapses, and rolls over on her back for a tummy rub. Amy’s brow furrows. At least she isn’t hungry … the guys must have fed her some bear.

“I’m sorry,” says Beatrice, drawing Amy’s attention away from her magical mutant mutt. Beatrice is giving her a beatific, grandmotherly smile that is kind of incongruous with the gun holster she’s slipping on. “I don’t mean to be cross. I just worry about you.”

Wiggling on her back, Fenrir thumps her tail and whines. Around Amy, the team starts to rouse in earnest.

The tent flap opens and Steve steps in. His eyes go to Beatrice. “You’re awake.”

“And fit as a fiddle,” says Beatrice, slipping on the last of her gear.

Steve’s eyes drop to Claire. Amy sees his shoulders fall, and his eyes get soft. “Dr. Lewis,” he says, wiping his jaw. “Is it alright to move her?”

Amy looks at Claire, still sound asleep, and looking very tiny in the adult bag. “It’s not ideal, but I think she will be alright.” She tries to give Steve a reassuring smile. “I can sit beside her.”

Steve nods fast. “Yes, please, I’d appreciate that.”

“If my granddaughter is watching over her, you can be sure she’ll be fine,” says Beatrice, and Amy feels her cheeks burning with the compliment.

Steve tilts his head sharply, as though someone has tugged his ear. His gaze goes to Amy’s grandmother. “Beatrice,” Steve says, stepping toward Amy’s grandmother. “Now that you’ve had the serum … do you remember anything?” His says his words slowly and cautiously, and his head ticks again, as though he’s heard something.

Beatrice smiles and meets his eyes. “About what?”

Amy’s brow furrows. She knows very well about what. The hour that they spent out of time, after Beatrice was rescued from the nursing home where she’d been suffering from dementia. Everyone thinks it was Loki that rescued Amy’s grandmother, but Loki couldn’t have done it. Amy had been injured too, by an ill-advised SWAT team raid on Loki’s apartment. Loki, even with all the power of Cera, the nearly omnipotent sentient entity with aspirations of galactic domination, hadn’t been able to help her—but Amy had been completely healed when the FBI had found Beatrice and her later.

Steve stares at Amy’s grandmother a beat too long. Sigyn steps into the tent behind him. Smiling at Amy and Beatrice, she says, “Where is Bohdi?”

Steve spins. Lifting the tent flap, he gazes outside. “I don’t see him.” He taps the radio in his ear. “Anyone see Bohdi?”

Someone’s voice cracks on the radio. “I saw him about ten minutes ago. He was heading in the direction of the geyser. Thought he was just going to take a leak.”

Steve’s eyes get a faraway look. “Odin’s men have found us. They’re here.”

“What?” says Sigyn.

Unholstering the handgun she carries, Beatrice picks up her umbrella. The team around Amy is suddenly in motion, putting on gear and picking up very big guns.

Amy taps her earpiece. Larson’s voice crackles in her ear. “I don’t see anything ...”

“They’ll be coming from the geyser!” Steve says. “We take them here, we take them now.”

Larson is suddenly at the door of the tent. Amy thinks of him as a golden boy—he’s chisel jawed, blue eyed, and under his helmet he has blonde hair. His mood seems to be permanently set to stern. He thinks being Loki’s lover makes Amy unreliable and has told everyone as much. The memory of it still makes her feel embarrassed, helpless, and angry.

“Sir,” Larson says. “I don’t see anything; there is no need to panic. We can load up our supplies and be out of here in less than ...”

“No,” says Steve, staring at the thin strand of trees separating their camp from Lake Balstead. The plain of ice dotted with occasional pools of geyser-heated water is calm and empty. “Get in the defensive formation we talked about, now!” Steve shouts.

There is no sound. It is like everyone is holding their breath. Amy shivers, and it’s not just from the cold. Steve is the leader, why aren’t they obeying? She looks at Larson. Despite her and Steve’s somewhat troubled past, she trusts Steve more than the young lieutenant, maybe just because Steve seems to at least respect her brain.

Eyes on Steve, Larson says in a slightly bored-sounding drawl, “You heard him, get moving.” He turns away, and everyone springs into motion again.

Amy looks to Steve; his nostrils are flared, his eyes are on Larson’s back, his jaw is tight, and Amy can feel his anger. In a too-calm voice for the fury she just saw, Steve says, “Get the gear packed and roll up the tent.” With that he scoops up Claire, sleeping bag and all, and carries her outside. Sigyn follows him. Amy hears Sigyn say, “Valli, get ready.”

Over the radio Larson’s voice cracks. “I still don’t see anyone.”

A blood curdling shout rises over the din of the men hustling to get going. “Asgardians!”

It’s Bohdi! Amy runs out of the tent; it collapses behind her like a deflated balloon. She looks back and catches her breath. A woman she’s never seen before is standing out in the open, a smile on her lips. Amy blinks. It’s a snow sculpture. “My, my,” says Beatrice. “That’s very pretty, but we have to get to cover.” Taking Amy’s shoulder, Beatrice steers her to a large boulder. The boulder is about six feet wide and seven feet high. It juts toward the beach, offering some scant protection from the sky. Some downed tree logs have been laid against it, offering more protection. The snowmobiles are arranged around the structure in a semi-circle, providing a little more cover. Claire is already tucked at the bottom of the large rock between snowmobiles and the rock face, still in the sleeping bag, sound asleep. Nari is huddled near her. Valli crouches on top of the boulder behind another crude barricade of rocks and downed logs, facing up the mountain slope, his back to the shore of Lake Balstead. His magical wind-controlling sword, Kusanagi, is drawn. Other men are positioned at the base of either side of the boulder and behind trees.

A flash of green from the lake catches Amy’s eye. She turns and gasps. There is a wall of green fire out on the ice. She hears a crack and the bugling of whales. Black shapes in the sky above the fire draw her eye, and she sees the winged shapes of Valkyries. If they had left the camp, they would have been out there trapped between water, whales, and whatever enemy is coming down the mountain. But now … her heart pounds. She looks between the flaming lake and the mountain’s slope. They’re trapped here instead. The Valkyries fly out in wide arcs, avoiding the air above the team. “Out of range,” she hears someone say. Unholstering the Glock she was issued back on Earth, Amy clicks the safety. It shakes in her hand.

Beatrice guides her beneath the rough arbor of logs leaning against the boulder. Putting a hand on her shoulder, she says, “Don’t worry, I’m covering you.” In Amy’s pocket, Mr. Squeakers, Amy’s spidermouse, gives a squeak, as if to say, “Me too.”

Beyond the makeshift fort, Fenrir turns to the forested incline and begins to growl.

Over the shared frequency comes Larson’s voice. “I don’t see anything.”

Amy taps her radio. “With Asgardian nearly-invisible armor there won’t be much to see.”

“Fire traces,” says Berry, voice crackling with static. “Follow up with incendiary rounds if you see them bounce.”

Someone chuckles. Amy hears shots, and then hears a few whistles. Someone says, “Oh, this will be easy.” More shots go off. And then someone swears. “Incendiary bullets aren’t working.”

Nari mutters, “Damn, Odin’s given them the good armor.”

Amy swallows. Loki had armor that was nearly impenetrable to heat and projectile weapons, too. She squeezes her eyes shut. It was expensive stuff, normally something only worn by the highest ranking officers.

Amy hears someone laugh in the forest. And then a voice rises, speaking in stilted English, “They have women and child. Freyr’s own bitch Gerðr is with them ... who going to fuck the princess?” Raucous laughter follows, male and female. Amy’s eyes slide to Gerðr. The Frost Giantess’s face is red, rifle raised, and she’s aiming into the forest. She’d been married against her will to Prince Freyr, a Vanir loyal to Odin. Larson puts a hand on her shoulder. Over the radio, Amy hears his voice. “Wait.”

Someone among the enemy shouts, “Gerðr, surrender, and I’ll be gentle.” Amy hears more laughter. She feels a chill at the base of her spine—the rude calls, the laughter. Tapping her radio she says, “Those aren’t Einherjar.”

“Explain,” says Steve.

Sigyn beats her to it. “These are mercenaries in very nice armor.”

Nari shudders. “That’s … not good.”

Amy bites her lip. In her mind she sees Loki’s memories of Odin’s mercenaries. They were the ones who forced Odin’s hand on reinstating the brutal treatment of prisoners that even Odin found unpleasant. She remembers the bloodied, tortured Fire Giant she saw in Asgard. If they lose, it will be very bad. She looks up the slope, her heart sinking. And Bohdi is up there alone with them.

x x x x

Bohdi zigzags behind a tree, and another bolt of plasma streaks through the space he was just in. He hears wood cracking and smells smoke.

Someone swears. He veers hard right. He hears footsteps and more shots. He sees the orange light of plasma above him and feels heat. Snow, rocks, and wood pieces fall on his back and shoulders. Ducking behind trees and rocks, he tries to head toward camp and finds himself entering a small clearing with tree tops just beyond it. He’s dashing across when his brain catches up with his feet. He comes to a skidding halt right at the edge of a small, rocky cliff. He looks down and sees a twenty-foot drop … He hears laughter and bolts to the right just in time for a blast of plasma fire to go over his shoulder. He finds himself once more surrounded by trees. Glancing to his left, his heart drops in dismay. The small cliff he’s found himself on continues in the direction he’s running.

Laughter rises behind him. His skin heats as his feet pound through the snow, and his breathing becomes louder in his ear. Of course they’re laughing—he is a helpless rabbit on the run. He’s separated from his team, and from Amy, Steve, and Claire. He won’t be able to help them fight. He starts to see red at the corners of his vision. He hears a growl. Somewhere in his brain it registers—it’s him. The men continue to laugh, and intermittent bursts of plasma fire over his head. The edges of his vision get darker.

Pausing, he looks over his shoulder. He can’t see his pursuers, but he hears their unhurried, unworried voices. It makes him furious. He will not be helpless. He sees a fallen tree leaning against a boulder and another tree with low branches just before a small clearing. Racing forward, he pulls off his parka and throws it over the log. As an afterthought he puts his hat on the log’s jagged top. He surveys his handiwork for only an instant. The black log with his clothes makes a good decoy of a skinny Indian guy. Jumping onto the boulder he launches himself onto the tree and climbs up. He knocks down a significant quantity of snow as he does, and hopes they’re too far back to see.

Pulling out his knife—a wickedly curved karambit he’d won from one of the agents back in Chicago—he hears footsteps approaching, but peering around the tree trunk, he still sees nothing. And then a black shape descends from the sky. Bohdi’s breath catches. It’s a humanoid figure with black wings, carrying a plasma spear in one hand. The chest and face of the new person are armored and nearly invisible, but whoever it is wears leather armor on their legs and arms, and from the form he would guess he’s looking at a woman. Bohdi squints. Something about her isn’t quite right. Her wings look dirty, the leather armor on her limbs looks worn and unkempt.

She lands and he sees three more sets of footprints in the snow beside her, and three more plasma-firing spears that seem to be walking themselves. The winged figure says something in a voice that’s clearly feminine, but rough. A visor flips up above one of the sets of footsteps in the snow, and a man’s face appears. His cheeks are red, and his nose looks swollen. He laughs, says something to the other sets of disembodied footsteps and marching spears, and then flips the visor down.

Bohdi tilts his head. Their laughter and the woman’s dirty wings—these aren’t like the cool and professional Einherjar and Valkyries he’s met. Did Odin send the dregs of his army to exterminate them? One of the four sends a blast of plasma fire at Bohdi’s parka. All of them laugh as they stroll over.

Their slow pace gives Bohdi a chance to think and to feel the cold. A moment later he can hear the four warriors below him, but in their armor, they’re nearly invisible. He is an idiot. He has a knife against four battle-tested warriors with spears and who knows else what.

A voice echoes up through the barren landscape. “... Gerðr I’ll be gentle,” and then laughter echoes up from down the slope. The heat beneath Bohdi’s skin returns, the edges of his vision go crimson, and he doesn’t want to fight the warriors, he wants to end them. The clouds must clear, because a bolt of sunlight streams over Bohdi’s shoulders, and he can see that the armor on their backs is reflecting the blue of the sky. Bohdi leaps from the tree.

Chapter 3

Amy sits clutching her gun by the rock face.

Fenrir’s growls turn to barks. Amy thinks she hears crackling twigs.

“Here they come,” says Larson.

In her ear, Sigyn’s voice buzzes, “Valli, now!”

Amy looks up to see Valli stand from his crude shelter. Without a word he swings Kusanagi in a wide arc. She hears the whistling of wind and sees a cloud of snow whipping through the air. Sigyn cries, “It’s working! The snow is sticking to their visors.”

Someone says, “They’re lifting them, I have a clear shot!”

“Fire,” says Berry, his voice completely level.

Amy looks up again and Valli is dropping down below his meager cover. Shots sound, over and over again, steady, like a drumbeat. Or that might be Amy’s heart. From the woods she hears men scream.

Berry’s voice crackles. “We need another blast of snow.”

Valli stands and swings his blade again. Amy hears the familiar gale—perhaps a little less forceful this time. And then, before he’s down, a blast of plasma hits him in the chest. He goes flying backward off the boulder and lands with a thud just beyond the wall of snowmobiles and downed logs. Nari and Sigyn scream, “Valli!”

Without thinking, Amy hurdles over the barrier of parked vehicles. Valli’s parka is charred black and still smoking. Dropping to her knees, she pulls away the thick glob of plasma on his chest with her mittened hands and feels the burn even through the layers of fabric. She packs as much snow as she can onto the armor on Valli’s chest. The plasma hasn’t melted the Kevlar, but his armor is still hot and the snow sizzles and melts. She keeps packing more, vaguely aware of Beatrice, Sigyn and Nari at her side moments later. Gunshots sound again, and high above their heads plasma fire streaks, but they’re still in the cover of the boulder. When the snow on Valli’s chest stops melting, Amy’s hand goes to his neck. She feels his pulse, steady and sure, but his eyes are closed. Beneath his head, she sees a brown rock peeking through the snow just below the level of the helmet he’s wearing. “Concussion,” she says. “He should wake up any—”

Valli’s eyes snap open. “Where am I? I have to get back to the fight!”

He starts to sit up, but Amy pushes him down. “Passing out after a concussion is your brain’s way of keeping you horizontal while it gets better.”

Valli sneers. “I am magical! My brain heals very fast.”

Beatrice tsks. “Listen to my granddaughter.” Sigyn puts a hand on his shoulder. “You still need to give yourself a few minutes.” She glances back toward the boulder. “But we should get you back to shelter. They’re switching tactics.”

It’s at that moment that Amy notices the plasma fire and gunshots have stopped.

Growling, Valli jumps to his feet … and immediately pitches forward. Nari and Sigyn catch him just before he hits the ground. Amy and Beatrice hang back while they help him over the barricade. Plasma fire and more gunshots resume again. The sky above them darkens.

“Above!” someone shouts.

Amy looks up and sees the sky peppered with black Valkyrie wings—the bodies they should be attached to strangely transparent. She blinks, no, the wearers of the wings are wearing magical armor over their mid-sections. “Down, Amy,” shouts Beatrice, pushing her to the ground as Nari and Sigyn help Valli stumble into the shelter.

“Get to cover,” Berry shouts.

The team members fall back into the makeshift fort. They fire from beneath the enclosure and wings fall from the sky, their nearly invisible wearers screaming in rage. “Their wings aren’t bullet proof,” someone says.

“Now, Amy,” Beatrice says, pulling Amy forward. Before they can reach the enclosure, plasma fire sizzles into the snow in front and to their sides, creating a cage of fire around them. From the sky comes the sound of raucous laughter.

Sigyn shouts, “Harpies!”

Amy is sucked into one of Loki’s memories. Sigyn is pacing in front of him, complaining about the women who come with the mercenaries. “They’re too violent and undisciplined, but they want to be Valkyries. The sisterhood is refusing to take them, but they’re petitioning for wings …”

A shot goes off by Amy’s ear, and Amy’s consciousness comes back to the present. Beatrice is beside her. Lifting her rifle, Beatrice fires again. Amy can hear gunfire everywhere, and women are falling, screaming in anger and pain, but the plasma cage is still around them. Amy has her Glock! She folds back the fingers of her mittens, aims the pistol, squeezes, and the trigger doesn’t move. She checks—the safety isn’t on. Plasma fire streams beside her … but none is hitting her. Why aren’t they hitting her or Beatrice?

A moment later, Beatrice is ripped away from her and into the sky and then Amy is being lifted too. She lurches toward the ground, and the hands fall away. Over the gunshots she hears someone say in Asgardian, “The Allfather still wants that one alive.” Women are screaming around her, the sky is a thick sea of wings and feathers and blood.

She feels hands grabbing the back of her coat, and she’s being lifted up. SEAL members are running out of the shelter, and they’re attacking her attackers. She wants to struggle, she wants to help, but she’s being choked by her own parka. Dropping her Glock, she throws her hands to the fabric around her neck just to keep breathing. Harpies swarm around her, wind rushes against her face, she looks down, and sees the tips of the trees by her feet. She hears Steve’s voice over the radio. “Do not shoot Lewis!” Gunfire erupts from the ground, and beside her winged women plummet, but whoever is holding her just keeps going up and up, veering eastward. She can’t see Beatrice, but she thinks she hears her hollering below.

The shouts from the team become faint, and more winged women come to swarm around the woman carrying Amy—disconcertedly difficult to see in their armor. But then, laughing and snarling, some raise their visors, and Amy wishes she couldn’t see them. Their faces are like grotesque masks of Valkyries. In Asgardian one of the women says, “She’s not so pretty, what does the Allfather possibly want with her?”

Fingers burning from where she clutches her parka, Amy kicks at the woman, but misses.

The woman laughs. Out of the sky a brilliant flash of white appears, covering the woman’s head. For a moment Amy thinks she’s passing through a cloud. The woman curses and rips at the thing. It takes Amy a moment to realize that the Harpy is covered by a parka. Plasma bolts streak by her, hitting another woman dead in the face. Around Amy, the Harpies scream and visors drop. Another woman comes hurtling toward Amy carrying four spears in one hand. Amy blinks. All she can see is short black hair and brown skin and then the new woman catches her hard in the chest, ripping her from the grip of her captor, and then they’re chest to chest, falling fast, not like they’re going to die fast, but still, too quickly.

Amy slips, and her face is pressed against a very not-womanly chest. “I don’t really know how to work these things,” a familiar, not-female voice shouts over the wind. In her pocket, Squeakers gives a happy cheep and begins climbing up her side.

Steve’s voice crackles over her radio, “Lewis, can you tell us what’s happening?”

“It’s Bohdi! Bohdi’s got me!” Amy answers. Realizing he’s barely holding onto her, Amy grabs hold of his waist. His fingers relax—but only a fraction—and they’re still falling, but in a wide loop. A few Harpies break off from the flock and give chase. “Hold on!” Bohdi shouts. Whipping the spears around, he shoots plasma bolts at the womens’ wings. A few more women approach, but they’re picked off steadily from below. Without Amy in the center of the swarm, the SEAL team quickly clears the sky. She looks down and sees people in camp take off their hats and wave up at them, the wings and bodies of Harpies strewn about like leaves.

In her ear Steve’s voice sounds, “They’re retreating.”

“Do we pursue?” someone asks. A snowflake catches on Amy’s cheek. And then another. She swears the wind is picking up.

Steve’s voice sounds over her radio. “No. Lewis, can Bohdi land?”

Amy looks up at Bohdi, a frigid wind whipping her hair over her face. She sees Squeakers has perched on his shoulder. “Can you land?” she shouts over the wind.

Two spears clutched in either hand, he looks down and shouts. “Wings, down!”

They drop like a stone, and Bohdi screams, “Not so fast, Wings!” Their descent slows, and Bohdi shouts, “That way!” The directions do absolutely nothing; they continue to descend in a wide loop.

Amy looks down. The clearing they are headed toward is pretty small and dotted with trees. They swoop past it, and Bohdi says, “Whoops.”

Amy gulps. Her arms are starting to burn with the effort to keep from dropping. She tightens her grip and Bohdi chokes out, “Wings, circle back!” They swoop toward the camp, and Bohdi says, “Wings down slowly.” They start descending into the narrow space in which the tent had been. Amy hears some admiring whistles. And then from below, Steve calls, “Your wings are going to clip that tree!”

“What?” says Bohdi.

Mr. Squeakers gives a frantic cheep. It startles Amy, and she slips down Bohdi’s waist, putting her cheek in a very awkward position.

“Sorry,” she says, face getting hot.

“Umm …” says Bohdi.

“This way,” shouts Steve, his voice very close.

At just that moment, a gust of wind hits them, hastening their descent. Amy’s feet connect with something and suddenly Bohdi is tumbling on top of her. She topples backward, and Bohdi follows. It’s only when the wind is whipped out of her, she’s flat on her back, and her face is plastered in Bohdi’s stomach—thankfully not lower—that she realizes that the something her feet connected with is actually Steve and she’s now laying on top of him. Steve’s about as comfortable as a bag of rocks, and Bohdi is surprisingly heavy. She feels herself getting light-headed by the effort to breathe.

“Amy!” Beatrice cries from somewhere. Amy can’t see her; all she can see are Bohdi’s wings on either side.

“Are you okay?” her grandmother shouts.

“I’m fine!” Amy manages to say. Her lungs feel squished and her voice is muffled. Squirming to get up she mumbles, “Sorry, Steve. Sorry, sorry …”

Something soft lands on her neck, and she realizes it’s Squeakers. The mouse scurries quickly into her coat.

“It’s okay,” Steve says, sounding admirably calm—and like he has a lot more oxygen than she has even though he’s on the bottom. “Bohdi, can you get up?”

Above Amy, Bohdi squirms and pants. “No!”

Steve freezes. Flushing, Amy says, “Are you hurt?” Foregoing her efforts to get off of Steve, she runs her hands up and down Bohdi’s sides. Over his standard issue poly undershirt, he’s wearing a magical vest sort of thing that connects to the wings. Even with the fabric she can feel coiled muscle beneath her fingers. He sucks in a breath—but otherwise makes no sounds of pain.

“Can you tell Lewis where you’re injured?” Steve asks. His voice is still calm, but Amy catches the underlying note of worry.

Bohdi starts to snicker and stops struggling.

“You are in shock, Bohdi,” Steve says. Amy can feel him trying to wiggle out from beneath her.

“I might be,” Bohdi says. “But the reason I can’t get up is because someone is standing on my wings!”

From beyond the black shroud of borrowed Harpy wings, Beatrice says, “Oh, Fenrir, get off of there. No, not that way!”

Bohdi, says, “Hmmm … maybe if I do this … Wings, fold up!”

There is the whoosh of feathers, and suddenly there is daylight, swirling snowflakes and feathers, and Amy’s lungs are filling with cold air. Bohdi flops over on his side in the snow, throws a hand over his eyes and starts laughing. Amy rolls off Steve fast, and Steve sits up behind her.

“Bohdi,” Steve says, sounding very worried.

Keeping her voice calm, Amy says, “You need to tell us where you hurt.”

Bohdi looks at them from between long brown fingers. He stops laughing and his smile drops. He looks like he might say something serious, but then, giving them a smile that seems forced he says, “You know, I thought my first threesome would be with two girls.” His eyes flit between them. His smile turns absolutely manic. “But in this case, I might make an exception.”

Amy stares at him, her brain not comprehending. Behind her Steve says, “He’ll be fine,” and Amy swears she can hear his eyes rolling as her own brain connects the dots. Steve stands up and almost steps over Bohdi, but he stops mid-stride. Amy follows his eyes. The four spears Bohdi had been carrying are strewn on the ground. Steve’s eyes flick to the wings Bohdi wears, and he says softly, “The people you took these from?”

“All four of them dead,” says Bohdi, meeting Steve’s gaze a little too firmly. “No worries.”

Steve’s eyes flit to the ground. “Your rifle?”

Leaning on his arms, Bohdi shrugs nonchalantly. “Didn’t have it. Had to improvise.”

Steve opens his mouth. He looks like he is about to say something, but then someone shouts, “Captain Rogers!” And then Steve nods at Bohdi and takes off toward the perimeter of the camp.

Amy bites her lip, watching him go. She doesn’t know what to say to Bohdi. She bows her head. “Thanks for saving me … up there,” she stammers. It feels completely inadequate. He killed people and she feels guilty that he had to, that she hadn’t fired a single shot. She was useless. But that’s her own issue.

She raises her eyes. He’s not wearing a parka, and all of his clothing is bloodstained. He must be cold, but he’s still sprawled out awkwardly in the snow. She holds out a hand. “Can I help you up?”

“Amy …” he says, sitting up. His gaze goes over her shoulder and gets wide. Amy turns. The snow around them is stained with blood, and probably excrement. The sculpture is gone. Several members of the SEAL team are pulling bodies away. But immediately surrounding them are Beatrice, three of the SEALs and Harding. The small Marine is cocking her head, looking expectant.

“Errrr …” says Bohdi.

One of the SEALs steps toward Bohdi. Amy doesn’t remember his name. He’s tall, more broadly built than Bohdi, but other than that all the gear they wear hides his frame and most of his face. The only thing that stands out is all the blood on him and his muddy hazel eyes. “Four spears. So, you killed four of them … with what? Your bare hands?” Amy can hear the sneer beneath his muffler.

Harding, the tiny Marine, lifts her helmet, and brushes back a stray lock of blonde hair. “Shut up, Rush,” she says, eyes heavy on Bohdi and Amy. “This was just getting good.”

The guy with the muddy eyes, who must be Rush, snaps at her, “We lost a man and have another with third-degree burns!” Turning back to Bohdi, he says, “You know where we’re going. Did you trade your life for that information?”

“Bohdi’s not a traitor!” Amy shouts, suddenly finding herself on her feet. She feels Beatrice’s hand on her shoulder. And then Steve’s voice rises in the camp. “Where is Claire?” Forgetting Rush, Amy spins and sees Steve by the makeshift shelter, staring at the empty ground.

“Gotta borrow this,” Bohdi says, snapping Amy’s radio from her ear. Before she can say anything, there’s the rustle of wings, a gust of wind, and he’s in the air.

x x x x

Steve paces around the spot where Claire had lain on the ground. Beside him Warrant Officer Berry squats and surveys the snow, his normally ruddy complexion even redder in the cold. “Maybe she got up and moved? She saw the mess … she got scared?”

Steve scowls and does not look at the warrant officer. His instincts are urging him to run into the forest and shout her name. His hands tighten on his rifle; he has to stay calm.

“Maybe she’s at the beach?” Park says.

There are whales roaming the beach beyond the barrier of trees—Claire’s not that foolish. From the forest, Steve hears Amy’s mutt growl. And it’s like a little light goes on. He knows Fenrir has found Claire. He bolts into the trees, following the sounds of Amy’s mutant mutt up the slope behind the camp that’s too rocky and steep for snowmobiles. Bohdi’s voice crackles in Steve’s ear. “I see Claire. There’s three guys. Fenrir’s right behind them.”

Berry’s voice cracks over the radio too. “This is a trap.”

“Yes,” Steve says. Which is why he can’t order them to help … but he could ...

“I’m right behind you,” says Berry.

“Me too,” says Park.

Steve could order them to go back … but he can’t.

“I’m coming,” says Gerðr. “I have Valli’s sword.”

Larson’s voice cracks on the radio. “I’ll—”

“Stay right where you are,” Steve says to his second in command, his voice not breaking even though his legs are pumping fast. He’s willing his feet not to slip in the snow and concentrating on not whacking his head on a low-hanging branch. But at the same time his mind is occupied with these very earthly things, Steve knows, without knowing how, that Larson was about to say he’s coming too, because Larson is sweet on Gerðr. He’s going to be mad at Steve for that order, but …

“Yes, Sir,” Larson says, just like Steve knew he would. Because Larson, in the end, obeys orders.

Ahead, Steve sees four beams of light streak from the sky and makes out Fenrir darting through the trees.

“What’s going on?” someone pants.

Bohdi’s voice cracks on the radio. “Trapping them, before they trap you.” A tree wobbles and topples where the plasma hit. Steve hears swearing in a harsh guttural tongue, and then Gerðr shouts, sweeping Valli’s sword in a wide arc. Snow whips up from the ground, and suddenly there are three snow-coated shapes kneeling on the ground, and a fourth that looks like a white, human-sized cocoon. Out of the cocoon pops Claire’s head. “Dad!” she screams. Steve’s heart skips a beat in joy and another in fear. Fenrir leaps and lunges onto one of Claire’s snow-covered captors, Bohdi falls from the sky on top of another and goes rolling. The last mercenary stands, lifts his visor, and Steve’s Glock is out, and he’s already shot him.

“Dad!” screams Claire again. Steve hears Park say, “Here, dog!” and then hears Park fire another shot. Without looking at Claire, he says, “Stay down,” and surveys the scene. Park is scratching Fenrir behind the ears, pistol out and pointed at the man Fenrir had attacked. Bohdi’s half kneeling over a man who’s face-forward in the snow. Bohdi’s knife is out, and blood is blooming on the snow from the felled warrior. Bohdi meets Steve’s eyes and nods looking furious, but not manic. Steve runs to the tree Bohdi knocked over; Berry and Gerðr are already there, peering into the forest. Snow is swirling … not from the sword, it’s snowing.

“I do not see other mercenaries,” Gerðr says, in stilted English.

“They’re about a mile away,” Bohdi says, coming up from behind them, the black wings he’s wearing rustling. “I saw the Valkyrie wings from above … that’s probably where the World Gate to Asgard is.”

“Let’s get out of here,” says Steve.

He turns around and sees Claire standing, staring down at the snow. Fenrir’s dancing around her. Park’s unzipped the sleeping bag and is throwing it around her like a cape. “There, now you’re like Supergirl,” he says. Claire doesn’t respond. She has no visible bruising, her clothing is intact. Steve scoops her up into his arms, sleeping bag and all, and squeezes her tight. He breathes against her hair. “You okay?”

She doesn’t answer, and Steve’s heart falls. He doesn’t know what to say, so instead he just says to the world at large, “We’ve got to move out,” and turns back to camp.

“Right,” says Berry. Tapping his ear, he starts giving orders.

“She be alright,” Gerðr says, falling into step next to Steve. Steve doesn’t look at her or respond. On Earth, when he was paralyzed and helpless, Gerðr tried to suffocate him. Steve’s buddy Dale insists it was an attempted mercy killing. Dale thinks it was an act of love on Gerðr’s part. Steve’s skin heats. The only reason Steve is here is because Gerðr would not accept anyone else to lead the mission, because she trusts Steve, or thinks she loves Steve. And because Steve is here, Claire is here. It makes him angrier than the attempted “mercy” killing. He pulls Claire tighter to his chest.

A few minutes later, they enter the camp. Valli comes striding over to them. “Give me back my sword, Witch! You tricked me!”

Steve sees a few of the guys look at Gerðr with wide eyes and parted lips. Someone whispers, “Jung, you missed it. Gerðr took off her magic-blocking hat … and oh, man, I think I still have a hard—”

“Language!” Larson snaps.

Steve leaves him to deal with it. He sees Sigyn and Nari kneeling over Tucker. Sigyn’s hands are on Tucker’s bare arm. Tucker took a bolt of plasma and has severe burns. Sigyn and Nari both have magical medical experience with burns—comes with the territory when you’re family to Loki. Steve turns to Bohdi; the kid has wrapped the wings around him, but he’s shivering, from cold or the day’s adventure. Bohdi’s gaze looks a little unfocused. The kid has crises of conscience when he kills bugs, and today he killed at least five men, virtually with his bare hands. Steve swallows. If it weren’t for Bohdi, Odin would probably have Lewis, and Claire …

Claire squirms a little in Steve’s arms. Steve closes his eyes.

“Bohdi,” he whispers.

“Yeah?” the kid says.

Steve opens his eyes. Bohdi looks so young, and so innocent … and, in a weird way, maybe he is. He’s not cruel, he doesn’t like pain for pain’s sake. He is just really good at killing. For a moment, Steve can’t say anything. The side with Chaos always wins. Odin may want to kill Steve, but he’ll want Bohdi alive, and that’s worse.

“You’re like a brother to me.” Steve takes a breath. He’s not prone to emotional outbursts, but ... “If anything happens to you, kid, I will fight for you, as long as I’m still breathing.” Claire’s hand snakes around his neck. Steve closes his eyes. “Hell, with the way this magic stuff works, I’ll fight for you even after I stop breathing.”

He hears a noise, a light clicking. He looks up and realizes it’s Bohdi’s teeth chattering with such force his wings are trembling. The kid nods. And then he smiles. “Me too. Promise.”

It’s a little too much. Steve inclines his head toward where the last of the snowmobiles is being packed up. “Take off those wings and get some real gear on before you freeze to death.”

Bohdi’s teeth chatter as he nods. “Right.” He heads off, and Steve sees that Lewis has already found a spare parka, and is jogging over to him.

“Put me down,” Claire says. Steve’s brows furrow. It’s the first words she’s spoken since Steve rescued her. His heart clenches. His arms are actually screaming to let her go, but he doesn’t want to. She’s his little girl, he almost lost her, and he doesn’t know when he’ll get a chance to hold her like this again.

“Dad,” Claire says, her voice thick. “Put me down.”

Steve gently sets her down, wrapping the sleeping bag around her like a cloak as snow swirls around them. A few big flakes catch in her lashes. Before he has a chance to say a word, Larson approaches with Gerðr and Beatrice. “Sir,” the lieutenant says, “Gerðr and I have a plan to refreeze the ice on the lake.”

The Frost Giantess nods at Steve, too fast, too eager to please.

Gesturing with his thumb toward his men, Larson says, “We can take out the whales from the trees with our rifles. Beatrice can drive Gerðr up to the edge of the thaw, and she can use the magic shards of Nari, Sigyn, and Valli to power up her magic reserves.” He looks at Gerðr. “Am I getting this right?”

She nods, eyes on Steve. “I need Beatrice and umbrella! To refreeze the ice enough for us to pass over.”

Steve looks at the Frost Giantess. To do magic she’ll have to take off her magic-blocking cap and bracelets. All the men looking at her will turn into drooling idiots, so she needs a woman to be with her. Harding and Mills are more experienced snowmobile drivers and would have been his first choice. But back on Earth, a sorcerer named Skirnir tried to abduct Gerðr. Beatrice rescued her. Maybe Gerðr just trusts her more? It seems like a small thing, so he lets it slide. “Sounds good,” he says, but he has a feeling like his hair is being rubbed the wrong way again. She needs Beatrice and the umbrella? And then he shakes his head … to keep the snow out of her eyes, of course. “Make it happen,” Steve says.

Larson nods and starts issuing commands. Steve puts his hand on Claire’s shoulder. “Come on, we’re going to get you in all your gear, and then you’re riding with me.”

Claire doesn’t move or look at him. He hears snowmobile engines rev. Snow swirls in the air. Over the radio Sigyn’s voice crackles. “The snow is getting heavier. It will keep all of the Harpies grounded.”

Steve kneels down beside his daughter. “Claire …” his voice drifts off. He doesn’t know what to say.

Her face crumples, and Steve thinks she may cry. Instead she snarls, “I will never be weak again.” And Steve feels the same rush of terror he’d felt when he’d found her gone.

x x x x

Bohdi runs into Amy, halfway across the camp, parka already in her hands. Shivering uncontrollably he tries to undo the fastenings on the winged vest he wears. He fumbles helplessly. He’s not sure if it’s from cold or an adrenaline crash. Flipping back the tops of her mittens, Amy unfastens them for him and helps him take off the wings. Someone comes and picks them up. Bohdi starts to protest, but Amy says, “Don’t worry, we’re keeping them. They’ve found a few salvageable pairs among the wreckage.”

“Oh,” Bohdi says, still shaking, but managing to put on the parka. He tries to zip it up, but fails again. Without a word, Amy zips it up and does the closures of the garment for him. Bohdi holds up his arms and just tries to stay out of the way. The snow is falling like a curtain, making the SEALs, Marines, and magical aliens around them seem unreal. Making the day feel unreal …

Rush asked him how he killed the mercenaries in the forest. Bohdi’s still piecing it together. He clearly remembers landing on the back of the first man and putting his knife to his throat. The man had leaned back and twisted at the same time. Blood had sprayed from his throat all over his companions. Blinded by the bloody spray, the men and women lifted their visors. And Bohdi had almost laughed, because he hadn’t planned it, it just happened. He remembers taking shelter under the first man’s body, using the dead man’s plasma spear to shoot the Harpy … and then things kind of became a blur. He tricked one of the guys into shooting another, and then pretended to be weak and frightened to get the last guy to let down his guard. It had been so easy he’d had to bite his lip until blood came to keep from laughing aloud. His memories of events are blurry, but his memories of his emotions are extremely clear. He’d felt a oneness with the universe; like he was exactly where he was supposed to be and doing exactly what he was supposed to be doing. The only other times he’s felt such lucidity were during sex.

It’s very strange; he hated physical training in boot camp, hated Steve dragging him to the gym, and really hated sparring—Bohdi always loses, unless he cheats. But this was different, freer; there had been no rules—cheating had been good.

A shiver runs through him. In a world without rules, Chaos reigns. He suddenly feels unsteady on his feet, like he might be blown away. He isn’t sorry he killed those men, or the women in the sky, or Claire’s kidnappers. He wonders if he is supposed to be sorry.

“There,” Amy says, patting his collar. “You’re done.”

Her words shake Bohdi back to earth. He looks down to find her gazing up at him, snow catching on her lashes. Without a word, she gives him a hug, her cheek pressing against his chest. His arms go around her on instinct, but almost instantly the simple embrace becomes more. A tether to humanity maybe? He doesn’t know, but for the second time today he feels he is exactly where he is supposed to be, doing exactly what he is supposed to be doing. He closes his eyes, squeezes Amy tight, feels the hints of curves beneath the layers of parka and gear and feels warmth returning to his limbs.

After a time that seems long and too short, she says, “I was useless today. My Glock got jammed.”

Bohdi’s eyes flutter open. He loosens his arms and draws back. Meeting her eyes, he brushes away a few flakes of snow melting on her cheek. “If we hadn’t been given your serum, we’d all be sick with bear flu.”

She blinks up at him, and he almost caresses her lower lip with his thumb.

“Patel!”

Amy jumps back and turns to the sound of the voice. Bohdi’s jaw grinds, but he turns too, and finds Lieutenant Larson approaching, a rifle in his hand.

“I thought you were military!” Larson barks.

“I was in the Marines,” Bohdi offers.

“What sort of Marine loses his rifle?” says Larson.

Bohdi can’t help it, he laughs. “A very bad one, Sir.”

Larson stares at him, jaw locked, saying nothing. It might be the crash after an adrenaline rush, but Bohdi has to bite the insides of his cheeks to keep from giggling.

Larson sighs. “You did good today,” he says at last, and passes the rifle to Bohdi. There’s a holster slung over Larson’s shoulder. He takes it off and pulls out a Glock. “I guess you can fire this?”

Bohdi blinks. “Sure.”

“Take it,” Larson says, thrusting the holster and Glock into Bohdi’s hands. He pulls a spare radio earpiece out of his pocket and says, “This too. They were Harrison’s.”

The urge to laugh melts away at the past tense.

“I’m so sorry,” Amy says.

“Yes,” says Bohdi. “Me too.”

Larson’s eyes shift to Amy and the icy hostility there takes Bohdi off guard. How can anyone feel hostile toward Amy? She saved them. Without thinking, he steps closer to her. Larson’s eyes shift back to him. The lieutenant cocks his head. “So I want to know what your capabilities are. Can you drive a snowmobile?”

Bohdi is about to say yes, because that sounds like fun. But he catches himself and says the truth instead. “I’m the worst driver you’ve ever met.” He’s always getting into fender benders doing the simplest, dumbest, things. He totaled his car pulling out of his driveway. Struck by inspiration, he drops an arm on Amy’s shoulder. “But I bet Amy is a great snowmobile driver! She drove Sleipnir and dodged plasma fire in a Suburu in Alfheim, and even hit Thor with her car one time!”

Larson’s mouth makes a tiny ‘o.’ Bohdi blinks. Why does he look befuddled?

Clearing her throat, Amy says, “I hit him with my car on purpose.”

Larson snaps at her. “Thor was the one on our side!”

“Errr…” says Bohdi.

Amy sighs.

“Neither of you are driving,” says Larson. “Tucker’s burns means he’s riding on the sled. Dr. Lewis, you’re with me. Bohdi, you can ride behind Brill.” His eyes go to the rifle and the Glock. “Don’t make me regret giving you those.”

With that he strides away, shouting some orders about shooting whales and everyone getting to their vehicles.

Amy turns to Bohdi. “My pistol didn’t fire earlier. The trigger froze. Maybe you can look at it?” She pulls a Glock out of her holster. “I clearly remember flipping the safety,” Amy says, and Bohdi doesn’t sniff any lies. He flips the safety off, takes out the magazine, and pulls the trigger. It feels fine. He slips the magazine back in, aims at a snow bank a few meters away and pulls the trigger. The Glock fires with a resounding crack.

Someone shouts, “Patel, you see something?” And Fenrir dashes toward the spot he shot.

“Nope,” Bohdi says. “Amy’s pistol just froze up. Checking the trigger.” Someone snorts and Amy drops her eyes. Trying to be encouraging, Bohdi says, “It seems fine, but you know, sometimes they do freeze up, especially when it’s cold.” It’s not that cold, and Glocks are very reliable, but it could happen. He flips the safety back on and hands it back to her.

Head bowed, Amy takes it back and says, “There’s something wrong with me.”

“No,” Bohdi, turns to her. “You’re —”

“Amy!” Beatrice cries, emerging from the snowy shroud and grabbing her granddaughter’s arm. “You have to get to your snowmobile.” Beatrice gives Amy a ferocious tug. Amy looks confused but doesn’t fight it, and a few heartbeats later, Bohdi’s looking at a cloud of snow. He hears rifle shots, cheers, and then a horrible sound—it takes him a moment, but then he realizes it’s the death cries of whales. His feeling of oneness with the universe shatters.

Chapter 4

“I’m sure this is it,” Amy shouts over the wind. Her left hand trails along a stone surface, too regular to be natural. She can hear the hum of the snowmobile engines just meters away—she looks over her shoulder, but can’t see them, the snow is falling too thickly. They’d made it across Lake Balstead without incident—well, if you call leaving behind a pod of dead and dying killer orcas “without incident.” But then the storm had gotten worse. Berry says that the snow is falling much too heavily to use the tent for shelter. Fortunately, Amy has Loki’s memories, and just before the world had become, in the SEALs’ words, “a complete whiteout,” Amy had seen the shape of the too-smooth stone beside her and steered the team here.

She looks back at the hulking forms trailing behind her, unrecognizable in all their gear. She comes to a corner, rounds it, and finds herself facing a dark ovoid entrance about ten feet tall and fifteen feet high. “Yep, this is it!” she shouts, and almost steps in, when someone’s voice crackles over the radio. “Wait! We have to make sure it’s secure.”

Amy blinks. Actually, that’s a good point. “Hello, anyone there?” she calls in Jotunn.

Over the radio, she hears the mean guy Rush say, “Well, now they know we’re here.”

She thinks she hears Steve sigh, and then his voice buzzes over the channel. “Let us handle this, Doctor.”

Steve, recognizable because he is the tallest on the team, and four SEALs take up positions on either side of the entrance.

A gravelly voice she cannot identify hums over the radio. “Could be animals in there.”

“Should we use a grenade?” someone else asks.

At that moment, from out of the blizzard comes a familiar woof. Before anyone can react, Fenrir comes bounding out of the white blur, darts between the SEALs and vanishes into the darkness of the entrance.

Amy’s heart leaps into her throat.

“Hold that grenade!” cracks over the radio. She blinks. She’s sure it’s Larson’s voice, but she can’t make out which of the four white forms he is.

“Thank you, for not blowing her up,” Amy says.

One of the white Michelin-men people shapes rocks back on his feet. Another pulls off his goggles, and she finds herself staring at Larson’s icy blue glare. Someone else’s voice cracks on the radio, sounding slightly scandalized and hurt. “We’re not puppy killers.”

Steve shakes his head.

Amy feels her cheeks flush. She thought that with the ease with which they’d killed the orcas that they might not consider Fenrir’s life worth preserving.

Rush’s voice buzzes over the radio. “The dog’s actually useful.”

The implication stings. Fenrir’s useful, unlike her. Bohdi’s voice snips back over the shared frequency. “I’m pretty happy not to be dead from bear flu.” She hears the crunch of snow, and he materializes out of the swirling white. He’s covered head to toe, like everyone else, but Amy recognizes him by his height, slenderer frame and just the way he walks—not as rigid as the other guys, more fluid. Beside him is her grandmother, unmistakable because she’s got her umbrella open above her head.

The guy with the gravelly voice says, “Maybe the dog will let us know if anyone’s inside.” Someone kneels in the entrance and says, “Come on out girl, come on out.”

Amy hears more muffled foot steps. She looks past Bohdi and sees Harding—her small stature unmistakable—and the tall willowy Gerðr, Promethean wire glinting on her head and wrists. Without warning Gerðr takes off her magic-blocking accessories.

Steve throws his hands in front of his eyes, “Gah!” The other men’s responses are about as dignified. Their guns drop, they drop their mufflers, raise their goggles, and practically drool. Ignoring them, the Frost Giantess closes her eyes and lifts her head. Opening her eyes a moment later she puts her bracelets and hat back on. “It is empty. Safe.”

The guys cough. One of them adjusts himself. Rush smirks. “Why didn’t we just send you out into the firing line when we were attacked? We could have incapacitated the enemy.”

“No,” says Larson, jaw tight.

“We won’t put you in that situation, Gerðr,” Steve says.

Gerðr turns to Steve. “It work in close fighting. Not distance.”

“Still might be useful,” says Rush.

“No,” Larson says. Gerðr doesn’t even glance at him—her eyes are still on Steve.

“This conversation is over,” says Steve, not meeting Gerðr’s eyes.

At that moment, Fenrir pokes her head out and gives a happy yip. One of the guys absently scratches her between the ears. Larson says, “Looks like we can move in,” and then begins barking a series of orders and names so fast Amy can’t keep up with anything more than, “Doctor Lewis, you stay here and out of the way. Patel, go help with the gear.”

Because she doesn’t know what else to do, Amy obeys. Two of the SEALs stay at the opening too, rifles swung in front, looking out into the blizzard. One of them pulls down his muffler and lifts his goggles. He is as broad as Steve, but not quite as tall, and he has brown eyes and a thick five o’clock shadow. Amy can’t remember his name. As people run past, he says in the gravelly voice she’s heard over the radio. “This structure doesn’t look natural, but it doesn’t look like any dwelling I’ve ever seen either. What is it?”

He’s focused on the blizzard outside as he talks, and Amy doesn’t realize he’s talking to her until Beatrice nudges her with her umbrella. “Oh,” she says. “It’s a glove, I mean not really—but it fell off the big statues that are,” she turns north and sees only white. “Well, they’re over there, but you can’t see them.”

Gaze still focused away from Amy, he says, “Is it like the myth … with Utgard’s disappearing castle, when Thor and Loki slept in a giant’s glove?”

Amy blinks in surprise.

“What are you talking about, Thomas?” The question comes over the radio. Amy recognizes Rush’s slightly contemptuous voice immediately.

The guy in front of Amy, the guy who must be Thomas, says, “Didn’t you read the myths when you found out this was our mission?”

Amy’s radio crackles with a chorus of “Yep,” and “Sure did.”

Over the shared channel, someone’s voice cracks. “Well, is it true?” Amy can’t tell who said it. Guys are streaming in and out of the glove, anonymous and ghostlike in their full gear.

She scuffs a bit of snow with her boot. Actually, when Thor and Loki had spent the night in the glove, it had been on the way to see Gullveig in the Iron Wood, not Utgard; but if Heimdall is listening she doesn’t want to give away their destination. Instead she says, “Yes,” surprised they made the connection. “They stayed here. They could have used another World Gate that didn’t drop them off in the Southern Wastes, but it would have meant a trip across the Southern Sea. After helping defeat the Spanish Armada Loki had an aversion to being on boats.” Realizing she’s babbling, and none of this probably interests the SEAL team, she snaps her mouth shut.

In his gravelly voice, Thomas says, “Loki helped the British defeat the Spanish Armada?”

“Yes,” say Nari and Sigyn at once.

“No … ” someone says, but he sounds excited more than unbelieving.

“It was an act of Chaos,” says Bohdi. “The Spanish should have won, but they didn’t due to random factors outside their control. Loki was the incarnation of Chaos—he gave them random factors.” Amy’s eyebrows rise. She thinks that’s the nicest thing Bohdi’s ever said about Loki.

“On a philosophical level,” one of the guys says, “that makes sense.” Amy perks up, trying to identify who said it.

Larson’s voice cracks over the shared frequency. “I’m not buying it, Brill.” Amy tries to picture who Brill is, but can’t.

“There were other logistical problems with Spain’s planned invasion,” Larson says.

Amy wipes snow from her eyes. She doesn’t know why, but she hadn’t expected even this much enthusiasm for the topic—or even the tiniest bit of open-mindedness. She blinks. Even if the Spanish Armada hadn’t been completely defeated by the weather, there’s more. “He also caused the fog that allowed the retreat from Dunkirk during WWII,” Amy says.

Her radio crackles again. “Really?”

“Yes,” says Nari and Sigyn again.

“Some of those small boats could have escaped the Luftwaffe,” Rush says.

Berry’s voice pipes over the frequency. “Oh, come on. The majority of the British troops would have been wiped out. It was only by the grace of God.”

“That’s my dad!” shouts Valli.

The radio crackles with snorts and grumbles, but someone actually laughs and there are a few whistles too.

A few moments later, Sigyn emerges out of the snowy gloom, cruising into the glove on one of the snowmobiles. At the entrance she dismounts and pulls off her muffler. She raises her eyes to the ceiling, “He never told me about this place …” Her voice drifts off, and her face becomes sad. For once she looks slightly vulnerable. Amy bites her lip, unsure of what to say, thrown into a memory of Sigyn and Loki, right before his trip to the Iron Wood and this place.

x  x  x  x

Loki runs his hand over Sigyn’s bare hip. Her back is pressed to his chest. The morning sun is gleaming in her hair. Next to her warm gold skin, his hand looks pale, almost sickly. She stirs beneath his hands, but doesn’t wake.

Sheets are tangled at their feet. He kisses her shoulder and closes his eyes. He shouldn’t savor his moments with his ex-wife as much as he does but he can’t help it.

She hadn’t agreed to renew their wedding vows. In a fit of defiance, to show just how very resilient he is, he’d gone off and bedded others, but he always comes back to her and she always comes back to him.

He chuckles.

In a sleepy voice she says, “What?”

Sliding a hand down her thigh, he sighs. “This is foolish, Sigyn. You and I, we belong together.”

She presses her face into a pillow, and sighs. “I do miss you …”

Hope rises in his chest. “Then come back,” he whispers in her ear. “All you have to do is say the words.”

She huffs. “Are you sure you want to give up your life as a free man? I’ve heard about your exploits.”

Loki bites back his mirth. Is that his only obstacle now? “I would gladly give up my freedom to know I will never share you with anyone.”

She turns her head, as much as she can on her side, and raises an eyebrow.

He grins. “I freely admit I am a selfish, jealous man, but if it suits your purposes, why should you care?”

Her lips part, and her eyes widen. “And do you know my purposes?”

For a heartbeat, Loki does not know what to say. But he recovers. “With the ferocity with which you’ve been training with the Valkyries, I’d guess it would be to bring Odin to his knees.”

Her mouth snaps shut. And then she raises an eyebrow. “And how do you feel about that?” Her tone is light, playful.

Loki licks his lips. “I would so much rather it be me kneeling before you.”

Her jaw gets hard. “This is just a joke to you, isn’t it?”

He shakes his head and kisses her. “No,” he whispers. “This is no joke.” He wants her back desperately, in this house, in this bed. He lost more than a lover when she moved away … maybe she is stability, maybe she is hope … no, she’s more than those things. She is his fellow conspirator, the only person over all these years who has always been on his side. She’d helped him kill Baldur, nursed him in the cave, given him two strong boys, and saved him in the land of the Dark Elves. In her ears he whispers, “You are my victory, Woman.”

“Victory over what?” she says.

“Everything,” he whispers. “Come with me before the judges of the Diar. Let us renew our vows.” He slips his hand around her waist, pulls her close, and feels her soften in his arms. They still work together, still fit together, and he knows she will say yes.

“We can go today,” he says. “Before Thor and I go to the Iron Wood.”

Sigyn’s body becomes rigid.“The Iron Wood?” she says.

Loki sighs. “Ah, well, Thor is going for his usual winter hunting trip, and Odin has asked me to go with him.”

“Odin never asks you to go with Thor on his winter hunting trips in Jotunheim,” Sigyn says. “He is afraid you’ll stay with your kin.”

Loki harrumphs. “My kin despise me more than most of Asgard, and Jotunheim is very cold.” He kisses the back of her neck. “Don’t worry, I’ll be home soon.” He tries to move his hand lower, but Sigyn catches it.

“Why is Odin really sending you to the Iron Wood, Loki?” She looks up at the ceiling. “This is about Gullveig, isn’t it? He’s always hated her. What has he ordered you to do?”

Loki’s skin flushes at mention of Gullveig. She is the cousin of his dead wife Anganboða and leader of the tribes of the Iron Wood. “I’m not being ordered to kill her,” he snaps, yanking his hand from hers. Odin has asked him to kill for him before, but always people Loki was all too happy to end, like Baldur or the Dark Elf that kidnapped the child of Thor’s adopted son, Ullr.

Sigyn sits up, circling an arm over her breasts. “Then why are you going?” There is a frantic edge to her voice.

Loki sighs. “There are rumors she and her people have been intervening with affairs of humans on Midgard.” Odin does not allow magical creatures to venture to Earth or interfere in human affairs. The Allfather gave an oath to someone that he would protect humans from magical interference, Loki has never been able to divine who, but he knows the arrangement pleases Hoenir and Sigyn herself—lately she’s become very fond of humans. Surely, she can see how this time the Allfather’s interests are her own?

Sigyn shakes her head. “No, no, I would know if that were true! I follow affairs on Midgard more than anyone. I read the tapestries Frigga weaves of that realm and the dregs in Hoenir’s teacups.”

Rubbing his temples, Loki sighs.“The rumors are real.” Whatever Sigyn believes, Loki could tell Odin had not been lying. Dropping his hand, he meets her eyes. “I will investigate. If I find an open World Gate, I will destroy it … those are my only orders.” He leans forward and takes Sigyn’s hands. “Gullveig is a weak leader, perhaps one of her own without her knowledge are—”

“She is not a tyrant!” Sigyn snaps. “Just because her rule is constrained by tribal law, that doesn’t mean she is a weak leader! If she were, the tribes would have ousted her long ago.” Sigyn looks away. “No one would get away with such shenanigans under her nose.”

Loki rolls his eyes. “The Iron Wood just prefer a weak, easily manipulated … ” he almost says woman, but says, “... leader ... as a figurehead.”

Sigyn draws her hands away. “That’s Odin talking. He wants to destroy her … I don’t know why, but he does.”

Loki blinks. “You’re being paranoid.”

Sigyn drops her head into her hands. Her chest heaves. Loki touches her side. “Sigyn,” he says.

She lifts her head, and he sees tears standing in her eyes. “He’s using you, Loki.” She takes his hand. “I’ll say yes, I’ll renew our vows, but only on one condition.”

Loki smirks. “Love is not conditional, Sigyn.” Not that he believes that fairy tale— unconditional love is reserved for children.

“My condition is that we move to Jotunheim, to the Iron Wood, that we join the tribes of Gullveig.”

Loki blinks at her. “You’re mad.”

“What is your answer?” Sigyn says.

“No!” says Loki. “Give up life, youth, health, and wealth for a frozen wasteland and death? I love you, I want to keep you! I went to a cave for two hundred years so that I wouldn’t lose you and our children to the slow disease of age.” He looks at their hands. “That would be our end if we are lucky.” In Jotunheim death at the end of a spear, or starvation, would be just as likely.

“Some things are worth dying for,” Sigyn whispers.

“Yes,” Loki says. “But a fight with Odin over nothing isn’t one of them!”

Sigyn closes her eyes; when she opens them, they are wet with tears. “I will miss you.” She pulls away her hand again. “Goodbye, Loki.” She turns, gathers her clothing and leaves the room.

Loki rolls his eyes and rubs his temple. He’ll go to Jotunheim and find out what, if anything, is happening in the Iron Wood. He’ll probably wind up closing a World Gate and uncovering some Frost Giants who have been pretending to be gods on Earth out of Gullveig’s sight. Loki will try not to be too smug when Sigyn realizes she is wrong and he claims his victory. He looks at the empty side of the bed and feels heavy … he shouldn’t feel like he’s lost. Shaking his head at the useless sentimentality, he goes to retrieve his armor.

x x x x

Amy gulps. That was Sigyn’s and Loki’s last night together. In front of her, Sigyn seems to snap from a daze.

Someone’s voice buzzes over the radio. “Gerðr, how long will this storm last?”

In halting English, the Frost Giantess says, “Maybe days … week?”

Sigyn looks over her shoulder at the blizzard. “The snow will obscure Heimdall’s sight and deter Odin from sending troops. We will be safe until the storm ends.”

Rush’s voice crackles in Amy’s ear. “That will be comforting if we’ve frozen and starved to death.”

It’s probably the first thing he’s said that Amy agrees with.

Chapter 5

Using a piece of duct tape, Steve secures Promethean wire to the highest point of the ceiling. The opening of the glove had been tall, but here, in the “thumb,” it’s just a few inches above Steve’s head. He exhales. In the dim LED light he can see his breath, but it’s definitely warmer than it was outside. Where the “thumb” of the glove meets the palm, Warrant Officer Berry drops a curtain of tarp. The wind that had been whistling this far into the glove decreases dramatically. Larson drops a curtain of Promethean wire, completing the magical seal. Steve feels like his ears are being plugged with cotton and as though he needs glasses. Sights and sounds aren’t as sharp when he’s in a space protected by Promethean wire.

“Mission control complete,” says Larson, swinging a flashlight beam around the space.

Steve’s eyes automatically search for Claire. He sees her in a corner with Cruz and Valli. She’s punching Valli’s hands, while Cruz, the biggest and most dangerous looking of the guys, kneels beside her, giving her pointers.

Steve’s jaw gets tight. The SEALs don’t trust him as their leader. The memory of those brief seconds when they didn’t jump at his orders still burns. He watches Cruz adjust Claire’s stance. He can’t order their respect; he will have to earn it. But even if he doesn’t succeed, they’ll protect Claire if something happens to him—he has to let his anger go. Taking a deep breath, Steve surveys the narrow room. It’s just enough space for the twenty-three of them to sleep like sardines.

One of the guys, Rush, sets down some gear with too much force, and Harding cries in what sounds like only semi-feigned horror. “Be careful with my comm unit; that’s my baby!” As she hops over more gear to get to “her baby,” some of the guys chuckle.

Mills, the tall brunette Marine on the team, goes to work erecting a contraption that looks like a high-tech grandfather clock. She pulls on a cable underneath a round face, and a light goes on. It’s like nothing Steve saw during his time in the service—they have other advanced energy-conserving tech. Steve touches the radio behind his ear, checking to see that it is secured to the slender cable that runs down through his gear to his boot. In the soles of one of his boots is a pressure charger—everyone has one. The chargers keep their radios juiced and can be used to power up cell phones, too. It’s equipment that isn’t standard issue. Steve’s brow furrows—and it’s good for long missions, too. Evidence perhaps that someone high up in the military knew they’d be trapped here and was trying to protect them?

He runs his tongue over his teeth. It won’t be enough. Odin may be busy fighting a war on two fronts—that’s probably why he sent his lackeys the first time—but he won’t make the same mistake again. Next time they’ll be facing disciplined troops, and they’ll be without weapons that work against the Einherjar’s magical armor.

Leaning on a rolled sleeping bag next to where Lewis hovers over Tucker, Bohdi pauses cleaning his blade. Meeting Steve’s eyes, he lifts an eyebrow. There’s no magic in the room, but Steve’s known the kid long enough to read the expression, Everything okay? To anyone else Steve would say everything is fine. To Bohdi, Steve mouths the word, no, tips his head to the rations that won’t last more than a week at the rate they’re going—they had lost a good chunk of the bear meat with Harding’s snowmobile. He lifts his eyes to the low ceiling and glances at everyone around them bumping shoulders. Even a well-trained unit grates on each other in a small space, but with the tension among the civilians, the special ops team, the Asgardians, and the Frost Giantess, fights are going to break out. Steve shrugs to convey the silent message, everything is wrong.

Bohdi grins. Steve allows himself a tight smile in return, wondering when he got in the habit of telling Bohdi the truth.

Bohdi slips his blade away and falls back against the sleeping bag, the only thing separating him from Lewis. His head nearly touches her shoulder. Steve blinks, remembering finding them the morning before they left, Lewis curled up on a couch, Bohdi curled up on a bean bag, their bodies turned to one another but not touching. Something nags at him. Steve looks longingly to the space beyond the thumb of the glove, not covered in Promethean wire. There’s something important he’s missing, if he just clears his head … Almost unconsciously, he takes a step toward the exit.

From behind him Rush says, “So I want to know how Patel managed to take out four armed warriors with a knife.” Steve sighs. Apparently, they’re going to start getting on each other’s nerves right now. Steve turns, about to speak, when Park, the Korean American guy says, “Are you kidding me? You should have seen what he did to the guys kidnapping the little girl. He dropped out of the sky like an angel of death.”

Steve’s eyes slide to Bohdi. The kid is looking at the floor, his lighter is out and he’s flicking it agitatedly. Lewis is looking at him, eyes wide and worried. Larson steps into Steve’s line of sight. The lieutenant’s posture is stiff, his hands are behind his back. “I have a question for Captain Rogers. How did you know Odin’s men had arrived and where they were coming from?” The accusation is loud and clear in his tone.

Steve can feel all eyes on him; he has to play this carefully. Trying to loosen them up, he says, “Because Bohdi doesn’t take ten minutes to hit the head.”

Larson’s jaw remains hard, but some guys around the room chuckle.

Flicking his lighter, Bohdi says, “Unless I have a magazine.”

Suggestive noises rise around the room. Putting a hand to his chest, Bohdi affects an air of wounded innocence. “It takes me hours to get through Popular Science … I don’t know what you guys are thinking about.”

One side of Larson’s lips quirk; it’s a tiny crack in his armor, but Steve has to use it. He decides to divulge a bit of the truth. “I don’t really know why I knew,” Steve says. Thinking on it, he knows Bohdi is a vortex of chaos, and if Asgard was going to attack he would somehow be in the center of it. Still, Steve hadn’t consciously thought that at the time, he just knew. Like he knew there was something wrong with this mission from the start. He meets Larson’s eyes. “Since the serum, my memory is better. My power to make deductions comes faster.”

“The whale, you knew it would come out of the ice right in front of us. If the captain hadn’t said anything I would be dead,” says another man. It takes Steve a moment to remember his name—the man is Brill. Is the Promethean wire is interfering with his ability to remember?

Steve shakes his head. “If I think about it, Claire and I watched a National Geographic documentary about dolphins a few weeks ago. They hunt cooperatively. Some species work together to frighten fish up onto the beach. The dolphins then snap them up, a lot like the orca creatures here, actually.”

“Orcas are dolphins,” says Claire excitedly. “The show said that.”

Steve gives her a smile. He’d only watched the show because she wanted to watch it. He turns back to Larson. “I think my subconscious made all those connections.”

Lewis pipes up. “It’s the magic. It makes everyone more who they are. Steve—Captain Rogers—has always been good at putting things together.” She meets Steve’s eyes. “It makes him the best bureaucracy wrangler on the east side of the Mississippi.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. He doesn’t have to fake being affronted. “What do you mean only on the east side?”

Bohdi and Beatrice snort, and a few of the guys huff in laughter.

Tucker clears his throat. His expression is earnest and open. “You said every one of us is magic … Does that mean we’ll be able to open World Gates? Make ice?”

“No,” says Gerðr. “Too weak.”

“Weak for now,” says Sigyn. “But every day I’ve watched Captain Rogers grow stronger. You will develop talents that are part of your magical natures. In time you may be able to learn to do things that aren’t part of your magical natures, but it will take years, even decades of study. There are two parts to making fire, ice, or World Gates, if those things are not innate: First, you must be able to harness magical energy; and second, you must understand the process you are trying to accomplish at its most basic level—that is the hardest part. Even if you were to have a magical object, without decades of study, you wouldn’t be able to use its power. ”

“Magical object?” someone says.

Without thinking Steve says, “Laevithin.” It’s Loki’s sword and was charged by Cera, and it’s been on Steve’s mind a lot lately. It’s the most powerful magical object they know of; combined with Promethean wire it can be used to open World Gates. He sucks in a breath … The team hadn’t been given Laevithin ... that’s when he suspected something was wrong.

Someone clears his throat, and Steve says quickly, “Magical objects can be used as batteries.”

His mind returns to the blade. He hopes whatever allies they have are keeping Laevithin away from Odin. He presses his hands to his jaw. If Odin had Laevithin’s power they’d all be dead—there are still good people in the FBI fighting for the human race.

Valli snorts. “Real men don’t use magic.”

Taking off his helmet, Berry scratches behind his ear. “Why?”

“Because magic is for women,” says Valli, in a voice that says isn’t-it-obvious.

Sigyn sighs. “Your father, Odin, and Hoenir are all masters of magic.”

“Back on topic,” says Berry. “Are there any immediate advantages to being magical?” He sounds frustrated.

Trying to turn around the collective mood, Steve, says, “You’ll recover from any neural damage you receive.”

There are murmurs throughout the shelter. Traumatic Brain Injury, commonly known as TBI, was one of the hallmarks of the injuries from the conflicts of Iraq and Afghanistan. Steve’s eyes flick among the men. Every one of them has to know someone who suffers from it.

“Really?” someone says.

“Really,” Steve says. “A day before you met me I was completely paralyzed from the neck down. It wasn’t TBI, but the principle is the same.”

Lewis says, “Yes, exactly.”

There are a few whistles. “Wow,” says Mills, pushing back a lock of her dark hair.

The doctor continues. “You’ll also age more slowly, heal faster, and be less susceptible to many types of infections.”

There are a few more murmurs. Park leans against the wall, and says, “So let me get this straight, those things—and some things that are in our magical natures—will just come to us, without real study or effort?”

“Yes,” says Gerðr.

Park grins. “So my magical nature could be fire.”

“Is possible,” says Sigyn. “But you’re all warriors by trade; it’s likely your magical natures will be manifestations of that. You’ll be stronger, your aim truer, nothing specific.”

“How long will it take before we know our magical natures?” says Harding, sitting beside one of her comm boxes.

Before anyone can answer, a shot rings out from beyond the tiny room.

x x x x

Nari’s voice rings out from behind the tarp and in the radio in Steve’s ear. “Norns! What did you do?”

Redman’s voice crackles next. “It’s okay. Just a misunderstanding.” His voice is oddly tremulous.

Steve’s already stepping out from behind the tarp, rifle raised, the team following behind. Through his sites, he sees a bear rearing on its hind legs, jaws open, claws outstretched. The beast is ready to strike Redman, who is standing calmly beside it. Nari is just a few steps away.

Holding up his hands, Redman cries, “Don’t shoot!”

Someone shoots anyway. The “bear’s” head explodes in a burst of snow.

“Awwww….” Redman says. “You shot Teddy.”

There is a moment of absolute silence.

And then Cruz, the big SEAL who had just been teaching Claire to throw a punch, says, “You made a snowbear?”

“When you were supposed to be on patrol?” Larson demands.

Redman coughs. “I thought it might scare away other animals and people, Sir.”

“It scared me,” says Nari. “I was walking the perimeter outside. When I returned, I shot at it immediately.”

“And missed?” says Cruz, tilting his blonde head like an enormous confused puppy.

“It’s snowing out there!” says Nari. “Visibility is poor!”

“It was a really good likeness,” says Bohdi, slipping between Steve and Larson and over to the statue. “Do you think you could give it a new head?”

“I think so,” says Redman, bending over and picking up a clump of snow.

At that moment, Fenrir dashes to the sculpture and begins tearing it apart with her paws. Redman’s shoulders fall. Bohdi looks down at Fenrir. “What are you looking for, Girl?”

“Redman,” Larson says, “You can’t be building snowmen on patrol—”

“It’s his talent,” says Lewis, her voice soft.

Redman begins to stammer. “After I make them the urge stops. I think I can control it if I just make something.”

Steve looks at the pile of snow—he hadn’t considered what magic could do to discipline. Redman can’t be distracted while on guard duty—it could get them all killed.

As if hearing his thoughts, Larson snaps, “That’s not good enough.”

Gerðr’s voice rises behind them. “He can’t help it.” Steve turns to the Frost Giantess. She’s standing just beneath the tarp—it’s draped over one of her shoulders like a curtain. “It is hard … to have a talent you cannot turn off. No punish. Please.”

Steve hears Larson take a long breath.

Steve looks back to the man who is evidently the mission’s resident artist. “Redman, you’re relieved. Get into mission control. Cruz, you’re on watch while we figure this out.”

“Yes, sir,” says Redman, snapping to attention and then heading back into the Promethean wire room. Gerðr and Larson follow. The other SEALs start filing back in, but Steve hesitates, enjoying being out of the small, claustrophobic space, even if he swears it’s getting colder by the minute. Claire comes over to stand beside him. “I thought it was a nice bear,” she says, looking at the statue that has been reduced to a pile of snow by Fenrir’s ferocious paws. Steve rubs her shoulder. Touching his daughter is reassuring—she’s still alive—it’s also terrifying. Her shoulder blade feels so tiny and delicate even beneath the layer of gear she wears.

“What a useless talent,” says Rush.

“I wish it was mine,” Bohdi says. “I think it’s awesome.”

Steve’s hand pauses. He feels a spark in his mind. The incarnation of Chaos thinks Redman’s talent is “awesome.” He remembers Ratatoskr’s words, The team with Chaos always wins.

Behind the tarp, Steve hears Larson say, “There has to be some way to turn this talent off.”

“No! Lieutenant, wait,” Steve shouts, spinning around. Stepping through the curtain, he finds all eyes on him and hope growing in his chest. “We don’t turn off anyone’s talents,” Steve says. “We find out what they are and how to use their magic.”

x x x x

Bohdi’s magic is useless. Amy is lying in his arms. Her eyes are closed. There is a neat, round bullet wound on the side of her neck and blood is seeping through her shirt. He has a moment of panic … How did this happen? He glances down at his hands; where they aren’t in medieval-meets-video-game chic armor, they are blue.

He’s dreaming again, and he wants to wake up, but that would mean leaving Amy, and he can’t to do that, even in a dream. He hears a voice whisper in his mind, You destroy everything beautiful. It’s a strange voice, but Loki recognizes it—it’s Baldur’s voice. The vision of Amy blurs and he is looking at another woman with skin so white it might be porcelain, features so symmetrical they make him ache, and long black hair. Her blue eyes are wide and cloudy with death. He knows her name—Anganboða, it means joy bringer. And then his vision blurs again, and he’s looking at golden-skinned Sigyn; and then it’s Amy again. He begins to shudder, and then his thoughts—or Loki’s thoughts—flood his mind, and he is Loki.

Amy is not Anganboða, or the fearless Sigyn; she is fragile, human, and weak in body and mind. But she’s been in his bed, and he enjoyed her company more than he should have—she’s clever enough, for a human. She said she loved him … foolish creature … as though she could know what love is. She is a child.

Loki hears footsteps. Closing his eyes, he sends his consciousness through the building. They’re sending a team in to kill him. He could steal into the In Between, leave this place, emerge in another … but … he looks down at Amy. She’s too weak. The passage might kill her.

She’s probably as good as dead, anyway; he should leave. He hears the men in the hallway and almost leaves, but then he remembers hearing her in his mind. Maybe that isn’t love, but it is a connection. She is important in some vital way to him. Or she was important until they killed her. He starts to laugh, and his voice sounds mad even to his own ears. Closing his eyes, he imagines the space he occupies appearing empty. He hears a man slip into his apartment and makes that man appear as himself. The man is promptly shot by one of his own. Loki continues to laugh. In his arms, Amy’s eyes open abruptly. “Bohdi?” She turns her head, and whispers, “I don’t know if I should wake him.”

Everything goes dark. It takes Bohdi a moment to realize his eyes are open. He’s awake and still in the thumb of the giant’s glove. He hears wind, and then a dim bluish light flickers on. He finds himself staring up at Amy, holding her phone up for light. Without thinking he reaches up and touches her neck. Her pulse beats against his fingers, her skin is completely unmarred.

Gently taking his hand, she says, “So I guess I probably don’t need to ask if you were having a bad dream?”

Bohdi pulls away, feeling vaguely dirty. He didn’t like being in Loki’s head. He’d always thought that Loki was in love with Amy and that’s why he gave her the memory dump; she’d always insisted otherwise. But Loki didn’t love her, he just … needed her? Took comfort in her? He finds his nostrils flaring, and his skin heating.

“Bohdi?” says Amy.

“I’m fine.” It comes off gruffer than he means it to. She shifts slightly. Before she can pull away, he grabs her hand and stares down at her fingers. They’re very small, soft, and very fragile compared to his own—but Amy outsmarted Odin in this universe and another and out-maneuvered the U.S. military-industrial complex. Yet Loki thought she was weak—it makes him furious.

He pulls Amy’s hand to his chest, unable to meet her eyes, but not wanting to let her go, and wanting to apologize, even if he isn’t Loki.

“We’re all having weird dreams.” Park’s voice is a whisper, but it hits Bohdi like a thunderclap—he hadn’t realized they were being observed. His eyes slide to Park squatting down beside them, outfitted in all his gear, rifle slung over his back. “But yours was the freakiest. You were laughing maniacally.”

Bohdi’s eyes dart to Amy; she’s staring down at their fingers. She’s not pulling away. He’s not letting go.

Park rattles on. “I thought maybe some evil Asgardian had somehow managed to teleport in here or something. Can they do that?”

“Loki and maybe Odin could travel through the In Between,” Amy says, and Bohdi’s muscles tense in recognition of the word. Amy looks up at the ceiling. “But not into a room lined with Promethean wire.”

“That’s not comforting,” says Park. “That means anywhere out there they could …”

“Park, your shift’s not over. Get your butt back out there,” Warrant Officer Berry grumbles in the dark.

“Yes, Mister Berry,” says Park, standing up, the weak LED flashlight he carries bobbing as he rises.

“Is it still snowing?” asks Amy quickly.

“So bad, it’s hard to tell if it’s day or night,” Park says.

Bohdi hears Amy release a long breath. As long as it’s snowing, they’re relatively safe. Even if Heimdall finds them in their hideout, Odin would have to create a World Gate, and any of the Asgardians or Gerðr would be able to sense that. The team would be able to make a mad dash to the mountains on their snowmobiles before the troops were even here. The balloons and drones they let loose when they first arrived are still in the sky. With their tech to guide them through the whiteout, they might just escape, or they might die. But Odin’s men would be lost in the blizzard.

Once the snow stops, however, there is a World Gate about two miles away that the Allfather might use—the same one Loki and Thor used when they spent the night in this very spot.

Bohdi’s fingers slip between Amy’s. She has given him meaning—to trick Odin into paying attention to the team on Jotunheim while magic spreads to humans on Earth. To do that he has to stay alive. His mind spins in the darkness. The dream … Loki had used illusions to trick the SWAT team into killing one another.

“Too bad none of us are strong enough to create illusions,” Bohdi says. Sigyn had explained last night that magical invisibility was much simpler than illusions. For invisibility, one could piggyback off the naturally-occurring phenomena of quantum entanglement. Entanglement allows photons to be in two places at once—both behind the object they want to hide and in front. But creating illusions requires the splitting of beams of light into different wavelengths of color and the blocking of some light to create shadows. It requires a lot of imagination and a lot of power. None of the magic users can create illusions—and they can’t even perform invisibility to the same extent Loki could.

“We’ll think of something,” Amy says. Her fingers slide and entwine with his, and he doesn’t feel the cold anymore. He pulls their joined hands to his lips without thinking, but then from somewhere in the camp comes the tinny sound of a phone playing Reveille.

Guys groan and a light flicks on. Bohdi doesn’t release Amy’s hand. Since they’ve discovered they’ll be stuck here, the men’s glances at the women on the team have been a little less professional, a lot more longing. They can’t have her.

A shadow suddenly looms over them both. Bohdi blinks up to see Beatrice scowling down at him. She jabs Bohdi with her umbrella. “Ouch!” says Bohdi, releasing Amy’s hand and rolling backward, sleeping bag and all.

“Grandma!” Amy exclaims.

Beatrice’s eyes remain trained on Bohdi. “What are you doing lying there? Where is Fenrir? She was here the night before!”

Amy bolts upright. “Where is Fenrir?”

Brill, one of the guys who had been on the first shift of guard duty last night mumbles, “Probably out digging in the snow. Dog is awesome. Dug us out when the whole entrance was snowed in.”

“Go back to sleep, Brill,” Berry says. “You haven’t had your eight hours.”

Brill rolls over in his bag and within seconds is snoring.

Bohdi pulls himself into a sitting position and starts rifling through his bag for his clothes. A few bodies over, Claire sits up. “Oh, I want to see the snow!” She scampers out of her bag, only wearing the long underwear she had borrowed from Mills that are several sizes too big for her.

“Put your clothes on, Claire!” says Beatrice. But Claire’s already dashing beneath the tarp. From beyond the curtain, Steve’s voice thunders, “Claire!”

Bohdi finds himself grinning as he pulls on his pants and hears chuckles from the other guys. He looks over to Amy and finds her face stricken as she quickly pulls on her clothes. Before he can ask what’s wrong, Steve’s voice comes from beyond the tarp. “What the hell?”

x x x x

The snowmobiles wait in neat lines in the palm of the glove. Outside the storm rages on, making the interior of the glove dim as dusk. Claire stands next to Amy’s mutt, her features hard to distinguish in the gloom. But Steve can see her eyes, wide and frightened.

“What is it?” Claire says, voice shaky.

Steve’s got his Glock out and aimed at the thing on the top of her head. It looks like the evil child of a rat and a spider, and Steve’s never liked either.

“That,” says Valli, on guard duty, “is a spidermouse. Extremely venomous.”

Cold dread washes through Steve. His hands shake. The thing on Claire’s head cheeps. He hears Park’s safety clicking, and then hears the tarp swing up behind him, and Dr. Lewis’s voice. “Don’t shoot!”

Steve doesn’t shoot, but he doesn’t put his weapon down, either. Keeping a beady eye on Steve, the thing rubs its nose with a wicked-looking long forearm.

Running past Steve, Lewis scoops the thing off of Claire’s head. The thing gives a cheep, runs on its long legs up her arm, and then slides into the collar of her shirt.

Patting the little lump above her breast, Lewis says, “He’s really very friendly.” The creature turns around and pokes its nose out and squeaks.

“Lucky mouse,” someone says.

“Oh, he’s cute,” says Claire. “Can I touch him?”

“No!” says Steve.

“He’s friendly, Steve.” It’s Bohdi’s voice, right by his ear. “Could you put that thing away?”

It’s at that moment that Steve realizes his Glock is aimed squarely at Lewis. Breathing heavy, he puts it back in his holster. He’s vaguely aware of the other guys coming through the tarp.

“Where did you get it?” Steve manages to grind out.

“Loki gave it to me,” Lewis says. “The night we went out with all my friends.”

One of the guys says, “You were on a first name basis with Loki?”

Steve can feel his brain cataloging that not all of the team is aware of Lewis’s history. “He knew more than her name,” Valli says. And Steve notices a sneer on Nari’s lips … which is odd. Before, on Earth, there were a few moments when he thought Loki’s son was a bit taken with her. These observations are secondary, though. Steve feels something in his brain click, and a sort of buzz of electricity in the back of his skull. “Lewis,” he says quietly, “where did Loki get the mouse-thing?”

She blinks.

“Spidermice come only from Hoenir’s hut,” Nari says. “Odin thought they were too dangerous to be allowed anywhere else. It must have hitched a ride on our father last time he visited Hoenir.”

The buzz in Steve’s mind travels all the way down his spine. To Lewis, he says, “Did Loki get it in Washington, D.C.?”

Her eyes widen. “Yes! How did you know that?”

His eyes go to the creature. Its whiskers are trembling. “You sent me an email about them appearing in D.C.” That was just a little while before Loki got hold of Cera … and apparently they could have only come from Hoenir’s hut. Which meant Hoenir had to be in D.C., too.

“Oh, that’s right … I didn’t have Squeakers then. Loki gave it to me after our fight. He knew I’d like him.”

In as calm a voice as he can manage, Steve says, “You didn’t tell me.”

Lewis puts a hand over the creature. “Because you would have done experiments on him!”

“It’s venomous.” The words come out a hiss, even though Steve doesn’t mean them to.

“I didn’t know, and he saved me from the other Loki!” Lewis says.

“Other Loki?” says Sigyn.

Bohdi steps over to Amy. “Squeakers saved us from Odin,” Bohdi says.

Steve’s eyes slide to the kid. Bohdi smiles, cheery and dangerous. “Don’t mess with Squeakers, Steve.”

For a moment, Steve’s vision goes completely white in fury. Bohdi had kept that thing a secret after all Steve has done for him?

“Is he really friendly?” someone whispers. Maybe it is Cruz.

“Yes,” says Amy, too brightly. Her face dims a little, and she says. “Unless you try to attack me, then he bites.”

“That’s what makes him great,” says Bohdi, giving a smirk that is so like Loki, Steve almost shivers.

A gust of wind whips into the glove, and Steve does shiver. But the cold brings his mind into focus. The bigger enemy is out there and Steve needs Bohdi. Turning around, he counts down from ten. He sees but doesn’t see Larson staring at him. He feels the buzz down his spine again. “I know who Prometheus is.” But he’s not sure how he knows.

“A Titan?” asks someone.

Larson’s eyebrows jog up. “The government source?”

Steve nods. Prometheus was the source who supplied humans with Promethean wire and said Loki was “the Good Guy.” Loki said the Promethean wire was Vanir…

“Sigyn,” Steve says quietly. “Did Hoenir really spend time in Vanaheim, as part of a prisoner exchange?”

He hears her step beside him. “Yes, but it was before my time.”

“In the myths,” Steve says, “he created humans …”

“He was, I think, an advocate for humankind,” Sigyn whispers. “But Mimir always said evolution created the races of the Nine Realms.”

All the pieces click into place. Spidermice were only found in Hoenir’s hut and, apparently, in Washington D.C. The senators who visited Steve in the hospital and asked him to come on this trip called themselves the Prometheans. He never asked if they had met Prometheus, but if they had, D.C. is probably where it would have happened. Prometheus said he couldn’t get to Amy and Bohdi in Nornheim because his doors were closed, and Sigyn had said Hoenir used doors in his house to walk between realms. Hoenir is Prometheus. Steve is almost sure of it.

“Steve?” says Sigyn.

Steve turns around. His eyes go to Lewis. Bohdi’s got a hand on her shoulder. The kid’s giving Nari and Valli a look like he might kill them. Lewis has the spidermouse in her palm and is showing it to Cruz.

Creation and Chaos are always together, and together they are stronger than Order. His eyes drop to the hard-packed snow beneath his feet. In the myths, Prometheus gave humans fire. In real life, Hoenir had given humans protection from magic. His eyes lift. Lewis with Bohdi gave humans magic …

Hoenir can’t kill or even maim, according to the Asgardians. What had Harding and Mills said about Lewis? She throws punches like she is swatting a fly?

He takes a step toward Lewis and Bohdi. Could Hoenir have handed off the mantle of Creation to Lewis? Is Lewis the Creator? Is that why Odin wants her so badly? She has that curious gap in her memory after Loki’s confrontation with the World Seed ...

For a moment, Steve can’t breathe. And then all the carefully constructed pieces of the puzzle break apart in his mind. If Odin knew that Lewis was Creation he would have come himself and snatched her up personally. She’s interesting to the Allfather, but not that interesting.

He rubs his temples. Since the confrontation with Cera, Prometheus has contacted him several times … which is very interesting, but it kills his theory. If Prometheus is Hoenir, and Hoenir has been confirmed alive since Loki’s death, then Lewis can’t be the Creator. “Damn it,” he mutters. “I hate magic.”

“Sir?” says Larson.

“Nothing,” Steve mutters. Then raising his voice, he says, “Lewis, put that magical … critter … away.” His eyes flick around the room. Most of the men came out not fully dressed when they heard him shout. They’re starting to shiver. Shaking his head, Steve says, “Get dressed people, get breakfast, and then get to your posts.”

Everyone in the room not suited up begins to file toward the tarp. Lewis slips the rodent into her shirt. Just before she and Bohdi slip by, Steve murmurs, “What are you, Doctor Lewis?”

Bohdi and Lewis draw up short. The looks on their faces make Steve take a step back. Their eyes are wide and mouths agape. “What?” Steve says, suddenly feeling as though the ground beneath his feet has shifted.

“That’s almost exactly what Odin asked me,” Amy says.

Steve’s shoulders fall, and it’s not an act. He feels slightly sick to his stomach. Odin has twice tried to abduct Lewis. He swallows. “Forgive me,” he says. “You’re human, of course …” He tries to smile, but can’t quite manage it. He meets Lewis’s eyes. “ … An interesting human who saved my daughter’s life and rescued me from paralysis.” He holds out his hand. “Peace.”

Lewis stares at his hand for a moment and then takes it. Her hand is ice cold and terribly small, which doesn’t make Steve feel any better about what just transpired.

Releasing her hand, he inclines his head toward the curtain. “Now go suit up before you freeze to death.”

Lewis smiles, just a little, and says, “And then we’ll report to our battle stations!”

Steve steps out of their way and watches them go. They’re all but holding hands. Bohdi has a unique ability to drive people away. If he’s found something constant in Lewis, Steve shouldn’t get between them.

Steve hears the crunch of snow. Turning, he finds Sigyn is still in the room, her eyes boring into him. She’s already in full gear, a rifle strapped to her back. He’s not surprised; somehow, the woman is always put together. She meets Steve’s eyes briefly, nods, and then turns and walks out through the snow tunnel to take her turn on patrol.

Chapter 6

In the palm of the glove, Amy sits against a sculpture of a sleeping snowbear. It’s been nearly seventy-two hours and the snow shows no sign of letting up.

Sitting so close he’s almost leaning against Amy, is Bohdi. He’s always near now. Amy’s not sure what’s going on between them. Nothing really, there can’t be. They’re never alone. But “nothing” is not really true, either. She likes it, whatever it is. It keeps her warm and makes her feel more alive, even if she thinks it’s a bad idea.

“I have question,” says Harding, in halting Jotunn. Amy brings her focus back to the small, plucky, blonde woman sitting in front of her. Amy has two “battle stations”: She’s monitoring the men’s and women’s vitals for any change that might be magic related and teaching them Jotunn, the language of the Frost Giants. The language lessons were Steve’s idea. He wants everyone’s minds and bodies engaged while they stay in their burrow. Now she and her “students”—Harding, her friend Mills, Cruz, and Park—are sitting on the floor, covered by sleeping bags.

Mills hides a smile behind her hand. Harding pulls out a tiny dog-eared piece of paper. “So, Loki,” Harding glances down at the paper and says in halting Jotunn, “have a silver tongue, true?”

Park groans and says in English, “Man, I don’t want to know about this.”

Amy resists the urge to face palm. Harding had asked her the words for “silver” and “tongue,” as well as a few other odd ones. Evidently, it was a set up for this question. It’s not nice to ask someone about their dead boyfriend … or whatever. Beatrice clears her throat, loudly.

But Harding doesn’t seem to have heard. Her eyes are wide and her lips are parted in a look of such innocent expectation that Amy can’t be mad at her. But for the life of her, she can’t think of a word to say, either.

“What was the question?” says Cruz. “I didn’t understand.”

Amy blinks at Cruz. He is probably the best looking of the guys; he’s almost as tall as Steve, has blonde hair, blue eyes, and a face that wouldn’t look out of place on Asgard. He also sometimes seems to be a little bit slow on the uptake. Amy’s eyes slide to Bohdi; he’s got a devilish smile on his face. He understood. So far, Bohdi, Beatrice, Park, and Steve are learning Jotunn fastest. Beatrice says it’s probably because she, Bohdi, and Park are already multilingual. Steve says he’s learning it fast because his polyglot friend Dale taught him how to learn languages. Amy suspects that with Steve it might be an extension of his need to know everything.

“Come on,” says Harding, wiggling a little in her sleeping bag, “you can tell us.”

Amy hears footsteps. She looks up to see Sigyn approaching. “Yes, he did,” Sigyn says, unflappable, as always. Eyeing Harding, Sigyn says, “Any other questions?”

Leaning closer to Amy, Harding whispers, “What about his sons?”

Amy’s jaw drops. “How would I know that?” Despite being put on the spot, she almost laughs. The Marine looks up at Sigyn. Sigyn sighs. “I have a feeling you’ll do your best to find out.”

Giving an easy smile, Harding shrugs. Mills’ lips quirk and the quiet brunette nods.

Park groans.

“I think I figured out what you were talking about,” says Cruz. “It was gun size, wasn’t it?”

Gun, Amy has learned in the past few days, is a euphemism for male equipment.

Mills sticks out her tongue. Harding says, “No.” Bohdi laughs.

Cruz pulls back. “Then what—”

Steve’s voice rings through the small space. “Okay, everyone, time for a break. Patel, you’re on guard duty.”

Amy stands up, grateful for the chance to avoid any more personal questions. All around her, guys start saying, “Can we have a snack?” And, “Can’t get me enough of that bear jerky!” She frowns. The guys have been eating at least eight thousand calories a day in a combination of magic and cold-induced hunger. The women have been eating slightly less—except for Claire. She’s been eating as much as the guys. Amy’s eyes go to Fenrir. Oddly, her dog’s appetite has been mostly normal for a dog that is now the size of a Great Dane. Amy tilts her head. Fenrir is sitting next to Berry as he cleans his rifle. Her dog seems fascinated by their weapons for some reason.

Motion catches her eye. One of the guys, Brill, is apparently teaching Claire a ninja-esque move. Pivoting on one leg, he leaps into the air. As he does, something shiny goes flying from his neck into the snow at Amy’s feet. Amy picks up the small, glittering piece of metal. Examining it, she whispers, “A Star of David.”

Brill’s attention snaps from Claire to Amy. “Oh, that’s mine.”

Amy holds it out to him. “You’re Jewish,” she says dumbly.

A few days ago, Amy had thought the SEALs and two Marines were almost robots. Now she feels ashamed for that. They’re individuals with their own stories and personalities. Thomas, the big, broad-shouldered guy with a gravelly voice who always has a five o’clock shadow, is a history buff who can darn a mean sock. Upright Larson is divorced. Rush cries in his sleep about his Mom. And uptight Steve has a tattoo on his upper arm with the words “Devil Dog” inked above what he says is a bulldog—the Marine Corps mascot. Steve calls it a “youthful indiscretion.” Amy and Bohdi call it a wolf; it doesn’t look like bulldog at all.

Like she knows all that, she knows that Brill is from Buffalo Grove, Illinois, and that he was studying online for a degree in philosophy because “the only thing worth studying is mathematics and philosophy.” He knew that “Bohdi” means enlightenment because of his studies. She kind of has a soft spot for Brill because he was the one who said Loki’s involvement in the retreat at Dunkirk “made sense on a philosophical level.” How had she missed that he’s Jewish?

In a high falsetto voice, one of the guys, Beckman she knows now, pipes out, “Oh, no, the Zionist Conspiracy is here!”

Everyone, including Brill, laughs. Brill slides one hand beneath Amy’s and takes the Star of David with the other. “We’re underrepresented in the military,” he says. He meets her eyes—his eyes are brown flecked with gold, his best feature she thinks—smiles and winks. And then in a loud booming voice, he adds, “but overrepresented as Medal of Honor recipients!” There are laughs and groans around the room.

Brill is still holding her hand. “Thanks,” he says. “My granny gave this to me.”

Amy gingerly pulls her hand away. She likes Brill, she likes all of them, but the attention can be a little much. Loki had a theory he called “The Law of Twelve Times.” He believed that whenever men outnumbered women, every woman appeared twelve times more beautiful than she would under ordinary circumstances. Amy sees it when the guys look at the women when their backs are turned. Still, they keep a respectful distance from her. She doesn’t know if it’s professionalism or because of Beatrice and Bohdi. Her eyes slide to where Bohdi is putting on a muffler and extra gear, preparing to go outside, but staring at where Brill is back at teaching Claire to be a ninja. Bohdi must feel Amy’s gaze, because his eyes slip to hers.

Pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, she looks down, embarrassed, because … she’s not sure. She bites her lip, looks up, and sees he’s already gone. She takes a step toward the door, her foot catches on something, and she nearly sprawls on the ground.

“Oh, sorry!” says Tucker, pulling his feet back. He’s got his phone out, the light of its screen illuminating his face.

Regaining her balance, Amy shrugs. “No problem. What are you reading?”

Pressing a button, Tucker raises his phone. Amy reads the title silently, “A Farewell to Alms; A Brief Economic History of the World.” She blinks … Tucker is the youngest guy, and he looks it. It’s not just his cornflower blue eyes; he doesn’t have the permanent creases on his brow or the smile lines the other guys have. The weighty title looks so incongruous next to his baby face. “A little light reading?” she jokes, keeping her voice low. Tucker smiles bashfully, shrugs, and tucks his nose back into the virtual pages.

Moving on, she reaches Steve, Gerðr, Sigyn, Nari and Larson. The lieutenant is saying, “So do all hominid races of the Nine Realms look like Gerðr and you guys?”

“The Frost Giants are very fair,” says Sigyn. “The Vanir tend to be dark, like Mr. Patel, or Captain Rogers. Many Asgardians and Vanir tend to have Rogers’ and Claire’s hair texture, too. Although in the Vanir hair tends to be black, and among Asgardians, usually is gold. Dark hair and eyes are considered very exotic and attractive among Asgardians and Frost Giants.” Her lips quirk and she looks up at Steve. “You, Mr. Patel and Mr. Park, will get a lot of attention when we reach the Iron Wood.”

Across the glove, Park shouts, “Awesome!”

Steve snorts and shakes his head.

“My husband was Vanir,” says Gerðr. “But his hair wasn’t like Steve’s.” Smiling a little, she lifts a hand. Amy’s mouth falls. Gerðr’s intention is clear. She’s going to pet Steve. You don’t pet Steve. You don’t touch Steve. The handshake he’d given Amy the other day is about the only physical contact she’s received from her boss in this universe … and frankly left her a little overwhelmed; she’d felt finally accepted.

Steve catches Gerðr’s wrist in midair. Not looking at her, he says nothing, just pulls her wrist down and tilts his head, looking too pointedly in another direction.

Gerðr pulls her hand away and cradles her wrist where he touched it. Amy sees something flash across her face. Sadness maybe? But then her lips turn up, and she storms past the others back into the thumb of the glove. Amy looks around the room. Of course it was noticed. A couple of eyebrows are raised.

So quietly Amy barely hears it, Larson says, “That was disrespectful of her, Sir. She’s never learned how to behave around people.” Lifting his chin, Larson says, “Being nice and respectful would only get her into trouble with her magic.” Amy blinks. She doesn’t think of Larson as compassionate, probably because he doesn’t have much compassion for her, but that sounds right.

Steve doesn’t say a word.

“I’ll talk to her, Sir,” Larson says. Steve nods absently at the lieutenant, and Larson leaves the room.

Behind Amy, Beatrice says, “These wings are finished!”

“Try them on me!” Berry cries, not so much standing as bouncing up. Amy watches as Beatrice puts the vest on Berry’s fireplug frame. “I think I may be able to make this fit,” she says. Amy blinks. Her grandmother is distracted. She looks around the room. Bohdi has slipped out already. She looks out at the swirling snow. Some fresh air would be nice … She huffs, who is she kidding, she’d just like to be with Bohdi, alone. What they have probably isn’t anything—or maybe it’s something that will end as soon as they find themselves back in civilization. But they are friends, right? Her eyes slide to the open door. As quietly as she can, she slips out into the blizzard. What harm could it do?

x x x x

Breath misting in front of his face, Bohdi reaches the top of the incline of snow and the space atop the glove that has been affectionately labeled “the turret.” Before, they’d needed four men on guard at all times—one at each side of the glove. Since the glove has been encased in snow they just need two men on top. Rush is there, looking impatient, along with Redman, binoculars to his eyes.

Bohdi nods at Rush. “I’m here to relieve you.”

Rush grunts and swings his rifle behind his back. “Thanks, Hadji.”

Bohdi’s nostrils flare at the slur, and his grip tightens on his rifle. He feels a hand on his shoulder. “Easy,” Redman whispers. “Don’t let him get to you.”

Walking and sliding down the incline, passing the door to the glove, and disappearing into the dugout area that they’re using as a latrine, Rush shouts, “I think I’m going to hit the head and relieve myself.”

“Thanks for the update, man!” Redman shouts, voice dripping sarcasm.

“No problem!” says Rush.

Bohdi snorts. Stamping his snowshoed feet, he flips back the tops of his mittens, pulls out his binoculars, lifts them to his eyes, and sees … snow.

“Hard to believe this isn’t winter,” Redman says.

Bohdi nods. Gerðr has said that now, in the fall, it is warm, and there is a lot of snow in the Southern Wastes, but it will be ‘many times the temperature of ice’ in a few weeks. As far as they can figure, that translates into something around -95 Celsius or -140 Fahrenheit. The snowmobile engines will freeze; and they won’t be able to run if Odin decides to open a gate.

Down the incline he hears Rush say, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bump into you.” Bohdi just barely stifles a sneeze. Who is he trying to harass now?

He hears Amy’s voice. “That’s okay.” His skin goes hot again.

A hand smacks down on his shoulder. “Easy,” says Redman.

Bohdi hears the crunch of snow and sees Amy coming up the incline. Dropping his hand from Bohdi’s shoulder, Redman smiles. “Hey, Doctor!”

Amy’s eyes flit between the two of them. “Oh, hi, John,” she says to Redman, as though slightly surprised to see him. Her eyes come to rest on Bohdi, and Bohdi really wishes Redman would find an excuse to go away. But of course Redman can’t, or won’t, because there are always supposed to be two people up here—and Amy has no military training so she doesn’t count. It’s probably a good thing, because if Bohdi was alone with her he’d get distracted and that would probably be the minute the Einherjar arrive.

Bohdi turns around, irritated at himself and the universe at large. He lifts his binoculars and begins to scan the horizon again. A few days ago, when Amy told him she’d made the serum contagious, Bohdi had a moment of transcendence. He’d felt something so big and so pure for her that he doesn’t know how to put it into words. Since then, very carnal dreams of Amy cloud that feeling of purity. Not that he hadn’t had carnal thoughts about her before—but these are so vivid. And now, when he’s around her, he finds himself ridiculously jealous. Worse, sometimes he finds himself forgetting that he isn’t the person in those vivid dreams … he has to check himself before he slips too far into the role from another life. Slipping too far would probably get him slapped, repeatedly and deservedly.

Even if he keeps his hands to himself, he can’t ask the big questions he wants to ask for fear of giving himself away—to Odin, who might be listening in, if not Amy. Questions about the weird not-carnal dreams he’s having. Why did he dream that he was a dragon and Thor was attacking him? Why had Thor had a brown, braided beard and curly hair, dark skin and dark eyes? Why did he dream about having a hyena head? Did Loki have weird dreams? Or is this just part of becoming magical and is his brain regurgitating every myth he’s ever learned?

“See anything?” Amy asks, sliding beside him.

Bohdi blinks behind the binoculars. He’s gazing to the west, where the existing World Gate to Asgard is. “No,” he says, “just snow.” He hands her the binoculars and rubs his bare fingers.

She looks to the northeast. The Canyon of Kings is there; it’s a pass through the mountains they need to take to reach the Iron Wood. The Iron Wood is closer to the equator and the ocean. It’s warmer there according to Amy and Gerðr, but will still be covered in snow. His eyes go to Amy’s fingers, turning pink where she clutches the binoculars ... If they make it to the Iron Wood. Odin will create a new World Gate in the canyon—and open the World Gate just west of them. They have to go into the canyon or they’ll die, and then they’ll be trapped between Odin’s forces there and on the plain, and they might die anyway. Their plan, such as it is, is to blast their way through.

Dropping the binoculars, she says, “I can’t see anything, just white.” She shakes her head. “It’s like The Next Generation Star Trek episode where the universe collapsed on Dr. Crusher.”

Bohdi feels his lips curl up in a half smile. It’s a lot like that. Amy squints into the swirling gray and the wind whips a lock of hair in front of her eyes. Without thinking, Bohdi catches the loose strand and tucks it behind her ear. She turns to him, eyes very blue beneath her white helmet, and a wave of déjà vu hits him so strong he freezes in place, hand suspended midair. For a moment instead of snow behind her he sees white sheets, and instead of brown his skin is sapphire blue. The ground beneath him seems to shake. Amy looks away and puts her hand on the snow wall beside her, spreading her feet as though afraid she might fall over. Bohdi stumbles backward, and then realizes the world is shaking.

“Whoa, did you feel that?” Redman asks.

“An earthquake?” asks Amy.

Bohdi’s radio buzzes with Steve’s voice. “Everything alright up there? Please tell me that was a natural earthquake.”

Sigyn’s voice buzzes on the line as well. “Jotunheim has many earthquakes.”

Dazed, Bohdi fishes out his binoculars and scans the frozen land. “I don’t see anything strange, I think we’re good.” Putting the binoculars away, he glances at his hands. His fingers are brown, not blue. It was just an illusion, a memory from a dream. Disoriented, and abashed, instead of looking at Amy, he looks to Redman. The other man has a ball of snow in his hand, his legs are braced wide. There is a pile of snow at his feet that has a very deliberate shape.

Meeting Bohdi’s gaze, Redman flushes bright red. “Uhhh … I’m sorry. I know I’m not supposed to. You can report me, maybe you should.”

“Of course we won’t report you!” says Amy. “What are you going to sculpt?”

Looking down at the pile on the ground, Redman stomps his feet. “A tree turning into a woman.” Blinking up at Amy, he says, “That’s kind of weird, isn’t it?”

“It sounds pretty,” Amy says.

Redman winces. “I think it might be sexual frustration combined with being sick of snow.”

“Go ahead and sculpt it,” Amy shrugs. “You won’t be able to focus on anything until you do. And I’d like to see it.”

Redman drops down and begins to sculpt again. Turning away, Bohdi reaches down into his pocket and fishes out his cigarettes. Bohdi almost wishes Odin would attack so they could get it over with. But he shouldn’t wish that; it’s going to be a nightmare. He may be the next incarnation of Loki, but all he has are uncomfortable memories, not the power Loki had. Bohdi can’t create fire or illusions. Turning his back to the wind, he finds himself staring at Redman again. The other man is molding a larger and larger pile of snow. Amy’s helping, adding snow to the top as Redman shapes the base. It’s clearly the form of a tree trunk.

Watching Redman work, Bohdi flicks his lighter. The sky lightens to the west.

Amy straightens and looks to the sky. “Oh, no.” At her words the falling snow seems to slow. Bohdi looks up. Is the storm truly breaking?

The sound of Redman furiously packing snow makes his eyes snap back to the ground. Head bent, Redman keeps working, his hands moving faster, as though he’s desperate to finish before the storm ends.

A beam of light cuts through the clouds and makes the snowflakes glitter like diamonds.

“The storm is ending,” Amy whispers.

But Bohdi can’t look at her, he’s staring at Redman’s sculpture. The base is twisting out like the roots of a tree, amazingly realistic, and sparkling in the new light like magic. Bohdi’s jaw drops. “Steve, the storm is ending.” He hears Steve’s loud intake of breath, and then the command, “Get ready to move out, everyone!” rings over the shared frequency.

Bohdi finds himself smiling at Redman’s sculpture. “No, wait, Steve, we need to talk in the Promethean wire room—I have a plan.”

Chapter 7

Bohdi sucks in a breath. It’s hard to breathe on takeoff—the pressure from the constrictive Harpy vest and g-forces combine to crush his lungs. His muffler has sagged, and the cold air between it and his goggles bites so sharply against his exposed skin it makes tears come to his eyes. Sparse snowflakes dance before him in the sunlight. As they climb higher, the pressure on his chest and abdomen increases, but his legs and arms are free. He feels like a puppet lifted by strings. At least he isn’t as cold this time—he’s wearing a parka over the vest that secures the Harpy wings to his body. Amy slit holes in the coat for him, and then patched up the open areas with duct tape.

“Damn it.” Berry’s voice crackles over the radio. “My girdle got tighter on take-off.”

“I think it’s so you don’t slip out,” says Redman.

“Are you saying I’m fat?” says Berry, raising his voice half an octave.

Redman’s voice cracks in the radio. “Baby, you know I like big girls.”

“Awwww…you’re just saying that,” says Berry.

The banter pulls Bohdi back into the moment. He finds himself grinning. He likes these guys, joking when they’re heading into what will be a fight to the death. The sunlight breaks in earnest through the clouds, a bright beam of light from the west reflects off the snow below, and for a moment Bohdi is blinded.

Berry’s voice crackles on the radio, hushed and reverent. “The statues marking the canyon ...”

Bohdi holds a hand to the glare and looks ahead. For the first time he sees the source of their shelter for the past few days. Two mountain-sized statues of somber men in armor stand on either side of a canyon, a river frozen between them. One of the statues is missing a hand.

“Holy Tolkien, Batman!” says Redman.

“Batmen?” says Gerðr, sounding alarmed. In the corner of his eye Bohdi sees Sigyn raising Valli’s sword. She has it on loan.

“Just joking!” say Redman, Bohdi, and Berry at the same time.

Bohdi hears Sigyn sigh, and Gerðr says, “Not a funny joke.” They swoop into the canyon and into the chill of the mountain shadows. Bohdi hears only the wind and the chattering of his own teeth. The path beneath them is easy … which means the snowmobiles will be able to travel faster … but also leaves little in way of cover and won’t work for Bohdi’s plan.

“Patel, you and Sigyn tell us what you see on the plain,” Berry says. “Redman and I’ll keep our eyes peeled below—Gerðr, do what you have to do.”

Gerðr takes off her helmet and bracelets, and for a moment she is a hovering angel. Bohdi almost commands his wings to fly toward her, but then she vanishes.

“Damn,” Redman mutters, and Bohdi doesn’t have to ask to know he was referring to Gerðr.

“Wings up, slow loop!” says Sigyn. Remembering where he is, Bohdi repeats her words and veers up in a gentle arc until he is horizontal with the statues’ peaks. The mountains north of them are higher than the statues and look jagged and ruthless.

Sigyn begins to fly in a tight circle. Following her commands, and trying to keep his mind off the conflict ahead, Bohdi says, “This has got to be way easier than being a bird.” Or even flying an airplane—the wings know what to do.

Sigyn puts a pair of binoculars to her eyes. “Birds don’t run out of fuel quite so suddenly, and your airplanes have more reliable gauges. I think one of the reasons there is a taboo against men wearing wings is that men tend to be heavier and exhaust their magic faster.”

“Oh,” says Bohdi. “Exactly how suddenly am I going to run out of gas?”

“Your flight path will become erratic, and then you’ll have a few minutes to land.”

“Ahhh…” says Bohdi, taking out his own binoculars.

“Of course,” Sigyn says, swooping in another pass, “these wings are second or third hand. Harpies only get the wings that Valkyries cast out. They probably aren’t as reliable as Valkyrie wings.”

“Did I know that before I suggested doing this?” Bohdi says, gulping at the several hundred foot drop below. Shaking off his fear, he lifts his binoculars and peers back out onto the plain from which they came. He sees the snow of the lake tinted orange with sunlight, the shadows of snow drifts a vivid shade of blue. Far off in the distance, he sees what looks like a river of sunlight stream across the snow—Asgardian armor. Most of the magical armor isn’t invisible per se, it tends to reflect the world around it—and from above, that means the sun. His jaw gets tense, and he feels the cold more acutely. “Odin’s warriors are on the plain,” he says.

Berry’s voice cracks over the radio. “What about our guys?”

Bohdi scans the snow between the canyon and the warriors. He sees a dark splotch cruising quickly across the plain. He focuses—it’s Fenrir sitting on a makeshift sled, her tongue out, and her tail wagging. The team’s gear may not be magical, but their camouflage makes them nearly invisible—he can just barely make out the flotilla of snowmobiles around the giant dog. He feels his shoulders loosen. “Very close to the canyon entrance,” Bohdi says.

Berry’s voice buzzes in his ear. “Have you found where Odin opened the new World Gate, Gerðr?”

“No,” says Gerðr. Unimpeded by Promethean wire bracelets and hat, she speaks in perfect English, but the line is filled with static. “Odin just opened … World Gate … days ago in Chicago … and he’s fighting a war … He will open a World Gate someplace where the fabric of space and time is already weak in order to conserve energy.”

Berry’s voice crackles on the line. “What does that mean?”

There is a burst of static on the line, but Gerðr doesn’t respond. Perhaps she’s moved out of range. Sigyn answers. “Hopefully, that he will not choose a place as strategically advantageous as he might otherwise.”

Berry says, “I think I’ve found a good place for a picnic.”

Bohdi looks down and sees the two men at what looks like frozen rapids. There is a small frozen waterfall with rocks at the base and above it. On the side, the walls of the canyon jut up steeply and are covered in snow. In some places the snow dangerously overhangs the frozen river. Above the initial steep snow pack, rocky mountainous crags jut upward, mostly free of snow.

“Hard for snowmobiles to get through these frozen rapids,” says Berry. “We might have to hop out and push.”

“Yes,” says Bohdi, peering through his binoculars. “I agree.”

“It will be dark in an hour or so,” says Redman. “We’re definitely going to get stuck.”

It’s all code. The frozen rapids would be tricky but not impossible to navigate. However, in the event Heimdall is listening, they want to throw him off.

“Well, we better tell our team to hurry,” says Berry. “Gerðr, found anything?”

Bohdi’s radio crackles with static.

“Damn it,” says Berry. “Easy to get out of range in these hills.”

“Still more effective than having to rely on messages sent by raven,” Sigyn says, voice hard. “When Odin gets his hands on human satellite technology I fear communication between his spies and his warriors …” She doesn’t finish the thought.

“Should I start building a ramp for the snowmobiles?” asks Redman.

“Go ahead,” says Berry.

Staying aloft, Bohdi glances toward the sun. It looks like they have an hour or so of daylight left. He hears the buzz of static in his ear and then Steve’s voice. “We see you. Looks like you’ve found the perfect place for us to get stuck in the snow, Berry.”

Larson’s voice crackles on the radio. “I agree.” And then the lieutenant asks, “Where is Gerðr?”

“She went to find where Odin is most likely to open the new World Gate,” says Berry.

“How long has she been gone?” says Larson.

Bohdi scans the canyon in the direction the Frost Giantess flew. He sees a shimmer in the air, and then Gerðr bursts into view. His earpiece buzzes again, this time with the Frost Giantess’ breathless voice. “I found them. Not too close. Maybe three of your miles. Sixty men. Twelve Valkyries. Don’t think they saw me.” She flies closer to Bohdi, and he starts to feel dizzy and warm, and his mouth waters. He has a vision of the two of them ... with their wings, they could escape into the wild and ...

Gerðr slips on her magic-blocking bracelets and puts on her cap. The warmth fades and Bohdi blinks as she circles down to the ground. He feels disgusted with himself.

Steve’s voice sounds over the radio. “They’re far enough away. We should have enough time. We got lucky.”

Over the shared radio someone snorts.

x x x x

In the canyon’s frozen rapids, Amy hops in place and claps her hands to warm her numb fingers and toes. Poking out from between rocks she sees the faces of the team—or illusions of their faces. They’re all snow sculptures provided by Redman. There is even a likeness of her, bending over a wounded Tucker.

Most of the real team members are above them—either flying in the sky or scaling the cliff faces. The ones on the cliff faces are literally invisible, with the aid of Gerðr, Sigyn and Nari. They are working on their last hopeish plan. The few guys on the ground are peering through their rifle sights either toward the ice plain where an army of “irregulars” wait, or looking deeper into the canyon, now filled with Einherjar. Fenrir is loping back and forth between the canyon walls, wearing a Kevlar vest Amy put on her. A few times Fenrir’s started growling in one direction or another, and Valli has shot a blast of snow with Kusanagi revealing a spy or two. The spies had quickly retreated—they hadn’t gotten close enough to realize the sculptures weren’t real people. At least, that is the hope.

Fenrir stops by a rock, and lifts her nose to the wind. In the Einherjar camp a dog barks; a few more join in from the camp of irregulars. The fur on Fenrir’s back rises, but she doesn’t growl.

Amy looks up at the dark blue evening sky. Bohdi is circling up there in the deepening dark, as are Berry, Beatrice, and Park. From not far away, she hears Claire say, “I could fly up there.”

Amy turns to see Claire standing next to Steve. Her father is leaning against a frozen waterfall that isn’t quite as tall as him, gazing into the canyon. “No, Claire,” Steve says. “Stay down.”

“But I could,” says Claire.

“Dr. Lewis!” says Steve.

Amy jogs over, snowshoes kicking up powder.

“Claire, go help Dr. Lewis,” Steve says, without looking up at Amy.

“But I want to be useful,” says Claire.

Amy sighs. From the mouths of babes. “Come on, Claire,” Amy says, trying to sound encouraging and authoritative. “We can get some binoculars and watch for spies.”

Claire looks up at her. “I want a rifle, too.”

“Ummm …” says Amy.

“No,” says Steve.

Amy hears the crunch of snow, turns, and finds Redman approaching. “All done, Sir,” he says to Steve.

Putting down the binoculars, Steve surveys Redman’s work. “Well, done,” Steve says, sounding slightly awed. He taps his earpiece. “Berry, status?”

Berry’s voice comes over the shared frequency. “Looks like both camps are settling in for the night.”

Bohdi’s voice buzzes over the radio. “This will work better in darkness. The sooner they attack the better.”

Amy wraps her arms around herself; the cold is creeping inside her gear. Her eyes slide to the statues making long shadows in the lantern light. They do look more realistic in the dark.

“Agreed,” says Steve.

Park’s voice buzzes over the shared frequency. “Hang on … What have we here?”

Beatrice’s voice crackles. “Some guys with torches … and one with what looks like an old-fashioned flag are approaching. They look unarmed.”

Amy and Claire both go to the icy embankment of the waterfall and peer over. Rush slides beside them, closer to Amy than he needs to be. Amy pretends not to notice, but then as he checks his rifle—or whatever—his hand brushes her butt. Lightly, like it could have been an accident, but she doubts it. It’s not the first time. And, of course, now isn’t the time to draw attention to it. Rolling her eyes, she scoots Claire and herself closer to Steve and Redman. Redman is peering out over the edge through his rifle sights. The first thing Amy sees is torches, six of them seemingly floating in midair. But then she catches the reflections of the fire flickering on armor. In between the torches is a seventh man carrying what looks like a U.S. flag from colonial times. It has a field of blue in the corner with a circle of stars, and the familiar red and white stripes fill the rest of the fabric. None of the men are armed, but she sort of wishes they were.

“Are they on our side?” Claire whispers.

Amy’s heart sinks. She has a feeling they’ll say they are on the same side, and maybe the Einherjar believe it. Maybe some of the SEALs will believe it, too.

Bohdi’s voice cracks in Amy’s ear. “This is a trick.”

Larson’s voice hums over the shared channel. “We’re not quite done. We need more time.”

Over the radio, Amy hears Steve’s slow intake of breath. The Einherjar get as close as one hundred feet when Steve shouts, “That’s close enough.”

Odin’s warriors could keep going, but they stop and lift their visors, exposing themselves to potential gunfire. Amy tenses. Beside her, Redman spits, but none of the SEALs shoot.

One of the Einherjar looks like he is of African descent, another looks like he might be American Indian, another perhaps Japanese, and the rest look Caucasian. The man holding the flag steps forward. In English that sounds slightly British, he says, “We are Einherjar. We have sworn an oath of allegiance to Odin, the Allfather, protector of the Nine Realms. But we are also human, and Americans. I nearly died fighting alongside General Washington, my fellows fought in the Civil War on both sides, and we fought in the Great Wars in Europe, too. We don’t want to fight you, my brothers and sisters. We want you to join us!”

Whispers rise in the trenches and from behind the barricades of rock and ice. Amy feels like she might throw up.

Thumping his fist over his heart, the Einherjar says, “You have shown yourselves to be noble, disciplined, and loyal. Now you protect your nation—our nation! Under the Allfather you will protect the peace in the Nine Realms and our blessed country. You will never grow old, and you will die, with honor, in battle.”

Amy shivers and stomps her feet. The team is silent, as though spellbound.

Through her earpiece comes the sound of heavy breathing. In an uncanny impersonation of Darth Vader Bohdi says, “Join us and together we will end this destructive conflict and bring peace and order to the galaxy.”

Claire snickers. Amy bites back her own laughter and hears chuckles crackle over the shared frequency “Patel ...” says Berry, and Amy can hear him biting back a laugh, “not the time.”

In the sky, Beatrice shouts, “And does this offer to become a warrior extend to my granddaughter?”

Beside Amy, Redman shifts. She feels eyes slide to her.

“We have orders that Dr. Lewis is not to be harmed,” says one of the Einherjar.

Amy remembers how Odin looked at her at the dining table in Asgard, like she was some fascinating form of insect. Her hands ball into helpless fists. “I’d rather die,” she whispers, and then realizes that her words are being broadcast to everyone on the team.

The man who looks African lifts his chin and begins to speak in a Southern drawl. “Captain Rogers, your skin color is as mine. Know this, among the Einherjar skin color does not matter. Among our ranks we are a true meritocracy.”

For a moment there is nothing but the sound of wings and wind rising high above the canyon’s peaks. And then Steve speaks, voice so even it’s frightening. “You born a slave?”

The Einherjar stands straighter. “I was born one, but I am a free man now.”

There are murmurs in the trench. Amy hears Licht say, “Well, they age well.”

“Have you sworn to obey Odin’s orders?” Steve says.

“That is a warrior’s oath to his superior!” the Einherjar says. Amy blinks. In all of Loki’s memories, there are none of an Einherjar disobeying Odin.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” says Steve. “Our oath is only to obey appropriate orders. You should join us, Brothers, and be truly free.”

It must be the right thing to say, because someone on the team mutters, “That’s right.” Redman shifts beside her as he adjusts his rifle.

The Einherjar scowl. The man who just addressed them looks like he’s shaking something out of his ear. Before Amy can think on it, the first Einherjar says, “You have a daughter, Captain Rogers. Think of her.”

Amy has a moment of panic, and her eyes slide to Steve. She can’t see much of him between his muffler and helmet, only his eyes, trained on Odin’s warriors. Claire is the one thing she thinks Steve actually loves—she’s the only person who can make him visibly emotional. How much will he give to protect her?

Claire’s voice rings in the frosty night, echoing in the canyon. “I’m not going to be a slave!”

Ears splitting from the yell, Amy turns to the little girl—and finds her gone. She hears a tiny, childlike growl, looks back and sees Claire with a beach-ball sized chunk of ice and rocks balanced in one hand, obviously poised to throw it. Amy rushes over and knocks the ice and rocks away just before Claire launches it at the Einherjar … and nearly has the wind knocked out of her in the process. The projectile falls into some unpacked snow and sinks deep as Amy nearly somersaults over it. “How did you lift that?” she mutters.

From the canyon the Einherjar voice rings. “You have until dawn to consider our offer.” They drop their visors, snap their heels, turn, and begin marching back across the snow.

x x x x

Bohdi watches the backs of the retreating warriors. He’d sensed no lie in their words, although he doubts Odin’s definition of not harming Amy would fit his own.

Over the shared frequency Thomas’s gravelly voice rumbles, “If we weren’t going to fight them to the death at sunrise, it would have been nice to have invited them over for a chat.”

Bohdi feels his shoulders loosen a bit. No one’s planning on joining the other team. Why had he been worried?

“If we wait for sunrise, it will be to the death, alright,” Berry says. “Our decoys are very convincing by night, but in the light of day I don’t think they’ll work.”

Bohdi circles in the sky, surveying Redman’s statues. Berry is right.

“We could send a team over,” Steve says. “Start a scuffle.”

“Might piss them off enough to attack,” Berry says.

“Or they’d just kill the reconnaissance team and decide they’d rather have a full night’s sleep before killing us,” Larson replies.

Sigyn’s voice, strained and tremulous, comes over the radio. “Even invisible, it would be hard to go unnoticed by their dogs. I’m not certain we’d be able to reach their camp.”

Bohdi looks across the plain. The Barrett rifles the SEALs carry have an effective range of about eighteen hundred meters. The camps of the Einherjar and the irregulars are about two thousand meters away, with bonfires glowing in the night, shadows of the camp guards slanting across the snow before them, and their lean wolf-like dogs trailing around the perimeter. From what Sigyn is saying, the camps might as well be an impenetrable fortress.

His fists tighten on his rifle. Chaos wins because Chaos cheats. He watches their flickering torches, now about three hundred meters away. “If we kill the messengers,” Bohdi says quietly, “that will piss them off enough.” He closes his eyes, feeling the cold wind burning his skin between his muffler and his helmet. He feels a lump at the back of his throat, like he might throw up. He feels the weight of Steve’s gaze below and knows he won’t like that suggestion—no one will like it.

Over the radio, Rush squawks. “They’re Americans!”

Tucker’s voice cracks over the frequency, breathless and horrified. “They’re unarmed.”

Berry says quietly, “It would have to be a hand-to-hand attack. Our bullets won’t work.”

Bohdi feels a cold weight growing within his chest. “I’ll do it,” Bohdi whispers. “I’m not American.”

“You want to attack unarmed men?” says Larson.

“No,” Bohdi says. He remembers the proud lift of the former slave’s chin, how fearlessly the warriors took off their helmets, knowing the humans would not fire on them.

“We’ll think of something else,” says Steve. Bohdi glances across the plain. The Einherjar are almost back at their camp. He feels a rising wave of panic.

Breath rattling in his ears, Bohdi tries to speak rationally. “I don’t want to kill anyone.” He feels his wings shudder. On the edge of his vision he sees red. He’s furious. Not at the SEALs, or the Einherjar, but at Odin for putting him in this horrible position—killing people who don’t deserve it and destroying the faith the people he cares about have in him. “Ruth, Henry, Laura, Dale, Brett and Bryant, all the others—if they’re alive it’s because Odin’s busy with us. I don’t want to sacrifice my friends—you know they’ll be unarmed when Odin attacks them!”

It’s only when he hears his words echoing back to him from the snowy cliff face that he realizes he’s begun to scream.

x x x x

The desperation in Bohdi’s voice rings through the canyon. Steve looks up into the sky. Through his night vision goggles he is able to pick Bohdi out among the fliers. His flight path is jagged and irregular.

Tucker’s voice hums over the radio. “But if we become our enemy, what are we really fighting for?”

“Yes,” says Larson.

Steve’s teeth grind. He sees the wisdom in Bohdi’s words. But he also needs the respect of the team. They won’t see this as an honorable option. Neither does Steve.

… And then he thinks of Claire and closes his eyes. No. He can’t let her be the deciding factor—even if a little voice is whispering at the back of his mind that attacking now is the best option. He has to think of Earth.

He looks up at Bohdi, bouncing up and down erratically in the air. Steve is literally navigating the seas between order and chaos. There is a moral argument to be made that ending a conflict as soon as possible, by any means necessary, is the moral option.

He looks up at the cliff; the team up there is invisible. He could issue an order for the team down here to attack the retreating Einherjar, but it would be much better to convince Larson it is the right thing to do. Berry is already open to the idea. If Larson gets behind it, the other team members will follow.

He lifts his binoculars to his eyes. The Einherjar are about halfway to their camp. He exhales. He knows how to convince Larson.

From behind him he hears Lewis whisper, “Ask them what they will do to Gerðr.”

Steve turns his head and looks down at the doctor. She has her hand over the microphone of her headset. Her eyes are boring into his.

That was exactly what he was going to do. Gerðr was abducted from her homeland because Freyr, one of Odin’s servants, now serving as Asgard’s ambassador at Chernobyl, had a hankering for her. No one in Asgard had intervened.

“The answer will convince Larson,” Lewis says. Her jaw gets very tight and Steve has a moment of disorientation. For years he’s known Lewis is smart and skilled at her chosen profession—but he’s always thought of her as bumbling but lucky, saved by her association with Chaos. For the first time it hits him that Lewis might be dangerous.

He gives her a curt nod, turns back to the Einherjar, and is about to shout, when over his earpiece comes Harding saying, “Gerðr is gone … she just vanished.” She sounds confused.

“She took a Glock,” says Mills, and she sounds a little hurt. Of course, they’d begun to think of Gerðr as part of the team.

Steve blinks. And then Gerðr materializes in front of the retreating Einherjar. She’s still wearing wings, but not her hat or bracelets.

“Gerðr!” Larson says.

Over the shared radio the Frost Giantess’ voice rises. “Take off your helmets.”

Steve feels no urge to do so. He blinks again. It’s the distance. She’s too far away for the compulsion to work, even if she still looks heartbreakingly beautiful. Her usually wan looks have been transformed to something ethereal and haunting; she seems to glow from within.

The Einherjar take off their helmets. From their camp rises the howl of dogs.

Gerðr raises the Glock. “I will never be your prisoner again!”

By his side, Claire says, “What’s happening, Daddy? Is she going to shoot them?”

Shots ring out in the night. And then a roar from the Einherjar rises in the canyon and is echoed by the irregulars on the plains.

Spinning, Steve takes Claire’s shoulder and pushes her to the cliff face. “This is happening, now!” he shouts. “Wing team, get down here.”

Beatrice, Berry, and Park drop and raise their rifles, but there is no Bohdi. Steve looks up to see a shape swooping from the sky toward Gerðr. Bohdi’s voice cracks over the radio, strangely inflectionless. “Losing my wings. I’ll be most helpful to Gerðr.”

Steve’s heart drops, but Bohdi’s right. He steers Claire to the cliff wall. Lewis is close by with Redman and her dog. Wire lines with hooks fall from the cliff. Steve grabs one with one hand and wraps his free arm around Claire’s waist, pushing her face to his chest, hoping to spare her the view.

“I’ve got the dog and Lewis secured!” says Redman.

“Lift!” says Steve. He is hoisted from above. As they rise, Claire puts her hands on the wire, and the weight of her in his arms becomes next to nothing. Steve blinks. She is supporting her own weight and some of Steve’s all by herself. In the periphery of his vision he sees Bohdi and Gerðr in a tangle of limbs with the Einherjar, more Einherjar spilling from their camp toward them. He hears gunfire and the whizz of plasma. But his eyes are riveted on his daughter. Despite the noise, and the chaos, she’s got a grin from ear to ear, as though everything is just a game.

“See?” she says. “I’m strong!”

For some reason, it is horrifying.

x x x x

The night vision goggles Bohdi wears normally give the world a greenish tinge. But Bohdi’s vision is red. His fury at Odin knows no bounds. Through his haze of rage, he sees three Einherjar sprawled on the ground in blossoming flowers of bloody snow, but the violence seems to have shaken the remaining men from their stupor. One is holding Gerðr’s arm in the air, two more are preparing to lunge. Bohdi fires on two with his Glock before plowing into one of Gerðr’s assailants from above, his arms and chest careening into cold armor. He hears another gunshot, and someone on the radio screams, “Gerðr, Bohdi down!” but he’s already tumbling into the snow, into the Einherjar below him. The man still doesn’t have on his helmet, but he easily dislodges Bohdi, flipping him over, pinning his hand with the Glock. For a moment the man pauses and draws back slightly. He laughs, and even over the sound of gunshots, Bohdi hears, “You’re wearing wings but are not a woman—argr boy!” Bohdi snarls, prepares to flip the man over … and the man’s head explodes in a shower of bone, blood and gore. Bohdi screams and pushes himself backward in the snow.

He hears Larson’s voice in his ear. “Stay down, and get to the wall! Gerðr, do you hear me?”

“Yes,” says Gerðr.

“Move quickly, they’re coming.”

It’s only then that Bohdi hears the pounding and the shouts. He peels off his wings, and begins frantically half crawling, half running through the snow toward the canyon wall. He glances further into the canyon and sees Einherjar tearing out of their camp. He has seconds before they’re upon him. Bullets and plasma fire are whistling overhead, and he’s afraid to stand up and run.

“Come on,” he hears Gerðr say, but can’t see her. The headpiece in his ear buzzes and she says, “Lieutenant Larson, we are about thirty paces from the western wall. Please do not fire on us.” She doesn’t have her magic-blocking gear on, and her English is perfect, almost formal. Bohdi keeps his eyes straight ahead.

Larson’s voice cracks over the radio. “Understood.”

He feels a hand connect with his shoulder and hears Gerðr say, “Stand and run now.”

He runs. He’s only gone a few steps when he realizes something is off. He feels dizzy, unsure of his footing.

“You’re invisible, you can’t see your body,” Gerðr says, before he has time to ask. “Just run!”

Bohdi stumbles forward, the pounding footfalls and screams growing louder. Just as they reach the canyon wall the Einherjar plow past them in a wave. Gerðr and Bohdi fall into a gully behind a bank of snow.

“Are we far enough away from the zone?” Gerðr says.

Bohdi looks over his shoulder and has another moment of disorientation. He hadn’t realized how much he depended on visual cues from his body until now. He shakes the dizziness away and says, “No, we have to keep moving deeper into the canyon.”

He feels her pat his shoulder. “Let’s move then.”

He starts doggedly jogging forward, slipping along the canyon wall as Einherjar pour in the opposite direction. In his ear his radio hums with Berry’s voice. “They’re almost here.”

“Gerðr, Patel, are you out of the zone?”

“Almost clear!” Bohdi says. “Amy, are you, Steve, and Claire out?”

“We’re out,” says Amy. “I can’t see you …”

“Are you bolted to the cliff face, away from the ice and snow?” asks Bohdi.

“Yes,” says Steve. “We are.”

Bohdi feels a weight lift from him.

“Where is Bohdi?” whines Claire, and Steve says, “He’s invisible, too.”

Bohdi pants. “I’m good, Claire, I’m good.” And he is—he can picture his friends in his mind’s eye. Near the rapids, the canyon walls slope upward at a steep angle. Ice and snow had collected above the rapids there, in some places forming dangerous overhangs. But then the mountains sprung up above that, in steep cliffs mostly bare of snow, except for a few crevices—his friends hide in those crevices. The snow below them is filled with charges.

“We have to explode the charges and get out of here,” Berry shouts.

“Go!” shouts Gerðr.

“Do it,” says Bohdi, his lungs starting to ache.

Larson’s voice cracks over the shared channel. “Berry, Beatrice, Park, now.”

On both sides of the canyon explosions sound, as Bohdi’s “plan” goes into the second phase. It gives Gerðr and him a burst of speed. Snow rains on top of them. Bohdi doesn’t look back. He knows what he’ll see. The team is safe on a clear rock face above the blasts. Only Park, Berry, and Beatrice had remained below to offer some genuine gunfire to confuse the incoming warriors, but the Einherjar and “irregulars” hadn’t noticed that. They’d seen Redman’s snow statues and thought they were closing in on the whole team. At Larson’s words, Berry, Beatrice, and Park had leapt into the air just as the Einherjar poured into the SEAL team’s “camp” and the team in the cliffs exploded charges above.

At least that’s the hope. Another round of explosions goes off. Even though they’re not directly below the charges, snow and chunks of ice rain down on the invisible Frost Giantess and Bohdi. He feels her hand slip from his shoulder. Coughing and sputtering, he turns. He sees snow, and then Gerðr. Even in the meager starlight, she makes the cold leave his limbs. His mouth waters, he licks his lips; he almost reaches for her, he does reach for her. She catches his wrists and meets his eyes. “I cannot stay invisible. Please, Mr. Patel. Turn around.” He does, slowly. As soon as she is out of sight, the spell cracks, but it isn’t completely broken. He wants to turn around … He hears a roar, and the ground trembles. Snow is still falling from above, and from behind, spilling over his snowshoes, and around his legs, like a cold dry wave.

“Run,” says Gerðr.

In his ear someone’s voice buzzes. “It’s working!” and that gives more energy to his limbs. He grabs Gerðr’s arm and they stumble through the deluge.

“Did we make it?” asks Gerðr.

Snow is still falling around them gently, but Bohdi doesn’t look back to check.

“Begin second phase,” says Larson.

Second phase means they’re lowering the snowmobiles from the cliffs. Sparse plasma fire streaks overhead. “Amy?” he whispers.

“I’m fine.”

He still hears rumbling behind him and keeps running, head bent over, dragging Gerðr with him, until the rubble subsides. Lungs burning, he turns around. It’s a mistake. He sees a mountain of snow where there should be a canyon; near the top he’s dimly aware of moving figures. There are a few warriors at the base of the mountain half buried in snow. But what fills his vision is Gerðr—or rather just her eyes. She’s pulled her muffler up over her nose, and she’s wearing her hat. Only her eyes and the slope of her nose are visible. He dips his head to hers, and his hands burn to pull down the muffler. Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s lifted his gloved hands to her face. He blinks, frightened and unsettled by what he was just planning on doing. He throws his hands in front of his eyes instead and mutters, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Gerðr tackles him to the ground.

“What are you doing!” He whines, his back in snow, rifle digging into his spine, his front covered by the Frost Giantess. He hears gunfire and shouts in Asgardian in the distance. “Reinforcements are coming,” Gerðr whispers. Bohdi pulls his hands apart, trying to roll over. Gerðr fills his vision. Her muffler has slipped from her mouth. Even in the snow, heat floods him, and it has to be obvious to her. Scrunching his eyes closed, he chants, “Sorry, sorry, sorry.” It’s too much—the rage, and then the terror, the adrenaline, and the lust, he feels like his mind is going to explode. He needs to think of something real, so he reaches into his mind ... and pulls out a vision of Amy from a dream he had the night before, where he was Loki and blue and … He almost cries.

Gerðr’s weight shifts. And then she’s gone. Bohdi hears the crunch of footsteps in the snow. Raising his head, he sees torches that seem to be suspended in midair. He blinks and his brain processes what he’s seeing: Einherjar in magic armor, jogging toward the snow mountain in three neat lines perpendicular to the canyon’s path. The lines stretch from one cliff face to the other. He hears a shout and the lines halt just ten feet from where he lies by the canyon wall in the snow. The men in the first line drop to their stomachs, the men in the second line kneel down, and the men in the last line stand. They drive their torches into the snow and the scene goes dark.

Cupping his hand over his mouthpiece and trying to keep quiet, Bohdi whispers, “Can you see them?”

Steve’s voice cracks back. “Not anymore.”

“We’ll have to plow our way through, just like we expected,” says Larson. “Our bullets won’t help.”

Bohdi hears Gerðr’s voice and lifts his head. The Frost Giantess has reappeared. Standing at the front of the very middle of the first line she says, “Light your torches and take off your helmets.”

The men immediately around her do just that, and he hears her Glock booming in the night. But the warriors closest to Bohdi shout and raise their spears. They’re fully armored and won’t feel his bullets. He’s afraid and also angry. His plan isn’t going to work … and then someone laughs bitterly—and it might be him. His vision starts to go red again. He pulls out his knife and charges forward.

Chapter 8

Amy’s sitting on the back of a snowmobile, Brill is in front. The engine is silent as they slip down the incline. She hears Bohdi’s voice in her radio. “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” and he sounds like he will cry. She feels her heart skip a beat, thinking about what could upset him that much. And then she sees the line of torches in the distance. A moment later she hears Gerðr and gunshots and Bohdi screaming, in rage, not fear or agony, and she feels warmth in her chest. He’s alive and he’s angry and that’s hope.

Larson’s voice crackles over the radio. “There’s a break in the line, left and middle.”

“Head that way!” says Steve.

“I’ll break it up a little more!” says Valli.

“No!” shouts Sigyn. “Gerðr and Patel are down there!”

Amy hears the roar of wind. In front of the team, snow whips up from the ground in a tremendous funnel. She thinks she sees human bodies lifted above the ground.

“Strange,” says Valli. “Why did it do that?”

The snowmobile jumps over a slight incline. The landing jars her teeth and makes her bite her tongue. She shouts, “Bohdi!” as soon as she is able. And then she sees him, standing in a spot of ground that looks like it is the center of a crater. She hears gunshots and the hissing sound of plasma fire. She sees a spot of glowing orange that seems to be coming straight at them, and suddenly the sled is careening to the side. Amy goes spilling out into the snow, too late realizing she must have forgotten to belt herself in.

Plasma fire streaks overhead. In the orange light, she finds Brill, still strapped to the seat of the snowmobile in a gulley of icy rubble. He’s almost underneath the vehicle, and his neck is at an awkward angle. With a cry she lifts the tops of her mittens and disengages Brill’s seat belt. Still pinned, Brill doesn’t move or make a sound.

Over her radio, she hears Steve say, “Bohdi, get on.”

And then Bohdi replies, “Where is Amy?”

“At the base of the slope,” Amy says, taking off a mitten. “Our snowmobile tipped over.” She rips off one of Brill’s mittens. He still has a pulse, but it’s fading quickly. His face on one side is so burned it looks half melted where it doesn’t look charred. The smell of singed skin and hair fill the air. But more immediately pressing is the angle of his neck. He has an injury to one of his upper vertebrae. She swallows. He’s losing control of his lungs, and he needs air. Her brain is screaming that she needs to run, but she drops to her knees, takes a deep breath, bends down and puts her mouth to his and exhales.

He sputters almost immediately. She’s shocked; she didn’t think it would work that fast. He looks up at her, his mouth falls open, and his uninjured eye widens. “You ...” he whispers, “I know what …” Brill’s eyelids slip closed. “... your talent is, Doctor.”

Amy isn’t magical, and doesn’t have a talent, but he’s obviously in shock. She doesn’t contradict him.

Steve’s voice cracks in her ear. “Beatrice, stay!”

She hears shouting and Bohdi’s voice crackles in her ear. “Hit them with a gale, Valli!” There is a howl of wind and the gully lightens. She looks up to see Bohdi and her grandmother heaving the snowmobile out of the way, Valli looming beside them, eyes focused up the incline.

“Amy,” her grandmother says, “You can’t be captured! We have to leave.”

Brill’s eye bolts open, and he cries, “Doctor … you can’t die!” He winces and hisses in pain so sharply Amy feels herself hurt. From the slope the screaming intensifies. It’s the Asgardian “irregulars” from the open plains. Valli’s scream roars above their enemies’ voices. “Come and get it!” She hears the whip of his sword and the wail of a gale. Is it her imagination, or is it not as strong this time? From above the gully, Loki’s son mumbles, “We have to hurry, my sword is running out of milk.”

“Juice,” Beatrice replies, distractedly. “The word you’re looking for is juice.”

Next to her, Bohdi says, “Is Brill alive?”

“Leave me,” Brill croaks. “Go, Doctor!”

“Amy can make you better!” Bohdi shouts.

Amy closes her eyes. If they get him onto one of the sleds—carefully, he has a neck injury—she can give him CPR for the rest of the trip. She opens her eyes and takes in his burned face. He is, and will be, in horrible pain. She hears shouts rising in Asgardian again. Soon they’ll be captured. She thinks of Odin, and feels a toxic brew of horror and anger just beneath her skin. She presses her fingers to Brill’s wrist; his pulse is fading again. She looks up the incline, willing her mind to be calm. Maybe all she has to do to save him is hold up her hands and go with the Asgardians? Bohdi hates killing—but has to do it—his sacrifice for their lives. Maybe her sacrifice is to do whatever it takes to save lives when she can? She takes a deep breath, and leans forward, about to administer another breath of life.

“No,” says Brill, biting his charred lip, effectively locking his jaw. She’s still clutching his hand, but he rips it away and simultaneously releases a whimper of pain. Amy doesn’t know what to do. He is refusing treatment, it is his moral right to do so, but she doesn’t trust her own heart—it would be too convenient for her if he were to die.

Brill stammers, “Doctor, you are too much to sacrifice.”

Amy’s mouth drops open in shock. Had he somehow divined what she was thinking of a few moments before? Brill’s eye slides in Bohdi’s direction, and widens again. “Bohdi, I need you.” He reaches out with his hand.

“Amy, fix him!” Bohdi cries, hopping down beside Amy.

“No!” says Brill, still reaching toward Bohdi. “Please.”

“We have to leave!” says Beatrice, firing a shot up the incline. Amy hears more gunfire, and the rise of another gale.

Eye still on Bohdi, Brill whispers, “Nothing can be destroyed. Only transformed. Sometimes death is kind.” His eye sinks shut, and Bohdi finally takes his hand. “Thank you,” Brill says, and he smiles. Bohdi starts to stammer. “We’ll throw him over the sled. I’ll run beside you, Beatrice, you’ll—” He looks down at Brill’s hand, and then up to the SEALs face. Brill’s unburned eye is open and unblinking. Bohdi’s mouth falls open and he says, “No, no, no.”

Beatrice puts her hand on Brill’s free wrist. “He’s dead; we have to leave.”

Over the radio, Steve says, “Get your asses out of there!”

“I agree, we must go,” Valli says.

For a moment Amy sits stock-still. Brill knew she was thinking of turning herself over to Odin. Was telepathy Brill’s talent? He told her to run, that she was too much to sacrifice—he exonerated the part of her that was worried that his refusal of treatment was too convenient. Had she thought she knew him a few hours ago? She didn’t know him at all, or how brave and noble he could be. Her eyes get hot and her vision blurs. She sees Brill’s Star of David glittering on his neck where his gear had blown open. She grabs it just before Beatrice grabs her arm and pulls her up the gully’s incline. It’s only when she’s clambered out of the gully that Amy sees Beatrice has brought her own snowmobile. “I’ll drive!” says Valli.

“No, you don’t!” Beatrice shouts, pushing Valli to the back of the vehicle. “I’m driving. Amy, you drive Bohdi!”

As Amy swings onto the front of the snowmobile, her grandmother grumbles, “Neither of these jokers should be allowed near heavy machinery.”

“I’m not a joker!” Valli says, sliding onto the sled behind Beatrice. “I am—”

A streak of plasma fire turns the snow nearby into a puddle. Slipping onto the seat behind Amy, Bohdi shouts, “Shut up and hit the guys behind us with Kusanagi!”

Plasma fire streaks to Amy’s left and right as they slide down the incline. Valli fires another blast up the slope. The sound of a gale whistles in her ears, and then the engine turns over, and they’re picking up speed, kicking up powder.

“Where are all the Einherjar who were in front of us?” Amy murmurs. “Are they invisible?”

Her voice must be transmitted over the radio, because Bohdi’s voice crackles in her ear. “They’re dead. Just go.”

Amy hits the gas, daring to flick on her headlamp to survey the terrain—she has no night vision goggles, and sometime in the past half hour the sky has become overcast. Park’s voice sounds in her ear. Even through the static, he sounds exuberant. “Bohdi is the angel of death, Doctor!”

Amy sucks in a breath. It’s a stupid, stupid thing to say to Bohdi—especially right after Brill, but she can’t argue now. Sucking in a cold breath, she focuses on going as fast as she can, seeking out level ground, swerving here and there to avoid bodies and piles of ice and snow. A snowbank erupts in hisses of steam to her left, and plasma fire turns the snow in front of them into a puddle. Amy hits the gas, aims for a bit of banked snow before the tiny lake, and shouts, “Hold on!” She feels Bohdi’s hands on her hips. They hit the bank squarely in the center and land neatly on the other side. Amy’s breath rattles in her ears; she almost laughs with relief but is too focused on not hitting the next obstacle. But then over her radio she hears Beatrice shout, “Ye-haw!” and Valli scream, “You are a madwoman!” and she does laugh, and Bohdi laughs, too. It’s so wrong, someone just died moments before … but it’s not really joy, it’s a release of tension, terror, and rage.

Steve’s voice snaps over the radio. “Hurry up! We can’t keep the gate closed for long!”

“It worked,” Bohdi whispers. “They’ve closed the gate.” She feels his fingers tighten on her waist.

Amy glances to the left and right. She sees no plasma fire. She flicks on the headlight. Standing at the center of the canyon, about one hundred yards in front of them, is the team. Half are waiting on snowmobiles, the others are inside and outside of a rough sphere of Promethean wire. It should be a simple matter to hold the material in place, but they’re obviously struggling, pushing against it as though it wants to explode from within. They’re blocking the World Gate with a rough sphere of Promethean wire ...

“Hurry!” says Steve.

Amy glides up beside them, Beatrice only a moment behind. She’d just laughed after their teammate had died. She stammers, “I’m sorry … Brill.”

The sphere collapses, and Berry shouts, “You did what you could! Move!” Around her the team containing the sphere makes a break for the snowmobiles, dragging the wire along with them.

Amy guns the engine. She hears other engines roar behind her, and then Steve’s voice cracks on the radio. “Teams of two, I want the rear man to cover retreat,” and Amy feels, rather than sees, Bohdi, spinning around in his seat.

“They’ve re-opened the World Gate!” someone shouts, and she hears Bohdi firing, and then the rise of a gale—Valli must be using Kusanagi again—but it sounds faint.

“Above!” shouts Berry, and Amy feels Bohdi sitting up, aiming his rifle at the sky as they coast over the snow. Then she hears more gunshots and screams.

“Got ‘em,” she hears someone say over the radio. But all she can think about is going as fast as she can. The world blurs by. In the night it is almost like being on Sleipnir’s back, but plasma hissing by and gunfire remind her that it is not a slip through time.

“We’re outpacing the Einherjar!” someone shouts a few agonizingly long minutes later, and Berry says, “Keep your eyes on the sky!” Amy wonders how they’re managing to do that. Big fat flakes are beginning to fall, obscuring her view. She hears gunfire, men reloading, and Valkyries and Harpies screaming above.

It feels like hours pass, but it’s probably only a few minutes when the battle cries of Valkyries fade into the distance and the plasma fire from the ground halts. Her arms feel like they’ve frozen in place by the time Berry says, “We’ve lost them.”

“It’s the snow,” says Sigyn. “It makes flight difficult, and the Einherjar do not have magical sleds like ours.”

A rock formation ahead makes Amy pause. Wiping snow out of her eyes, she sees a frozen waterfall. “That’s the pass!” It’s actually a narrow creek that flows into the canyon, creating its own mini sort of canyon through the mountains.

“We’ll have to dismount to get up that,” says Berry.

As the team draws to a halt, Steve says, “Check in.” Amy listens as the men say their names one by one. Her throat tightens. “Where is Mills?” she asks as their vehicles slide to a halt.

Hardings’ voice cracks on the radio. “She was shot,” and Amy can hear welled-back tears in her words. Hopping out of her seat, Amy starts frantically looking around the camp. Bohdi is beside her a moment later. Pulling back her mittens’ fingers, she puts her hand in her pocket to make sure she still has Loki’s book. She finds it, and Mr. Squeakers too, but her hand catches on Brill’s Star of David.

“Where are Beckman and Licht?” Amy asks.

“Beckman’s gone,” says Tucker. “So’s Licht.”

She hears Tucker in her radio and then footsteps right behind her. She turns and finds Tucker right there—his baby face looks like it has aged a decade in the past hour. She puts her free hand to her mouth, and he puts a hand on her shoulder, nods at her, but not Bohdi, and then heads to the falls. The Star of David bites against her fingers as Bohdi stands beside her as silent as a shadow.

What did she know about Mills, Beckman, and Licht? Mills was quietly as plucky as her friend Harding; Beckman was from Oklahoma, played guitar and could square dance; and Licht was from Maine, and his parents were lobster fishermen. It’s nothing, she didn’t know them at all, and their anonymity makes their deaths worse. Before she can well up, Fenrir woofs. The sound makes her heart leap and brings Amy back into the present. She can’t break down; if she breaks down she’ll be an extra burden. She runs to Fenrir as though her puppy is a lifeline—which maybe she is—Amy is ridiculously grateful Fenrir is alive. “Fenrir!” she cries, “You made it!”

She finds Fenrir sitting on a sled with her least favorite SEAL. “Yep,” says Rush. “And a lot of other nasty people didn’t because of her.” He gives her dog an affectionate pat and says in a baby voice, “Who can spot invisible bad guys in the snow? Fenrir can!”

For once not caring about Rush, Amy says, “Because she’s the best doggie in all the realms!” She rubs the sides of her dog’s head. It’s nearly chest high now. Fenrir wags her tail and looks at Amy, but she’s chewing something and doesn’t drop it. Amy tilts her head at the sound of Fenrir’s teeth on whatever-it-is. Clink. Clink. Clink. Amy blinks. “What are you chewing on, Girl?”

At her words, Fenrir crouches down on the sled and growls at Amy. Amy’s eyes widen in shock. From her pocket Mr. Squeakers gives a worried cheep. Fenrir’s snout drops to Amy’s pocket, and she growls at Squeakers, too.

Rush laughs. “Oh, yeah, one thing I learned quick—don’t mess with Fenrir’s treats.”

Standing up, he shakes out his legs and arms.

“Treats?” says Amy.

“Used cartridge casings,” says Rush.

Amy’s mouth drops open. Bohdi’s voice near her shoulder makes her jump. “Are the rifle cartridges depleted uranium?”

“Yep,” says Rush. His eyes slide down to the dog. “That’s probably not good, is it?”

Not good? Amy’s skin heats, but she is too angry to even speak.

“Rush, get over here!” Berry calls, before she can verbally rip Rush’s head off. Rush gets off the sled and starts in Berry’s direction, but as he does he stops and puts a hand on Bohdi’s shoulder. “You did good out there, Had—”

“Call me Hadji again and I’ll slit your throat,” Bohdi says, looking at a point in the snow near Amy’s feet. His voice is so calm it’s scary.

Instead of getting mad, Rush laughs, “Okay, Bohdi.” He claps Bohdi on the shoulder, gives Amy a respectful nod, says, “M’am,” and then leaves.

Amy is so mad she can barely see. Ripping the radio mouthpiece away from her face, she hisses, “He let my dog eat uranium!”

Beatrice’s voice rises behind her. “She’ll be fine.”

Amy spins. “Grandma—”

“She ate two kilos of yellowcake before we left Earth,” Beatrice says, stepping close.

Amy’s jaw sags.

Her grandmother sighs. “She puked it out as lead.”

Amy blinks.

In her ear, Larson’s voice squawks over the radio. “What? Did you just say the giant dog turned yellowcake into lead?”

Eyes on Amy, Beatrice touches her mouthpiece. “Yes. I think that’s why her appetite has been relatively normal.”

“But the half-life of uranium is …”

“Billions of years,” says Beatrice.

Amy turns to her dog, voice hushed. “Is that her magical talent? Eating radioactive materials?”

Beatrice shakes her head. “Considering all the other things she’s eaten, I think her talent is eating anything.”

Fenrir drops the cartridge from her mouth and starts to growl in the direction they just came.

Steve’s voice snaps on the radio. “I’m thrilled to know Fenrir is the next great thing in nuclear waste disposal. Now get her over here so we can pull her up the falls!”

Fenrir’s ears perk. She scoops up all the cartridges into her mouth and lopes over to the frozen column of water. Amy watches as one of the guys affixes a hook to her Kevlar doggie jacket.

“Come on,” says Beatrice, “Let’s detach the sled so they can haul it up.”

Shaking her head, Amy goes to help her grandmother. That’s when she notices Bohdi standing very quietly looking at the snow. It hits her then that he just got Rush’s approval—for what she’s not sure. She touches his arm, and his eyes follow her hand. She almost asks him if he’s alright, but knows he isn’t.

The cries of Valkyries rise in the distance. Fenrir growls and barks at the sky. Pulling away, Bohdi swings his rifle around and shoots into the night. Amy hears screams from the sky that are too close for comfort. Over the radio, Rush’s voice crackles. “My man, Bohdi, you are the angel of death.”

Someone else says, “I didn’t even see her.”

Several other guys pick up their rifles and fire, and the screams continue. Amy runs to help her grandmother with the sled.

x x x x

Bohdi puts his hand on the back of the snowmobile and braces his feet in the snow. It’s not deep. The frozen stream they are following comes from a volcanic source. It must have remained fluid for a long time after the last snowfall because it’s cut a cave through the snow which is nearly fifteen feet high. The cave is just tall enough for him to stand at the center without stooping and just wide enough for the snowmobiles to travel in single file. It twists through the mountains, and in some places there are rises that are too steep and too icy for the snowmobiles to ascend. Places like here.

Through his green-tinted night vision goggles, he sees Amy ahead of him, standing beside the snowmobile, bracing her hands on the handlebars. He hears the click of her boots on the ground. Like him, she’s wearing metal crampons on the soles of her boots; the metal tines keep them from slipping. They’re standing a little to the left of the stream, and there’s snow beneath them, not ice, but the snow has an icy crust. Berry described it as being like crème brûlée.

“Ready?” Amy whispers. Bohdi grumbles in assent. “One, two, three, push!” she says. With a grunt Bohdi pushes the snowmobile up the steep bank. The force of his weight breaks the crust on the snow, and his feet sink and drag. Amy’s smaller and lighter and doesn’t seem to get caught. For once it seems like she’s pulling him along and not the other way around. The rise is only about ten meters, but by the time they level out his calves are burning.

Bohdi sees the shapes of the other team members ahead. They push the snowmobile along to make room for the others coming up the incline.

“All up!” says Beatrice, a few moments later. She and Valli are the last pair. Bohdi and Amy swing back up into their seats. Amy hits the accelerator, and they cruise silently forward in electric stealth mode.

They’ve been following the frozen stream for a few hours. Except for getting out to push, Bohdi hasn’t done much, and that’s a bad thing. It has given him too much time to think, and thinking makes him burn. He may still be magically weak, but he feels like he might immolate himself in his fury—for that reason he sits back in his seat as much as he can. He doesn’t want to be too close to Amy when he explodes.

His fingers tighten on his rifle. Is he magically weak? Valli’s sword Kusanagi had misfired when he’d aimed at Bohdi and Gerðr. Instead of a gale it created a whirlwind, and Bohdi had been at the eye of the storm. The Einherjar had been lifted up and spun around like leaves while he’d stood and watched. When they dropped, they’d been confused and dizzy and most had been puking. Picking them off had been easy, and Gerðr, the SEALs, and Bohdi had done just that. He was terrified they’d get up and attack, and they’d be cornered again, or maybe he was just angry—he’s not sure he can distinguish between anger and terror anymore. Bohdi feels like a monster, and at the same time he’s still cruising on an adrenaline rush that makes him feel like he’s flying and that he’s warm despite the cold. He adjusts his rifle in his hands, shakes his head, hears a growl, and realizes it’s from him. No one comments. They’re all amped, angry, and grief stricken.

This is all so stupid. He gets it that Odin is terrified of human tech and fertility, but the Allfather could have taken advantage of both. The Allfather could have opened up Nornheim to humans, let them deal with the Norns, adze and spiders—they could have turned it into a beautiful resort world—Bohdi and Odin could both agree that pissing off the Norns would be a good thing. Odin could have brought human scientists to Asgard to study magic and trade tech. It could have been a Renaissance for Asgard and Earth alike, but no … Odin had to attack Steve and Earth, and had to go after Amy, too.

Steve says Odin is stuck in a feudal mentality, where prosperity is a zero sum game. It’s still stupid. And because Odin’s stupid, humans and Asgardians are dying and will keep dying.

The skin on his back prickles with heat. He squeezes his eyes shut, releases a breath, and opens them again. He tries to focus on the surroundings to distract himself. Craning his neck, he looks up at the snow and ice arching above their heads. It would probably be pretty if he wasn’t wearing night vision goggles that turned the whole world a too-bright shade of green.

In his ear Steve’s voice cracks, “Check in, rear to front.”

One by one, the team checks in. The check in doesn’t take as long now.

“What the—” Berry’s voice puts Bohdi instantly on alert. He switches from his night vision goggles to the infrared torch mounted on his M4. He looks through his sights, but he can see nothing.

Amy’s voice buzzes in his ear. “It’s the source!”

Berry’s voice cracks again. “The ice covering the stream is turning to water up here. Everyone get to the side of the cave, try to avoid getting wet.”

Bohdi is thinking that will be hard. Even for a driver like Amy, the cave is too narrow … but it widens abruptly, and the snowmobiles easily hug the side. Someone says in a hushed voice, “How?” For a moment Bohdi doesn’t know what they’re talking about, but then he sees that the stream has begun to glow.

“Loki didn’t know how it worked,” Amy says. “It happens near the source where the water gets hotter.”

Tucker’s voice buzzes on the radio. “Wow.”

Bohdi’s eyes widen in amazement. The closer they get to “the source,” the brighter the stream becomes—and more colorful. It becomes a glowing rainbow in the snow. The snow cave walls pick up the colors—red becomes pink, purple becomes lavender, yellow is lemon, and indigo is baby blue. Sharp intakes of breath sound in his ear. And then he hears clicks. It takes him a minute, but he realizes that the guys are taking pictures with their phones.

Steve’s voice cracks, “Turn your phones off. When we’re not walking we’re not recharging them, and you never know when we’ll need them for light.”

“Putting my camera back in my fanny pack, Captain,” says Redman.

Berry snickers and says in a high falsetto voice, “It’s like we’re in another world.”

They lost three people, and Bohdi knows that Berry and Redman have to be as furious as he is—and probably sadder—Beckman and Licht were their friends for much longer. But joking despite pain is like giving the finger to fate. He hears groans and chuckles rise from the line, and he feels a smile tugging at the corners of his lips—at the joke or the giving the finger part, he doesn’t know.

“It feels warmer here,” Tucker says.

Bohdi sniffs at the air. It is warmer and humid. “Losing our cover,” says Larson. Bohdi hears a pitter-patter noise, and the ceiling above him suddenly disappears. He looks up and sees no moon or stars, but the sky glistens and something cold and wet falls on his cheeks. “Rain?” he whispers.

Sigyn’s voice cracks over the radio, “Snow. But the pond is turning it to rain.” Bohdi blinks and looks down. Ahead is a small pond that shines in the darkness with every color of the rainbow, steam rising in curling clouds from its surface. The snow around it has melted in the shape of a crater, and the crater glows with reflections of all the pond’s colors.

“Whoa…” someone says.

On an unspoken command the team slows their vehicles, and they coast on the snow that is banked about five feet from the water. The pond is only about half as wide as a tennis court. He hears hissing as the raindrops approach its surface and the sound of boiling water. He blinks. At the center of the pond, water is bubbling up from the depths. The stream they followed is one of two that spills over the pond’s edges. The other one is nearly opposite them.

“We have to follow the other stream,” Amy says, but Bohdi’s eyes are focused on the water. Shapes are dancing in the boiling pool; they are as long as his forearm and semi-translucent, and they seem to be wearing sparkling veils.

“Are those sea horses?” he whispers.

He hears Claire gasp, and Beatrice say, “Oh, my.”

“I wish we could stop,” Amy says over the radio. “Is this magic?”

“I do not know,” says Gerðr, her voice hushed.

“Argh!” someone says; it might be Tucker.

Amy must have hit the brakes because Bohdi’s body jerks, and their vehicle skids and comes to a halt, just before plunging past the snow line at the water’s edge. Bohdi turns his head to see what the hold up is. Tucker’s snowmobile is stopped directly behind the one with Gerðr and Harding, which has caused a three snowmobile pile up. Bohdi looks beyond Tucker and sees Gerðr with her helmet and bracelets off, staring into the boiling fountain. Steve slows, turns, and then over the radio, Bohdi hears a sound like a whine from Steve’s throat. Or maybe that’s Bohdi. He hears another vehicle skid, but he can’t look. He’s mesmerized by Gerðr. Color dances on her face, and she is like an impressionist painting come to life, but she makes his blood heat and his mouth water in a way a painting never could.

“It is not magic,” Gerðr says, eyes focused on the water, her voice filled with wonder.

Tucker’s voice rises, loud enough to be heard without a radio. “You’re magic.”

Gerðr’s eyes snap up, and Bohdi finds his breath catching, and his hands going to his seatbelt. Gerðr puts her helmet back on, and Bohdi swears every man in the group groans.

Tucker bumps his head down on the handlebars. “I am so sorry, Ma’am.”

Silence hangs over the group for a beat too long. Clearing his throat, Redman says, “Wow, the fountain’s pretty …” It’s a transparent attempt to change the subject, but Bohdi looks to the pond—and it actually works. The fountain is mesmerizing with its bubbling colors and the strange creatures gracefully spinning in slow motion. “Can I videotape this?” Thomas says. He coughs. “For science?”

Steve sighs. “Go ahead.”

“They could be some sort of bioluminescent organisms,” Amy whispers. She turns back to Bohdi. “You want to help me catch a bioluminescent seahorse with your coat?”

“No, Doctor,” says Steve.

The light is catching on Amy’s pale skin; but it doesn’t make her look like an impressionistic painting. Still the reference to the magic rat he caught for her makes Bohdi’s lips quirk. He knows she’s joking, but he plays along. “I think my helmet would work better since the water is boiling.”

“Patel, Dr. Lewis, that’s enough,” Steve grumbles. “It’s time to hit the road.”

“The seahorses are so pretty,” Claire says, as Larson starts his snowmobile, and Steve adjusts his to get in line. As the pileup disentangles, Amy sets them back on course, and Bohdi’s actually glad he’s not driving. He gets to watch the seahorses for a little while longer.

Over the radio, Harding’s voice buzzes. “Oh, Mills, I wish you could see this.” Her words call to mind memories of the tall, quiet, dark-haired woman Bohdi had barely known—and the moment is suddenly bittersweet.

On the makeshift sled ahead of them, Fenrir turns and starts growling at the sky. Rush, sitting on the back, raises his rifle and rolls his eyes heavenward. “I think we have company coming.”

Bohdi raises his rifle and peers through the sights but sees nothing.

“Move out,” says Steve. At the front of the line, Larson hits his accelerator. One by one, the team does likewise.

Over the sound of gurgling water and hissing snowflakes, a single Valkyrie cry rises in the night. It makes the hairs on the back of Bohdi’s neck stand on end.

Rush’s voice cracks on the radio, “Bitches.”

“Hold on,” Amy says, as they reach the second stream. She veers hard left, nearly sending Bohdi out of his seat, and then she hits the accelerator. For a few moments there are raindrops above their head, and then briefly snow, and then they are in another cave. Instead of being on an incline, they are on a decline. From behind them comes the sound of plasma fire and splashing water. “Go, go, go!” someone says. Plasma fire whizzes past them, lighting the cave. At the tail end of the team, Valli shouts, “I will use Kusanagi,” and Bohdi hears the wailing of a gale and Valkyrie screams.

“Drop ahead!” shouts Larson.

Fenrir barks, and Rush’s grunt sounds over the radio. And then Amy says, “Whoa!” and the snowmobile is airborne. A second later they hit the ground, the shock making Bohdi’s teeth snap together, just as plasma fire goes shooting above, dislodging some snow and sending it down on their heads.

“Beatrice!” Amy yells.

Bohdi looks behind them. The small shower on his head was the beginning of a larger landslide. The tunnel is completely blocked. His heart stops for a moment, and then he sees Beatrice’s snowmobile plowing through a bank of collapsed tunnel. “Madwoman!” Valli screams.

“Silence!” Steve shouts.

Larson’s voice cracks on the radio. “Hard right!” and then, “Hard left.”

The snowmobiles zig and zag in the twisting tunnel. Bohdi hears snow collapsing and instinctively crouches lower. He finds his lips curled again in a snarl, and the metal taste of adrenaline clings to his tongue. The world blurs by, without the sound of plasma fire.

Berry’s voice cracks over the radio. “We outpaced them.”

Larson’s voice sounds over the shared channel. “The tunnel is veering off in different directions.”

“Stick to the cave that follows the stream,” Amy says.

“The stream’s frozen over and covered by snow. Too hard to see,” says Larson.

“All stop,” says Steve.

The snowmobiles draw to a halt. Bohdi looks over Amy’s shoulder. At the front of the pack, Larson is kneeling at the junction of three paths, touching the ground. He goes to the right and says, “Okay, this is the way.”

He swings back onto the snowmobile, and the party starts off again. As they cross the junction, Amy looks at the other tunnels. “I don’t remember these … but it has been about 200 years.”

Bohdi is still coming off his adrenaline high and doesn’t comment. They coast along for only another few moments and then Larson says, “Damn, another fork.”

“All stop,” says Steve.

Again Larson gets off and kneels down to figure out which way the stream goes. Fenrir starts to growl and Amy’s voice cracks on the radio, “Do you notice, the new tunnels almost look like they’ve been dug out? They’re not as smooth as …”

At that moment there is a thunk, and Larson shouts. He scurries back from the fork. Over the radio his voice buzzes. “Someone from the right just shot me with an arrow.”

“Are you alright?” says Berry.

“Yeah, it bounced right off my helmet,” says Larson.

“Yeti,” says Amy.

“Oh, freakin’ fantastic,” someone says.

There is a whistling noise and several arrows embed themselves in the left side of the wall beyond the fork.

Behind them, shouts echo in Asgardian.

“Oh, the hell with this,” says Larson. Swinging his rifle around, he steps into the fork, drops to one knee, and aims. He fires off several shots and roars rise in the tunnel to the right. Arrows whiz from the left. One hits him squarely in the back, and he sags in his parka.

Gerðr’s voice rings out in the cave. “Robert!”

Larson’s voice buzzes over the radio. “I barely felt it. Body armor protected me fine. Get me some cover here so I can see which way we need to go.”

“Berry and I’ve got you,” Steve says. “Everyone else stay put.” Over Amy’s shoulder, Bohdi sees Steve jump off his own snowmobile, aiming right and Berry aiming left; they start firing their rifles. Roars and screams echo from both sides, and then from behind Bohdi hears the sound of thunder … and then realizes it’s the sound of footsteps on ice.

“Damn it, Odin’s Warriors are in the tunnel behind us!” says Beatrice. “Valli, try to knock them over before they shoot at us.”

Bohdi can hear Valli grumble over the radio about taking orders from an old woman. But a few heartbeats later, he hears wind whistle—but no mighty gale. Valli curses in another language, and then says, “Out of milk.”

“We have to go to the path down the middle!” Larson’s voice buzzes. “I can cover left, Captain.”

“I got the right,” says Berry.

Steve hops on his snowmobile and leads the way as Berry and Larson block the tunnels with their own vehicles and start shooting into the darkness. They move too fast to see down the side tunnels, even through his scope, but Bohdi hears bearlike roars. A moment later, an arrow whizzes in front of his nose and bounces off Amy’s helmet. Amy’s body jerks sideways and the snowmobile careens dangerously with her. Heart stopping, Bohdi throws out an arm to catch Amy and a leg to keep them from tipping over. “Amy!” he shouts.

“Amy!” Beatrice echoes.

“I’m fine!” she says, righting herself and hitting the accelerator. Pulling his arm away, Bohdi feels a snarl rising on his lips, and his fingers are locked tight on his rifle.

Steve’s voice cracks over the radio. “Another fork ahead! We need to go right again.”

Larson’s voice buzzes in Bohdi’s ear. “With all due respect, Sir, if you don’t dismount, how can you —”

“Lewis is right. You can tell from the tunnel walls,” Steve snaps. And then he says, “Bogies straight ahead.” From the front of the line of vehicles comes the thunder of the snowmobiles’ forward guns followed by bearlike roars. Bohdi raises his rifle. He sees nothing but smooth walls and then a path to the left. He thinks he sees moving shapes and he shoots. “I got the right!” Rush shouts, and Bohdi hears the other man’s rifle firing.

“They’re running,” Steve says, “... and we have another fork. Go left.” A few heartbeats later Amy swings the snowmobile left and Bohdi swings his rifle to the right and lets loose a few rounds. He hears gunfire in front and behind him, then roars, and another sound, like a dog whining. “Is Fenrir hurt?” he shouts, and he feels like he will self-combust.

“Dog’s fine,” Rush hoots. “That’s the snowmen.”

“Middle path!” Steve commands.

Bohdi keeps firing down the tunnels they pass, not really aiming. The snowmobiles are moving so fast they pass the ancillary tunnels in the blink of the eye.

“More bogies ahead,” says Steve. And Bohdi hears one of the snowmobile’s forward guns going off.

“You got them!” someone shouts.

Steve’s voice cracks in Bohdi’s ear. “Lots of secondary tunnels here! Keep straight.”

They enter a section of cave with tunnels on the left and the right every few feet. “More bogies straight ahead!” says Steve. Bohdi doesn’t look—he’s too busy covering the side tunnels, where he sees shadows darting. Sometimes his bullets make it down the tunnels, sometimes they plow into the snowy walls.

Steve’s voice cracks over the radio. “Slow down, the tunnel is obstructed.”

The snowmobile decelerates, and Bohdi’s heart rate quickens. Amy is threading the snowmobile along a meandering path, pushing to the side sometimes with her feet. Bohdi doesn’t look down. Going slowly, they’re like ducks in a carnival game. He keeps his rifle up and fires down every tunnel they pass. The bearlike roars turn to howls and then more whines.

And then Amy’s voice cracks on the radio. “These are children! We’re in the Yetis’ home, and we’re killing their children.”

Bohdi’s finger is already on the trigger, and he’s firing down a tunnel at another shadow.

Rush’s voice snaps in his ear. “We didn’t make it past an army to die with an arrow in the eye!” And someone else says, “They fired first.”

“They’re not firing anymore!” says Amy.

“Good!” shouts Rush. Bohdi swallows, and the terrible thing is, Bohdi agrees. They hit Amy, and if she hadn’t been wearing a helmet she would be dead. If they stop firing, the snow people might advance, and then they’ll still be dead.

“Look down, Bohdi!” Amy says again. He obeys instinctively and is instantly sorry he did. The cave is littered with bodies mowed down by the snowmobile’s forward guns—that is why Amy is going so slowly. Some are large, but many are small, some are still moving. They are covered in fur, but definitely hominid, their faces with snouts somewhere between men and bears.

He hears rising howls behind them. He looks over his shoulder and down at the ground. His eyes fall on one particularly small snow creature. He doesn’t want Amy to die, or Claire or Steve or the SEALs … He feels sick and angrier than ever.

Steve’s voice cracks in his ear, cool and level. “Switch to tracers only,” Steve says. “That should keep them scared enough.”

At Steve’s words, Bohdi feels like a burning man who has been doused with water.

“And if it doesn’t scare them?” Rush asks, as Bohdi switches his live rounds for tracers.

“Then you fire live rounds,” says Steve.

Lifting his rifle, Bohdi begins firing tracer rounds down the side tunnels. This time he sees what he hits. He sees some creatures with spears and bows and arrows, but he also sees beings with children in their arms, huddling in corners. Without exception, parents and warriors cower from the tracers’ flares.

“It’s working,” says Bohdi, feeling relief and guilt in equal measure.

“We’re through the carnage,” says Amy, and she hits the accelerator. The cave becomes a blur again, and the side tunnels disappear. Cold wind whips in Bohdi’s face. He doesn’t feel hot anymore, he feels cold, and it doesn’t feel any better.

About an hour later, the snow cave gives way to a canyon of snow with walls nearly fifteen feet high. Bohdi lifts his eyes, and huge white snowflakes catch in his lashes.

“Snow good,” Gerðr says. “No Harpies will follow in this.”

The pass winds downhill, but not too steeply. They switch off their electronic and combustion engines, and use the forward momentum of gravity to recharge their snowmobile batteries—and they still make great time. The canyon walls become ten feet high and then five. Trees begin to appear beside them, first pine, but as they descend, the trees become deciduous, and definitely alien. They have trunks sometimes as wide as several meters, with mushroom-like tops of thin, densely packed, vine-like branches.

“Iron Wood trees,” Amy declares, her voice drowned by the wind, and only audible over the radio. “There should be a settlement very close by. They might give us shelter and food.”

Nari’s voice hums over the radio. “Odin’s forces will not follow us here.”

“We’ve made it!” says Amy, her relief loud and clear despite the static. “We’ll be safe.”

For a moment, Bohdi’s heart lifts. And then from behind them rises a mournful howling that is so heartbreaking he shivers. “The Yeti,” Amy whispers.

The howling doesn’t stop. It rises in volume and echoes from the peaks; they don’t escape it, even as they slip deeper into the trees.

“Serves them right,” says Rush.

Before he can say anything, Tucker’s voice snaps over the open channel. “Right for what? Trying to protect their home and family?”

Someone, maybe Thomas, says, “Shit happens, Tucker.”

Rush doesn’t respond. Bohdi sits back farther in his seat, careful not to touch Amy.

Chapter 9

Deeper in the heart of the forest, the trunks of the Iron Wood trees are as wide as small houses. The thick branches thrust out of the trunks high above Amy’s head at oddly regular angles, like spokes on a bicycle wheel. The smaller branches, instead of being rigid, dangle like Spanish moss. Here and there, a vine-like branch dangles low from the mushroom-like caps of the trees, and as Fenrir sniffs about they tentatively stretch toward the giant dog, as though caught in a gentle breeze. The trees nearly blot out the sky and seem to have choked out any other tree species from growing. Amy squeezes her eyes shut and hears Mimir’s words, “The trees of the Iron Wood survive on magic as well as sunlight. That is how they manage the long Jotunheim winter.”

“Are you sure this is the place?” Berry says behind her, and Amy’s eyes snap open.

Bohdi’s voice is curt. “Of course she’s sure.” She looks over her shoulder. Her defender doesn’t meet her eyes—his gaze is focused carefully away from her. She can guess what it’s all about—the Yeti howls still ring in her ears. She wants to tell him that it was all in the heat of the moment, and they were in danger, even if the Yeti were in more danger. The Yeti are known for viciously attacking travelers in their lands. Her eyes shift to Steve standing a few feet away, back to them, hand on Claire’s head. Amy bites her lip. The tracers were a brilliant idea—it allowed the team to scare away the Yeti and kept their humanity intact.

Turning back to the tree, she touches the trunk. Carved into its side are three foot high letters. “This is the name of the settlement, Mountain Edge.” Her brow furrows. In her memory the letters were cut clear through the bark, exposing the ochre-hued wood beneath. Now her fingers skim thick gray scars where new bark has grown over the old wounds.

She drops her eyes and scans their surroundings. “This was a thriving lumber and mining center.” In her memory she sees scores of Frost Giant lumberjacks, hunters, and trappers, dwarven miners, and children of both races running beneath the trees. Instead of snow, there was springtime mud and flowers. She hears echoes of laughter and shouts, and she smells smoke rising up from dwellings at the tree bases. Now there are only trees, the whistle of the wind, her team members silent and alert behind her. Tracing her finger along the bark, she walks around the tree. Scanning the nearby forest, she sees no signs of houses. “What happened?” she whispers. “There were thousands of people living here.”

In Jotunn, Gerðr says, “The people of the Iron Wood are fierce and savage. They are constantly at war with one another. The settlement you speak of no doubt was overrun.” She looks around. “Besides the trees, there are no natural defenses. They were safe from Odin but not from each other.”

“And we expect them to give us aid?” Park says. Amy blinks, surprised he caught all that in Jotunn.

Gerðr raises an eyebrow. “Of course. As guests we will be above their petty politics and blood feuds.” She looks away and mutters, “Hopefully.”

“Awesome,” says Bohdi.

Beatrice raises her rifle. “They better treat us as guests.”

Amy blinks again. They’d all caught that? Magic obviously, but the trees feed on magic, so how is it working? She feels a growing knot of dread in her middle.

Berry says, “What did she just say?” The short man rubs the back of his neck and looks between Steve and the tall Frost Giantess.

As Steve translates, Amy turns to Bohdi. “Touch the tree, I want to test something.” His eyes snap to her and widen, but he moves over to the trunk. Amy clears her throat. “With bare fingers.” Flipping off the top of his mittens, he touches the bark.

Turning to Park and Beatrice, Amy says, “Don’t give away what I’m about to say.” And then to Bohdi, in Jotunn she says, “Frost Giant women will find your dark eyes and black hair very alluring and exotic. You will have many admirers among the women of the Iron Wood.”

Bohdi blinks at her, Park coughs, and Beatrice snorts.

“What did you understand?” Amy asks.

Bohdi shrugs. “Frost Giant women, the rest was just blah, blah, blah …”

“Hmmm …” says Amy. “The trees seem to be most effective when you’re actually touching them. I wonder if they’d also obstruct actual magical creations like illusions or Heimdall’s sight.”

“Yes,” says Gerðr, “Of course.” Amy squints up at the dark tree limbs. Can they really obstruct magic enough to protect them if Odin decides to open a World Gate?

“Can I put my mitten back on?” says Bohdi.

Before Amy can nod, Park blurts out, “I am so ready to be fetishized by the Frost Giantesses.”

Beatrice sighs. “And that is the main difference between men and women in a nutshell.”

“I’m sure all men are different, Grandma—”

“Sexually exploit me now!” Park says, throwing up his arms. Rubbing her forehead, Amy closes her eyes. Bohdi whines, and she opens them to see him clutching his stomach. “I can’t even think about sex, I’m so hungry.”

“Me, too,” says Claire.

Berry comes over from where he’s been talking with Steve and Larson. “We’re going to eat and start the hump to Gullveig’s Keep.”

“Hump?” says Claire.

“Walk,” says Bohdi.

“Walk?” says Claire.

Amy sighs. They’ve burned up the electric charge they’d created coming down the mountain. “We’re out of gas.” She looks at the packs of provisions. They have a long walk ahead of them … and soon they will be out of food.

x x x x

Bohdi is sitting in a very nice Indian restaurant. He has a plateful of excellent naan bread in one hand. It’s bathed in some delicious kabuli chana—garbanzo bean curry—but it’s not as spicy as he’s accustomed to, which is good. He lost his ability to tolerate spicy foods while he was in boot camp and living with Steve’s parents; but whenever he goes into an Indian restaurant they almost always see his ethnicity and amp up the heat.

More delicious than the food is Amy. Sitting next to him, she’s wearing clothes that accentuate her curves, but aren’t too revealing. Her hair is tied back in a soft bun at the base of her neck. Her lips gleam with gloss, looking plump and kissable. He almost does kiss her … but he’s so hungry.

He takes another bite of naan and she says, “What is time like to you?”

Swallowing, Bohdi says, “Pardon?” and the voice isn’t his own. He groans inwardly. It’s Loki’s voice, he’s dreaming again, but the dream food is delicious and he is so hungry he doesn’t struggle to wake up. Beside him, dream Amy scans the restaurant. Bohdi—or Loki—follows her gaze. Some of the young patrons are tall, healthy, and beautiful and wouldn’t look out of place in Odin’s great hall, but many are older. Plus, there are so many children—three of them—a rare sight in Asgard of late.

“As I get older, it seems like time moves faster and faster,” Amy says. “I know Beatrice says …” Pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she frowns and looks down, one hand falling into her lap. “Used to say, before her stroke, that years flew by in the blink of an eye for her.”

Bohdi takes her hand and squeezes it. She meets his eyes. “Loki, you’re what—hundreds of years old? Do decades seem like minutes? Centuries like days?”

“I suppose it does,” Loki says, looking away. His eyes fall on a little boy, face alight in a phone’s glow, and he becomes distracted by that bit of human magic. The last time he was here, during WWII, that technology hadn’t existed. How many years ago had that been—twenty? A century? It feels like yesterday.

Amy squeezes his hand and smiles softly. “So time is really relative, Einstein?”

Loki finds himself smiling at the joke. He has missed conversations like this, but it’s bittersweet. He sees her, and sees what she will be in a few decades, and that will be in less than the blink of the eye. He slips his hand from hers, sneaks it back into her lap, and dips his fingers between her thighs. Gather thee rose buds while thee may, a human said that, he’s certain.

Pupils dilating, she catches her bottom lip between her teeth and then she catches his hand. “No, really is it?” she says, her voice breathy, but insistent. She reminds him of Anganboða—not in beauty—but in wit and gentle insistence. Loki’s smile melts away. Time will destroy her if the world does not. Better not to get attached. He feels an aching in his gut so intense that …

Bohdi wakes up with a pain in his belly so intense he thinks it might be devouring itself. He rubs his eyes in the dim light, annoyed with the vestiges of the dream. Loki wasn’t just an idiot, he was a coward. Rolling onto his side, he finds himself facing Fenrir’s furry back instead of Amy. He scowls. Beatrice had insisted Fenrir sleep there. Closing his eyes despite his screaming belly, he tries to fall back to sleep … and then Reveille begins to play.

He hears Fenrir scampering to her feet. Groans sound all around the tent. Bohdi sits up and his vision briefly goes black. He shakes his head. It’s just hunger, making him lightheaded. They’ve still got at least a four-day trek ahead and food for less than one; they’d been counting on settlements in the Iron Wood to restock. But they’ve seen no signs of habitation anywhere. He frowns. Physically, Amy is the weakest member of the team. The world may kill her as Loki predicted … it might kill all of them.

x x x x

Amy has had it. They’re all hungry, they’re all tired, and she can’t take another minute of this. She’s been pushed to her limit before, but this is the end. “Just let me pull the goddamned sled, Tucker!” she says.

Slowly climbing up from where he lies face first in the snow, Tucker says, “No, no … my turn, I can do it.”

Amy steps on his back. She has a momentary sensation of being extremely powerful, and then remembers he probably can kill her with his pinky.

“What are you …”

Before he can complete the sentence she hops off, yanks the harness he’s been yoked to off of him, and pulls it around her own waist. Bending at the waist, she whispers above the slowly rising Tucker. “I’m really, really sorry, I’m trying to help. Sorry, really sorry.” Clearing her throat, she turns to the rest of the line. “I’m female—designed by hundreds of thousands of years of evolution to be better at conserving calories.” She holds up a finger at Beatrice, Sigyn, Harding, and Gerðr. “And I’m not magical so I don’t need as much juice as you either! From now on, Fenrir and I pull sleds!”

Where she stands, tied to her own sled, Fenrir, now the size of a large pony, gives a happy woof. Rush throws her a live round, she swallows it down and then burps as loud as a gunshot. Amy’s dog-wolf-horse creature pants and wags her tail. Claire is laying on Fenrir’s back, head buried in her shoulders.

No one says anything. They just stare at her. A couple of the guys sway on their feet. With a huff she turns around. Bohdi is glaring at Tucker, who is glaring back at him, and Beatrice is glaring at them both. Amy rolls her eyes and says, “Let’s move out,” because everyone else seems too dead on their feet to say it.

She trudges forward, and Beatrice falls into the line a little ahead of her, Bohdi a little behind. Amy looks up at the sky. Late afternoon light is filtering between the branches of the trees. She watches as Valli, a few steps ahead of Beatrice, almost goes down to one knee, but Nari catches him.

Human beings can go up to forty days without food—and they have some food. But it’s cold, even for someone from Chicago. They’ve been marching for days, too, and everyone but Amy is magical. Amy sighs and watches her breath curl in front of her face. The sled isn’t particularly heavy, the trail they’re on is gradually descending to the ocean, but her blisters have blisters. She finds herself trying to walk on the non-blistered parts of her feet. It doesn’t work. Dipping her chin, she reminds herself that Gulveig’s keep has central heating and running water … all they have to do is walk to the seashore, and then around the triple peaks, and then south again for a day or so. She stifles a groan.

A few steps behind her, Park groans. “Why do people think hell is fire and brimstone? Hell is cold, and snow, and ice.”

No one says anything for a few steps, and then Bohdi, in an oddly scholarly voice says, “You know, the universe will probably end in ice. For the past four billion years, the universe’s expansion has been accelerating. As things get farther and farther apart, they get colder. Eventually, it will reach the point where everything will freeze over. It’s interesting; about the time the acceleration started was about the time that life began to form on Earth. I wonder if the two are related in some way—the end of the order of the universe, the beginning of life—but also of inevitable extinction.”

Park snorts. “What the hell are you talking about, Patel?”

Amy blinks. “I never knew that. It is interesting.”

“Doctors,” someone mutters.

A sound rises up through the snow-muffled world that makes every hair on the back of Amy’s neck stand on end. The roar, like that of a lion, echoes against the distant peaks. She turns her head to see Fenrir drawn to a halt, ears pricked in the direction of the sound.

“The cat again,” says Thomas. Amy’s eyes fall on the tall broad-shouldered SEAL. Above his muffler she can see where he cut himself shaving. He’d been shaking so badly this morning—he said it was cold, she thinks it might have been hunger. Thomas isn’t looking in the direction of the sound. His shoulders are unusually slumped, his head bowed.

Amy sucks in a frigid breath and looks toward the sound of the roar. It came from a Jotunheim lion. Loki had been on hunts when Thor pursued them. They’re the size of Shetland ponies, and one of them has been tracking them for the past four days. She looks at her feet. Loki’s memories are mostly of them after they were slaughtered. She wonders what they look like in motion—what their family structure is like. Are they related to the big cats that roamed Earth during the last ice age?

“It’s still far away,” says Berry, head bent.

“What the hell does a big cat eat in this place? All I’ve seen is snow!” Park mutters.

“Idiots like us,” says Bohdi.

Amy tilts her head. “Actually, for a lot of apex predators, winter is a virtual buffet … at least in Siberia. It’s hard for their prey to find food or run in the snow, so they’re often weak and easy to pick off.”

“See?” says Bohdi. “Idiots like us.”

“Doctors,” someone mutters again.

Amy hears a thunk and turns her head. “Claire!” shouts Steve. Amy gulps. Claire has fallen off Fenrir’s back and is lying in the snow. Fenrir whines and noses her. Steve kneels down beside her. It takes a few moments before she stands up.

“Let’s go,” Steve says. “She can walk.” He sounds like he is desperate to believe it. The team begins to move again. For a few minutes they trudge quietly along. And then the ever-stern, never-complaining Lieutenant Larson trips over something and falls face first into the snow, a step later Berry does the same. As they push themselves up, Steve says, “Let’s make camp.”

Amy looks among the gaps between the tree branches and sees spotty afternoon light. She sighs. Extricating herself from the sled harness, she gets down to work.

A few minutes later, the tent is set up and Amy is preparing to go inside and claim her meager rations when the big cat roars again.

Harding, escorted by a rifle-toting Beatrice, comes from out of the trees with a machete in her hand. To the camp at large she says, “It should go without saying, but buddy up tonight when you hit the head. I don’t know how long before the kitty overtakes us, but it’s more likely to go after stragglers.” She swings her pack off. “Also, avoid standing beneath any rocky outcroppings.”

The men grumble, and Harding turns away frowning. To Beatrice she says, “I don’t recognize any of the plants. The evergreen we saw wasn’t a Scots pine—Gerðr didn’t recognize it—and I don’t want to poison us trying to feed us.”

Amy’s barely listening. She’s thinking of the big cat, remembering Thor and Loki chasing one. They move quite quickly, she’s pretty sure that the one stalking them will be close in a few hours. It will probably stalk them, wait for one of the team to fall behind, and slink up from downwind so Fenrir’s nose doesn’t detect it. The cats are powerful and stealthy enough to grab a man, break his neck, and carry off the body before anyone has a chance to shoot it.

Beatrice and Harding begin eating their rations beside Amy. They are in a little better shape than the men. Amy wasn’t lying when she said that female metabolism was a boon in this situation—also, they’re just smaller. But sooner or later they’ll all start falling in the snow.

Amy bites her lip. And then she will probably get a glimpse of the cat, one way or another. She swallows.

“Harding,” she says, “Have you ever killed a big cat?”

The small woman pats her shoulder. “Don’t worry about Mr. Kitty. It’s still far away, and it won’t attack while we stick together.”

The tent flap opens in a gust of wind. Amy sees Claire lying on Steve’s chest. Bohdi is sprawled out on his sleeping bag—none of the other guys look much better. Holding out her bear jerky to Harding and her grandmother, Amy says, “Eat this.” Before either of the magical women can protest, she adds, “You’ll need your strength, because I have an idea.”

x x x x

Loki is hungry, but he’s warm … and he’s also blue, his skin is glowing faintly. Amy’s curled in front of him, sound asleep, her body molded to his. Humans have a word for this position, they call it “spooning.” Loki runs a hand down her side, eyes on his blue skin. It takes so much effort to hide the blue now. It is nearly out of his control—Amy says it’s beautiful—but he knows it’s an illness. Or maybe it’s an omen. He feels so weary. He shivers and pulls Amy closer to him, kisses her neck, and runs his hands along her sides. She’s warm and alive and as long as he is with her he is alive, too …

Bohdi’s eyes blink open. He sucks in a breath, and his stomach growls. Dream and life blur together and he is momentarily confused because Amy isn’t next to him. He bolts upright and is purely himself again—just Bohdi—and Amy is … He looks around the tent. “Where is Amy?”

The interior of the tent is lit by a single dim LED light. Steve is reclining against a pack, Claire curled up, head on his chest. He’s stroking her hair and looking worried, but he lifts his head and meets Bohdi’s eyes. “She said she thought she saw a Scots pine about a mile away. Something about bark.” He closes his eyes and leans back on the pack. “I hope that Gullveig’s Keep has paper. I have to write letters to Mills’s, Beckman’s and Licht’s families.”

Bohdi’s heart stops. He’s talking about the letters commanders are supposed to write to families of the fallen. They’re surely on Steve’s mind, but also randomly considering the situation they’re in. Steve doesn’t do random, and that fills him with dread.

Bohdi runs a hand through his hair. Most everyone is asleep, but Fenrir is sitting attentively, watching as Sigyn cleans out a rifle. “Why didn’t she take Fenrir?” asks Bohdi. The dog can hear, smell, and sense magic as well or better than any of them.

Steve shrugs.

Bohdi taps his radio, and says, “Amy?”

“She’s probably out of range,” someone says, sleepily.

Scampering out of his sleeping bag, he grabs his gear. He doesn’t get dizzy; dinner and a nap evidently have helped. “How long has she been gone?” His voice is louder than he intends. He doesn’t know if he’s afraid—or pissed. She shouldn’t be out wandering in a forest! Doesn’t she know about Little Red Riding Hood?

“She’s been gone an hour … maybe more?” says Thomas, stretched out in a sleeping bag nearby. “But don’t worry, she’s got Beatrice and Harding with her.” Thomas puts a hand to his forehead. “You can eat Scots pine,” he says, voice a little dreamy.

Bohdi grabs his rifle and some ammunition. He picks up an extra clip, pops out a round, holds it up, and whistles to Fenrir. “Come on, Girl! Let’s go for a walk.”

At sight of the round, Fenrir licks her lips and lopes over the sleeping forms on the floor. Slipping on his night vision goggles, Bohdi goes to the tent flap and steps out into the cold night air. An instant later Fenrir is there, tongue panting at the level of his shoulder, her sled harness still attached from earlier in the day.

He waves to the guys on guard. “Just hitting the head.” They nod and don’t question him. Holding the round out for Fenrir to see, he walks until he’s just out of sight. And then he tosses the round to Fenrir and winces at the accompanying gunshot belch.

“Take me to Amy,” he whispers, “and I’ll give you more.”

Fenrir cocks her head at him, and he holds his breath. Maybe she didn’t understand? But Amy says magical creatures often have comprehension above what you would expect from their cranial capacity—and Fenrir’s cranial capacity has grown a lot of late.

Fenrir drops her nose and begins to sniff with gusto, loping faster through the deep snow than Bohdi could run, even if he wasn’t starving. He coughs. “Um … Fenrir … could you give me a lift?”

Fenrir stops her sniffing, lifts her head, and one of her ears—lately wolf-like and pointy—droops. Her mouth, lolling in a happy pant despite the cold, snaps shut. He swears he sees her sigh. He takes it as a yes. Jogging over as fast as he can in snowshoes, he swings himself on. Before he can grab hold of her sled harness, Fenrir darts through the trees at stomach-testing speeds. Bohdi holds on for dear life, legs wrapped around her side, face pressed into the fur of her shoulders, fingers twisting in the harness.

His arms are just about to give out when Fenrir slows to a gentle lope, a low growl sounding in her throat. Bohdi raises his head. Ahead is a small clearing, and through the green of his night vision goggles he sees Amy, hair loose and hat off. She’s limping and stooped over, dark stains on her legs and arms. She is all alone.

His breath catches. He almost calls out—but Fenrir’s ears prick away from her mistress to a spot in the trees just behind her. Before Bohdi can make a sound, Fenrir charges.

An enormous, glowing-eyed-blur tears from the trees toward Amy, and Bohdi feels like everything he knows about the universe has just shattered. A scream escapes his lips as he falls from Fenrir’s back, fumbling for his rifle, knowing it will be too late. And then a shot rings out in the darkness.

x x x x

Steve leans against a pack, half inside his sleeping bag, Claire leaning on his chest. Around him men talk and cry in their sleep. Steve strokes Claire’s hair. She’d given him a hug after she ate her rations and then just hadn’t moved. He wants to sleep, but the pain in his stomach, a yawning, unfulfillable emptiness, has woken him and he can’t sleep even though he’s exhausted. He doesn’t know how prisoners on hunger strikes handle it, but probably by not going on long hikes in Arctic conditions. He scowls, not worried for himself as much as Claire. She’s skin and bones, without muscle or fat to spare, and is taking the trip worse than anyone. “You can’t be this weak, Baby,” he whispers.

Sigyn’s voice rises beside him. “She isn’t weak. She’s strong.” He hears her sigh. “Her magic burns brighter than yours; that is why going without food is affecting her so.”

Steve cannot speak. If he does, he may get choked up, and he won’t do that. But he wants to protest, how can Claire’s magic make her strong if it makes her more susceptible to starvation?

As if hearing his unspoken words, Sigyn says, “She might be taught to use magic for energy so that she isn’t as weak next time this happens.”

Steve huffs. There’s only a next time if they survive this time. They have Chaos on their side, but they’ve lost so many of their team already. Will Chaos extend its magic protection to Claire, or …

A shot rings out in the night.

He hears the guards outside the tent shuffle and shout. One of them calls his name. Steve doesn’t move. He doesn’t know if it’s fear for Claire making him hesitate, or exhaustion and hunger clouding his thought processes. “Captain, she’ll be fine,” Sigyn says, laying a hand on his wrist. “Go to your men.”

Steve releases a breath, gently puts Claire’s head down, and rearranges her pencil-thin limbs so he can escape. Her body offers no resistance, which is not reassuring at all. Finding the headpiece for his radio, he pulls it over his ear, flicks it on and immediately hears Bohdi’s voice cracking, distant, and filled with static. “That was the stupidest idea ever!”

Steve taps his ear. “I agree with Bohdi this time,” Beatrice grumbles, her voice distant too.

Lewis’s voice crackles next. “It worked!”

“It almost didn’t work!” says Bohdi.

Blinking in the darkness, Steve stumbles out of the tent.

“Because you and Fenrir almost scared it away!” Lewis retorts.

“Because you almost got killed!” say Bohdi and Beatrice in unison, and now Steve can hear them not just over the radio, but echoing through the trees.

“I’m fine!” shouts Lewis.

Bohdi’s voice, closer now, rises in the night. “And if I hadn’t brought Fenrir, we wouldn’t have been able to pull this thing back to camp!”

Steve meets the eyes of the guards outside the tent. They shrug. He pushes the mouthpiece close to his lips. “Can you hear me?”

Harding’s voice sounds crisp and clear in his ear. “Loud and clear, Sir.” She sounds a lot perkier than he feels.

“What’s going on?” Steve asks.

A gray shadow emerges behind the trunk of the nearest tree, but before Steve can even worry, Fenrir gives a happy dog bark. Steve hears guys spilling out of the tent behind him. Someone turns on a light. Beside Fenrir, Lewis waves and smiles. Her light brown hair is down, and it is shockingly dark against her snow camouflage gear.

Harding smiles, too. Waving her rifle, the Marine says, “Beatrice shot the cat, and now we have dinner!”

Steve’s eyes travel up and down Lewis—blood stains her legs and arms. His mouth gapes. “Doctor, are you hurt?”

Stooping over, Lewis limps to the tent, one leg dragging. Wide-eyed, Steve strides over, a few other guys beside him. And then Steve blinks. Why aren’t Beatrice and Bohdi helping her? Just before he reaches Lewis, she looks up and grins. “Nope, not hurt. Just playing injured and lame! Pretty convincing, right?”

“The blood?” Steve whispers.

“Slit my wrist,” says Lewis, and Steve rocks back on his heels.

Straightening, Lewis smiles brightly. “But don’t worry! I bandaged it all up … it’s really not that much and …”

“It was a stupid idea,” snaps Beatrice. “If I had slipped or missed …”

“Exactly!” says Bohdi. He turns to Beatrice. “Why did you let her do this?”

Beatrice jabs him in the ribs with her umbrella. “Because I was afraid if I didn’t help her she’d sneak off and try and do it herself!”

Bohdi flicks his lighter. Beatrice jabs him again and scowls. The doctor grins ear-to-ear, obviously very proud of herself. Steve puts a hand to his mouth to hide his smile. Beatrice or Bohdi or both would kill him if they saw him laugh.

Fenrir gives a woof and comes closer, straining against her harness. Steve’s eyes go from the dog to an enormous lion-cat-pony thing, belly up, being pulled along by a rope lashed to its back legs.

Steve closes his eyes. And then he can’t help it. He laughs. Walking over to Beatrice, he gives her a one-armed hug. “But you didn’t miss, Grandma! You killed it. And now we can eat.”

“Raw tiger liver is a delicacy,” says Berry. The short, weathered warrant officer slips out a knife and walks toward the animal, other guys follow. There’s something in the way they lean forward that puts an image of vultures in Steve’s mind. His mouth is watering, and he finds himself licking his lips.

A few minutes later, Berry holds up what Steve guesses is a liver. His mouth continues to water at the sight of the raw, bloody piece of meat, and he’s too hungry to care about the implications. “Who wants some?” Berry says. Everyone falls in line; Steve blinks, and he sees Claire is there with Sigyn. He drops his hand on his daughter’s shoulder. She doesn’t say anything. No one says anything, it’s so quiet it’s like being in church.

They devour the raw liver in minutes, and then they start a roaring fire and begin butchering the animal. He catches the guys picking up raw scraps and popping them in their mouths. The team begins to talk and to laugh.

“This is disgusting, Lewis!” he hears Rush say.

“Then stop eating!” snaps Bohdi.

Rush pops a long stringy piece of meat in his mouth and grins. “No, I didn’t say it was a bad idea.”

“Should we cook the head?” someone says.

“Oh, yes,” says Beatrice. “We need the fat from the brain. Give that to me; I’ll fix it up for you.” Steve blinks. He remembers from a nutrition program somewhere that fat is essential for survival, even more important than carbs. His eyes skim the animal. It’s mostly lean meat. Any squeamishness he has about eating brains, or at the sheer grizzliness of the lion’s head, evaporates. He goes to help Beatrice, but before he gets there, she picks up the head. It’s about three times the size of a bowling ball. It sags in her arms, and her shoulders slump. “My, this is heavy!” says Beatrice.

Claire darts in front of Amy’s grandmother. “I got it!” his daughter says, and pulls it out of Beatrice’s hands. Lifting the lion’s head above hers with such ease it could be made of papier-mâché, Claire turns to Steve. His tiny, delicate-limbed, beautiful little girl grins with all her teeth. “Rarrrrr!” she says. “I am the lion queen!” He hears a rustling in the branches and groans from the trees.

Steve’s mouth gapes at the sight. Before he can catch his breath or gather his thoughts, Claire turns to Beatrice and says in a more civilized tone, “Ma’am, where do you want it?”

“Let’s take it over here, Dear,” Beatrice says, gesturing to the rock where Harding had first sliced the liver. “We’ll take the fur off first.”

Branches like snakes whip in the space where Claire passes. The men jump back and whistle. Steve can only stand and watch, the scene replaying in his mind, leaving him off balance. Sigyn’s voice rises at his side. “See? She is very strong. She’s attracting the trees.”

Steve shakes his head. “That’s not my daughter.” That wasn’t the little girl who ran around the house dressed up like a ballerina, who didn’t just want a bicycle, but wanted a lavender princess bicycle. His chest constricts. He knows that combat stress can affect children more profoundly than adults, their neural wiring is more malleable … was the chaos thrust upon her turning her into something unrecognizable?

He rubs his jaw, and his eyes scan the camp out of habit. A spark of alarm goes off in his mind. He can’t see the incarnation of Chaos anywhere.

x x x x

As Beatrice and Claire walk past Amy with the lion’s head, she sees Bohdi slipping into the tent, and then she sees the glow of a light within its walls. On impulse she follows him.

Stepping between the tent flaps, she finds him sitting on his heels rifling through his pack.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“Looking for my last smoke,” he snaps, without looking at her.

Amy huffs. “You’re still mad at me?”

He doesn’t answer, just opens another compartment and starts pulling stuff out.

Shaking her head, Amy walks over and sits down beside him. He still doesn’t look at her, and it’s disorientating. She’d hoped maybe for a hug, a thank you, some contact, some reassurance of … something. Despite putting on her game face, she was absolutely terrified when she’d turned and seen the lion charging. She’d heard Bohdi scream, and she was sure something had happened and that Beatrice would miss. She’s still a little strung out and lightheaded from the experience. But it worked, and he could acknowledge it. She pokes him lightly in the side. “Admit it,” she says, “It was a good idea.”

Finding his pack of cigarettes, Bohdi stands up without answering. Hopping up behind, him she pokes him again. “Admit it.” She knows she’s being childish, but she’s still knotted up, on an adrenaline high, and he’s wrong. She pokes him another time. “Admit it.”

He stops in his tracks. “Stop it,” he says.

So she pokes him once more. “Admit it!” Her finger is up, prepared for a final poke, when Bohdi spins around fast and catches her by the wrist. Holding it up between them he hisses, “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

Amy’s eyes drop to her wrist. His grip isn’t hard, but it’s firm, and he doesn’t let go—not that she’s struggling. Her lips part and she meets his gaze. His lips are pressed in a thin line and his jaw is hard, and he oozes rage. But she’s not afraid. All the pieces are snapping together in her mind, or maybe her heart. He is angry because he was afraid for her, because he cares. She’s not sure what it means in the grand scheme of things, but in this moment it means everything. The chill she’s felt descend on her since she’s come to Jotunheim—physical, mental, and emotional—is gone, and she is warm in every way, and it’s such a relief. She leans into him, and Bohdi drops her wrist. She wants to protest, she wants that contact, but before she can say anything, his hands are flowing up the sides of her arms, over her shoulders and he’s cradling her head in his hands.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispers, leaning down so their lips are inches apart. Her gaze falls to them. They’re wide and full, not like she’s used to. And then she meets his eyes. The dim light turns his skin an unnatural blue gray, and makes his normally orange eyes appear just black. It gives her a bit of déjà vu, but she reaches up and puts her hands on top of his—it’s the only exposed skin she can touch. He feels impossibly warm. “I’m not dead, I’m alive.”

“I am still angry at you,” he grinds out, and she can see how tight the muscles are in his jaw.

She nods. “I know.” She also knows he is about to kiss her. She thinks it’s possible, when he does, that she might self-combust.

She hears a sound far away, like the rush of the wind, and then Bohdi snaps up straight, turns his head and growls. Before Amy knows what’s happening, he’s spinning around. “Did you just jab me with your umbrella?”

Still holding one of his hands, Amy peeks over his shoulder to see Beatrice, umbrella raised and pointed at him. “Stop it right there, Mr. Patel. You won’t talk to me in that tone—”

Bohdi grabs the umbrella, whips it from Beatrice’s hands and sends it soaring through the air. It hits the side of the tent with a loud thump. Beatrice’s jaw drops. “You can’t do that!”

The tent flap opens behind her. Gerðr and Tucker are standing there.

Bohdi pulls his hand away from Amy’s and runs it through his now non-existent bangs. He glances at Amy, and then at Beatrice. She sees his Adam’s apple bob. “I’m sorry,” he stammers, bracing his hand against his back and stumbling sideways to the tent flap.

“Wait!” Amy says, starting to follow him.

But Tucker puts a hand on her arm. “Let him cool down.”

Recovering her umbrella, Beatrice tsks. “That boy has anger management issues. He needs to learn some self-control!”

“Bohdi has control of self,” says Gerðr softly in English. Staring at Beatrice’s umbrella, she tilts her head. “He threw across room when you asked to stop?” She sounds startled for some reason.

Amy rounds on her grandmother. “Did you jab him in the back with your umbrella?”

Beatrice meets Amy’s eyes. She puts a hand on her chest. “I’m sure it was an accident.” The side of her lip curls slightly.

Amy’s not at all sure it was an accident. She turns to the door again. Tucker’s hand is still on her arm. “Listen to your grandmother. He’s unstable, and possibly a psychopath. You heard him—he was ready to shoot the Einherjar in the back.”

“But I shot them,” says Gerðr.

“Bohdi’s not a psychopath,” Amy hisses.

The tent flaps explode inward, and suddenly there is Berry, Harding, Rush, and Park, with Nari and Valli peeking over their shoulders.

“What’s going on here?” says Berry, his ruddy complexion redder than ever.

As Beatrice starts to explain, Amy slips out of the tent … and promptly bumps into Sigyn.

“I’m sorry,” says Amy. Scanning the camp, she says, “Did you see where Bohdi went?”

“Larson just put him on guard duty,” Sigyn says.

“I need to talk to him,” says Amy, standing on her tip toes, trying to catch sight of him. Behind her the conversation in the tent is a low roar.

Sigyn puts a hand on Amy’s arm. “It would be best if you don’t distract him.” She looks over Amy’s shoulder. “ ... It sounds like there has been enough drama for tonight.”

Rush’s laugh rises from the tent. “So what, Beatrice caught her grandbaby and Patel making out?”

Amy’s skin goes hot. “We weren’t …”

Sigyn sighs and spins her around. “But if you go after him, you will, and neither of you will be prepared if a lion attacks.”

Amy’s about to argue when someone in the tent says, “Where is Lewis?” Rush whistles suggestively, and Amy’s cheeks go from hot to scalding. She heads back into the tent.

“You’ll be able to talk to him in the morning,” Sigyn whispers. Amy stares at her sleeping bag. It’s rolled out next to Beatrice’s. There’s a three-foot gap between it and Bohdi’s sleeping bag. Fenrir will sleep between them. She doubts very much she’ll get to talk to him in the morning.

Not looking at Beatrice, and pretending not to look at the leering Rush, she gets ready for bed. But when the lights go out, she can’t sleep. She waits for Bohdi to come in, even though it’s stupid—what are they going to do? What can they do? She’s being a stupid girl, thinking about romance … or whatever … and it’s utterly useless when their lives are still in danger.

“Amy,” whispers Beatrice.

“Leave me alone,” she says.

She hears Beatrice sigh. “I would rather you hate me than see you suffer.”

Amy doesn’t answer, and after a while she hears Beatrice’s breathing deepen as she goes to sleep. Amy curls up in a ball and closes her eyes. She almost growls in frustration—at her inappropriate thoughts and at the cold. She can feel the chill settling in again. Not enough to be dangerous, just enough to be noticeable. It’s inescapable and she hates it.

Unable to sleep, she listens to other people’s dreams. Beatrice is speaking in Ukrainian, or maybe Russian; and Park is talking in Korean. She hears Rush cry out, “Mamma, don’t,” so piteously she feels sorry for him … until she remembers what a jerk he is.

At last, unable to take the lack of sleep or the cold anymore, she opens her eyes and finds it’s early morning. There is just the tiniest hint of daylight seeping through the tent walls. She rubs her eyes. She must have gone to sleep without knowing it, but she doesn’t feel refreshed at all. She just feels cold. Dropping her hand, she blinks. Fenrir’s not lying beside her. Instead, there is Bohdi. He’s laying on his side a few feet away, scowling at her.

She feels her heart rate quicken. “Hi,” she blurts out.

His eyes narrow. “I’m still mad at you,” he whispers.

She feels her lips split into a wide grin. He still cares. She slips her hand out of her bag, into the frozen space between them. He lets out a huff of air that rises in a cloud and then disappears. She can see his jaw working as he grinds his teeth, but without a sound he slips his hand out of his bag and takes hers. His fingers are impossibly warm, and he squeezes maybe more than he needs to … but it works, the chill melts away and it’s perfect, their fingers sliding together. Amy’s grin melts with the chill. As perfect as it is, she wants more, to be warmer. Is this why people do crazy things when they’re close to death, to chase away the chill?

Her eyes drop to their entwined fingers. “Amy …” Bohdi whispers.

She meets his gaze and sees his lips parted as though he’s about to say something.

Outside the tent, Fenrir growls. The noise is soft, as though the dog is far away. Amy and Bohdi release hands, and everyone is suddenly awake. Amy gulps. Their autonomic nervous systems have been fine tuned to wake at the slightest sound of danger. Usually, when Reveille plays on Berry’s phone, everyone groans and moans—but they’re all alert and nearly silent now. Thomas’s gravelly voice sounds outside the tent, low and quiet. “We have company.”

She hears Steve whisper, “Who?” She turns to see him pressing his headpiece more firmly against his ear.

“I don’t know,” says Thomas.

Before Amy can blink, everyone is suited up, ready to go. Fenrir’s growl rises.

“Lewis, watch Claire, stay down,” Steve says. Amy nods, but Steve has already gone outside, Bohdi with him. Slipping on her boots, Amy gestures for Claire to stay near, but the little girl is already hopping out of the tent behind Beatrice.

Chapter 10

Steve steps out of the tent into early dawn. It’s warmer than yesterday, and a light mist hangs over the snow. Bohdi is at his right. Lieutenant Larson and Berry are at his left. Gerðr is standing in front of the remains of the fire they’d used to roast the lion the night before. Aside from his own team Steve hears no sound, and all he sees is trees; but Fenrir is pacing, growling and looking off into the trees, obviously agitated.

“Down,” Steve says, falling to one knee, lifting his rifle and peering through the sights. Everyone else does likewise.

“Got nothing,” whispers Berry, flat on his stomach.

Steve’s headpiece crackles. “Nothing behind the tent.” Everyone else reports the same.

Gerðr turns to them. “Look away. I use magic.”

“Drop your eyes, boys,” Steve says, dropping his own gaze to the ground. “Ladies, stay alert.”

He hears a few grumbles. And then one of the guys, Cruz, says, “I don’t get it, is looking at Gerðr really that bad?”

“Are you gay?” whispers Rush.

Steve glares at the SEAL—wrong question, wrong time. He hears Larson huff.

And then Cruz says, “Well, yeah.”

Valli sucks in a long breath and mutters something.

Gerðr says, “Helmet back on. You can look. I see nothing … trees eating my projection. Maybe another cat, Fenrir smells?”

Berry drops his rifle. “I think we have a false alarm.” No one stands, but Steve lowers his rifle and looks to Bohdi. Meeting his eyes, Bohdi shrugs, and they both look at Cruz.

Cruz puts down his rifle and lifts his chin. “If I am immune to her voodoo, it seems relevant to the mission.”

“Could be useful,” Bohdi says, “if we need anyone to run a magical reconnaissance mission with Gerðr.” He smirks and narrows his eyes, and the expression, if not his face, is so like Loki it’s disconcerting. But … Steve tilts his head. “I concur.”

“Oh, I’m gay!” says Redman. “I’ll go on a mission with Gerðr.”

“Me too!” says Rush.

“Me three!” says Thomas, gravelly voice crackling over the radio.

Tucker drops his head, but Steve can see the straight-laced Kansas boy is grinning.

Berry snorts. Steve glances down at the stoic warrant officer. Berry rolls his eyes and grins. “Me four?”

“No,” says Larson, voice curt, eyes on the forest.

Gerðr looks back at them and blinks, helmet and bracelets safely on. “I not understand? I no know voodoo?”

“What is wrong with you people?” says Valli, sounding disgusted.

“You joke about this?” says Nari, sounding completely scandalized.

Sigyn sighs. “You’ve been to Alfheim. You know that mores vary.”

Fenrir drops to her belly. Her ears go back, and she growls into the forest, nose pointed between a gap in the nearest trees. The levity in the group evaporates. Steve’s rifle is up without thinking, as are everyone else’s.

In Jotunn, Gerðr says, “I don’t think it is Einherjar. If it were, they would have attacked. It could be another cat, but I don’t think so. It may be a hunting party. Perhaps if I address them they will reveal themselves?”

Larson looks at Steve. “Captain, worth a shot?”

Steve’s jaw twitches. Larson isn’t very good at Jotunn, but he understood Gerðr perfectly. Filing that piece of information away, Steve says, “Do it.”

Gerðr steps over to Fenrir’s side and shouts, “I am Gerðr Gymirsdottir of Jotunheim. Who goes there?”

Steve releases a breath. The forest is completely silent, and he sees nothing.

And then a man’s voice, speaking Jotunn, rises in the forest. “Gerðr Gymirsdottir of Jotunheim, vassal of King Utgard, what are you doing in the Iron Wood, and who are your strange companions?”

Raising her voice, Gerðr says in her own language, “I come here not as Utgard’s vassal, but as a traveler with my companions, the warriors of Midgard’s United Realms of the middle of the Northern West Continent!”

“Midgardians?” A low chuckle echoes from the trees. All around the camp comes the sound of crackling twigs, hoots, bird whistles, and laughter. Steve swings his rifle around to use the sights, but he can’t see any movement. His teeth grind—they don’t want to be seen. He’s dealing with a tribal people who have probably been haunting this forest since they could walk. Tribal people … like in Afghanistan.

The voice rises again. “You were worried, Heiðr Gullveigsdottier, about the mourning songs of the Yeti and the slaughter of whales. But it is only Midgardians.” Steve’s eyes narrow at the mention of Heiðr’s name. She is the daughter of Gullveig and chieftess of the Iron Wood.

Close to them, Sigyn says, “Heiðr ... she is an ally, if we can speak to her …”

Before she can finish, another man says in Jotunn, “Midgardians! Maybe they’ll gum us to death with their toothless mouths!” More laughters and hoots rise in the forest.

Gerðr takes a step forward; her mittens are off, and Steve can see her hands fisting at her sides. “Yes, Midgardians! Lake Balstead is red with the blood of the whales they slayed, and they are the cause of the Yeti’s suffering. They brought a mountain down on Odin’s armies and picked vile Harpies from the air with shaftless arrows of fire!”

“Ummm … Gerðr?” Larson whispers.

“Gerðr, ease up,” says Steve.

Gerðr rounds on him. “But they’re wrong!” she snarls.

A woman’s voice rises from the trees. “Well, this is incredibly awkward.”

Nari stands up. “Cousin Heiðr …”

Another man’s voice rumbles through the trees. In English he says, “Announce yourselves, Midgardians!”

Straight ahead, a shadow emerges from the trees, broad-shouldered and familiar.

Steve swears.

“Daddy?” says Claire, her voice too close. Steve doesn’t turn to look. His grip tightens on his rifle.

“Uh-oh,” says Lewis.

“What’s going on?” says Berry.

Bohdi gulps. “Thor.”

x x x x

Amy’s heart stops. A bolt of lightning whips from Thor’s hammer toward the team. Before anyone can move, the lightning twists from its course and snakes up into the trees around it. Instead of falling, the trees struck by the lightning appear to throb. Amy swears she hears them hum. Twisting vine-like branches drop from above and dart toward the hammer and coil around the handle, as though ready to rip it from Thor’s hands.

Fenrir gives a whine and slinks around behind the SEAL team. In Amy’s pocket, Mr. Squeakers gives a friendly cheep to his canine friend, but Fenrir only cries.

Thor grumbles and tugs his hammer away from the vine. The vine-branches slowly retreat, and then she hears a groan, a crack, and the Earth shakes.

“Are the trees growing?” whispers Berry.

“I think so,” says Sigyn, sounding awed and maybe even a little frightened.

Amy’s jaw drops. The trees struck by lightning are growing. It’s terrifying and reassuring. A part of her was worried that the trees wouldn’t protect them from an opening World Gate, since they didn’t hinder minor magic. But they do hinder strong magic … maybe it just takes a lot of magic, like from Thor’s hammer, to be worth their while?

There is a moment of absolute silence, as though all of the hominids are holding their breath. And then, far off in the mist, another man’s silhouette steps toward Thor. In Asgardian he says, “Thor, they are the enemies of the Allfather. We should slay them!”

“That’s Ullr!” Amy says, recognizing the form and voice of the speaker. Ullr is Thor’s adopted son by his ex-wife, Sif. Ullr’s father is unknown, but he looks so much like Thor himself, it is uncanny. Sif and Thor’s marriage had been unhappy, but Thor stayed in the marriage because he loved Sif’s child. Loki’s voice echoes in her mind, “Stupid, noble, sap …” She swallows, and her gut twists.

Thor does not reply to his stepson. Still partially obscured by mist, he bellows in English, “Announce yourselves!”

Amy draws back. Even in simpler, non-magical armor, he’s a tank with two legs.

Valli says, “Hello, Uncle.” She turns her head. Valli is standing, sword raised, and Nari is down on one knee in the snow, rifle aimed. Without lowering the rifle, Nari says, “It’s been a long time.”

Amy blinks. Of course, Nari and Valli were partially raised by Thor when Loki was in prison. But then Thor had betrayed them by almost allowing Odin to execute them.

“Should I shoot, Captain?” says Larson.

“No,” says Steve, lowering his weapon.

Crouching low, Bohdi backs toward Amy and kneels beside her, rifle raised. “So, do you have any ideas?”

“No,” she whispers.

Without turning, Steve says, “Lewis, Patel, stand beside me.” Amy’s eyes slide to Bohdi. He shrugs. Steve rises from the ground, rifle at his side. Amy climbs to her feet and walks over to Steve, and Bohdi does too.

“Hello, Thor,” says Steve, raising his voice and speaking in the tone Amy thinks of as his “politician voice.” Deep and rich, it seems to make the trees throb just like Thor’s hammer had.

Not taking his eyes off Thor, Steve gestures to Bohdi and Amy, and in almost perfect Jotunn says, “I’m sure you remember Bohdi Patel and Doctor Lewis.”

Amy sees one of Thor’s fists tighten on Mjolnir; the other clenches at his side. He steps forward a few paces. Amy’s breath catches, but Thor’s movements are slow … he’s not rushing them. With the mist, it’s hard to see his expression, but Amy thinks he doesn’t look angry—he almost looks sad.

Ullr hastens to stand beside his stepfather. In Asgardian he says, “Gerðr herself has pronounced the humans as enemies of Odin. Valli and Nari conspired against the crown. Why shouldn’t we kill them?”

“What did the Ullr guy say?” whispers Bohdi.

“You shouldn’t kill any of us,” Steve says in Jotunn. Amy blinks. Steve understood that bit in Asgardian? Before she can dwell on it, Steve continues in the language of the Frost Giants. “Because we, like you Ullr, are guests in the lands of the people of the Iron Wood, and it would be rude.”

Shapes emerge from the trees and murmurs rise in Jotunn around them. Amy hears snatches of, “That’s true, bloody Allfather always trying to drag us into his battles,” and, “Ullr would make us dishonor our ancestors.” She sees the silhouettes turn their attention to Ullr and Thor. She thinks she sees a few hands drop to axes. She gapes. How had Steve known what to say?

Holding up his hands, Steve says, “It is true, we are Odin’s enemies. He feels threatened by us, for some strange reason.”

There are a few huffs, and someone says, “Who could be frightened by humans?”

Steve puts his hands to his chest. “He felt so threatened in fact, that like a coward he tried to assassinate me, instead of openly inviting me to combat.”

The murmurs in the trees grow angry. “Is this true?” someone shouts.

Steve’s voice rises, becoming clearer, stronger, and his Jotunn oddly perfect. He raises his arms. “Ask my comrade in arms, Thor Odinson. He will vouch, if not for my words, for my honor.” There is a moment where the only sound Amy hears is a hum … and this time she is sure it is the trees.

Ullr steps forward and shouts in Asgardian. “This is trickery! You are not guests of the Iron Wood. You have some ulterior motive!”

Steve puts his hands back on his chest. “Indeed we do! The noble Princess Gerðr took pity on us during our battle with the World Seed. But she missed her realm, and the only World Gate we knew was the one in the dangerous Southern Wastes. In return for her aid we are escorting her home.”

Amy raises an eyebrow. He’s omitting the bit about escorting her home to deliver human tech to King Utgard. But hey, whatever works.

“Is this true, Gerðr?” someone shouts.

For a moment, Gerðr says nothing. Amy’s breath catches—is she going to reveal the extent of Steve’s little omission? But then the Frost Giantess raises her chin. “Yes, it is true.”

Amy hears murmurs among the Frost Giants, so hushed Amy can’t make them out. And then someone shouts, “Back down, Ullr.” Squinting, she thinks in the distance she sees more forms emerge from the trees, but it’s hard to tell.

Thor lifts his visor and then takes off his helmet. For a moment, he stands stock still. Steve taps his radio. “All lower your weapons.”

From where they kneel and lay on the ground, Amy sees a few faces look up warily at Steve. But everyone puts their rifles down or sits up if they’re lying on the ground looking through their sights.

Thor gives a weary little smile and says in English, “Well met, Captain Rogerson.”

Turning to the forest, he raises his hammer and says in English, “For the Asgardians in my party, know this! Captain Rogerson was my comrade in arms during the battle with the World Seed. He is honorable! His companions, Bohdi, son of Patel, and Doctor Lewis, helped me in my journey to the Land of the Norns. You will find no warriors more cunning than the son of Patel, and his lady love Doctor Lewis … is … is ...”

The big man takes in a long breath. Amy feels her skin heat. Not at the mention of her being Bohdi’s “lady love,” but at Thor’s apparent inability to find something nice to say about her.

Clearing his throat, Thor says, “Dr. Lewis is extremely brave.” Shaking his hammer he says, “No matter what wars exist between our people, while we are on neutral ground, none shall confront Rogers, Patel, Lewis or their companions.”

Amy hears Steve release a breath. He puts a hand over his mouth, and from where she stands beside him Amy can just make out his expression. He’s wearing a devilish smirk. His eyes slide to hers and her breath catches. Normally Steve’s eyes are a brown so dark they’re nearly black … but now they are deep blue, almost purple. She blinks. And then his eyes are their usual brown-black. He drops his hand and his brow furrows. “Dr. Lewis, I feel so hungry I might faint.” He takes a deep breath. Amy hesitates, she wants to help, but you don’t touch Steve.

“Dad!” says Claire. She runs over to Steve and grabs one of his hands and swings it over her shoulder. It looks like Steve is just giving his daughter a one-armed hug, but Amy sees him leaning on her. Claire’s body doesn’t bow or bend.

“When did you get so strong?” Steve whispers.

Claire just beams.

x x x x

After Thor makes his proclamation, there is a tense moment where no one moves. Bohdi doesn’t think he can even breathe. He reaches for Amy’s hand. Hey, he’s just staying in character, also he’d like to be ready to run … But she’s left his side. She’s moved over to Steve and Claire. He hears her whisper, “I’ll get food.” Steve nods, and Amy disappears into the tent.

Bohdi hears the sound of snow crunching. Forms emerge from the misty forest. Four men decked out in full Asgardian armor move to stand beside Thor. Their skin is gold like Sigyn’s and Thor’s, and their hair color ranges from dark blonde to light brown. Another six men and three women wearing leather and furs fan out around the SEAL team. Bohdi thinks they must be Frost Giants. They have skin like porcelain, and except for one older woman, they all have light blonde hair and blue eyes. The men are about Bohdi’s size, the women are just a few inches shorter. One Frost Giantess is taller than the other women, her armor fits her better, and he sees accents of gold on it. Where the others approach the humans cautiously, she walks with confidence. Her cheeks are rosy with cold, and she’s smiling right at Bohdi. It’s a nice open smile. Two men trail behind her. Bohdi blinks—the men are spitting images of the woman and also of Thor. They’re smiling at Bohdi, too.

“I’m so glad we avoided a squabble, Thor,” the woman says, putting a hand on Thor’s arm. Bohdi feels no lie. “So this is Bohdi Patelson, Father?” asks one of the Frost Giant men. The other Frost Giant turns his eyes from Bohdi, opens his arms wide, and shouts, “Nari! Valli! Brothers, come here!”

The Frost Giant Thor look-alike throws out a hand in Bohdi’s direction. “It’s so wonderful to meet you. I’m so glad we didn’t have to fight! Perhaps someday you and I will have adventures, too?”

Bohdi feels no lie, but he stares down at the hand suspiciously. So much goodwill ... for him? He narrows his eyes at Thor. “Why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be fighting Fire Giants in Musselpheim?”

Thor raises an eyebrow, and then he laughs and slaps a hand on Bohdi’s shoulder, making him nearly fall to one knee. “Always so cranky!”

Bohdi scowls. He has the distinct impression that Thor isn’t talking about him. Thor reaches up and ruffles Bohdi’s hair; he hadn’t put on a helmet. Thor’s hand pauses for just a moment, and his smile drops. And then to the man still holding out his hand, he says, “Bohdi is from the Indian subcontinent of Midgard. They do not greet with a handshake.”

Bohdi stifles a sneeze. He looks up at Thor. Handshakes are common enough in India, and he’s not really from India anymore, anyway ...

“Oh,” says the man. He bobs his head. “Sorry!”

Bohdi’s brow furrows.

Thumping Bohdi’s shoulder again, Thor says, “I think you have a lot to tell me.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees one of the Frost Giants pull his hand away from Larson’s. Holding up his own hand, the Frost Giant exclaims in Jotunn, “I didn’t know humans had magic!”

“What did he say?” Larson says to Gerðr.

Bohdi looks back to Thor, and he puts it all together. Humans have magic now. Bohdi’s magic is still weak, but a touch will give away his identity to anyone who knew Loki. He gives Thor a grudging smile. Thor lifts his brows and then turns back to the woman and the man who must be a son. “This, Bohdi, is my son Magi; with Nari and Valli is my other son Modi.” Thor brings the hand of the blonde woman to his lips. “And this is their mother, Queen Jarnsaxa from east of the Iron Wood. I come here every winter to hunt with them.” Thor gives a thin smile. “As for being excused from the front … My father still hunts for Loki. He himself is in Musselpheim keeping an eye out for him there. He wished for me to come here …” A wry smile comes to his lips. “For some strange reason Loki’s incarnations have a tendency to turn up in the wilds of the Jotunheim and Musselpheim lands.”

Bohdi blinks at his words—so much for being unpredictable.

“I thought Loki was dead,” snaps Larson.

“Indeed he is,” says Thor. “His spirit lives now in a new host.” He bows his head. “However, for centuries he was Loki to me, and so I call him Loki still. Old habits die hard.”

Bohdi rubs the back of his neck. Larson’s eyes are focused with laser-like intensity on Odin’s son. Steve is hanging back, beyond the lieutenant. He meets Bohdi’s gaze for just an instant.

“What does Odin want with Loki?” asks Tucker, the wide-eyed kid from Kansas.

“To kill him for real?” Rush suggests.

Thor’s nostrils flare, and he glares at Rush. “No, he wishes to make amends. He wants the new Loki to come home and serve by his side once more.” Thor’s eyes drop to the ground. “I am to tell him so, should I find him.”

Bohdi’s hands tighten on his rifle. He thinks of Ruger with the blood blooming in his abdomen. He thinks of Brill’s pulse disappearing beneath his fingers. He thinks of Odin reaching toward Amy, looking at her like she was some sort of pretty insect. He can’t help it, he snorts.

You never know how loud a party is until all the noise stops. All murmurs among the Asgardians, Jotunn, and humans cease. One of the Asgardians says, “You would scoff at such an honor?”

Bohdi blinks, and then he grins. His lighter is in his hand without him realizing how it got there. “I would never accept that honor. I’ve been to Asgard. They don’t have video games.” A flame dances at the end of his thumb.

A few of the SEALs chuckle. Thor rolls his eyes. Amy is pressing her hand to her mouth to hide a smile, and Steve is smiling outright. To the group at large, Steve says in Jotunn, “We’re about to have breakfast. Care to join us?”

Bohdi licks his lips. Now that the initial fear has passed, hunger is hitting his stomach like a punch to the gut. There are nods all around. A couple of guys hustle into the tent and come out a few moments later with hunks of meat they’ve packed in empty ammo boxes. As their guests cautiously approach, Steve takes a piece of lion meat from Amy’s hands, smiles and says, “We have plenty of lion to go around.”

The Asgardians and Frost Giants draw back. One of the Frost Giants says, “We feed this meat to our dogs!”

Bohdi’s too hungry to care about the implications of that. He grabs his portion when Berry passes it out and rips off the biggest piece he can manage.

Chewing his own share, Steve raises an eyebrow, swallows and slowly licks his lips. Smiling at the Asgardians, he tilts his head. “Really? We think that by eating lion meat we consume the spirit of the animal.” He shrugs. “Oh, well, we’re only weak humans. What would we know?”

Bohdi doesn’t spit out his food, but it’s a near call. Park starts to choke. Tucker says, “What are they talking about?” Thor snorts. Hand on his hammer, his eyes drop to the lion. “We’ve been tracking this lion for days … may I ask who brought down the beast?”

“I did,” says Beatrice.

There are murmurs from the Frost Giants and Asgardians. They clear out of the way as Beatrice walks by, taking a little bit of the lion over to Gerðr and Larson.

Smacking his lips, Steve raises his eyebrows, looking for all the world like he couldn’t be more surprised. “Your grandmothers don’t hunt lions?”

The looks of fear and apprehension on the Asgardian and Frost Giant faces are beautiful. Biting back a laugh, Bohdi turns to Steve and says in Jotunn, “It must be because they don’t eat the lions.”

Park grins and chuckles.

“Someone translate, please!” Larson says. Gerðr, leans over and begins whispering in his ear, and he smiles. A Frost Giantess standing beside Jarnsaxa steps forward. She has bright blue eyes and black hair streaked with gray. She looks familiar for some reason. She nods at Sigyn and then to Steve. In flawless English she says, “I am Heiðr Gullveigsdottir. Your ways are strange, humans. But you are mighty warriors and are welcome to be our guests at Gullveig’s Keep until springtime, at least.” She shoots a dark look at Ullr and then lifts her chin and gives the same pronouncement in Jotunn. At her words, at least three dozen more Frost Giants emerge from the mist.

A man with a beard raises an axe and shouts, “Humans come to Jotunheim! Mountains are falling! Yeti are crying! Ragnarok is upon us!” Whooping and laughing, the Frost Giants flood among the team, slapping backs, shaking hands, and bumping foreheads. One looks like he’s going to bump Bohdi’s forehead, but Thor drapes a protective arm over Bohdi’s shoulder, and the man draws back and just punches him in the shoulder.

“Thanks,” says Bohdi, taking another bite from the meat he’s eating. He thinks it might be a finger-paw-bone-bit; it’s as large as a drumstick, disgusting but fatty. He looks up at Thor. “Errr … Sure you don’t want some lion?”

Thor raises an eyebrow. “Thank you, no.”

Bohdi shrugs and takes another bite as a party erupts around them. Nari and Valli are talking animatedly with Magi and Modi. Berry is showing some curious Frost Giants a rifle. Park has a girl draping an arm around his shoulder. Rush is swinging a guy’s axe. Off to one side, Bohdi hears Harding say, “You can rock me, Ragnar.” Bohdi’s eyes go to where she is talking to the blonde Viking who just declared Ragnarok.

Taking her hand and kissing it, he says in English, “My name is Ralf, not Ragnar. Ragnar is my brother, tiny shield maiden. You are welcome to be both our guests at the feast tonight.” Harding grins and bites her lip. Bohdi blinks and then realizes a few of the Frost Giantesses are standing a few feet away, smiling at him, and eyeing him from head to toe.

He can’t help it, he smiles and winks out of habit … and then winces and crumples at the knees as Thor pinches his ear. The girls gasp and scuttle away before Thor lets go. As soon as he does, Bohdi glares up at him. The big man glares right back. Rubbing his ear, Bohdi grumbles, “It’s going to be a long winter.”

“Nay, it will be short, and the spring will be bloody,” Thor says, his voice like far off thunder.

Before Bohdi can ask what Thor means, the big guy smiles, winks and says, “You’re welcome.”

“For what?”

And suddenly Amy is next to him, bouncing on her feet, eyes wide. “They know a pass through the triple peaks! We won’t have to go around. We’ll be at Gullveig’s Keep tonight! We’ll have a bath with hot water!”

Her eyes get all sparkly and faraway. “And there is central heating, and down-filled beds, and the castle and trees are molded together as one …”

She goes on to excitedly describe the Keep, but his brain is kind of stuck at, “We’ll have a bath.” It reminds Bohdi of a dream he had featuring her … and it brings a smile to his face, even if he knows we isn’t precisely what she meant.

x x x x

Walking up the road from the sea, Loki’s jaw goes slack. He hasn’t been to the Iron Wood in perhaps centuries, and he’s never seen Gullveig’s Keep. Even from a distance, it is impressive. Tucked back from the sea, safely ensconced by the Iron Wood, the Keep is situated on a mesa. Carefully cultivated iron wood trees cover the mesa’s sides in easily defensible terraces that remind Loki of the rice fields of Midgard’s terraced rice patties. At the top of the mesa stands the Keep proper. It is a fortress built of living trees, stone, and metal. It is bound on six sides by giant trees that are clad in great plates of copper armor, green with age. The naked ochre wood of the giant trees is exposed where the Frost Giants have carved lookouts into the trunks. Between the giant trees are walls of gray stone, inset with more copper metal bands. Squinting, Loki realizes the copper bands are covering what must be the trunks of iron wood saplings, trained to grow in an orderly weave through the castle walls.

“Clever,” says Loki. “The trees make the Keep impervious to magic; the copper armor makes the place nearly impervious to fire.”

“And it’s pretty,” says Thor.

The scene is somewhat marred by smoke. Thick and black, it rises from many chimneys in great clouds. But Loki does not contradict Thor’s general assessment.

His eyes fall to the fresh, newly-paved road they walk upon. Iron wood trees, shedding their leaves for fall, crowd on either side, so they hadn’t brought Thor’s magic chariot.

Between the trees Loki catches sight of a man in hunter’s garb. Eyes on him, the hunter raises his hand to his mouth, makes a trilling noise like that of a bird, and then disappears. The trilling is echoed further up the road, and then again, and again toward the Keep. It’s a message to Gullveig. Loki’s eyes narrow. He doesn’t remember the tribes of the Iron Wood being quite so cooperative before.

There is another surprise when they reach the mesa’s base. They pass through two giant copper gates into chambers carved into the mesa’s stone foundations and are led by guards into a square paddock the size of a small hut. The paddock has a metal and wooden floor, and giant metal cables are anchored at each of its four corners. It is lit only by far-off sky lights.

“What sorcery is this?” Thor demands.

The guards laugh. “There is no sorcery here; that is women’s magic, Odinson. This is a levitator; its power is from steam.”

There is the hiss and the clacking of gears, and then the paddock begins to rise. Thor plants his feet wide and glares at the guards. For his part Loki cranes his neck and tries to determine the source of the enchantment.

Solid rock gives way to rough soil supported by wooden beams and tree roots. And then they are directly beneath the skylights, and the paddock comes trembling to a stop. The guards open the gates, and then lead them through an enormous wooden door into a market, shaded by giant iron wood trees. It’s evening, but the market hums with activity. It is lit with oil lamps of the type that just went up on the streets of London—evidence that Gullveig has been journeying to Midgard? Gullveig wouldn’t be so foolish as to violate Odin’s law, would she? Over the buzz of busy merchants he hears the ringing noise of blacksmith hammers in the distance.

They walk out from under the branches of an enormous tree and enter a sort of central square. Loki stops in place and gapes. Before them is a building the likes of which Loki has never seen. It looks like a cathedral from Medieval Europe, with stained glass windows and flying buttresses—but instead of stone, the buttresses are made of living trees.

Beneath an enormous window of stained glass, two great double doors open, and a woman stands silhouetted on the front steps. A few loose tree branches lift in the silhouette’s direction. “Gullveig,” Thor bellows. “Well met. We were hoping to go hunting in your wood.”

Gullveig strides down the steps toward them. Gullveig is not a queen, or a leader in the sense that Asgardians would understand. But she holds disproportionate sway over the many tribes that live in the forest. As she crosses the market square, men and women step out of her path and tip their heads. “Of course you are welcome in my wood, Thor,” she says, drawing to a stop before them. Her eyes fall on Loki. “But what brings you here, Loki?”

Bowing his head, he takes her hand. “Just hunting with Thor.” It’s been, what, a decade since he saw her at Utgard’s castle? She’d hummed with magic then, and now the hum is almost a song. Touching her skin gives him a feeling akin to the buzz of electricity in the air after Thor uses Mjolnir, but decidedly more pleasant. Above their heads he hears the trees rustling. Kissing her knuckles, he meets her eyes,

“You’re lying.” Gullveig sighs. “I’ve not broken any of the Allfather’s rules, Loki. I can prove it to you; there is no need to spy.” Loki senses no lie, but her hand trembles as she speaks, and Loki wonders what she fears.

Thor grumbles, “We are not here to spy!”

Lifting his eyebrow, Loki massages her knuckles, loathe to let go of her and her magic. “Of course we are not here to spy,” he says. Thor isn’t tasked with that, only him.

Eyes on him, fingers still trembling, Gullveig draws her hand away. He sees her throat move as she swallows. “Come,” she says, putting a hand on one of Thor’s beefy arms. “You must be weary from your journey.”

“Aye,” says Thor. “We are hungry.”

“And you stink like goats,” says Gullveig, leading Thor into the building that looks like a cathedral. “You’ll take a bath before you join us at our table.”

Loki sighs, expecting a long wait as servants fill tubs with cold water, and boil more water to bring the whole thing to an acceptable temperature. Of course maybe he could just heat the water himself … A jolt of warmth courses through him at the thought, a vine from one of the trees drops down onto his shoulder, and the warmth dissipates. Loki swipes it away.

“Thinking of magic already?” Gullveig asks, and Loki shoots her a glare.

Looking up at the offending vine, now slinking in her direction, Gullveig sighs. “That one is getting a bit obnoxious.”

He wonders why she always hums with enough magic to make the trees hungry, but before he can ruminate too much on it, they are inside the cathedral. It is not a place of worship. Immediately inside is an enormous foyer and banquet area, beyond which the interior is divided into several stories of apartments—or maybe places of business—Loki isn’t sure. There are children underfoot, and aged Frost Giants hobbling here and there. The bustle and clutter of the space is not as awe inspiring as the architecture of Asgard, but it is functional. Between the giant stained glass windows and the gas lamps, the space is bright and cheerful. And despite the height of the ceiling, it is warm … he taps his foot. The stones on the floor seem to be heated.

Gullveig leads them past the entranceway and down the main aisle of what seems to be a town within a town. They are led into a room that smells of pine and soap. To Loki’s surprise, there are spigots out of which steaming water pours. Beyond the small rinse room is a larger space with a pool-sized bath, with steam swirling up from the surface, and giant copper spigots set into the walls.

“Running hot water?” Loki asks.

“I have not kidnapped any humans, Loki, don’t worry, Loki—nor ventured on their shores.”

Loki senses no lie. “Then how —”

“I have the gift of sight,” says Gullveig. Loki says nothing, but the lie makes his skin crawl.

x x x x

The creak of a rickety stair beneath his feet makes Steve hastily grab a rough rope railing. He stares up the long, rickety flight of stairs and stifles a groan.

Steve’s legs burn as he steps on the next landing. The stairs creak and sway on the ropes suspending them. He tells himself this seeming death trap is taking them to some place where they’ll be safer. He lifts his head and sees Claire. Framed by light from open skylights, she’s bouncing on her feet on the landing five flights above, all smiles. She outraced the Asgardians, Frost Giants, and SEALs.

“This is all wrong,” Lewis pants a few steps below. “There used to be a freight levitator—elevator.”

A few steps above Steve, Heiðr says, “All lost in the fire.”

Steve hears Lewis whisper, “But that was two hundred years ago …”

Ralf, the Frost Giant who had declared Ragnarok, speaks in English. “Yes, it was Gullveig’s magic. She died and her magic died, too.”

Over the course of the day Steve has heard Asgardians and Frost Giants alike chide Ralf for his ability to understand humans. The Frost Giant had blushed and protested, “I cannot help it.”

“But it wasn’t magic,” Lewis pants. “It was technology.”

“Technology … it is magic, yes?” says Ralf.

“No …” she pants. “It’s steam powered?”

“Gullveig’s magic,” says Ralf. “She is dead. It won’t work.”

Steve feels a prickle on the back of his neck, and an itch over every inch of his body. He slides his gaze over the Asgardians and the Frost Giants. Thor’s face is frozen. Heiðr’s shoulders are rigid.

“A lot was lost in the fire,” says Heiðr, again.

“A levitator—is that like an elevator?” says Larson.

“Yes,” pants Lewis.

“That would explain the cables up there,” says Bohdi. Steve cranes his neck and sees what looks like the guts of a giant clock and some enormous dangling ropes of braided copper. An idea begins to form at the back of his mind … but he holds his tongue; he can’t say why.

“Captain,” Larson whispers, one step behind him. “Maybe we could offer help in fixing the elevator in exchange for shelter? It looks pretty basic and would keep us busy.”

That is exactly what Steve was thinking. There is a lot of mechanical experience among the team members, they can probably figure it out. He is about to say so when Ullr’s hand tightening on the pommel of his sword catches his eye. From the hard-packed ground beside them, a root snakes out toward the warrior. Ullr brushes it away with a grunt, but not before shooting a dark look in Larson’s direction.

Steve runs his tongue over his teeth; this is a touchy topic. For all Heiðr’s and Thor’s promises of safety on neutral ground, Steve would rather not risk a confrontation. Feigning fatigue, Steve falls back with an exaggerated gasp for breath. Meeting Larson’s eyes, he puts his finger to his lips, shakes his head, and mouths, Later.

Larson’s eyes get wide, but he nods and starts up the stairs.

Lewis, one more step behind, doesn’t catch the silent exchange, or just as likely, doesn’t care. “But by now,” Lewis says, head bowed, “you must have—”

Finger still to his lips, Steve puts a hand to her shoulder. Her head snaps up and then her mouth drops open. For a moment he thinks he’s going to face a Lewis tirade. But then she gives a hasty nod.

Steve feels a tickle in his ear, and sight and sound become muted. He instinctively smacks his hand at the offending tickle, and finds it ensnared in a slender white root.

“What?” he says, shaking it away.

“Your eyes were glowing,” says Lewis.

Steve blinks down at his hand and has a feeling of vertigo—and not just because they’re hundreds of feet up on swaying stairs. “We’ll talk about this later,” Steve whispers, and turns around fast.

A few minutes later, he’s on the landing, resting his hand on Claire’s shoulder. The Frost Giants open two worn doors that don’t quite fit the ancient archway. The team steps out onto the mesa’s top. From below he’d estimated that it was probably a few miles across. Lewis had said something about a giant cathedral structure being atop the mesa—a village within a town, she’d described it. He sees no such thing, just shanties. The trees on the mesa are young and sparse, none wider than a large oak. Steve smells salt in the air. He hears a bird’s cry, looks up, and sees a bird that looks a lot like a seagull drift above the tree tops. His eyes narrow. Of course, they’re close to the ocean, and would have had to walk alongside it if the giants hadn’t known of a shortcut through the Triple Peaks. He brings his eyes back down to earth. Shacks are clustered around the bases of young iron wood trees. Off to one side, there is a multi-story building that stands out for its sturdier construction and circular shape. Made of stone, it has a copper roof, a copper door, and copper window shutters. In front of the windows are neat boxes filled with cabbages of various colors. Standing in front of the building is a woman who can’t be more than four and a half feet tall. She has pale, nearly translucent skin, and black hair that is pulled back in a complicated arrangement at the back of her neck. She has enormous eyes that glow like a cat’s, a tiny nose, and full lips that give her the appearance of a doll. She wears a wide-brimmed hat and a finely cut coat of silver fur that reaches to her toes.

One of the Frost Giants takes a few exaggerated steps toward the small woman, obviously trying to frighten her. She draws back, but her feet stay firmly rooted to the spot.

The Frost Giant laughs and says in Jotunn, “Humans are magic now, Dwarf, and your kind are truly the most useless branch of the World Tree!”

He hears Thomas, the hulking historian of the team whisper, “Look, no beard! Tolkien was wrong.”

The woman scowls, and the ever conscientious Tucker says, “I think she understood you.”

Thomas taps his helmet and bows. “Excuse me, ma’am, I meant no offense.” Tucker does likewise, and so does Berry.

The apology seems to terrify the woman. Her eyes go wider still and she jumps, sending her hat flying toward the party. She immediately throws up her hands as though to shield her eyes from the sun. Steve blinks—the pale skin, the large eyes—didn’t the dwarves in Norse mythology avoid the light of day?

“Don’t bother apologizing to a dwarf,” Ralf shouts.

Claire darts from Steve’s side, picks up the hat, and carries it over to the small woman. “Here you go, ma’am,” she says.

The woman takes it with a timid hand. Still keeping a hand up to protect herself from the light, she manages a tiny bow. The Asgardians and Frost Giants mutter, and some glare at Claire. Steve glares right back at them. Catching up with Claire, he drops a protective hand on her shoulder.

Lifting her head, she whispers, “Dad, I didn’t like them scaring her.”

Steve’s eyes run over the Frost Giants, talking to the humans as though they are long lost kin, and the Asgardians who are glaring at the Frost Giants and humans—except Thor. Thor is walking along with Bohdi and Lewis, Beatrice close beside them. Thor’s expression is deeply sad.

Further beyond them Sigyn, Nari, and Valli are talking to Heiðr. They seem to have missed the exchange between the dwarf woman, Frost Giants, and humans completely.

Steve looks back at the dwarf dwelling. There is history and politics that he doesn’t understand. A sense of foreboding falls upon him like a lead weight. Trees beside him rustle their leafless branches. Belatedly, he says to Claire, “I didn’t like them scaring her either.”

Chapter 11

Amy pulls on a change of clothing that seems the least dirty and wraps her wet hair in what passes for a towel. In Gullveig’s time there had been thick plush towels made of the local linen. What she’s using now looks a lot more like an old-fashioned cloth diaper. Beatrice steps into the small bathing area. “All yours, Grandma,” Amy says, gesturing to a bucket beneath a large wooden barrel with a spout. Through the thin plank walls, she hears one of the guys in an adjoining room shout, “Shit, that’s cold!”

Amy shivers. “It’s cold, but at least we’re clean.”

“Joy,” says Beatrice. “Get out of here. There isn’t room for two.”

“See you in the new digs,” says Amy, stepping out of the small bathing room into a semi-open chamber. The ruins of the large soaking baths from Loki’s memories surround her, trees in several stages of growth peeking out between the tiles.

Amy quickly passes through the space and out into the snow-covered alleyway that runs through the small town of crude wooden structures. She sees Cruz and Park standing guard beside a hut that doesn’t look much bigger than her bedroom at home. Fenrir is sitting beside them, panting in the snow. Fenrir’s ears are at the level of the eaves. Amy looks up at the thatch roof and hopes there won’t be critters in the hay. She lifts her chin and thinks of the positives. It has a prominent chimney; hopefully soon there will be a fire. As Amy hustles over, Fenrir gives a happy bark.

Cruz says hello and gives a nod, but Park is busy talking to two Frost Giantesses. In Jotunn he says, “I am flattered that you like my eyes, ma’am … but I’m on duty right now.” As Amy passes by, he gives a thumbs up.

Amy goes to the door and is about to turn the handle when she hears Rush whining. “Aw … come on Harding, I can rock you just as good as Ragnar.”

“Get your hand off me or you’re going to lose the only girlfriend you’ve got,” Harding snaps.

Amy pushes the door open just in time to see Rush withdrawing his hand from Harding’s shoulder. The small Marine is sitting on her heels in front of a fireplace, arranging some logs.

Rush scowls down at her. “You don’t have to be so defensive,” he says, sounding like a petulant child.

“Go take a bath and wash out your mind,” says Harding.

Rush says something too low for Amy to hear, but she knows it isn’t nice. And then he turns and strides by her. He doesn’t say hello or acknowledge her and gives her plenty of distance.

To the other woman, Amy says, “Are you okay?”

“Yep,” says the Marine, taking out a lighter. The flame catches, and some small pieces of tinder begin to crackle. Harding scowls into the fire.

Amy steps closer to her. “Are you going to report him?”

Pushing a stray lock of blonde hair behind her ear, Harding blinks up at her. “What? No, he backed down.” Shaking her head, she looks back at the flames.

“But isn’t it—”

Harding cuts her off. “He’s stupid, clumsy, and an ass. But we need to stick together here.” Sighing, Harding adds, “Look, don’t worry. He won’t give you any trouble. He knows Patel will cut his balls off if he does.” She smiles. “After your grandmother kills him.”

“He shouldn’t be nice because he’s afraid … he should be nice because …”

“He’s not a rapist,” Harding says. “He’s just a jerk with mommy issues.”

Amy touches her throat. Everyone has heard Rush mumbling about his mom in his sleep … he always sounds frightened and young. She sort of thought it was an unspoken rule that no one talked about it.

Harding shakes her head. “Look, forget it. I’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. It’s not Rush we have to worry about.”

Amy doesn’t know if she believes that, but she lets the subject drop. Scooting closer to the fire, she holds her hands out to the warmth.

A few minutes later, the door opens and Beatrice comes in, umbrella under her arm and Gerðr beside her. The Frost Giantess looks around the room, slips off her bracelets and takes off the hat she wears on her damp white-blonde hair. Amy makes room for them beside the fire. They’re both shivering.

Amy bites her lip. “Sorry there was no hot running water.” Looking at the fireplace, her heart falls. “They used to have a building that was always warm on the inside, and metal stoves around the fireplaces. It was like they were just coming out of a dark age …”

“Looks like they’re back in the dark ages,” Harding says. Picking up a spare log, she points at a groove in the floor close to the fire. “I believe you when you said they had stoves. Look at this hole in the floor—that was probably the intake area. Also, I noticed holes in the fireplace where it looks like walls have been torn down. Probably metal walls that forced the heat around, conserving heat and fuel before it went up the chimney. It was simple technology, but not widely in use until the 1800s.” Her voice drifts off—she sounds as sad as Amy feels.

Gerðr rubs her hands in front of the flames. Little tendrils of tree branches from the eaves wave in her direction. When she speaks, her English is flawless. “In most of the realms such technology is not needed. We use magical stoves or stones for heating and cooking. The manufacture of such things is a specialty of the Red Dwarves.”

Amy stamps her feet and winces. Tired of wearing boots on her blisters, she slips them off. The stones beneath her feet are cold. There is only one bit of adornment in the room, an enormous bear hide laid out as a rug in the center of the floor. Picking up a back paw, she drags it toward the fire.

“Oh, what’s that?” says Beatrice.

Amy turns to see her grandmother walking over to a wooden door in the floor. Amy blinks. Loki had no memories of wooden doors in the floor.

Going over, Harding sits on her heels and tugs on a small metal ring. The door lifts with a creak. “Hmmm…” she says. “Metal pipes and what looks like an access tunnel.”

Beatrice and Amy sit down beside her. Suddenly the cold isn’t so bothersome ... a mystery! Amy peers into the tunnel. There’s just enough space to crawl through.

“Do you think you should be opening it?” asks Gerðr. “It could be dangerous.”

Amy meets her grandmother’s eyes, and then Harding’s. All of them look at the Frost Giantess.

“If it was dangerous, they should have locked it,” says Harding.

“Looks like pipes for heating the floor,” says Beatrice, tapping one with her umbrella. “I’d like heat if we’re going to be here the rest of the winter.”

Bouncing on her heels, Amy says, “I’m game, let’s go!” She can feel warm air rushing up from below.

Raising an eyebrow, Harding unholsters her Glock. “Let me check it out first.” In a smooth movement, she hops down into the tunnel, pulls a flashlight from some invisible pocket, and ducks her head beneath the floor.

At that moment, the door opens and Steve stands in the frame, Claire next to him, and the other men behind him. His face is set to serious and angry. Amy’s jaw drops. What will he say? It probably isn’t nice or politically appropriate to poke around your allies’ fortress-type place, and Steve is all about politics.

Harding doesn’t get out of the hole. “Yep, looks like a service tunnel.”

Hastily putting on her hat and bracelets, Gerðr says in her own language, “I told them it might be dangerous.”

“Just more pipes and stuff,” calls Harding. “Warmer down here, too …”

“Harding, get out of there!” Steve barks, stepping into the room. Harding backs up and gracefully vaults out of the hole. Amy’s about to defend the Marine’s actions but before she can, Steve comes over and frowns into the tunnel. “Rush, you’ve got plumbing experience. Get down there.” All the other guys but the ones on guard come rushing in, and Sigyn, Nari and Valli bring up the rear.

“Yes, Sir!” says Rush, still wet from his own bath. He jogs over and jumps down.

All the other guys come and crowd around the hole. Bohdi comes over, too. He leans against Amy, more than he needs to. She smiles and leans back, even though she doesn’t have to. His hair is wet, he’s shaved, and he smells like soap.

“Was it the central heating system you talked about earlier?” Bohdi asks, peering down into the tunnel.

“Could be!” says Rush, disappearing from view.

Normally, Amy thinks of the SEAL team as puppy-like—physical, full of energy, but ready to snap to attention at the first sound of a whistle. At the moment, they remind her more of curious cats. They buzz around her whispering about floor heating and flushing toilets. She looks up at Gerðr, Sigyn, Nari, and Valli. By contrast they’re standing back, looking uncertain.

She sees Steve looking at them, too, his gaze calculating. “I had a little talk to Heiðr,” he says. “She seems to believe that the running water, central heating, and other technology that used to exist in this place were magic.”

“They weren’t,” Amy says. “Any large magic expenditure is blocked by the trees.”

Larson rubs the back of his neck. “Ralf, and even us, we’ve been using magic and it hasn’t been blocked. Are you sure the trees here are going to block Odin if he opens a World Gate?”

Amy blinks. And then she knows how to explain it. “Just like a house plant doesn’t tilt its leaves to a weak light source, the trees here don’t respond to a little magic.” Brow furrowing, she remembers the tiny fronds of branches reaching toward Gerðr. “Or, they don’t respond as forcefully. It makes sense if you think about it. It takes comparably more energy to bend a stick, compared to say an arm, that’s essentially on hinges. Flexing the tough cellulose of plant structures ...” She looks around the room and sees eyes glazing over. “Too much detail?”

Larson gives her what might be a tight smile, but it is utterly lacking in the lips-turned-up part. “We get the picture.”

“We saw what happened to Thor’s lightning,” says Bohdi.

Raising a hand, Steve says, “Back on topic … Heiðr invited some dwarves to investigate the old magical devices, but the two lead dwarves on the project met an accident and the others left.”

Amy doesn’t like the sound of that. “What sort of accident?”

Steve shakes his head. “I don’t know.” His tone says he doesn’t like it, either.

She gulps and looks down the hole. She thought she heard the Frost Giants harassing the dwarf inn owner earlier. Dwarves are generally reviled in the other realms for being small, subterranean, and magically weak. But it’s their weakness that has allowed them to become the craftspeople of the magical worlds. Because their innate magic is weak, they’ve perfected the art of harnessing it in magical objects. In a way, of all the magical races, dwarves are the most human.

Across the room, Cruz says, “So how long are we staying here?”

Amy sees Steve and Larson exchange a glance. Frowning, Larson looks away first. Steve says, “Heiðr revealed a few options for us—”

Every single person in the room tenses. And then Steve finishes. “—but none of them will be available until spring.”

The mood plummets. Shoulders slouch. Gazes shift to the floor.

Rush backs up so he’s sitting directly below everyone. “Looks like a heating system, alright. There is probably a pump somewhere. We might be able to fix it, depending on how it’s powered.” Pulling himself out, he grimaces. “We’d have to check the pipes to make sure they’re not busted. Don’t know how we’d replace them if they were broken ...”

“Can we patch them up?” Steve asks. “I can weld. Worked in a machine shop some summers during high school.”

Amy blinks. “It’s legal for a minor to weld?”

Steve grins. It’s a real grin, not a patented Steve public-press-op-photo smile. “Nope, but I didn’t tell.”

“I can weld, too,” says Larson, and Amy thinks she sees a twinkle in his normally too-stern blue eyes.

“Me, too,” says Redman. “I took a metal sculpture class in community college.” Everyone looks at him. He shrugs. “I like playing with fire.”

Steve chuckles. “Don’t we all?” There are echoing chuckles throughout the room.

Harding taps her chin. “We could make a welder with a battery from one of the snowmobiles.”

“We’d have to go back and get them,” says Berry.

Amy remembers the hunters in Loki’s memories, calling to one another across long distances. “The Frost Giants have a communication system … I don’t know how it works precisely. But if we had tradeable goods maybe one of their hunting parties would bring them back for us.”

“We’ve got tradeable goods,” says Rush, with a smile.

“What sort of tradeable goods?” Sigyn asks.

Rush grins wide. Blushing a little, Tucker rolls his eyes. “Of course you brought some.”

“Cigarettes?” asks Bohdi, a little too hopefully.

“Nope,” says Rush. “Por—”

“Don’t finish,” Steve snaps.

“Finish what?” asks Claire.

“Ohhhhhhh,” says Bohdi.

Grinning, Redman runs a hand through his sandy brown hair. “You’ve been holding out on us, Rush.”

Amy blinks, still in the dark.

“Of course we’d have to charge the batteries once we got them back,” says Bohdi.

The room explodes in suggestions from everyone at once. Some are serious and plausible, like building a windmill. Some, like Bohdi’s suggestion of building a giant gerbil-wheel turbine and throwing Rush in to power it, are less plausible. But what strikes Amy is how happy all the humans are. Maybe it’s having a solvable problem, a distraction from the gravity of the situation.

Clearing her throat, Harding says, “My comm equipment has a trundle charger. We could use that.”

“Aww, but I wanted to see Rush in a gerbil wheel,” says Redman.

“All right, guys,” says Steve. “We need to come up with a plan. Heiðr says that this place was abandoned for nearly two hundred years. She’d like to restore it to its former glory. Considering how we probably don’t have enough tradeable goods to feed us through the winter, it’s a problem we need to solve.” He turns his gaze to Amy. “Lewis, what can you tell us about how this place used to work—and how this place burned down?”

“Did they burn Gullveig at the stake, like in the myths?” says Thomas, the historian of the team.

“They may well have,” Sigyn mutters darkly.

Thomas clears his throat. “And did Loki eat her heart and … you know …”

Amy feels her skin heat. Before she can think of a proper retort, Valli strides toward the broad-shouldered SEAL. “He did not eat her heart and then shit out all the trolls and ogres in the world. That is a disgusting myth and I should—”

Nari catches his brother. Eyes on Amy, he says, “Would you like to tell them what really happened?”

Amy opens her mouth, but before she can get a word out, Tucker says, “Wait, why is he asking you to tell us?” He tilts his head, his cornflower blue eyes on Amy. He looks concerned as much as confused. “Wouldn’t Loki’s own sons or his wife know the story better?”

Amy gulps. Explaining the situation back on Earth for Sigyn and her sons had been very uncomfortable … she doesn’t want to do it again. Sigyn comes to her rescue. “I am Loki’s ex-wife. At the time of his passing, he was courting Dr. Lewis. He passed all his memories to her—giving Dr. Lewis a first-person perspective.”

Courting isn’t the right word, but Amy doesn’t correct her. Sigyn drops a hand on her shoulder and says, “My husband always had good taste when it came to his romantic partners.” Sigyn squeezes her shoulder and says quietly, “Go ahead, tell them about Loki and Gullveig.” Amy bows her head. What Loki had with Gullveig was different.

x x x x

Loki isn’t in the habit of leaving feasts early, but he wants to chat with Gullveig alone. Gullveig has an entourage, so he needs to get where she will be going before she does. A bribe from Odin’s stockpile of gold rings is enough to convince a serving girl to lead him to Gullveig’s quarters. The door, of course, is locked.

Loki reaches into his pocket to pull out his lock-picking tools. And then he pauses. While he was locked up in the cave he’d had plenty of time to study the journal of Luthor. He’d learned to move things with his mind. It’s difficult, and magically intensive, but he’s curious. He looks at the roof above his head. Twisting tree branches make up some of the rafters. Turning his focus to the door, he reaches out with a hand, pulls magic into himself and —

One of the branches whips down and lashes around his wrist. He tries to focus his magic on removing it—it doesn’t budge, but another branch whips down next to the first. He relaxes … and the branches go limp. He pulls them off and then spends a few minutes tucking them back above his head. And then he pulls out his tools, opens the doors, slips in, and stretches out on Gullveig’s bed —

x x x x

“Lewis, you don’t really need to be this detailed,” Larson says.

Amy pauses mid-sentence. “But that seems important.” She’s not sure why … She rubs her forehead. “The trees whipped out and attacked him when he was performing energy-intensive magic. It would have trapped him there if he hadn’t stopped.”

“Could be useful,” says Bohdi.

Amy sits up a little straighter, and Larson scowls.

Bohdi smiles and raises an eyebrow. “If we had to contain, say, a critter that is magical all the time—a chatty magical man-eating dragon, maybe?”

“Haven’t seen many of those around these parts,” says Larson.

Steve says, “I’d rather hear all the details. We don’t know what will be useful.”

Amy flushes. Steve supports her, too?

Larson shakes his head. “I still don’t see … Whatever. Go on.”

“Wait!” says Steve, throwing up a hand. “This story is suitable for kids, right?”

“Dad!” says Claire.

Amy blinks. “Oh, no, Loki wasn’t going to—right then—no.” Just later … She looks up at Sigyn. The other woman shrugs. Of course, she knows.

“That’s good,” says Harding, bent over her comm equipment, pumping a trundle thing with one foot. “Because he was sounding like a creeper.”

In halting English, Gerðr says softly, “If I understand creeper … No, Loki not take advantage …” Her eyes flit to Amy and then away. “... by force.”

Amy takes a deep breath at the silent implication. Not by force, but by trickery. And at least to Gerðr, Amy was a “victim.” She closes her eyes, hit by a roiling flood of emotions. It hadn’t been like that. Loki had never lied to her or promised her anything. He just hadn’t felt the same way about her that she did about him. She was fun to play with but …

She feels a nudge at her shoulder. She lifts her eyes to find Bohdi gazing at her. The firelight is making his eyes appear orange. “Hey,” he says, “you okay?”

Blinking, she looks around and sees everyone staring at her. “Yes,” she says, and Bohdi doesn’t sneeze, even though it’s a lie. Once she’d thought that he was Loki, and the sneeze was his equivalent to the all-over itch Loki used to get. But he isn’t Loki. And that’s a good thing.

She pushes back a lock of hair, and begins again, “So Gullveig comes back—”

x x x x

Loki wakes to the sound of Gullveig softly padding around the room. He knows he should get up and announce himself, but her bed is deliciously comfy…

The curtains draw back at the foot of the bed, and there is Gullveig, silhouetted by the lamplight, a gleaming pistol in her hand. “It’s you,” she says. For a moment neither Loki nor Gullveig move. Loki stares at the pistol, transfixed like a bird staring at a snake. He wonders if the branches would reach him before he gathered enough magic to stop the bullet. He frowns. Or, he could just blow the thing up in her hand—he could do that so quickly the branches wouldn’t have time to gather. But he’d hate to. Aside from the lie about the gift of sight, he rather likes Gullveig.

The leader of the Iron Wood takes a deep breath and sets the pistol down carefully upon the bed. “Come to kill me, already?” she whispers.

Loki raises an eyebrow. He’s half-wrapped in the fur throw that was lying on her bed and is staring at her between the tips of his boots. It was quite rude of him not to take them off and he’s actually feeling a little guilty about it. Rudeness aside, this is not the pose of an assassin. “Kill you?”

She looks away, and for a moment she looks so much like Aggie that he finds his breath catching.

x x x x

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Bohdi fights the urge to sneeze from Amy’s lie. “Aggie?”

“Anganboða,” Sigyn says. “His first wife, and my friend.”

Bohdi gulps, remembering the beautiful woman lying in his arms in his dream.

Thomas, the burly historian says, “Did Odin kill her? Like in the myths?”

“Let’s just say I had a few reasons to want Baldur dead,” Sigyn hisses.

“Really?” Bohdi says, “Odin said she committed suicide.” And Bohdi had sensed no lie.

“She was depressed,” Amy says, sounding confused. “Loki found her … you were there, Sigyn.”

Sigyn looks away. “I know your kind’s definition of depression. You believe it is caused by a chemical imbalance.” Eyes flashing, she turns back to the group. “But sometimes depression is a logical response to a situation that is untenable! She had Prince Baldur’s eye, and when Loki was captured and tortured for thirty days, it was Baldur who prevented Odin from negotiating for his release.” Sigyn gives a tight smile. “Baldur visited Anganboða many times during those thirty days to tell her not to worry, that she would be welcome in his household as a princess should Loki not return.” Her lip curls. “However, a similar offer of hospitality was not extended to her daughter, Helen.”

Where he sits staring at a knife blade, Nari says, “Baldur would have killed Helen earlier if Thor hadn’t rescued father. My half-sister wouldn’t have fit in Baldur’s household—no lies or illusions could persist around her.”

“Helen was the Goddess of Truth!” Valli declares. “When she was around, Nari and I were so much stronger … so of course Baldur had to kill her.” He scowls at the ground. “She was still just a little girl.”

Bohdi finds himself clutching his lighter so tightly his hand hurts.

Sigyn bows her head. “If you had seen Loki’s body when Thor returned him … Aggie blamed herself. I think she thought if it weren’t for her, Baldur would have had no reason to persecute Loki.” Eyes shining bright with unshed tears, she says, “It may seem weak to you, but in an absolute monarchy, a woman has no defense against the affections of a golden prince.”

There’s a subtle shift in the room. Bohdi’s eyes flick to the SEALs. Some of them have probably seen torture victims, and most have served in regions where dictatorships of one form or another exist; they can imagine what catching the favored son’s eye would mean. Bohdi looks at his hands. It’s a horrible, horrible story. And yet … maybe it wasn’t Chaos that killed Aggie. He flicks his lighter. Of course, Chaos hadn’t saved her either.

“Lewis, continue,” Steve says.

Amy gulps. “So Loki says, ‘Assassinate you? It never occurred to you that this might be an incredibly clumsy seduction attempt?’ just to lighten the mood.”

x x x x

“Don’t mock me,” Gullveig says.

Tilting his head, Loki smirks. “If you’re so sure I’m here to kill you, why cast aside the pistol?”

Her jaw drops. “You killed Baldur the Bold and Invincible.”

“Vicious rumors,” Loki says, perhaps too gleefully. He didn’t kill Baldur, he merely helped.

x x x x

“And mother helped, too!” cries Valli, right by Steve’s ear. Eardrums ringing, he winces and turns to Loki’s more excitable son.

Valli raises his chin. “Mother is the Goddess of Victory. And she always gets what she wants.”

Steve’s gaze goes to Sigyn. Her blonde hair is dark and damp but neatly combed. The room has warmed up, and she’s cast aside her parka. She wears the bulky military clothes appropriate for cold weather. Somehow she still looks elegant. It’s the way she stands, her poise and confidence. This is the second time Valli has declared her the Goddess of Victory, and now, like the last time, he notices she looks flustered. She denies she is a goddess … but if Loki was Chaos, couldn’t Victory have an embodiment as well?

“And what does the Victory Lady want?” Steve asks.

Sigyn’s head snaps to him. “The end to imperialist monarchies everywhere, like the one that killed my best friend, denied my husband knowledge of what he really was, destroyed the little girl I loved as a daughter, and sought to end the lives of my sons.” She looks around the room. “I want the freedom and protection from tyranny that citizens of Europe and the Northern Americas take for granted, imperfect as it may be.”

Steve’s eyes brush over the other men and women in the room. He sees the SEALs and Harding nodding in understanding and pride. He finds himself smiling at Sigyn. It was the perfect thing to say, to get their attention and win their loyalty. Sigyn catches his eye, flushes, and looks away.

Steve tilts his head. Well, that was interesting. Schooling his features to perfectly neutral, even though he wants to smile, he turns to Lewis. “Please continue, Doctor.”

x x x x

“And you killed Filmafeng,” Gullveig says.

Loki scowls. “I still dispute that accusation. It was just bad timing on Filmafeng’s part.” He doesn’t even remember killing the servant before the feast, though it was the deed that condemned him to 200 years in a cave.

“There is good timing for a heart attack?” says Gullveig. Her eyes go to the pistol, lying on the mattress. She bows her head. “My only hope is to appeal to your mercy.”

Loki finds himself feeling suddenly exhausted. “It’s not my mercy you need. It’s Odin’s.” He looks around the room. It’s warm, despite the chill outside, and bright despite the night. He looks at the thick curtains that surround the bed. They’re woven and sewn with machine precision—and probably were made with the aid of machines. Waving a hand, Loki says,“Really, I like what you’ve done with the place. But I know that it isn’t the gift of sight that is giving you all these human innovations. The Allfather, and my friend Hoenir, too, they need assurances you’re not visiting Midgard and interfering in human affairs.” He smiles tightly at memory of the giant he killed as a boy. “Or kidnapping children and demanding sacrifices.”

Gullveig takes a step back.

“Show me how you’re acquiring human magic, Gullveig. If you’ve done no wrong, then that is what I will tell Odin.”

“Odin has wanted me dead for a long time, Loki.”

Loki waves a hand.“And he’s wanted me dead on occasion, too, but he hasn’t killed me yet.” He hops off the bed. “Show me how you’re acquiring human magic, Gullveig. If you’re innocent, I will tell Odin he has no claims against you.”

Gullveig crosses her arms and looks away. Her chest heaves. At last she says,“Come with me.” Without a backward glance, she leads him to the fireplace—or rather the hearth. There is an enormous metal stove there. Gullveig goes to the support trees beside the mantle and waves her hand at a knot of branches. They unfurl and reach out to caress her wrist. She reaches between them and pulls on something. In front of the stove, the stones are set in a different arrangement. Instead of being small and brick-like, they are large and flat. One of the large flat stones lifts a few fingers’ width from the floor. Bending down, Gullveig slips her hands beneath the stone. It must be on some sort of leverage apparatus, because she easily lifts it up and over, revealing a spiral staircase. Taking a free lamp from the mantle, Gullveig says,“Come.” And then she begins to descend. Loki follows.

By the time they reach the bottom, Loki is dizzy from the circuitous route. He lost count of the number of steps, but he knows they must be below even the level of the levitator. Gullveig leads him into a cavern with tables covered with papers and diagrams, many wooden chests, a single chair, and two easels. One easel is empty; the other has a picture covered by a cloth.

The easel with the cloth draws Loki’s attention immediately. He can feel the power radiating from it. He looks around the room. They are safely out of reach of the trees, but concealed by them from Heimdall’s gaze. Unless Heimdall thought to look through Jotunheim’s molten core … is Heimdall even capable of that?

Gullveig walks straight to the easel and its mysterious picture. “My magical gift is longevity. But I have the gift of sight with this.”

She pulls back the fabric, and Loki sees himself in what appears to be an ordinary-looking oval mirror.

“Tell it what you wish to see, and it will show you,” Gullveig says.

What does Loki wish to see? At that moment it is Aggie … maybe because of how much Gullveig reminds him of her, or maybe because of how difficult things are with Sigyn. He shakes his head. He will repair things with Sigyn. He will show her that she is wrong—and show Gullveig that she is wrong, too—he isn’t here to be her doom.

Leaning to her ear, he whispers, “Why don’t you show me what you want to see.”

Gullveig turns to the mirror. “Show me Midgard, Paris.” And suddenly Loki is looking at a nighttime cityscape so magnificent it would put Asgard to shame. “The City of Lights,” Loki says. “I’ve been there. But it still doesn’t explain how you’ve managed to copy this human technology so accurately.”

Gullveig glances at him, and then turning to the mirror she says, “Show me the schematics for a sewing machine.” And the mirror changes so that Loki is staring at schematics for a foot-powered sewing machine. The diagram is perfectly lit, the tiny notes of the engineer even legible at the margins.

Loki’s eyes go to the drawings around the room. “You drew these—”

Gullveig ducks her head. “No.” Standing, she goes and picks up a rolled up piece of paper. As she lifts it, Loki notices it is so thin it is nearly translucent. She picks up a narrow wood cylinder with a pointed dark end, only about the length of Loki’s spread fingers, and Loki almost laughs. “A graphite pencil. You are taken with humans, aren’t you?”

Gullveig shrugs. “It’s easier for this sort of thing than a feather pen, or a fountain pen, for that matter.”

She puts the paper to the mirror and begins to neatly trace the image beneath. “When I finish a diagram, I take it to the blacksmiths in the marketplace. Jotunheim has plenty of iron and copper, and the Iron Wood has natural gas, coal and diamonds.” She turns to him, eyes bright, a strand of gray hair coming loose and falling in front of her face. “Have you seen what humans are doing with steam power? They’re building chariots of fire that run on roads of iron. If we could build such a thing we could export wood and diamonds to the World Gates. We have mills here! We’re making fabric from the linen we produce locally; it’s as fine as what’s woven by the elves.” Her eyes get a far-off look. “The humans have no magic, so they’re making their own magic—so will we!”

Loki raises an eyebrow, bemused and impressed. It is an incredible amount of work. “Why do all this?” he asks.

“So the Iron Wood won’t be a savage, magic-less backwater,” says Gullveig.

“You could leave, and have all the magic of the Nine Realms at your disposal.”

Gullveig’s eyes narrow. “But then I’d be a servant of Odin.” She looks away. “And besides which, the Iron Wood is my home.”

Loki looks at the mirror and the lines so carefully drawn by a human hand. In the corner there is the name of the illustrator and the year … 1836. When did the Roman Empire fall? A thousand years earlier? Most Europeans still don’t have running water again—but they have sewing machines. Anyone will be able to sew with speed and relative accuracy, not just those with “the gift.”

Of course, Europeans have other toys. His smile fades. “You have a pistol. Do you have cannons and rifles, too?”

Gullveig stills. “How do you think I’ve bought the loyalty of the tribes of the Iron Wood?”

x x x x

“All you needed to say was there is a big hole in the ground, and there might be cannons,” says Rush, sitting on the floor, his feet hanging in the service tunnel.

Amy’s skin heats. Actually, she left out a lot. How much Loki wanted to touch Gullveig as she guided him down the stairs—because of the draw of her magic or just how much she looked like Aggie, he wasn’t sure. Or, how he wasn’t so much teasing when he suggested lying in her bed was a clumsy seduction attempt as much as he was testing the waters.

She looks down at her hands … and sees Gullveig’s hands, rough and worn, holding the pencil …

“Lewis,” says Steve, putting a hand on her shoulder. “I’m glad you gave us the details. But right now, I would like to know … the firearms … how many, what kind, can you tell us?”

Amy blinks. “Oh, yes, well … Gullveig said she’d made about fifty rifle-like things and gave them to the leaders of the Iron Wood tribes. They were clumsy …” She looks between Steve and Bohdi. “I don’t know a lot about weapons. But you had to load them over and over, and there was a stick?”

“Muskets,” says Bohdi.

Amy shrugs. “Gullveig had cannons in the Keep on the terraces …”

“We’ll look for them,” says Steve.

Amy’s eyes widen. “The mirror, down below ground … they were using magic there. Which means if Odin wanted to create a World Gate he could, right below us!” She scratches her temple. “I think? Loki needed to envision the place he was going to walk the In Between—creating a World Gate isn’t quite the same thing, but it seems like it would be similar.”

“We have to find that hole and make sure it’s got a tight lid on it,” says Bohdi.

“Agreed,” say Steve, Larson, and Berry in unison.

“Maybe we shouldn’t let Ullr and his entourage know at all?” Amy says. She shivers.

“That would be prudent,” Steve says.

A few mutters and snorts go up around the room. Outside the little room, Fenrir growls and then woofs. A knock sounds at the door, and Park pokes his head in. “Sir,” he says to Steve, “we’re being invited to a feast.”

Steve nods. He turns to Amy. “Any important etiquette points we should be aware of?”

Amy bites her lip. “They don’t have a lot of food on Jotunheim … you can eat all you want at the table, but if you take something from a serving platter, finish it.” She looks at the twisty-branchy vines on the ceiling. “Also, don’t take any green sausages from the platters, because you won’t be able to finish it.”

“What is it?” asks Bohdi. Amy’s stomach turns.

Berry raises a slightly bushy eyebrow. “Something like herbivore intestines with the natural filling?”

Loki’s memories of the smell of the things fills Amy’s mind, and she squeezes her eyes shut and nods.

“Eat everything on our plates. No green sausage. Anything else?” says Steve.

Amy opens her eyes. “Also, as the leader, you may be expected to sing, Steve.”

“We’re doomed,” says Bohdi.

“Hey!” says Steve.

“We’re so dead,” says Claire.

“This is a problem,” says Beatrice.

Steve turns to Beatrice. “What? How do you know?”

“Your mother,” says Beatrice.

Steve puts a hand to his temple. “Okay, yeah, this is a problem.”

“He sounds like a dying hyena,” Claire supplies, and Amy and a few other people’s eyes get wide.

Steve’s skin is naturally very dark, but Amy swears she sees it go a shade darker. He sighs. “It’s true. Am I allowed a pitch singer?”

Larson’s stern visage cracks and his lips quirk up. “Rush has a great singing voice.”

Amy raises an eyebrow.

Rush scowls, and Redman’s eyes sparkle with mischief. “He sings like an angel.”

Shaking her head, Amy clears her throat. “It’s the leader who is expected to provide musical entertainment—”

“I forgot to put my piano in my pocket,” says Steve, and a few guys chuckle.

Sitting on the floor, head bent over her equipment, foot still trundling away, Harding says, “Captain, I’ll have you covered, but I might be late for dinner.”

Expression returning to its default serious, Steve says, “Do what you need to do, Marine. Our lives might depend on it.”

Amy gulps.

Chapter 12

Steve stands outside what passes for a banquet hall. It looks more like a dilapidated barn to his mind. The main door is about as wide as a two-car garage and wide open. The four corners of the building are trees. Their branches curl among the rafters—the largest are as thick as his waist and appear to be load bearing. Slimmer, snake-like branches curl around them.

There are three holes in the roof set at regular intervals; the branches give them a wide berth. Beneath each there is a large metal garbage-can sized container. Fires burn in them, and smoke billows from their tops up to the ceiling. Black soot stains the tables, the floor around the fires, and the roof. The room is crowded with Frost Giants, redcheeked, mugs in hand, and already looking buzzed. Steve doesn’t spot the dwarf woman anywhere—or the Asgardians.

Standing in the door frame, his fists clench at his sides. So this is home for the next few months. Heiðr says that to the west there are World Gates to Alfheim’s Dark Lands and Svartálfaheim—as near as he can gather about seventy miles away through mountains. According to Heiðr, the way is impassable in the winter. Steve would like to see how accurate that assessment is by getting Bohdi to ask Heiðr some questions. Larson would like to send a team. Steve’s jaw grinds. The last thing they need is to be separated here. Didn’t the Donner party split up?

A fist streaks toward Steve. Without thinking, he catches it. The Frost Giant who just tried to punch him laughs and pats his shoulder. “Humans are fast and magical!” Steve smiles and drops the fist. Still patting his shoulder, the man leads him into the room. As soon as Steve and his team step through the door the conversation stops, and then it grows nearly deafening. Their hosts crowd around them. Men cheer and shake their fists. Women reach out and touch them, and Steve feels a hand working its way to a place that is frankly inappropriate. He grabs it, pivots, and finds himself face to face with a giggling blonde. Except for Heiðr, they all seem to be blonde with light blue to gray eyes, and like Gerðr and Loki, with skin so pale it looks unhealthy. Steve manages a smile and removes her hand. He glances behind him and finds Sigyn raising an eyebrow in his direction, doubtlessly a witness to the whole exchange. Fortunately, Claire didn’t witness it. She’s fallen to the end of the line and is walking between Thomas and Redman. He knows he has nothing to worry about, but he still wishes she were closer. His eyes go to where some Frost Giants are playing a game that seems to involve balancing a knife on their chins.

“Captain, here, sit.”

Steve looks to the voice, and finds one of their guides gesturing toward the middle of a bench set beside the longest table in the room. Swinging a leg over, he takes his seat. The table is just the right height for Steve’s six-foot five-inch frame, and so is the bench, which is probably the first thing about the place he likes. Sigyn sits down beside him. Bohdi, Amy, Larson, and Gerðr are seated across from him, and the rest of the party is just told to “sit now.”

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 scan 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. Tucker 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.

Sigyn steps over to Steve. Clapping her hands with the music, she stares out at the crowd. “He dances just like ...” She doesn’t finish. Steve follows her gaze and doesn’t need to ask who. Bohdi and Lewis are dancing together, doing what looks like the Swing. They look like kids in high school, smiling, happy, and a little awkward. Once, Bohdi had confessed to Steve that he knew how to dance. It had depressed the kid because he didn’t have any memories of learning. He doesn’t look depressed now, their steps are getting more sure with each beat, and some of the Frost Giants are beginning to imitate them.

Steve glances at Sigyn to gauge her reaction. She doesn’t look sad or jealous, only thoughtful.

“Did he teach you?” Steve asks. What would it be like to dance with Victory?

Sigyn smiles and answers, “Yes.” Steve can’t help himself, he holds out his hand. He can hold his own on a dance floor—his ex-wife made sure of that. Sigyn puts her hand in his, and he almost smiles, when a flash of blue at the corner of his eye makes him turn his head. He sees Lewis and Loki, full blue with black hair … and … Steve blinks. No, it’s just Bohdi, and Steve’s just staring at the edge of his cheek. He takes a deep breath and holds it for ten. It was just an attack of PTSD. But his eyes don’t leave Lewis and Bohdi. They’re not smiling anymore, their faces are turned toward each other, but their eyes are not meeting. They’re wearing the bulky cold weather military “bunny boots,” and all of their winter gear except their parkas—even with the bulky clothing they’re too graceful, their steps are too smooth. Bohdi spins Lewis out, and then pulls her in so they’re walking side by side, then he lifts her up and balances her on a hip and turns, still holding her aloft. Steve looks up and his heart stops. The branches above their heads are alive, unhinged from the rafters, curling and uncurling like they’re licking the air. “Sigyn, what is happening?”

Her hand tightens in his. “I don’t know.”

Steve releases her fingers. “I have to stop them,” he says. Without turning back, he crashes into the crowd, but Lewis and Bohdi are gone. He spins in place and sees them across the room … and he sees Loki again, dancing in the interrogation room. He swears the ground rolls beneath his feet. He holds up his hands … braces his legs … but no, the ground isn’t moving. It’s just the music and Bohdi is not blue.

The music reaches a crescendo right before the end of the song. Bohdi picks Lewis up and spins her around. Her arms are around his neck, and he’s pressing his forehead to hers, oblivious to the world. The music stops—but Lewis and Bohdi don’t. Steve doesn’t panic as a rule, but this time he does. “Bohdi!” he shouts. His voice rises above the crowd, and everyone goes silent … the only sound is the snapping of the branches as they curl and uncurl. Frost Giants, humans, and Asgardians crane their necks to look at the ceiling where the branches seem to have gone mad. One of the vines licks down to the floor. Someone screams. But Lewis and the kid still spin. “Bohdi!” Steve shouts.

Bohdi slows. Lewis slides down his body until her feet are on the floor. Steve barrels his way over to them, the branches still snapping above their heads. Bohdi doesn’t look up. Steve charges forward, and he’s a halfstep away but Bohdi’s oblivious. “Bohdi,” Steve says. The kid finally looks up, wide-eyed and confused looking. “Steve?” he says, like he doesn’t recognize him. “What’s wrong?”

Steve opens his mouth. Lewis turns around, looking equally blurry-eyed. And Steve has no idea what to say … maybe it is all in his head? The branches are still going crazy, but they’re not attacking Bohdi—not everything is the kid’s fault.

He hears a noise like far-off thunder. Before his brain can digest it, what’s left of the flatware begins to rattle on the tables, and then the ground beneath his feet rolls. Around the room people sway and brace themselves. But the earthquake is over before anyone can even run for cover. The thundering noise rumbles away. The branches’ wild frenzy draws to a stop. Was it the earthquake making them crazy?

“Oh,” says Lewis, looking up at the ceiling, holding one of Bohdi’s hands to her chest. Is Steve being crazy? Loki danced with Beatrice and didn’t bring about the apocalypse, and Bohdi’s danced around Steve before without earthquakes or Armageddon.

A Frost Giant laughs. “Earthquakes, happens all the time.” A few more chuckles rise up around the room. Steve feels like an idiot. He closes his eyes, dreading trying to explain why he was an idiot.

“Do you hear them? Do you hear them?” Harding’s shout makes his eyes snap open. Frost Giants murmur, and Steve sees movement in the rafters again. The crowd parts and Harding comes charging through, her dog tags and blonde ponytail swinging. “They’re here! They’re here!”

“Who?” says Steve, following the tiny Marine.

“Brett and Bryant McDowell,” says Harding, racing toward the comm equipment. “They’re here!”

Chapter 13

Back pressed to Bohdi’s chest, Amy gasps. “Brett and Bryant? Here? How?”

Bohdi shakes his head, his chin brushing the top of her head. “I don’t know.” He guides her through the crowd, following Harding. Or maybe Amy guides him. For a few minutes, he’d forgotten where they were and coming back to reality is painful.

Ahead, he sees Harding bent over her equipment. Branches in the rafters wave in her direction. He feels Amy’s hand tighten around his.

“Marine,” Steve says, standing by Harding’s shoulder, trying to hold back a creeping vine. “You have to stay calm.”

“Don’t you hear them? You have to hear them!” she says. “They’re here …”

She flips a switch, and turns a nob, and suddenly Bryant’s voice crackles in the speakers. “I don’t think they can hear us, Brett. There’s no reason they’d have their comm equipment on.”

Frost Giants and Asgardians back away fast from the speakers.

“We can hear you!” Harding shouts, one hand on a knob, the other pulling out a little microphone. Tiny branches from the ceiling wave in her direction. Steve swipes them away and hands them to Rush and Cruz. Their delicate tips still wave in Harding’s direction.

“Bryant!” shouts Steve.

“You hear us?” Bryant says.

Steve takes the microphone. “Loud and clear. How did you get to Jotunheim?”

“We’re not in Jotunheim,” Bryant says, his voice fast and clipped. “We’re in Chicago. We sent a ‘bot beneath the rubble and opened the World Gate just enough to send a signal.”

Bohdi gapes. He has enough of a comm education to know that the distance between the World Gate in Lake Balstead and the Iron Wood is too far for a signal to broadcast clearly without multiple relay stations. Even if the balloon is still aloft, the signal shouldn’t be reaching them.

Harding pulls her hand away, her jaw slack. The signal goes to static, and the branches in Rush’s and Cruz’s hands stop their dance. “Marine! Hand on the knob,” Steve says, eyes glancing at the sagging branches. Harding does, and suddenly, Bryant’s voice comes on. “I think we lost them. Director—Captain—do you hear us?”

Amy whispers, “Her talent, it’s hearing radio signals … of course, it’s her specialty.”

“Where did you get a magical object strong enough to open a World Gate?” asks Steve.

There is a moment of silence. And then Brett’s West Virginia twang cracks over the speakers. “Well, now there’s the weird thing.” He clears his throat.

“Brett made it,” says Bryant. “He can funnel electricity into magical objects … it’s his gift. We’re both magic. Don’t know why.”

Bohdi feels a flutter in his stomach. He looks over at Harding. Brett and Bryant had a thing with Harding and Mills before they left Chicago, and the serum is contagious.

For a moment Steve is silent, but Bohdi can see him cataloging that data. Instead of asking how Brett has a magical gift, Steve says, “You would need a lot of electricity to make a magical object strong enough to open a World Gate.”

Bryant coughs. “There have been a few blackouts in Chicago lately.”

Bohdi’s brain spins. How much electricity would you have to drain from the electrical grid to cause a blackout—and just how much magic would that make?

Brett’s voice cracks. “We have to leave soon. Keep it short.”

“Where are you? Are you safe?” Bryant asks.

Steve’s eyes flick up to the Asgardians. “We’re at Gullveig’s Keep in the Iron Wood—Thor and some friends are here—but the place is neutral. Like Switzerland. We’re safe for now.”

Bohdi looks across the room at their Asgardian guests. He snorts. It is exactly like being in Switzerland with Germans at a remote ski resort, right before WWII. Just to be cheeky, he smiles and waves at them. Ullr takes a step forward, but he is abruptly yanked back when a branch whips out and wraps around his hand where it’s reaching for his sword. Face going red, Ullr glares at him—the others look about as happy. But Thor gives a crooked half-smile and waves back, and it frightens Bohdi more than the bluster of the others.

Bohdi hears Brett mutter, “Well, that’s awkward.”

His voice going faint, like he’s not speaking into the microphone, Bryant says, “Daevas, do you know where that is?”

“I know where the Iron Wood is, yes,” says an unfamiliar man, who must be Daevas. “The cold won’t bother me, but bad weather could slow me, and the trees could be problematic. Perhaps if your friends can create a landing pad?”

“We have a plan to bring you home,” says Bryant. “I don’t want to go into it now … for obvious reasons, but what do you need? What can Daevas bring you that can keep you alive for a few more months?”

Daevas? Bohdi searches his memory for anyone by that name in any mythology and draws a blank. “Do you know who he is?” he whispers to Amy.

“No,” she says.

“Ammunition,” says Steve, looking straight at the Asgardians as he says it. “Promethean wire. Food.”

“I can carry some,” says Daevas.

There is the sound of static. And then Brett says, “We have to move. Ginnie Santos has control of the city. But she’s not Santos anymore, she’s Innana … I mean Freyja. Daevas calls her Innana, but she’s the same person. The place is a ghost town—they’re rounding up Dark Elves and people are scared and leaving the city. We’re on forced leave from the FBI, so is Laura Stodgill, and Dr. Ogawa, and anyone who knew about what happened. We may not be able to get back in touch for a while.”

“Do you know what happened to Keyif?” says Larson, stepping closer to the mic. Bohdi swallows. Keyif was one of the SEALs guarding the bridge in Chicago before Freyja called in an airstrike. In the confusion, no one had been able to see what happened to him.

“Unknown,” says Bryant.

“Dale?” says Steve.

Bryant starts talking very fast. “He’s okay, we took him to the trauma center at headquarters, because we were worried …” There is the sound of static. Then Bryant says, “He has a rare blood type, we used Steve’s and now he ... like us. They took him down to D.C. ...” There is more static. “Melinda … where is Karen?” It takes Bohdi a moment to piece the question together. Melinda is Harding’s first name. Karen is Mills’s first name—was her first name. Bryant’s voice cracks like he already knows the answer. Bohdi swallows.

“I’m sorry, Hon,” says Harding, her own voice cracking.

Bohdi’s eyes flit from the speakers to Steve’s face. Steve looks hard at Harding, and Bohdi can see him taking in the familiarity in Bryant’s voice and hers. He watches Steve’s jaw get tight and his eyes slide toward Amy. Bohdi knows he’s pieced it all together. Dale got his magic from Steve’s blood. Harding and Mills were more than friends with Brett and Bryant, and that’s how the two brothers got magic.

Sounding distant, Daevas says, “We have to leave. But I am coming.”

“Wait!” says Larson. “Daevas … who are you? How can we trust you?”

There is a pause. “I am myself. I was Vanir. I need to speak with Dr. Lewis … Laura … Ms. Stodgill says she is with you.”

Stepping out of Bohdi’s arms, Amy says, “I’m sorry, I don’t remember you?”

The speakers buzz with interference, and Brett shouting, “Move! Move! Move!” and then there is only silence … on the comm and in the room. The wind whistles through the vents in the roof.

The Frost Giants begin to murmur. Bohdi sees two Asgardian warriors bolt for the door. No doubt Odin will know about Brett and Bryant’s message—and Daevas. Hell, maybe Odin will even know who, or what, Daevas is.

Heiðr, flanked by several Frost Giants, steps up to the comm. She lifts an eyebrow at it and smiles. Steve answers with a smile of his own. “We’re being so rude.” Holding up his arms, he says to the room at large, “Who would like some more music?” There is a moment of silence, but then the Frost Giants start laughing and shouting, “More, more, more!”

Steve turns to Harding. “Put some music on. Play it nice and loud.”

“Yes, Sir,” Harding says. The music begins to play, and as it does, Steve walks toward Amy and Bohdi, very slowly and deliberately. Larson falls into step beside him, Gerðr trails after him. A flash of pink at the edge of his vision makes Bohdi turn his eyes. Beatrice is approaching, umbrella upraised. She’s flanked by Nari and Sigyn.

Amy takes a half-step back and bumps into Bohdi just as Steve gets close enough to be heard over the rapidly escalating din. “Doctor Lewis,” he says, lowering his chin, “we need to talk. Outside, now.”

Chapter 14

Steve won’t confront her in front of Asgard’s spies, and Amy wants to turn up her nose and say, “Why not talk here, Steve?” but that would only be putting off the inevitable.

“Sure,” she says, trying to keep her voice level. She spins on her heels and heads for the door. Bohdi slinks his arm around her shoulders as she does. She looks at him in alarm. A few minutes ago Bohdi’s forehead had been against hers, and until Steve yelled she’d been sure he was going to kiss her. But this hand feels more intimate for some reason, and she’s not sure why.

“Patel, are you a part of this?” Steve says, his voice practically a hiss.

“Yes,” says Bohdi.

“No,” says Amy at the same time, her heart racing. Stopping in her tracks, she glares up at Bohdi. Is he trying to get himself into trouble?

Looking down at her, he gives her an insufferable smirk. “Forget it, I’m coming.”

Before Amy can protest, Steve says, “Both of you, out the door!”

Lifting her chin, Amy exits the building. She’s not wearing her parka, and the cold makes her teeth chatter instantly.

“Back to mission control,” Steve says, and Amy heads through the dark alleyways of dirty snow to the team’s lean-to, Bohdi beside her. She hears lots of footsteps behind them but she doesn’t turn around. Park and Valli are on guard outside the building—Fenrir is gnawing on a bone nearby. The two men step aside without comment. Fenrir wags her tail, but she seems more interested in her bone.

Just before Amy and Bohdi reach the door, Steve says, “I need to talk to Lewis and Patel, alone.”

Amy hears her grandmother harrumph. “Just try making me not follow her.”

Amy looks back, and beyond Steve she sees Beatrice, Larson, Gerðr, Sigyn and Nari.

Park reaches for Beatrice’s arm. “Ma’am, the Captain says—”

Beatrice twists her wrist and spins out of his grip, and Fenrir is up and growling an instant later. Amy can see the gears in Park’s brain working. Beatrice has the strength and speed of a young woman, and she spent a good deal of time in the glove perfecting her hand-to-hand combat techniques from the SEALs. Park can still take her down, easily. But that doesn’t mean he wants to—and he’d have to take down Fenrir first—and the only way he could do that would be with a bullet. He looks frantically to Steve. “Sir?”

“With respect, Sir,” says Larson, “I need to be in on this conversation, too.”

“Personally, I find myself very interested in the outcome of this discussion,” says Sigyn.

“Me, too,” says Nari, standing by his mother’s shoulder.

Valli grins and shows all of his teeth. “If my mother and brother find it important, so do I.”

“Sir?” says Park.

Gerðr reaches for the magic-blocking cap on her head. “I want to be there.” If she takes off the cap, Steve will obey her commands like a lovesick puppy. Bohdi’s arm tightens on Amy’s shoulder, she feels his breath on her neck, and she knows he’s laughing.

Amy sees the muscles in Steve’s back bunch. She can feel the rage rolling off him— probably partly at himself. He’s backed himself into a corner. If he’d approached Amy privately, he wouldn’t have to deal with mutiny in his ranks. “Fine,” he grinds out. Turning to Amy and Bohdi, he snaps, “Get in there.”

Bohdi slips away from Amy and opens the door for her, which she is ridiculously grateful for—she’s starting to shake. She steps inside to find the fire is out, and it’s not much warmer than outside. She walks over to the little hearth to catch as much heat as she can. Steve must have turned on the gravity-powered light, because she’s suddenly in a bright spotlight. She turns around and has to hold up her hand to shield her eyes. Bohdi tsks, goes over and lowers the lamp so it’s not pointing at Amy.

She blinks and sees Larson at the tail end of the retinue closing the door. As soon as it’s shut he walks over to Amy. “Who is this Daevas guy?”

Amy laughs. She hadn’t expected that question. “I have no idea.”

“But he knows you!” says Larson.

Amy shrugs. “Maybe he’s an elf?”

“Could be someone we bumped into in Asgard,” Bohdi says.

Larson raises a finger in Amy’s direction.

Amy huffs and glares at him. “I don’t know who he is! Don’t blame this one on me!”

Larson takes a step forward, his mouth opens, but Steve cuts him off. “She’s telling the truth, Lieutenant.”

“He’s a powerful, unknown magic user, and he knows our position!” Larson says, spinning to Steve. “Don’t tell me this doesn’t bother you.”

Gaze trained on Amy, Steve says, “It concerns me, but she doesn’t know who he is.”

Sigyn huffs. “Odin himself knows our position. He probably has since we reached the Keep.”

“Even among the Frost Giants, he has his spies,” Nari says.

Sigyn tilts her head. “I’m less worried about this Daevas than the wrath of the Allfather.” Her eyes narrow. “A siege in winter is unlikely. But come spring …”

“We had better be on the move,” Nari finishes.

Steve stands with his arms crossed, just staring at Amy. She swallows. Maybe he is just going to let the topic of Brett, Bryant and Dale being magical drop and confront her later, when there won’t be witnesses. She’s not sure if that is good or bad.

Tilting her head, Sigyn says, “I’m more interested in how Brett, Bryant, and Dale are magical. Do you know how that could have happened, Doctor?”

Amy sees Steve scowl. Sigyn continues, “It’s contagious, obviously, but how?”

Steve’s voice is low. “You took plenty of samples of my blood. You said it wasn’t contagious, Doctor.”

Amy’s heart races. She could play it up as an accident. But then Larson mutters something about scientists and incompetence and Amy doesn’t want to lie. She’s a poor diplomat, a poorer warrior. Her medical training and her mind are the only things she has. Now would be an excellent time to play dumb, to feign the innocent, fumbling, woman. But she won’t, because she can’t. “No, Steve, I don’t think I ever said that—I never knew who might be listening—I said it won’t show up on HIV tests.”

Taking a step forward, Steve whispers, “Why did you do that, Doctor?”

Amy raises her eyes to Steve’s. “Because I didn’t want it to become a weapon of the U.S. government or Odin. Because I knew that it would be used to create supermen! I didn’t want to be creating new gods—I wanted magic to be for everyone.” Her voice is stronger than she expects, but the words make her feel a little hollow. She turns to Larson. “No offense, I like you guys a lot more than I thought I would.”

Larson’s nostrils flare.

Steve’s voice snaps through the room. “You turned the entire human race into guinea pigs.”

Amy’s shoulders slump. No matter what her motivations were, that’s the truth.

“And stole from the United States government to do it!” says Larson, the veins on his neck and forehead popping.

Amy rounds on the man. She means to speak quietly and rationally. Instead she screams, “I did not steal! I took back what was mine!”

She hears the sound of Bohdi’s lighter clicking. Steve rocks back on his feet, as though he’s been struck. But Larson doesn’t seem to have heard. “In times of war, acts of treason are punishable by immediate execution,” says Larson.

Bohdi laughs. “You’ll have to execute me first.”

“Steady, Lieutenant,” Steve says, but Larson steps toward Bohdi. “I don’t have a problem with that!”

“I might,” says Valli.

The eyes of everyone in the room snap to Loki’s volatile son. He’s standing with his head cocked to the side. Despite his warmer skin tones, and his blonder hair, he looks so much like his father it makes Amy’s heart hurt.

“Do I understand correctly?” Valli says, chin dipped low. “She made it so that all of the human race may become magical?”

“Yes,” Nari says, voice hushed.

Valli smiles. “You are the greatest revolutionary of our time!” He bows to Amy. “My sword is yours.”

Sigyn tilts her head. “I knew you were extraordinary, Dr. Lewis.” She slides closer to Amy, gaze on Larson. Her hands casually slide to her hips and the Beretta she’s carrying.

Nari looks between his mother and Valli, and says, “And you have my scabbard, too.”

“This is ridiculous,” says Larson, his hand going to the earpiece he wears. He can flick it on and call all of his team … Amy’s fists tighten at her sides.

“Stop,” Steve says. “We need them.”

“They need us more,” snaps Larson.

“No, they don’t,” says Steve. “Lieutenant ...”

Larson’s head whips in Steve’s direction. “It’s fine what has happened to us and you, and it’s fine what has happened to Fenrir … she’s a dog … but it isn’t right for everyone, it won’t be right for everyone! She’s given no one a choice in this experiment!”

Amy’s eyes flick between the two men. The thing is, she agrees with Larson.

“Actually,” Bohdi says, “it was your higher ups who injected your team with the virus without your knowledge or consent. And technically, it was your team who released the virus in the population during R and R.”

That doesn’t make Amy feel better. She thinks of waking up in the hospital after her miscarriage. It’s not just Fenriresque transformations they have to worry about. The risk to developing fetuses is a horrible, weighty unknown. And to children … Claire’s definitely been more affected than the other team members. Is it because of her age or her unique physiology? Amy doesn’t know. She bows her head. The room has fallen silent.

“Ohhhhhh…” Bohdi says, sounding completely wicked. “You gave it to someone, didn’t you, Larson. Now you’re feeling guilty so you’re taking it out on Amy.”

Before Amy can draw her next breath, Larson lunges toward Bohdi.

“Robert, no!” Gerðr shouts.

Amy feels heat against her side and back, and branches whip from the ceiling at Bohdi and Valli. Bohdi’s in the air, zipping up into the rafters on some vines, and before she can think, he’s swinging his boot at Larson’s head—but just misses as Larson is yanked backward by Gerðr.

Larson bends down, and Gerðr goes hurtling over his back onto the floor a moment later. His eyes immediately widen, like he doesn’t expect to see her there … He stumbles backward, jaw sagging, and Amy realizes he probably threw her on instinct. The heat on her back and side make Amy turn—the wood in and beside the fireplace is on fire. She grabs a spare Kevlar vest and throws it over the loose flame, stomping out sparks that are edging toward the gear and the walls.

When she turns around a few seconds later, Larson is still staring speechlessly down at Gerðr, whose cap has fallen off. Valli, Nari, Steve and Bohdi are staring at her, too. Bohdi drops down from the vines, takes a step toward the Frost Giantess, and then spins around so he’s facing Amy. His eyes are wide, his skin is flushed, and he ducks his head like he’s ashamed. Covering his eyes, Steve turns to the wall. Sigyn grabs Nari and Valli by their collars. “Mother!” they shout in unison, but don’t fight too much when she hauls them around. Beatrice scampers down to the floor and retrieves Gerðr’s cap. Handing it to the Frost Giantess, Amy’s grandmother says, “Here you go, dear.”

Taking the cap, Gerðr sits up. In her own language she says, “This is exactly what Odin wants, Robert! He wants you to fight among yourselves. It’s what he’s been doing to my people for over a thousand years!”

Bohdi lifts his head and mouths the words, Is it safe yet?

Amy nods, stamping out some more sparks. Bohdi turns slowly around. Steve has already turned around. His chin is dipped, and he’s glaring at Amy.

Gerðr tries to stand and then winces. Larson falls to his knees beside her. “You’re hurt. I’m sorry. I didn’t … I just reacted ...”

“I will be fine,” Gerðr says. Larson reaches toward her and she flinches. He draws back, like he’s been struck, his face so pained that Amy feels sorry for him.

Rubbing her leg, Gerðr looks up at Amy. “Tell them, Dr. Lewis, tell them about the fire … the fire that happened here.”

Amy looks at the floor, realizing what she means. “Loki wasn’t here during the fire. He went home and told Odin how Gullveig was getting human tech … he lied a little bit. He told Odin that Gullveig had mastered the gift of sight, not that she had a magic mirror. Odin told Loki he was right, that Gullveig had done no wrong, and in fact she had shown quite a bit of ingenuity and cleverness. He sent messengers to the Iron Wood to invite her to come live in Asgard, and partake in Idunn’s apples, to become immortal … of course she refused ...”

x x x x

“Odin is lying!” Sigyn says, pacing Hoenir’s living room. “I don’t trust him. Gullveig shouldn’t either.” Stopping in front of Loki, she raises her chin. “And neither should you.”

She is so pretty when she’s mad. “You’re getting hysterical,” Loki says. He reaches out to take her chin in his hands.

Sigyn smacks his hand away. “No, I’m not.”

She wipes her eyes and spins on her heels. “Where are Nari and Valli?” she strides from the room through a new door. Loki follows and finds himself in a long hallway he’s never seen before. It has twelve doors, all shut. Rolling his eyes, he leaves Hoenir’s home.

A few days later, he is in the council chambers of the Diar, Odin’s council, when a messenger delivers a scroll to Odin. Odin scowls down at it and then passes it to one of the council members. The man reads the scroll aloud. “During the feast of Midwinter, one of the tribes, a supposed ally and a guest at Gullveig’s Keep, set the place ablaze. It has been burned to the ground.”

“What?” says Loki. Until that point he had been slouching in his chair, fiddling beneath the table with a device Thor had picked up in Midgard’s Pacific Islands—a yo-yo. “What of Gullveig?”

The Diar member blinks at the scroll. “She is dead.”

Odin sighs. “She should have accepted my offer of immortality and come here. The Iron Wood is a savage place of violent people; they can’t be trusted.”

“Burnt to the ground?” Loki says, still in shock.

The council member hands him the scroll. On it is an illustration drawn in multicolored inks. It depicts a smoldering, treeless plain, a blue ocean barely visible in the background. As Loki’s eyes run over it, the Diar member says, “If the trees were still there, the artist never would have been able to sketch such an accurate picture.” Loki doesn’t say that humans of Midgard are capable of such illustrations without magic; he just stands up from the table and strides from the room.

He doesn’t go to the main World Gate—he goes to the same lesser known one he had taken with Thor. He arrives at the shores of Lake Balstead in the depths of winter, in snow so deep it reaches beyond his head. He almost cannot walk through, but he does. And then he closes his eyes and envisions the smokey plain—he pushes through the snow, and into the In Between, the space beyond the space and time, the nothing.

x x x x

“Why couldn’t he just walk directly from Asgard to Gullveig’s Keep through the In Between?” Bohdi says.

He feels all eyes on him. He shrugs. “It would have been faster.” Steve glares, Larson rolls his eyes.

Tapping her lips with a finger, Amy looks to the side. “Walking the In Between is only an intra-realm thing. If I remember Loki’s readings on the subject correctly, there is some disagreement about why that is. One school of thought is that the In Between is just sort of like a temporary World Gate, but more fragile ... and gravity is a female dragon in heat that pins you with a jagged fore claw to the ground … err … planet … you’re on.”

Bohdi tilts his head. “Well, gravity does do a number on light and time. You have time dilation … and the effect gravitons have on photons ...”

Amy looks toward the rafters. “There is another theory though—”

“Please make them stop,” whispers Valli.

“The fire, Dr. Lewis,” growls Steve.

Amy gulps. “Oh, right.”

Bohdi scowls, frustrated by what is obviously the more important mystery.

x x x x

Cold more bitter than the snow overtakes Loki, but he walks out of the In Between a moment later and on to the remains of Gullveig’s Keep. The ground groans as he walks, and snake-like roots whip up from the ground and wrap around his boots. Gasping, he stumbles ahead; the roots weaken almost at once. The trip from Asgard to Jotunheim, and then to the Keep, has left him magically drained and uninteresting. But roots continue to snap and writhe in the space he just emerged from.

Wrapping his thin cloak around him, Loki stumbles over the snow-swept plain. It’s dark; the only remnant of the lamps are blackened metal posts with shattered glass globes. The cathedral has been burnt to the foundations, as have all the other structures. The din of blacksmiths is gone, replaced by the sound of the wind and of the raucous rawking of hundreds of ravens. He stumbles over to a place where the snow is black with the birds and red with the bodies of Frost Giants. The bodies have been hacked by beaks or weapons to the point where they are unrecognizable, but he can see there are men, women, and children among them.

x x x x

Amy’s breath catches. She can’t tell the people around her that when Loki had looked at the charred bodies in the snow how his mind had been flooded with images of Gullveig, beneath him in her bed, her face lit by the soft glow of the lamps looking so much like his Aggie, his skin thrumming everywhere their bodies touched.

Amy’s mind swims with memories. She feels Loki’s gut constrict as he stood there swaying in the wind, gazing at the dead, thinking of how hard he’d had to work to seduce Gullveig—harder than if she’d been a blushing virgin. The Frost Giantess had been so sure that he could not possibly be attracted to her, with her gray hair and wrinkles; she had been certain he was playing some game instead.

And maybe it was a game—one he played with himself to make believe he wasn’t still in love with Sigyn. Amy swallows. Or to make believe he could still have a bit of Aggie.

… or maybe Loki was a little in love with Gullveig. Not for her beauty, or even her magic, but everything she’d done for the Iron Wood. She had tenacity that he did not. Amy thinks on some level he knew it; he almost felt if he could be with her, some of her strength would be his. In the myths Loki swallowed Gullveig’s heart. But maybe that was a metaphor for love?

“Dr. Lewis?” Steve says.

Amy lifts her head. Bohdi and Beatrice are looking at her with concern. Larson’s eyes are boring into her own. She can see his the muscles in his jaw clench and unclench.

“Go on,” Gerðr says. “Tell the story. What Loki found.”

At Gerðr’s words, Larson’s frame relaxes, and he looks away from Amy.

Amy clears her throat. “So he’s standing there. He’s really tired … and he needs food … and he wants to go home. But then he sees two ravens battling a slender root for something.”

x x x x

Loki staggers over to the pair of birds. One is attacking the root with its beak. The other bird is yanking on the prize. Loki’s eyes go wide at the sight of what it is they are fighting for. It is an apple core. And if the roots want it, there can be only one reason. Loki staggers over fast and yanks the apple from the root’s grasp. He doesn’t have to taste it to feel that it is one of Idunn’s. He stares at the fruit, its pearly crisp flesh now brown and frozen solid.

Odin said Gullveig had rejected Idunn’s apples and Asgard … then who has eaten it? Not the birds—there are a few pecks, but the teeth marks are obviously hominid. Not the messengers who bore it; they would have returned the precious fruit to Odin to use as a bribe for someone else. No, they delivered their bribe to someone here, and after receiving the bribe, that person set the city on fire. He looks out across the plain of blackened trees, blood, and trampled snow. His breathing becomes ragged.

His hand tightens on the fruit. He bows his head and screams. Ravens shriek, roots whip around his ankles and wrists. It’s only when he lifts his head that he realizes he has set the birds on fire.

x x x x

Amy sits on the floor, her back to the now-stoked hearth. She stares at the white boots she wears. “Loki went back to Asgard and confronted Odin, and asked if he’d bribed one of the ‘friendly’ tribes to attack from within the Keep.” She swallows. “At that time, this place was impenetrable from without.”

She looks up at Gerðr. “You were there.” The Frost Giantess had been in a full veil, petitioning the Allfather for annulment of her marriage when Loki burst in. He’d been so angry, he hadn’t used the opportunity to flirt with her.

Gerðr nods.

Amy sighs. “Loki can sense lies. Odin couldn’t say outright that he’d bribed a rival—Loki would have sensed it.”

Gerðr’s lip turns up. “Instead, the Allfather made wild hypotheses that even I could sense were off. And defamed Gullveig’s character …”

Amy swallows, remembering Odin’s words to Loki. Why does this mean so much to you? Don’t tell me you fucked the old hag …

Amy looks to the fire in the hearth, the words stinging. She’s not sure if she feels pain for Loki or Gullveig, or both.

“Odin will use the same ploy on us,” says Gerðr softly in her own language, bringing Amy back to the present. “He will try to make us fight among ourselves.”

Larson shakes his head. “That may be so … but what Dr. Lewis did was wrong. I don’t know if I can trust her.”

Gerðr turns toward him and winces slightly as she does. Larson ducks his eyes. “Robert,” the Frost Giantess says in her own language, “I have suffered as much as anyone for my magical gift. Except for the time I resided in my father’s house, when I served for King Utgard, and when I resided at the FBI’s headquarters in Chicago, I have been a prisoner of my magic. I … even among your kind … it is used as an excuse …”

There is an uncomfortable silence in the room, and Amy wants to rush over and hug Gerðr.

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 shoulders 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.

“I still can’t believe you found it so quickly,” Larson murmurs. “It seems impossible …”

Bohdi’s eyebrows jump at the word impossible. “Let him off the hook; there was magic involved, wasn’t there, Captain?”

Steve hears the clink of silverware as the remaining Frost Giants finish their meals. His mother’s voice echoes in his mind, Choose your battles. He takes a deep breath. “Alright, magic was involved.” His magic, or Bohdi’s, or both, Steve’s not sure. “I’ll let you out of the bet, Larson.”

“Good,” says Amy, sitting back down.

Larson says nothing.

“We better get to work,” says Berry, standing up.

The two remaining Frost Giants shout from their table. “Don’t work too long, humans! There will be another feast, and you make our feasts exciting.”

Steve unconsciously surveys the ceiling, still sagging from the loss of load-bearing branches the night before.

“Sounds like fun, we’ll be there!” says Bohdi with a cheeky grin and a wave. The Frost Giantess at the table blows Bohdi a kiss. Grinning, Bohdi spins around as though it’s knocked him over, which makes all the Frost Giants laugh. Lewis’s face goes blank, and Steve sighs at the prospect of more drama and mayhem. Did he think he could channel Chaos? The best he can do is hold on.

Chapter 16

Amy and Beatrice are the only ones in the room the team shares. “Where did you get these dresses, Grandma?” Amy says, gazing down at the Frost Giant gown she’s now wearing.

“Oh, you know, around,” says Beatrice. She’s wearing a baby blue dress herself, but Amy notes it’s more modest than hers. Amy’s is soft pink, it’s cinched at the waist, has a gold-embroidered girdle, and a low-dipping bodice that laces up the front. She’s got coordinating red leather boots that are lined with wonderfully soft fur.

Amy peers around the team’s laundry, hung up on wires strung from the walls. “I wonder where everyone else is?” By everyone, she means Bohdi. Part of the team had spent the day building a shelter over the fox-size hole beneath a tree that she’s positive is the entrance to Gullveig’s cavern, but Bohdi had gone off on some secret mission that involved him hanging out with Frost Giants and Thor and drinking.

“Still taking a bath, I’m sure,” says Beatrice.

Amy straightens her skirts. Her own bath, or rather, dunk in water, had been much warmer tonight. Today she’d helped Harding create an improvised wood burning stove with old pipes. The tiny Marine is very mechanically inclined; she spent the day telling Amy about growing up with her grandparents and working with her grandfather on old cars, lawnmowers, and all sorts of small engines they’d pick up at local junk yards.

Holding up Amy’s parka, Beatrice says, “Here, put this on.” Amy holds up her arms, but Beatrice merely drapes it over her shoulders. Amy blinks. Beatrice seems rushed. “Let’s go now,” says Beatrice. “We’ll meet everyone else there.”

From above comes a cheep. It’s Mr. Squeakers, in a cozy little cocoon of silk on the ceiling. “He can stay here,” says Beatrice.

“Um … okay?” says Amy, wondering what’s taking everyone else so long.

Grabbing her arm, Beatrice practically drags Amy through the clotheslines to the door … but at that exact moment it opens and Nari steps in. “Oh, Nari! There you are, and you look fine!” Amy tries not to look at him, but can’t quite manage it. He’s wearing Frost Giant attire, too, brown leather trousers that look good rather than cheesy, and a dark blue leather coat with creamy fur edging. As usual, his scabbard hangs at his side.

“As do you, ladies,” says Nari, giving a bow.

“Yes, doesn’t Amy look lovely?” says Beatrice.

“I’m glad the garments fit you so well,” says Nari. “I had to guess at your measurements.”

Amy blinks, but Beatrice smiles, eyes twinkling. “Oh, yes, you have a good eye.”

Nari chuckles. “In a few hundred years you learn a few things.”

Smiling too brightly, Beatrice pats his hand. “I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.”

“Oh, no trouble at all,” says Nari, “I called in a favor with Magi and Modi.”

“Mmmm,” Beatrice says, nodding her head. “Shall we go?”

Amy would rather wait, but Nari says, “Certainly,” and Amy finds herself dragged out of the door.

They step out between Gerðr and Cruz on guard duty. Cruz nods at them, lifting his rifle a little as he does. As his shoulder’s rise a ripping sound comes from his parka. His face gets red, and he looks behind his back. “Ah, I ripped it …”

“I’ll fix it,” Amy says, taking pity on the big guy. They’ve all had to repair their clothes from time to time, and his big meaty fingers are painful to watch with a needle and thread.

“No, no, no,” says Beatrice. “I’ll take care of it. You go along.” With that Beatrice gives her a shove that propels her a few steps down the road. Amy blinks up at Nari, her cheeks getting red. She looks back at the shanty-hut, and back to him.

“Shall we?” he says. It feels awkward to say no, so she keeps going, but she feels her cheeks getting redder and redder with every step.

They turn the corner where the alleyway they reside on intersects the walkway to the dining hall.

“What’s troubling you?” Nari says.

Amy winces. “I think my grandmother might be trying to play matchmaker.” She looks down at her dress. Wait, is Nari in on it?

At that moment Rush walks by; he’s covered in grime, probably from playing among the pipes underneath the Keep all day. Nari looks down his nose at Rush, and Rush narrows his eyes at Nari … and for a moment Amy doesn’t exist.

And then Rush is gone, and Nari turns his attention back to her. As if guessing her former thoughts, he says, “I had no idea of her plans; my brother merely suggested the greatest revolutionary of our time and her grandmother should have some proper clothes, and I facilitated.” He winks at Amy. “Although I think Valli expected me to get you armor.”

That actually makes Amy feel marginally better. She lets out a breath of relief.

“But I’m flattered,” says Nari, “and not opposed to the idea.”

Amy’s mouth falls open, but no words come out. What? Wait? Why?

His blue eyes search hers. His slightly red hair has grown longer, and a few stray bangs have fallen forward. He looks so much like Loki, but his lips are fuller, his jaw is stronger. He is really pretty … but maybe being with Loki has given her some resistance to pretty near immortals.

“You were insulting me, just a few days ago,” she says, remembering some of his flippant comments about her and his father.

Even in the dim light of the torches, Amy can see his face visibly darken. “Well, that was before I realized you were on our side.” He reaches toward her and touches her forehead. “There’s something about you …”

Amy takes a step back, the gerbil in her brain hopping off its wheel. Of course, it wasn’t her he was ’not opposed to;’ it’s what he thinks she could possibly bring to the cause. And she supposes, with Loki’s memories lodged in her noggin, she could probably help a lot. She’s seen a world without Nari, where democracy was dead. It wasn’t a nice place, but, “I’m not on your side, Nari.”

“What?” says Nari.

She’s saved from having to explain by the sound of Frost Giant jeers. She turns and sees a small figure slipping in the snow down the street—it’s the tiny dwarf lady from the first day. She’s running between the Frost Giants, carrying a dim pink orb, eyes glowing nearly the same color. When she sees Amy, her wide eyes go wider still. In English she says, “Dr. Lewis, Dr. Lewis, please will you help me?”

Catching the small woman as she slips to a stop, Amy takes in her frantic expression. “Please, take a deep breath,” Amy says, “and then tell me what’s wrong.”

“My sister-in-law,” the dwarf says, “she is … it is bad … I don’t know what to do.”

Amy feels a cold breeze sweeping from the direction of the mountains. “I’m not that kind of doctor.”

“Please,” says the tiny woman, “I have no one else to turn to. It’s whispered around the Keep that you made humans magical—you can do anything, I know it.”

Amy doesn’t know it, and she wonders how that rumor got to spreading—probably with the help of alcohol. She gulps—she knows what her answer to the dwarf will be. “I’ll help you any way I can,” she says.

“We must go to my inn right away,” says the dwarf.

Nari puts a hand on her shoulder. “Dr. Lewis, this is a bad business. You don’t want to be involved in this. It will be very unpopular with the locals.”

Amy looks up at him. This is why, even if she didn’t have an unfortunate crush on a commitment-phobic human, she can’t be with him—he’s a coward.

“Please, Doctor,” the dwarf says, dropping a hand on her arm. “We must hurry.”

Amy doesn’t bother to ask for what—she only has one set of tools anyway. She just nods, slipping her radio headset over her ear and her parka on properly. “I need to get my gear first. Wait here,” she says, realizing even she can outrun the tiny woman.

Sprinting back to the shelter, Amy nods at the guards—Cruz is now in only a sweater. She slips inside, and sees Beatrice still sewing up Cruz’s coat.

“Amy, what are you doing here?” her grandmother asks.

“Helping someone,” Amy says, skin heating and not meeting Beatrice’s eyes. She grabs the med kit, lugs it onto her back, and then spins to the door. She’s out in the cold a moment later, running between the guards, Beatrice’s voice echoing behind her. Amy rounds the corner and finds the dwarf woman waiting alone. The woman takes her arm, and they run down the street, the light of the pink orb just barely lighting the way.

The inn is just coming into view when Amy begins to feel trepidation. She touches her headpiece, just to give her grandmother and the team an update … and realizes that her headset is completely dead. She’s not wearing the boots with the chargers in the soles. either. For a moment she slows.

“Doctor?’ says the dwarf.

Amy shakes herself. Nari will tell the team where she is. Quickening her steps, she sees the shadows of Frost Giants beyond the pink orb’s glow. They look angry. “Nothing,” says Amy. “Take me to your sister-in-law.” But the angry faces of the Frost Giants stay in her mind.

x x x x

Entering the dining hall, Bohdi rubs a hand through his wet hair. He goes directly over to Steve and whispers in his ear, “Confirmed indirectly with Thor, Heiðr, and several other Frost Giants … western mountains impassable until spring.” They’re stuck here until then. Bohdi spins his lighter in his hand. If Odin hasn’t figured out how magic is transmitted, that might not be so bad. As long as Odin focuses on the team, he may not be focused on what’s happening to other carriers … but if he focuses on Brett, Bryant and Dale ... Bohdi flicks his lighter in agitation.

As if reading his thoughts, Steve says, “There’s nothing you can do about it. Sit down and eat.” He pats Bohdi on the shoulder. “Hey, we’re going to start digging out those toilets tomorrow.” Bohdi blinks at the code for Gullveig’s cavern. Steve gives Bohdi a smile. “Something to look forward to.”

Gullveig’s mirror ... Taking a deep breath, Bohdi nods and slips onto the bench. Stabbing a drumstick of some kind with a fork, he looks around for Amy, but he doesn’t see her. About twenty minutes later, he’s finished up three such drumsticks, something called moss bread, and some mashed tubers—and Amy still hasn’t arrived. He raps his lighter on the table and scans the room. Behind him he hears Larson say, “I just don’t see you and Loki together,” and then Sigyn says, “He was a good husband. He treated me as his equal, and by the standards of Asgard, he was even faithful.”

Thor grumbles, “By the time of your marriage, he’d dallied with all the women of Asgard. He was done.”

“True,” Bohdi hears Sigyn say, but he doesn’t look in her direction. Food and drink are being passed around the tables, and the floor is vibrating with the noise of conversations in Asgardian, Jotunn, and English. Still no Amy, Nari, Valli, or Beatrice.

Behind him, he hears one of the team say, “Thor, I still don’t get it, why does Odin want Loki? I mean, besides to wring his neck?”

Someone else says, “We would like to wring his neck, after Chicago.”

Thor’s voice is a low rumble. “It is not Loki he seeks, it is his most recent incarnation. But why do you hate Loki? He saved the Nine Realms.”

Someone snorts.

Thor’s voice becomes more heated. “Loki is not the enemy of humankind. Your own myths give Coder, an older incarnation of Loki, credit for creating the human race alongside Hoenir and my father. Hoenir gave humans flesh, Odin gave them reason, and Loki gave them fire.”

Bohdi looks down at his lighter.

“Like Prometheus, the Titan?” Steve asks, and Sigyn says, “They think that fire is actually a metaphor for feelings and passion, but the myths are vague.”

Bohdi shakes his head and looks over the crowd again. He taps the radio in his ear and thinks about calling Amy, but then he sees Rush leisurely walking over to the table.

“Hey, Rush,” says Bohdi, as the man gets closer, “have you seen Amy?”

“Nah,” he says.

Bohdi puts his hand beneath his nose just before he sneezes.

Looking out at the room, Rush says, “But why settle for the brown bag lunch you brought when you’ve got a whole smorgasbord here?”

“You’re lying,” Bohdi says, his lip curling. “Where is she?”

Rush winces. “Look man, I just didn’t want you to get upset. She’s with Nari. Just forget about it. Look at those girls over there—they’re smiling at us.”

Bohdi’s brain reels for a moment. It’s true, there’s nothing explicit between him and Amy …

Rush puts a hand on Bohdi’s shoulder. “Don’t let her get to you, you know how women are. And hey, Nari may be better looking, but you’ve got the whole exotic thing going for you. Cash in.”

Bohdi blinks. Rush is being completely honest, but in his gut he feels like his honesty isn’t adding up to truth. His heart pounds in his ears. Somehow he just knows Amy is in some sort of trouble. He sweeps Rush’s hand from his shoulder. “You’re an idiot,” he mutters.

“No man,” Rush says, “don’t embarrass yourself.”

But Bohdi’s already up. He hears Thor behind him. “Friend Patel?”

“He’s just off to find Lewis,” Rush says, and then the talk at the table is drowned out by the roar of other conversations as Bohdi pushes through the crowd. A few moments later, he’s stepping out into the cold night air. He hits his radio and says, “Amy? Amy?” It’s a shared frequency, and it’s Steve that answers. “Rush says she’s with Nari.”

Bohdi doesn’t answer. He hears Valli and Nari’s laughter. Spinning, he sees them in the light of a few dim torches set up outside the hall. They are walking down the snow-packed alley with Magi and Modi. But Amy’s not with them. Jogging over, he shouts, “Nari, where is Amy?”

Beatrice’s voice buzzes over the radio in his ear. “Wait, she isn’t with Nari?”

Bohdi doesn’t respond—his eyes are trained on Loki’s son.

“I don’t know,” says Nari, sounding unusually pissy. Bohdi ducks just before he sneezes all over them. Walking by him, Valli laughs, “He sneezed. He’s still human!” Which isn’t funny, but it makes all of them laugh for some reason. Bohdi’s vision goes red. He doesn’t have time for this. His rifle is on his back, but it’s useless. Nari can’t be hurt when he wears his scabbard, so it has to come off. Bohdi feigns a chuckle and jogs to catch up with the group, slipping his mittens into a pocket, and his knife out as he does. He puts the hand with the knife behind Nari’s back and smiles at him. “Yeah,” he says, “Maybe someday I’ll be as cool as you.”

“Well, you are in Jotunheim, where it is very cold,” says Magi or Modi, sounding vaguely confused.

Bohdi slides his knife down, catches the scabbard belt with the blade, slashes … and only manages to nearly rip his shoulder out of joint.

Nari spins and Bohdi drops his knife just before Nari catches his wrist. Bohdi lunges for the collar of Nari’s coat, hoping to throw the bastard and rip off the belt.

“You fool,” says Nari, as Bohdi’s hand latches around the leather and fur collar, brushing Nari’s jugular.

“Brother!” screams Valli, as Bohdi throws Nari over one leg and into the snow. Loki’s son sprawls on his back, but he doesn’t let go of Bohdi’s wrist, and Bohdi goes down with him. Latching his free hand around Nari’s throat, Bohdi snarls in frustration. Nari’s throat feels like warm marble under his hand. Nari’s free hand shoots up and grasps the wrist of the hand around his neck. His grip is warm against Bohdi’s skin. Tree limbs whip and snap at Nari’s waist—Bohdi curses—the magical scabbard is trapped between their bodies and the tree limbs can’t get to it.

“You?” Nari whispers.

“I’ll kill you,” Valli snarls, and then Bohdi hears the ring of steel as Kusanagi leaves its sheath. He tries to pull away from Nari, knowing he’s about to be run through, but Nari’s hands are vise-like on his wrists.

Valli grunts, and Nari flips Bohdi over. The air is whipped out of Bohdi’s lungs, and snow is falling over the edge of his collar. He sees the glinting arc of Kusanagi as it plunges toward Nari’s back, and watches as it connects with Loki’s son’s spine. But the scabbard is still trapped between them, away from the branches, and the sword reverberates like the string of a guitar. Nari seems unhurt. More tree branches whip down like snakes—

Valli pulls back the sword fast. “Brother! Get out of my way!”

“Get back Valli!” Nari shouts, eyes locked on Bohdi.

Bohdi doesn’t have time to think about why Nari saved him—he knows Amy is in trouble. “Where is she?” Bohdi demands—as though he is in a position to demand, not flat on his back in the snow. “And don’t lie! I hate it when people lie to me!”

“I know,” Nari says, still holding Bohdi’s wrists, his grip very warm. “Forgive me.”

“Brother?” Valli says. “Let me kill him.”

“No!” shouts Nari. But his eyes are on Bohdi. “Why didn’t you tell us?” Somewhere in a tiny little part of Bohdi’s brain, it registers that Nari sounds hurt.

“Where is she?” Bohdi says. “She is in danger!”

“Not immediately,” say Nari in a tiny voice, letting go of Bohdi’s wrists and sitting back in the snow, shoulders slumped.

Sitting up, Bohdi glares at Nari. “Just tell me where she is!”

“Let me kill him,” Valli cries, swinging Kusanagi around again.

Nari turns, throws up a hand and catches it by the blade, in midair. It hits his hand with a ping. Tree branches whip down around his wrist, but Valli pulls the blade back fast, before blood even begins to well between the blade and Nari’s palm.

“Brother …” Valli whines.

“She’s at the inn of the Black Dwarf,” says Nari, eyes still on Bohdi.

Bohdi staggers to his feet. Nari doesn’t rise from the snow. Bohdi backs away.

“Do you know?” Loki’s son says. Bohdi shakes his head, even as in his brain what Nari is asking is connecting. Nari touched him, felt his magical aura, and is now asking if he’s Loki. He isn’t, and he doesn’t have time to explain. He looks around. Magi, Modi, and Valli all have weapons out. “Let him go,” says Nari. They don’t move. “Let him go,” Nari says. “We need him.”

“Brother?” Valli says, but he steps aside.

Bohdi picks up his knife and runs, taking out his phone and turning on the light as he does. He’s just a few meters from the tiny inn when the front door opens, and Amy comes out. She’s not wearing her parka, or her normal gear, just a Frost Giantess dress. The front is stained with blood.

x x x x

Steve hears the scuffle Bohdi is having with Nari and Valli over his radio. He hops up from the table and rushes toward the door with Larson and Sigyn and Claire tagging along with them. They’re not even past the crowd when Bohdi’s voice crackles in his ear. “I hate it when people lie to me!” He hears Nari reply, “I know. Forgive me.” And Steve knows Nari has figured out who Bohdi is. His eyes meet Sigyn’s and she frowns.

Nari’s voice crackles once more. “She’s at the inn of the Black Dwarf.” And then all Steve can hear is static and the sound of Bohdi’s breathing.

He pushes through the crowd, the team in his wake, and a moment later they’re outside, the cold night air hitting them in a rush. The temperature has dropped—instead of the smell of salt and sea, the wind smells like snow.

Beside him, Larson says, “I think they’re over there. Let’s break this up.” The lieutenant strides down the street toward a group of men in the shadows. Matching his step, Steve pulls out his phone for light. Claire skips beside him, one more agent of Chaos in his life. He wants to send her away because he’s afraid this could get unpleasant, and at the same time doesn’t want her to be alone.

By the light of his phone he sees Nari, Valli, Modi and Magi huddled together. Nari comes forward immediately, holding up his hands. “It was a misunderstanding. Mr. Patel is fine. It was entirely my fault.” He looks at his mother as he says it.

Beatrice’s voice cracks over the radio. “Where is Amy?”

Tucker’s voice cracks over the shared frequency, too. “What’s going on?”

And then Amy’s voice comes on, filled with static, as though she’s at a distance from her headpiece. “Bohdi, I’m alright. It isn’t my blood. My radio is dead. I need your help.”

Realizing he’s only hearing her through Bohdi’s radio, Steve says, “Bohdi, give Lewis your radio.”

Steve hears a click and the sound of fumbling. And then Lewis’s voice comes on, smooth and calm. “Steve, there is a woman in labor. There are multiple complications. I don’t have the tools to perform a C-section without killing the mother, and I couldn’t guarantee the baby’s life if I did. Their only hope they have is if I try something crazy. I need six strong guys, and I need the tarp that we set up the tent on.”

Beatrice’s voice crackles on the radio. “I’m bringing the tarp now!”

“I volunteer,” says Tucker. In the background, Steve hears Thor’s voice. “What is going on? Is my friend Mr. Patel in some mischief?” And then Tucker’s radio goes silent.

“Lewis, I’m on my way,” says Steve.

“I’m strong! I’ll come!” says Claire. And Steve frowns. Sigyn bends down and whispers something in Claire’s ear. Steve’s daughter’s nostrils get wide, and she scowls. “But I’ll stay here and take care of any trouble!”

Sigyn meets Steve’s gaze. “I’ll stay here, too,” she says, laying her hand on Claire’s shoulder.

Steve nods, not sure if he wants to know what Sigyn said to sway his headstrong daughter.

“Why do you need six strong guys?” says Larson.

“To turn the baby,” says Lewis, cryptically.

Steve lifts his head sharply and glares at the lieutenant. There are times when Steve will question Dr. Lewis’s judgment, but this isn’t one of them. If she wants them to come and sing Kumbaya around the girl for moral encouragement, he’ll do it.

Larson meets Steve’s gaze and goes a shade paler. “But I’ll come.”

“I’ll volunteer,” says Nari.

“What?” says Valli. “For a misbegotten half-blood?”

Steve’s head jerks toward Loki’s son. “Half-blood?”

Valli’s lip turns up. “It’s all the gossip, don’t you know?”

Steve scowls; he doesn’t know what Valli is talking about.

“Mr. Patel is there,” says Nari.

“So?” Valli says, but Steve doesn’t hear Nari’s response. Tucker and Berry are coming through the door followed by Thor. “We will all lend our services,” says Thor.

And then Bohdi’s voice comes on. “I think you’ll need to bring an extra man to stand with me on guard. I don’t like the looks of this.”

Nodding, Steve says, “Let’s move out.” He keeps his voice firm, but he has a bad feeling in his stomach.

When they arrive at the Black Dwarf’s inn, they find Bohdi peering down the sights of his rifle, Fenrir at his side, Beatrice slipping into the house behind him. He’s got the rifle aimed at a throng of Frost Giants who are muttering darkly in the shadows. When Steve and the team arrive, they melt away, but the bad feeling in Steve’s gut does not go away.

As they approach the porch, Larson says, “Patel, I’ll stand outside for you.”

Bohdi shakes his head too fast in the negative. “No, no, I can’t go in. Not for this. I’d be bad luck, and it’s already bad.”

From the inn comes the sound of a woman’s screams.

“I will stand guard, too,” says Valli, “... for Mr. Patel.”

Steve runs his tongue over his teeth. Nari has alerted his unstable, less reliable brother to Bohdi’s identity ... His bad feeling gets even worse.

Chapter 17

“Hello,” says Valli, taking his position on the stoop next to Bohdi.

“Hi,” says Bohdi, tapping his rifle, not looking at Loki’s son.

“I’m not good in medical situations, either,” says Valli. “I get excited and set things on fire.”

“Mmmmm …” says Bohdi, not really listening. He glances up at a window cracked open a few stories above them. In the few moments before Beatrice arrived, Amy told Bohdi that the woman in labor is a Frost Giantess, not a dwarf. The father was a dwarf. The woman’s family had killed him, and the the general opinion of the Frost Giants appears to be that they should have killed the woman as well.

Valli snorts. “You wouldn’t think that a half-blood runt of a dwarf would be big enough to cause so much trouble.”

Bohdi whacks him on the back of the head before he’s even thought about it.

Instead of getting angry, Valli rubs the spot and beams at Bohdi. “Mimir told us you wouldn’t remember us, said Father always bungled the transition, but I think you do. You always used to do that to me when you called me an idiot.”

Bohdi stares at him a moment, and then he curses. He would have thought Nari would be smart enough to keep his identity to himself. His eyes skim the shadows beneath the trees, not sure if he sees people, or if it’s his imagination. His teeth grind. “Shut up, Valli.”

“Yes, Fa—”

Bohdi shoots him a glare.

“Yes,” says Valli. Grinning, he claps Bohdi on the shoulder.

Above their heads the woman screams.

“I won’t make any more jokes,” says Valli.

Bohdi doesn’t dignify that with a comment.

“Nari is very sorry about what happened earlier. He was rude to you. But Dr. Lewis just ‘shot him down’ as your people say, and he was in a mood.”

Bohdi raises an eyebrow, and almost smiles, but beside him Fenrir begins to whine. Bohdi lifts his rifle and peers through the scope. He sees a man in standard military gear bent over, lumbering through the snow, face hidden. It can’t be one of the team drunk already, can it?

“Stop!” Bohdi shouts. “Raise your hands.”

The hunched figure semi-straightens and throws up his hands.

“Rush?” says Bohdi. Fenrir approaches Rush, head and tail low, whining softly.

“Came to help,” Rush says. “Whole team is here.” He sways on his feet and then pitches forward. He lands in the snow face first and for a moment, Bohdi thinks he’s been stabbed or shot. Running to the fallen man, he drops to one knee and raises his rifle.

Rush belches, and Bohdi gags. “Oh, Jesus, Rush, you’re drunk already?”

“Nah,” Rush says, pulling himself to all fours. “It was just one drink.”

The snow crunches behind Bohdi. He turns to see Valli approach. “What sort of drink?” Loki’s son says, all of the previous joviality gone.

“Guinnesssss,” Rush slurs.

Bohdi snaps, “This is Jotunheim, Rush, they don’t have Guinness.” He climbs to his feet and holds out a hand. Rush takes it and pulls himself up.

“No, but they have brown tuber beer,” Valli says. “Who gave this drink to you?”

“Awww … you know, Ullr. He was talkin’ shit.”

“What kind of shit?” Bohdi says, his skin heating at mention of Thor’s adopted son. Ullr had wanted them all dead that first morning. Why was Rush even talking to him?

Rush makes a noise like a deflating balloon. “Aww, just heard you getting angry at me ‘cause I warned you about Lewis.” He throws an arm around Bohdi’s shoulder, almost knocking Bohdi over. “But I know we’re still bros.” Rush grins, and Bohdi has to turn his head to keep from throwing up. “And bros before—”

Bohdi steps out from under Rush’s arm, and Rush face plants in the snow again. Rolling over, Rush blinks up at him. “So, do you need my help?”

“I think you need help,” says Valli.

“I’m fine,” says Rush.

“No,” says Bohdi. “We don’t need your help.”

Still lying in the snow, Rush nods. “‘Kay, I’ll go back to dinner. I’m hungry.” Rolling over, he pushes himself up and then stumbles away. Bohdi and Valli watch his retreat. Rush manages to stay upright for about twelve more steps and then falls down again.

The wind whistles through the branches above them. Instead of coming from the sea, it comes down from the mountains.

“The temperature is dropping,” Valli comments. Fenrir whines.

Bohdi glares at Rush’s form. He’s wearing layers. He should be fine. Of course, his face is probably planted in the snow, and alcohol makes your temperature fall.

“Should we go get him?” Valli says.

Bohdi sighs. “Yeah, I guess we should.” But he doesn’t move.

The woman upstairs screams. He hears Amy say, “The baby is still in the wrong place. We’re going to have to try again.”

And then Steve says, “Ready? Heave-ho men!”

Bohdi looks up at the window. Heave-ho? What are they doing?

“Perhaps we should get him now?” Valli says. “He is going to be in a very bad way; he will need help in the morning.”

Sighing, Bohdi steps away from the inn, Valli beside him, and Fenrir loping along just ahead of them. Occasionally, the dog’s ears prick up, but she doesn’t growl. They reach Rush’s body and Valli says, “We shouldn’t throw him over our shoulders. He is bound to vomit on anyone who does.”

“Awesome,” says Bohdi. They each grab an arm of the unconscious Rush and start hauling him toward the inn. Rush stinks like puke, and Bohdi can’t think of anything less pleasant than saving someone he dislikes intensely and who reeks so intensely.

And then Rush wakes up. “Bohdi, my man,” he says, turning his head in Bohdi’s direction; Bohdi barely holds onto his dinner.

Eyelids at half mast, Rush proceeds to ramble. “I know you probably don’t know a lot about women, ‘cause it’s hard for Asian men, I know that, so unfair.”

Bohdi rolls his eyes. “That’s right, Rush, I have never kissed a girl.”

Valli makes a sound like a confused puppy.

“S’all right, bro, I don’t judge,” Rush mumbles. “The great philosophers—wise men—through the ages, they all agree, the way to happiness is not to become attached to a woman. Women are transients … temporary … tramps.”

“My mother is a woman,” Valli growls.

Evidently not hearing him, Rush slurs on, “Have sex with them. But don’t become attached. Be like the wise men.”

Above his head, the woman in labor screams in Jotunn, “Make it stop!”

Bohdi feels the same way.

Rush doesn’t stop. “Women, they’re not like us. They’re fickle. Emotional. Undependable. Just hypergamous solipsistic sluts.”

“Basilisk dung,” mutters Valli, and it’s all Bohdi can do not to drop Rush in the snow again. The woman upstairs screams, and Bohdi hears Steve order, “Heave-ho!”

They drag Rush up the steps and into the inn. Fenrir pokes her nose into the dwelling, but then, perhaps deciding it’s too warm and cozy, goes back outside and sprawls out in the snow. Rush has passed out again, and on some unspoken agreement, Valli and Bohdi drop him unceremoniously in the foyer. Bohdi looks around the room. His head is just a few inches from the ceiling, but it doesn’t feel cavelike—little pink lamps dot the space, and the walls are painted a warm orange-yellow, making it feel bright and cheery.

From outside, Bohdi had thought this was one of the few buildings that didn’t rely on an Iron Wood tree for support, but inside he realizes the building entirely encases one of the smaller trees. Directly before them is a spiral staircase that loops around an Iron Wood trunk. The spokes of the tree’s lower branches make the rafters of the ceiling. All of the slimmer branches have been neatly twisted around the beams to keep them from hanging down. Bohdi notices that they don’t seem attracted to the little glowing orbs. The orbs must glow with something other than magic. A fire crackles in a fireplace beyond some miniature chairs and a sofa to their left. There is a bookshelf along the opposite wall, and a tiny desk in a corner. Everything is neat, tidy, and warm. It’s a far cry from the hut they’re sharing.

Valli lifts his eyes to the ceiling. “It’s quiet up there.”

Bohdi looks up. It is quiet. No screams. No Steve being leaderly. And then he hears the sound of feminine sobs.

“Oh,” says Valli. “That doesn’t sound good.”

Bohdi’s jaw drops. No. Amy doesn’t break things. Amy saves things—this is backward and wrong. A baby’s wail suddenly rings above the sobs. Bohdi hears all the men above roar, clapping, and the sound of feet. And then Amy’s voice cuts above the din. “Lift the end of the bed and prop it up.”

Steve’s voice echoes down the stairs. “You heard her.”

The baby continues to wail. The sobbing gets louder, but this time it sounds joyful, and then the baby is silent but Bohdi hears the sound of furniture scraping on the floor, and Thor’s boisterous, “Well done, Doctor.”

Bohdi relaxes.

The guys upstairs roar again and laugh. And Berry shouts in a tone of mock officiousness, “And his name shall be Cannonball!” There is more laughter.

Bohdi wonders what that’s about. Everyone sounds so happy, he ducks his head. “Come on, Valli, let’s go outside.” He doesn’t want to jinx it.

x x x x

Amy sits next to Bjorna, her fingers on the sleeping woman’s faint pulse. On the other side of the bed sits Thor, with Cannonball cradled in his arms. Everyone else has cleared out.

She shakes her head. She has to stop thinking of the baby as Cannonball.

In Amy’s ear the radio crackles with Berry’s voice. “Captain, it’s bitterly cold out here. I suggest changing the guard.”

She hears Steve through the door of the room and buzzing in her ear. “Do it.”

And then Berry’s voice cracks again. “Also, we’re moving Rush to the mud room off the kitchen. He’s passed out, and Valli says he’ll be losing his guts in the morning. That’s where Gem says he’ll be easiest to clean up.”

Amy rolls her eyes. Classy guy, Rush. She sighs and looks down at Bjorna. The Frost Giantess looks so peaceful in sleep, but her body is still struggling. She lost an incredible amount of blood.

“You did good, Doctor,” Thor says. “I could not have saved her.”

Amy can’t meet his eyes. The baby had been in the wrong position because the placenta had broken partially away and blocked the birth canal. Neither had been able to come out. Bjorna had been bleeding to death and the baby had been close to asphyxiating. Amy still feels shaken.

“You helped, Thor. Thank you,” she says.

“Ah, well, penance,” Thor says.

Amy feels a lump in her throat. Thor’s daughter Pru became betrothed to a Merchant Dwarf against her father’s wishes. In the myths Thor had managed to trick the dwarf into being burned to death by the light of the sun—in real life Pru had forsaken immortality and eloped. She’d died beside her husband in one of the battles between the Merchant Dwarf clans and the dwarf nobility. The moment feels very heavy, and Amy is thankful when Steve walks into the room, Tucker beside him. Tucker goes over and gazes down at Cannonball. “Best thing yet about this trip,” he says, and Amy feels like the pressure in the room has just decreased by half.

Steve comes over to Amy. “You need us?”

Amy swallows. What Steve is really asking is if she needs his or Tucker’s blood. They’re both, rarities of rarities, blood type O negative. Among humans, they are the “universal donor,” able to be blood donor to anyone. But Amy’s not sure Frost Giants can receive human blood. “She’s getting better,” Amy says. “That will only be in case of an extreme emergency.”

“Captain,” Tucker says, “Why don’t you put me on guard duty? You need someone here, and that will put me nearby in case she needs a transfusion.”

Steve nods. “It’s a good idea.” Tapping his headpiece, he nods at Amy, and then steps out of the room, Tucker behind him. Amy hears Beatrice downstairs, and the soft footfalls of the dwarf woman who is the owner of the Inn and sister of Bjorna’s slain husband.

The dwarf woman walks into the room, her eyes glowing like a cat in the low-light—literally. Amy’s got a memory of Mimir bouncing around in her brain explaining how the dwarves have a reflective layer behind their retinas, just like cats, dogs, and other animals. It’s useful in the low light of their caves, but something that is often derided as being “animal-like” by the other hominid species of the World Tree.

“Dr. Lewis,” the woman says. “I have made a bed for you. I hope you will be staying the rest of the night.”

“Um,” says Amy. She doesn’t know if that’s allowed.

Steve appears in the doorway, as if by magic, and knowing his magical talent for knowing things, it might be. “Of course you can stay,” he says and then disappears again. Amy relaxes. She smiles at the woman. “Yes, of course, Gemixal …” Her voice trails off as she stumbles on the name.

The woman waves her hand. “Gem is fine.”

Her eyes go to Cannonball, Bjorna, and back to Amy. “They’ll be alright?” she asks Amy, not Thor, though Thor had a big hand in saving them.

“Yes,” Amy says. She inclines her head to Bjorna. “She’ll need rest, and it would be best if she eats plenty of red meat.”

Gem nods. “Yes, oh, yes, I’ll make sure of that.”

Thor’s voice rumbles. “His lungs and blood are full of oxygen now. Would you like to hold him?”

Gem draws back. Her wide eyes go to the baby, to Thor, and back to the baby.

“Thor won’t bite,” says Amy.

Gem doesn’t look quite like she believes her. She walks toward the big man, arms outstretched for Cannonball, but eyes on Thor’s face, as though she’s searching for a sign that he’ll pounce. When she gathers Cannonball into her arms, she steps quickly backward, as if the brief contact burned.

Amy sighs. Standing close to her, Gem says, “Your grandmother is downstairs warming some soup for you, and I’ve got a kettle on to make you hot water for a bath, and clean clothes that …” she tilts her head and looks Amy up and down. “Well, they’ll mostly keep you covered.”

Amy pushes back a loose lock of her hair. It is caked with blood. She closes her eyes. They hadn’t had gowns or caps. She had a pair of gloves from the first aid kit, and that was it. She lets out a breath and looks down at her dress. It’s stained.

“I’ll clean that, of course,” Gem whispers.

“A bath sounds wonderful,” Amy says.

Gem looks to the door, and down at Cannonball, and to the door again.

“I’ll find my way,” Amy assures Gem, and the dwarf nods and smiles at her. She looks down at Cannonball’s half-opened eyes and says, “Oh, they glow. He looks so much like my brother.” She begins to cry and touches her forehead to the drowsy newborn.

Amy wraps her arms around herself and bows her head. From all she can gather, Gem’s brother had been one of the dwarves Heiðr invited to the Iron Wood to fix Gullveig’s fortress. His only crime seems to have been falling for Bjorna. Her family had killed him for dishonoring them and had pressed Bjorna to abort. Bjorna had sought refuge with Gem. Sniffling a little, Gem says, “Your room is the first before the stairs. It has a lot of light … I think humans like that?”

“Thank you,” Amy says, “we do.” Amy steps from the room into the hall. She hears Beatrice’s footsteps below and the whistle of a kettle.

When she reaches the foot of the stairs, she finds only Steve. He’s staring at Bohdi, who is sitting back to them on the sofa, face to the hearth. He looks too tall and out of place. Amy blinks. He’s still here. She would have thought he would have headed straight over to the party that’s invariably going on back at the dining hall. She remembers how the girls had fawned over him the night before.

Steve raises an eyebrow at her and whispers, “I think he wanted to come up, but he didn’t because …” Steve shrugs.

“Because he thinks he’s the angel of death,” Amy whispers.

Steve sighs, lifts his eyebrows, and crosses his arms.

Amy drifts toward Bohdi. She nervously tucks a filthy strand of hair behind her ear. She’s a mess, coming off an adrenaline high and doesn’t know what to say, but she has to say something. She’s vaguely aware of Beatrice coming closer. She bites her lip. And she has to say it fast.

x x x x

Steve leaves Lewis and goes to check on Rush. Before he’s even through the kitchen door, he sees Rush’s body off in a little room beyond the kitchen. He’s sprawled on his side, a blanket thrown over him. Beatrice is in the kitchen proper, stirring something that smells delicious in a pot on the stove, her umbrella on the kitchen table. Beside her there is a counter with an apparatus that looks like a bicycle wheel with hand cranks instead of pedals. It has a spout protruding from it, and a bowl beneath that. Steve blinks—it’s a pump. Apparently, the dwarves managed to get some running water for themselves, even if they didn’t complete the job for Heiðr.

Behind Steve, Lewis’s voice rises, and then Bohdi’s, their voices too hushed for the words to be distinct. Beatrice tsks, puts down the spoon and comes to the door. Steve’s not trying to run interference for Bohdi as he stands in the tiny door frame, but he’s six feet five inches, his frame suits his height and then some, and the effect is the same. Beatrice waves a hand. “Out of my way, Steve.”

Steve remembers the branches twisting in the rafters the night before, Brett and Bryant’s voices over the radio, and Bohdi’s pit bull-like defense of Amy … Bohdi and Amy are trouble together. Steve almost lets Beatrice go.

But then curiosity gets the best of him. Leaning against the narrow frame, he holds out an arm to block Amy’s overprotective grandmother. “What’s your problem with Bohdi, Beatrice?”

“He’s trouble!” Beatrice whispers.

Steve has a moment of panic. She knew Loki, she had even danced with him, does she know? “Why do you say that?” Steve says, keeping his voice light and unworried.

Beatrice gapes at him. “Nornheim, Steven. Asgard. Trolls in Chicago.”

Steve snorts. “Okay, I’ll give you that.”

Her brow furrows. “And when Agent Martinez told Laura Stodgill that Bohdi really knows how to straighten out a girl’s hard drive, I don’t think she was talking about computers.”

“Errr …”

“Amy needs someone who can take care of her—she can’t defend herself,” Beatrice says, wrapping one arm around herself, her voice becoming pained.

Steve tilts his head, remembering the mysterious jamming of Amy’s pistol, and her poor performance in the self-defense instruction they gave her back on Earth. He glances at the ceiling. Lewis saved the woman upstairs without magic or modern medicine in a last ditch gambit, and the baby when he didn’t have a pulse; it seems like the work of the Creator—if she were human, like setting a world on fire with a disposable lighter might be the work of the non-magical Destroyer. If Steve didn’t know that Hoenir was alive …

“She was supposed to wind up with Nari!” Beatrice says, shaking Steve from his musings.

“Nari?” says Steve, genuinely confused. “He’s a bit of a coward.”

Beatrice meets his eyes. “Yes, precisely! He’s a coward and will dissuade her from doing anything extraordinarily stupid. Nari is just brave enough, Steven.”

Steve should get out of her way, but doesn’t move.

“She’s in an impossible situation.” Beatrice crosses her arms over her chest and looks past Steve.

They’re all in an impossible situation, but that isn’t what Beatrice is saying. He feels it in every inch of his skin. “What are you not telling me, Beatrice?”

Beatrice raises her eyes to his. They’re as bright and clear as a woman in her twenties—they have been for years, ever since Loki plucked her from her nursing home and left her in his apartment with Amy. But Loki didn’t do that. “Hoenir saved you,” Steve says softly. After Loki destroyed Cera, Sigyn and her boys had spoken with Mimir, while Hoenir had gone off on other business. “And Hoenir is Prometheus, I know that. What is it that I don’t know?”

Beatrice raises a hand to her mouth. And then she drops her eyes. “I can’t tell you that, Steven. All I know is that it is my job to protect Amy. She’s in an impossible situation.”

There is that phrase again. Steve’s skin prickles. “More so than the rest of us?”

Beatrice looks up at him sharply. She says nothing, but Steve can read it in the set of her chin. She’s angry … because, yes, the doctor is in some special danger. Steve’s brow furrows. Amy’s been in danger since Odin set his sights on her, but why did he set his sights on her? Not just because she was Loki’s girlfriend. Loki had a few human ‘girlfriends’ from what their intelligence can glean. And Hoenir said to keep an eye on her, too—because he knew she was pregnant with a magical child? But no, he’d been concerned about her even after that. Because she has Loki’s memories? Steve sighs and rubs his forehead. “I hate magic.”

Beatrice snorts. “You’re not the only one.” She moves to slide by him and Steve almost lets her go. But then his arm shoots out and he takes her wrist, almost despite his volition. Beatrice gasps and looks down at his hand. And so does he. What is he doing? Bohdi and Lewis conspired against him; the memory still makes heat rise in his chest. He should do everything in his power to separate them. He remembers Bohdi ribbing him at the table earlier in the morning in front of Berry and Larson, and it still burns a little. Protecting Bohdi from the wrath of Lewis’s grandmother is just a vestige of friendship that he should toss aside.

But he doesn’t let Beatrice go.

Odin hadn’t let Loki know what he was. He’d conspired against the previous incarnation of Chaos Loki’s entire life. He’d deliberately kept him out of step, unbalanced, unaware of his true potential, and Steve understands why—by weakening him, Odin hoped to control him. And it worked well, until it spectacularly didn’t.

“Steve,” Beatrice hisses. She twists her arm.

“Now hold on a minute,” Steve says.

Beatrice’s eyes narrow.

“You don’t want to separate them,” Steve says. He can feel his heart start to beat faster. He feels like he’s on an odd precipice, like he’s either making the best, or worst, decision of his life.

“Why not?” Beatrice says, her voice sharp and suspicious. But she’s not moving.

Steve releases her. To get her respect, he first needs to show he respects her. “Look, I have to hand it to you, your strategy to set her up with Nari demonstrates some real three-dimensional strategizing, Beatrice. I respect you a lot for it. And I think it would be a good idea—”

“Then why are we standing here?”

“Because I only think it would be a good idea in normal times.” He meets her eyes. “And we aren’t in normal times.”

Beatrice looks toward Lewis and Bohdi and back to him. “What do you know that I don’t know?”

“Sigyn told me Bohdi’s talent.” It’s a lie, but a small one.

“And what is it?” says Beatrice.

Steve takes a deep breath. “Bohdi’s magical ability is to overcome impossible situations.” He shakes his head and looks away. Liars usually meet the eye of their inquisitors. “Sigyn felt it almost immediately after he took the serum. It’s probably why we’ve survived this long.” He rubs the back of his neck and affects the look of contemplation. “Oh, hell, I don’t know. If magic is just the manifestation of our deeper natures, maybe he already had the ability a little in Nornheim and Asgard? There’s no way they should have survived that.” Dropping his hand, he slumps his shoulders a little, and tries to look as unthreatening as he can. “He did bring her back to you, Beatrice.”

Beatrice’s eyes slide back to the two kids. She crosses her arms. “I hate magic.”

Steve chuckles, careful to keep his voice down. “Also, even in a non-magical world, trying to force kids who think they are in love apart is likely to drive them into each other’s arms.”

Beatrice glances up at him sharply.

He offers a show of vulnerability, just to build a little more trust. “It’s a contingency I’ve been concerned about since Claire was born.”

Beatrice raises an eyebrow. “Somehow I have a feeling you’ll be able to dissuade any suitors you find unfit.”

Steve almost laughs, and not in a happy way. “Have you met my daughter?”

Beatrice gives a sly smile. “Or maybe not.”

For a moment he thinks he has her, but then she frowns. “You’re sure about this?”

Steve sighs. “No.” She raises an eyebrow, and he says, “But Beatrice, Odin wants Lewis. I don’t know why. But I don’t want him getting anything he wants.” His voice is low; the heat in his words isn’t feigned. “If I thought for a moment that Bohdi somehow would make it more likely he’d get his hands on her, I wouldn’t let him near her.”

Beatrice’s shoulders sag. Steve glances toward Bohdi and Lewis. Bohdi has his hands on her granddaughter’s shoulders. He’s looking at her intently. Steve can hear the murmur of Lewis’s voice but not her words.

“Come on, Beatrice,” Steve says, putting a hand on Beatrice’s shoulder. “Let’s leave them alone.”

Beatrice releases a long breath. “I’m hungry, Steven. Do you want some soup?”

At her words, Steve’s stomach rumbles. Steering Beatrice back to the kitchen, he says, “That sounds perfect. I just need to check on Rush.”

The SEAL’s voice rises in the mud room. “I’m fine, Captain.”

Steve looks up in alarm. Rush is sitting upright, but an instant later his eyes roll back in his head. He sways a moment, and then falls over.

“Oh, dear,” says Beatrice.

Steve feels a shiver run down his spine. From what Bohdi briefly told him about Rush’s run-in with Ullr, Steve knows the Asgardian is looking for a weak link in the team. How much had Rush heard, how much had he understood—and more important, what would he tell?

x x x x

Bohdi doesn’t turn as Amy approaches. “Hey,” Amy says, when she’s still a good distance away, carefully trying not to startle him. She wonders when she learned that habit … all of them are what she might have called trigger happy before. Now she thinks they’re just ready to fight, or in her case, flee.

Bohdi turns his head sharply. His eyes, orange in the firelight, settle on her and his frame relaxes. He stands up, but he doesn’t come closer. Probably because she’s caked in dry blood and is disgusting.

She bites her lip. For all its faults, Jotunheim is like a Bohdi paradise … lots of girls, lots of food back at the dining hall. She and Bohdi had fun last night, and they’re friends, but she has to keep it in perspective—this is Bohdi. The field has opened up, and he’s going to play it. She’s not sure why he is still here, but thinks she knows what he needs to hear. “You know,” she says, “if I hadn’t run into you, Bjorna and the baby might have died.” She shrugs and gives a small smile. “I’m a slow runner. I don’t think I would have made it in time.”

She doesn’t want him to obsess over his role in all the death they’ve seen. It seems to work; he takes a step toward her. “Are you alright?” he asks.

She blinks. It’s the first time this evening anyone has asked her that. “I …” She starts to shake, and everything she’d kept inside all night bubbles out. “I was so scared, Bohdi. I knew a C-section would kill Bjorna, and I didn’t know if the baby would even be alive. I tried this crazy thing a Chinese vet student friend of mine told me back in school … she told it to me as a joke.” Amy’s eyes sting and she puts her hand to her mouth. “I can’t believe it worked.”

“What did you do?” Bohdi asks. He puts his hands on her shoulders. They make her feel warmer—even though they’re cold. Bohdi’s hands are never cold. Hadn’t Berry said something about the temperature dropping?

She feels like the air is heavy—and can’t meet his eyes. “I put Bjorna on the tarp from the tent … and I had the guys toss her. Gently, I mean.” She winces. “It’s what Hi-sha said Chinese peasants used to do when babies got stuck.” She swallows, and she says too quickly, “The Chinese had better live birth rates back in the 1600s …” her voice trails off. “I could have hurt them both … and then the baby was born with the umbilical cord around his neck, and I gave him mouth to mouth and I was so worried about breaking his tiny little bones.” She feels her eyes get hot. She doesn’t normally get so shaken by medical procedures, even death, and she’s not sure if it was the potential of causing Bjorna or Cannonball serious injury, or the Frost Giants she saw muttering in the shadows when she arrived, or the story of Bjorna’s husband.

“They were both going to die, and they didn’t,” Bohdi says, squeezing her shoulders gently.

She feels his lips on her forehead and closes her eyes. It feels good, and it doesn’t. She is horribly aware of needing a bath. She backs away. “I need to wash up. But I’ll see you later.” Tomorrow morning, after he’s had that threesome he’s always wanted. She’ll play it cool, but right now she’s too tired. She wipes her hands on her sides and doesn’t look at him. Turning, she’s just about to leave the room when he says, “Amy?”

She stops, turns again and finds his head tilted, his expression unreadable. His hair is finally starting to grow out, and he’s starting to look like himself again. “Yes?” she says, rocking a bit onto her toes, a little fluttery inside.

“Why did they call him Cannonball?” Bohdi asks, and Amy deflates a little. What was she hoping for?

She sighs. “He … the baby … the meconium, it shot across the room. It was very dramatic.”

“Meconium?” One of Bohdi’s eyebrows arches.

Amy sighs again. “The first poop.”

Bohdi cracks up laughing, bending over at the waist and clutching his stomach. Had she expected a romantic moment just now? Amy rolls her eyes. All the guys had thought it was hysterical. Thor had roared, Nari had too, even upright Steve had laughed. “What is it with the Y chromosome and poop jokes?”

Straightening, Bohdi wipes an eye. “Oh, come on, it’s hilarious!”

She looks heavenward. “If you say so.” She spins around. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She walks toward the kitchen, and Bohdi follows.

“I guess so,” he says. She’s too exhausted to even fathom why he sounds tentative. Shuffling into the kitchen, she finds Steve and Beatrice eating soup. “Bath?” she says. Beatrice points to a closed door next to the mudroom where Rush is snoring. “That way. There is a kettle of boiling water by the tub. Pour it to suit your liking.”

Nodding, Amy hurries off. She hears Bohdi talking to Steve, and Beatrice, and the clink of silverware. She finds the bathing room. It has a little stove, not as grand as her memories, but it keeps the room wonderfully warm. There is a fluffy towel and clean clothes. The kettle is sitting on the stove—and there is—wonder of wonders, a tub to soak in. There is a little place to wash off like in her memories too—Japanese style—as Gullveig had called it.

She peels off her clothes and rinses off the grime. In the other room, she hears conversation and more clinks of silverware. Of course Bohdi had followed her to the kitchen; he was always on the lookout for free food, even before he was magical.

By the time Amy settles into the tub, she’s clean, and the clank of plates and conversation has gone silent. It shouldn’t make her sad, but it does a little. She settles deeper into the water, closes her eyes, and just tries to forget everything.

x x x x

The water is cold. Amy sits up with a start and hurries out of the bath. She pulls on the clean clothes laid out for her. They evidently were for a much shorter person: a man’s tunic that hits her hip and that she can’t lace at the top, because it doesn’t quite fit her chest, and trousers that only reach halfway down her calves. But everything’s clean and soft, and she won’t complain.

Tying up her hair, she goes into the kitchen. It’s lit by the curious little pink orbs and is empty—the only sound is Rush’s snoring. She peers into the room where he sleeps. Fenrir is stretched out by his side—if she came in it must be really cold outside.

She leaves the kitchen and enters the foyer living area. The fire has died down, but Bohdi is still sitting in front of it. His parka is tossed across the sofa.

“What are you doing here?” Amy asks.

Bohdi turns and looks over the sofa. “Up until now, wondering if you’d drowned.”

Covering a yawn, Amy says, “No, really?”

Standing up, Bohdi walks over. Stopping when he’s just a little too close, he tilts his head, grins and echoes her words. “No, really.”

“You’re teasing me.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Yes.”

“Don’t.”

He shrugs. “Okay.”

“Why are you here?” she asks. She looks to the door. “Are you on guard? Or is it too cold to go back to the party, or—”

“I’m here to be with you,” Bohdi says.

Amy blinks at him.

He tilts his head. “Is that so hard to believe?”

Well, frankly … “Yes.”

He scowls. “Why?”

She bites her lip, eyes sliding to the door, remembering the party the night before and the girl blowing kisses at him at breakfast. “We’ve stumbled into what, is, I don’t know … your ideal habitat. I see the way the girls look at you. You could have your threesome; you might be able to skip right over that to a foursome.”

“Because that worked out for me last time,” he says.

“They’re not spider women,” Amy says, putting her hands on her hips.

Bohdi’s lips purse. “Are you trying to convince me to have sex with Frost Giants?”

Amy can’t meet his eyes. “Well, no, but I know how you are.” She holds up her hands. “And that’s fine, I wish I was more like that, it would be better … but I’m not, and it would be weird if you and I, if we … and then you … because that’s how you are, and I understand, and it’s okay because we’re friends. But if we were more … ” She sucks in a breath. “I’m babbling.”

“Yes,” Bohdi says. She glances up at him. He’s not smiling now. “But I understand.”

Amy relaxes. “Okay, then … well …”

“But the thing is, I don’t want to sleep with the Frost Giantesses.”

Amy blinks and tenses. This is not how she expected this conversation to go. He’s not touching her, but she feels herself flush as though he had. “Really?” she says. “But they’re gorgeous.”

He winces. “Yeah.” He looks at the ceiling and rubs his chin. “My timing leaves a lot to be desired.”

“Timing?”

He sighs and flicks his lighter. “The thing is, I’m done.”

“Done?” Amy says.

He shrugs. “I just would rather be with one particular girl than all the other girls.” He gives her a crooked half smile. “I’ve heard it happens to guys like me.”

“No …” Amy shakes her head.

Bohdi’s jaw gets hard. “Oh, come on, Amy. You more than most women have to know that it’s true.”

Amy swallows. He’s talking about Loki. Loki … was, well, a tramp. But then he met Aggie, and then he was with Sigyn, and he loved them, and he was good to them. But when his marriage to Sigyn disintegrated, he went back to his old ways. What he felt for Amy wasn’t what he felt for his wives. He was fond of her, but it wasn’t love … it was just ... she shakes her head. “No, not to me, I was just his …” She looks up at Bohdi, realizing she’s just spoken aloud.

“You were his teddy bear?” Bohdi says, and she can see the muscles in his jaw twitch, like he’s really mad.

She was going to say toy or plaything, and he’s just completely turned that around and inside out. Amy takes a step back, and Bohdi takes a step forward. “He knew he was dying, and he held onto you for dear life. You have to know that.” His voice is low, angry, almost scary. He reaches forward and brushes her cheek, and she realizes she’s crying.

“Don’t you dare think you were anything less,” Bohdi says, and before she knows what is happening, he sweeps her up into a hug that’s real and just short of bone breaking. It’s automatic when she wraps her arms around him and presses her cheek to his chest. But the buzz that ignites beneath her skin is more than automatic. She listens to his heartbeat and takes a deep breath.

And then Bohdi pulls away. Her legs feel weak. Not looking at him, she swallows. “Why do you always defend me?” Against Steve, Larson, Valli, and herself.

“I don’t always defend you.”

She lifts her eyes. He gives her a tight smile. “When you’re wrong, I always let you know, loudly and gleefully.”

She remembers his dismissal of her theory of the magical retention of memories. He had been gleeful, and it had been a little humiliating. But he had been right. She blinks. He’s disagreeing now, but he doesn’t sound gleeful. Her body is buzzing too much for her to think about it. Her eyes drift to his lips, and back up to his eyes.

Does she think he’s fallen madly in love with her and is going to give her forever? No. But they don’t have forever, they have until winter ends, they leave the Iron Wood and either make it home or are captured by Odin. She bites her lip. She believes he’ll give her that. Not for love, but because when her life’s on the line, there is no one else more likely to stick by her.

She lifts her chin. “Are you going to kiss me now?”

Bohdi gives her a wicked smile, and she wonders how much of a game this is to him, and how much she should care.

x x x x

A baby’s wail cuts through the night and crashes down on Bohdi like a bucket of ice water. Where she straddles his lap on the sofa, Amy pulls back fast, her lips swollen, her hair askew, the front of the dwarven tunic she’s wearing loose. His hands drift down her sides to her thighs, the fabric of the dwarven trousers soft beneath his fingers.

She looks at him with slightly wild eyes. He’s sure his are the same. The wind outside must be crazy because he hears tree branches crackling. The house groans. His hands slide over hers.

She stammers, “We can’t, I’m not …”

Upstairs there is the sound of footsteps. He feels her tense ... and then the baby is quiet.

“I can’t get pregnant here,” Amy says, and she sounds a little frantic.

Bohdi leans forward and wraps his arms around her back because frankly he’s afraid she’ll bolt. “Shhhh …” he soothes, rubbing his hand in tiny circles. “We don’t have to go that far, Amy.”

She relaxes and drops her chin on his head. And they just sit there for a few minutes. He’s turned on and he’s finally warm after standing outside in the cold for what felt like all night after that cold front came in. He’s exhausted from the evening and the shift he pulled earlier this morning … or was it yesterday morning, at this point? But he’s also happy.

Talk of the ex from Asgard put him temporarily in a bad mood. He knows at some point that will be a discussion. His hand freezes on her back. He knows he’s wandering into bad sitcom territory by not telling her, but what sitcom features a plot with having to tell your girl you’re the reincarnation of her ex, the incarnation of Chaos and the Destroyer? If he told her now, would she slap him, or fall into bed with him? Neither is acceptable.

Amy’s head drops on top of his and her arms wrap around his back. “I don’t want to let you go.”

He’s glad she can’t see his face because that makes him grin like a happy puppy dog. Summoning up the most dignified voice he can manage, he says, “Then don’t.”

He rocks her for awhile and feels her body lean heavier against his. If he were anywhere but here, with her on his lap, he’d be obsessing about finding the magic mirror tomorrow, but with Amy he can enjoy the moment. It’s amazing that he’s here. Steve said that Bohdi and Beatrice could sleep at the inn. Steve wants two people in shouting distance of the guys on guard in case the natives get restless. And then, miracle of miracles, Beatrice had declared that she was turning in, leaving him alone with Amy.

Amy stirs on his lap and it’s a gorgeous sensation. “I’m tired,” she says.

Bohdi pulls her tight. “Well, then, let’s go to bed.”

She pulls back and looks down at him suspiciously. He bats his eyelashes at her. “I know it may be hard to believe, but I have been known to snuggle.”

“Snuggle?”

He wraps his arms beneath her and manages to stand up, her legs wrap around him automatically, and she gasps.

“Mmmmm hmmmm…and sleep.” He murmurs, pressing his forehead against hers. He likes snuggling. It’s like extended foreplay. And even if they don’t do anything that would get Amy pregnant if his swimmers weren’t defective, there’s still lots of other things they can do. Thoughts of them will probably keep him painfully aroused all night. It will be perfect.

Chapter 18

“He looks great,” Amy says, lifting Cannonball’s arms above his head. Lying on a dresser, he gazes up at her with glowing eyes. She looks at Bjorna. “I’m more worried about you at this point.”

Bjorna is pale even for a Frost Giantess. The woman shakes her head. “No, I must get up. It’s afternoon! Can’t be useless ...”

She struggles to get up and reaches for Cannonball. Her hands are shaking. Gem, coming in the door with food, gives a cry. “Lie down!”

Bjorna collapses with a scowl. Gently picking up Cannonball, Amy presses him into the nook between her body and her arm. “You’re both going to be okay,” she says, “but you need rest.” She smiles as she says it, because it’s true, and also, she’s just in a good mood.

From the open door comes the sound of Rush’s hacking. She’s in a good mood, despite having to be Rush’s nurse. She’s back in her own clothing, and her electronics are charged. She takes out her phone and checks the time. Nodding to Bjorna, she leaves the room. She passes Beatrice’s door—her grandmother had gone with Nari this morning to the market to attempt to use their ‘tradeable goods’ to procure food. Amy’s brow furrows—she’s still not even sure what ‘tradeable goods’ are. Shaking her head, she continues down the hallway. She hesitates by the doorway to the room she had shared with Bohdi last night. It is only slightly larger than the two beds Gem pushed together for Amy. Bohdi had to sleep at a diagonal dead in the center. It should have been uncomfortable, but it had been great. Bohdi’s got an interesting definition of “snuggling,” but it’s probably why she’s in a good mood.

The alarm on her phone buzzes, and she hurries down the stairs to the mud room. Rush is sitting wrapped in a blanket, head over a bucket. Even Loki, not known for moderation, wouldn’t have had more than a thimbleful of tuber beer—the stuff is delicious—but potent. Rush took some from Ullr and is suffering from severe dehydration. She goes over and peeks into the bucket. It’s empty. “Congratulations, Rush, you can have some more electrolyte solution.”

He doesn’t even grunt. She didn’t expect him to. He hasn’t acknowledged her once this morning, even though her “doctor’s orders” saved him from having to go out and dig out Gullveig’s chamber.

Going to the kitchen, Amy grabs a little packet of electrolyte mix and is about to dump it into a canteen when she hears familiar footsteps in the foyer. She goes to peek. Sure enough, it’s Bohdi. He grins at her, winks, and says, “Ma’am, you’re needed by the team. Captain sent me to collect you.” She blinks. They dug out the tunnel fast. Now they’ll want her to corroborate that they’ve got the right place. She grins back. “Sure thing. Let me just attend to my patient.”

“Patel!” Rush shouts, “Is that you? Get in here!”

Scowling, Bohdi looks toward the sound of Rush’s voice. He shakes his head but follows Amy into the kitchen and then goes to the mud room.

As Amy prepares the solution for Rush in a canteen, she hears the SEAL say, “Patel, Captain told me that you and Valli saved me last night. I would be dead in the snow if it weren’t for you.”

Bohdi makes a noncommittal noise, and Rush mumbles, “I really fucked up.”

And boy did he. Amy heard him recounting the events of the night before to Steve and Larson. Rush accused Ullr of tricking him into drinking the beer. “How did he do that?” Larson had demanded. “He told me more than a sip was too strong for me, Sir!” Rush responded. “So he didn’t so much trick you as tell you the truth?” Steve roared. There had been a moment of silence; then, Amy was sure from rooms away that she could hear Steve’s jaw grinding and the veins in Larson’s forehead popping. She winces; she’d actually almost felt bad for Rush during the joint tirade.

“Yes, you did fuck up,” says Bohdi.

“Larson and the Captain read me the riot act this morning,” says Rush.

“I heard,” says Bohdi, as Amy picks up the solution she’s mixed and a mug.

“So you spent the night here?” says Rush. There’s something gleeful in his voice, and it makes Amy stop in her tracks.

“What did you do to get on the Captain’s good side?” Rush says. “Last night Beatrice tried to cock block you and he convinced her to back down.”

Bohdi doesn’t respond to that, and Rush keeps going. “So did you and the doctor … ?”

Bohdi’s voice is curt when he responds. “My people wait until marriage, Rush.”

Amy almost chokes on her spit. Thumping her chest, she enters the mudroom and pours a small amount of liquid from the canteen into the mug. “Here you go, Rush.”

Rush is staring at Bohdi wide-eyed and slack-jawed, but he takes the mug from Amy. “Drink it all,” she says. He obediently downs the liquid.

As he lowers the cup, Bohdi says, “Aren’t you going to say thank you to the doctor?’

“Uh, I thought I did.”

“No,” Amy and Bohdi say in unison.

“Sorry, man,” says Rush to Bohdi.

“Say it to her!” says Bohdi. “Not me. What’s wrong with you?”

Rush turns his head in her direction, but doesn’t meet her eyes. “Sorry. Thanks.”

“No problem,” says Amy. “You can take another sip in thirty minutes if you haven’t thrown up. Keep that down and you can take another sip after that in fifteen minutes. Don’t throw up after that and you can up the dose to a quarter cup every half hour.”

Rush nods.

“Say thank you,” says Bohdi again. His eyes are narrowed, and his voice is low and dangerous. It actually makes her uncomfortable.

“Thank you,” Rush mumbles, not looking at Amy.

Bohdi huffs, and Amy says, “I’ll go get the rest of my gear on.” She heads up to her room; Bohdi follows on her heels and closes the door behind them. She expects a kiss or a hug, but he immediately goes over to the window and scowls at whatever he sees outside.

The guys brought her gear over earlier, and Mr. Squeakers came with them. He cheeps and scampers into Amy’s pocket as she swings on her parka.

Snapping the last closure, she pats her breast pocket, making sure Loki’s little white book is safely tucked within. “What’s going on?” she whispers.

“I’m not sure.” Still gazing out the tiny window, he taps his radio headpiece and says, “Captain, looks like there are some new Frost Giants moving into town. They don’t look dangerous, but there are a lot of them.” Steve’s response is too faint for her to hear. She snaps on her own headpiece and goes to the door. She’s just about to turn the handle when Bohdi sneaks up behind her. Pressing the full length of his body against hers, he catches her hand. Kissing the back of her neck, he says, “Nuh-uh.”

Amy feels her legs get weak. She turns around, prepared for a kiss, but instead he just grins at her, and says, “Ma’am, let me get the door,” and steps out of reach.

She glares at him.

“Ladies first,” he says, opening the door for her.

“That’s a mean game,” she says, narrowing her eyes.

“I like games. I’m good at them.” He sounds so cheeky, Amy fumes a little.

Spinning on her heel, she says, “I guess I’m lucky your people wait until marriage.”

Bohdi chuckles like he doesn’t believe her ire. Which he probably shouldn’t—this morning was too much fun.

As she descends the staircase, his footsteps are very fast behind her, making her descent down the staircase more treacherous. “You seem rushed,” she says. Because of what’s outside?

Bohdi halts behind her on the steps. Amy turns around and sees his Adam’s apple bob. “I’m just … if we find the mirror, I might find out who my parents are,” he says, ducking his eyes.

She’s suddenly angry at herself for wanting to make out. The end of his search could be here, in Jotunheim. She crosses her fingers, smiles at him, and says, “Maybe.” And then she turns and runs as fast as she can down the stairs. He follows right behind.

When they reach the front door, Bohdi swings his rifle around. It’s not one of the heavy Barrett rifles; instead it’s what she’s pretty sure is an M4—they’re ideal for urban combat situations. That realization makes her gulp.

“Let me go first this time,” he says.

Before she has a chance to ask, he slips outside. She peeks through the door after him. What passes for a street has a line of Frost Giants trudging along it. They are pulling sleds loaded with sacks of goods and leading shaggy donkeys and goats. Children follow the sleds or sit atop the animals. The newcomers’ clothing looks carelessly tossed together. Instead of tailored leather coats and trousers they wear linens, with animal hides draped over their shoulders.

Amy sees a few Frost Giant men standing on the opposite side of the street, clutching their cloaks to their chests. They incline their heads toward the inn. Amy sees one spit in the snow. She nervously adjusts her earpiece and slips out behind Bohdi. The temperature has dropped and she pulls her muffler up to just below her nose. Thomas and Cruz are on guard outside. They have a giant metal trash-can thing between them; smoke billows from its top, and heat radiates from its sides. Thomas inclines his head to the group of loitering men and says to Bohdi, “Can you see what’s up with them?” Neither Thomas nor Cruz did well in Amy’s Jotunn lessons.

“Right,” Bohdi says, leaving Amy, Cruz, and Thomas, and stepping across the street. Holding his hands at chest level, in their own language Bohdi says, “Is there a problem?”

“Would you translate for us, Doctor?” Cruz asks. Amy relays Bohdi’s question, even as one of the Frost Giants answers, “What are you?”

“I’m a human,” says Bohdi.

Mutters rise in the line of Frost Giants, and the men take a step back. One of them mutters, “Ragnarok.” A child screams.

The man who addressed Bohdi says, “I thought this was a dwarf dwelling?”

“The inn does belong to a dwarf,” Bohdi says.

“Belongs?” says the man. He spits in the snow. “Still?”

Bohdi lowers his hands. Before Amy finishes translating, Cruz and Thomas, possibly sensing tension in the air, raise their rifles. The line of Frost Giants comes to a halt. The space between the inn and the men clears.

“Yes, it still belongs to her,” says Bohdi.

One of the other Frost Giant men takes a step toward Bohdi. “Are you going to give us lodging?”

“I don’t like this,” Thomas’s gravelly voice rumbles before Amy’s even translated.

“You’ll need to speak to Gem, the proprietress,” Bohdi says.

One of the Frost Giantesses snarls, “We will not beg a dwarf for lodging!”

“No,” says Bohdi, “I would expect you to pay Gem for lodging.”

“Weakly human,” snarls one of the men. His cloak slides to the ground, and he rushes toward Bohdi, a knife suddenly in his hand. Amy gasps … if Thomas or Cruz fires, they might hit Bohdi and ...

Holding the knife like a fire poker, the man slices in a quick horizontal motion, and Bohdi steps forward, instead of back. Amy puts her hand to her mouth. Bohdi catches the man by the wrist with the space between his upper arm and his forearm as though it’s a vice. He pivots and launches his palm up to the man’s elbow in a single fluid move. The man screams in pain, and the knife falls to the ground. Bohdi takes a step back. Raising his hands, he beckons to the onlookers. “Does anyone else want to dance?” The branches above him loosen and snap toward Bohdi like angry tongues.

The Frost Giants draw back, and then disperse, casting angry glares in Bohdi’s direction … all except the one with the broken arm. Hunching and cradling his arm, he runs.

Amy hears one of the gull-like birds give a cry. When all the men have vanished from sight, Bohdi turns around, jaw tight, eyes not meeting Amy’s. “That was too easy,” he says to Thomas and Cruz.

Cruz nods and says, “He was clumsy.” Amy blinks. She thought the exchange was scary. But when she thinks of it, she remembers Odin teaching Loki how to hold a knife. Holding it like a poker was not the way to do it.

The line begins to move again, but Amy notices the travelers quicken their pace as they step past the humans.

“They look like peasants,” Thomas says, “not like warriors or hunters.”

Amy watches the hard-scrabble giants walking past them. “I think you’re right.” In her ear, her radio buzzes. “Patel, Lewis—everything alright?”

Cruz answers, “Had a little trouble here. Patel was attacked.”

“What?” Steve’s and Larson’s voices snap in unison. But then Steve says, “Bohdi, are you alright?” And Larson says, “What did he do?”

“It was unprovoked!” says Amy.

“I’m fine, Captain,” Bohdi says. “Thanks for asking, Lieutenant.”

“It was unprovoked,” says Thomas. “There’s an influx of civilians here. Look almost like refugees. Apparently, they don’t like dwarves.”

There is silence over the radio.

Bohdi ducks his head and says, “Maybe I shouldn’t have broken his arm? I just didn’t think.”

Amy touches his shoulder. “It’s not like he gave you time to think. You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.”

Bohdi finally meets her gaze. His jaw softens, and his eyes are soft.

Amy has to look away. She can’t say why her knees feel weak; instead she just tries to stick to the situation at hand. “I don’t think we should leave Gem and Bjorna alone.”

“I agree with that, too,” says Thomas. “Captain, permission to remain outside of the inn.”

Larson’s voice crackles in her ear. “We’re already spread thin.”

Amy tenses, but then Steve says, “Cruz, Thomas, stay there. Patel, Lewis, do I need to send an escort?”

“We’ll be fine,” says Bohdi. “They’re not dangerous.”

Amy blinks. That’s not how she’d summarize the situation. But she steps to Bohdi’s side, matching his pace as he walks down the alleyway that passes for a street. They turn between two buildings and leave the main thoroughfare to plough through the ankle deep snow of the sparse forest.

x x x x

“Wheeeeeeeeee!” Claire shouts above Steve and the team’s heads. Steve looks up and instantly regrets it. Claire is hanging upside down at what looks like a hundred feet above the ground, branches wrapped around her knees. She’s swinging with her upper body just like she learned to do on the uneven bars in her gymnastics classes back home. “I can see the ocean from here!” Claire shouts.

Steve looks through the door of the building they’ve set up above what they hope is Gullveig’s cavern. Just inside is a manhole-sized tunnel they’ve dug at the base of a medium-sized iron wood tree. The tunnel stretches about six feet at a sharp angle to a crumbling brick wall. Berry is down there, completely out of view; Tucker is standing just behind him. Berry passes a brick to Tucker, who carries it outside of the structure they’ve erected for shelter. They’ll need to keep guards here. Out of sight, Berry says, “The mortar is so crumbly we’ll be able to pick apart an opening with our hands. I’m trying to go slow to make sure I don’t damage the structural integrity.”

“Good plan,” Steve says. “Less haste, more speed.”

“Wheeeee!” Claire shouts again, and Steve refuses to look up.

“If we could get up there we could see what’s going on back at the village,” says Larson. “Maybe if we called Claire down here, she could attract some branches our way?”

“Would be better if we could learn to do it ourselves,” Steve muses aloud.

In Jotunn, Gerðr says, “I don’t think you can do it.”

Sigyn, standing nearby, sighs. “Magic takes years to master. Claire has merely discovered her talent.”

Gerðr’s eyes go to a spot beside a nearby tree where Redman has begun furiously building a snow sculpture. Branches sway above his head but do not touch his body. “As has Mr. Redman,” she adds.

Valli shakes his head. “It’s such an unmanly talent.”

Ignoring him, Gerðr says, “But as you can see his magic is not strong enough. You humans are still too magically weak.”

Steve feels his skin heat. He hates being told what he can’t do. To Larson he says, “Don’t call Claire, I’m going to do this.”

He turns away, hands balling into fists at his side. Claire can call that magic feeling. Steve can’t call it, but he’s been overwhelmed by it—it feels like clarity, and there must be some way to recreate that feeling. He blinks and knows something that might work.

Steve had suffered PTSD after his short stint in the field. He’d nearly broken the wrist of a nurse when he was recovering from Q fever. She’d been trying to put a hand on his forehead—he’d seen a shadow through his eyelids and reacted. After that, he’d taken to studying mindfulness and meditation to try and self-medicate—his continued study of the martial arts had been part of that. It had been a way to meditate and focus while getting a workout—he’s always been one for efficiency.

“Captain?” says Larson.

“I need a moment of silence,” says Steve, raising a hand.

The team stops talking. They probably think he’s crazy. He almost runs his tongue over his teeth … but stops. Steve keeps his back turned to the team. He unballs his fists. Feeling silly, but also curious, he takes a deep breath through his nose, focusing on the sharp bite of the cold and the sensation of his lungs filling. Holding the breath, he focuses on letting his muscles loosen, and then he exhales through his mouth. Nothing happens, and he feels a rush of disappointment ... That is completely natural. As he acknowledges it, he feels the negative emotion drift away like a leaf caught in a breeze. He takes another deep breath, and repeats the process, and another … and another …

“Captain!” says Tucker.

Steve’s head snaps up. A branch is dangling about four feet above his head—too high. No, he will not accept that. Flipping off the tops of his mittens, he squats down, and taking another long breath, he imagines his muscles flooded with light, just like Claire had described. The branch slides a little closer, and Steve jumps before it can retreat. He’s vaguely aware of Valli swearing and the gasps of Sigyn and Gerðr. He catches the branch, trying to envision the light still flooding through him. He doesn’t have that feeling, and the branch doesn’t wrap around him, but he can climb a rope in a dead hang. He quickly pulls himself up. Steve’s not quite at the level of the mushroom-like cap of the iron wood tree and the thicker less mobile branches, when Gerðr says, “Captain Rogers is a remarkable man. Perhaps we should not be surprised.” Steve resists the urge to roll his eyes. He knows exactly what will happen next.

Sure enough, he hears Larson’s feet thudding across the ground. A second later, the branch jerks and then swings as the lieutenant catches it in a running leap. And then Larson is climbing up beneath him, trying to prove he can be remarkable, too. Steve hesitates for a moment, hoping the branch doesn’t break. When it doesn’t appear to give, he continues his climb, Larson just below his heels.

Steve makes it to the first large horizontal branch, pulls himself onto it, and stands.

“Yay, Dad!” Claire shouts, still high above. Larson is next to him an instant later. No one cries, “go,” or declares the finish line, but Steve knows they’re in a race, and the finish line is Claire. He jumps up to the next branch, and then the next. Larson goes to the other side of the trunk, and they race to Steve’s daughter. Steve wonders if it would be politically expedient to let Larson win, but he can’t bring himself to let it happen.

A few moments later, he’s panting for breath, and his fingers are threatening to seize up with cold. Hauling himself up onto the last branch, he reaches over and pats the top of his daughter’s head. She grins wide at him, sitting on her own branch, as casually as if it were a swing at the park. Larson pulls himself up to them, and Claire gestures with her chin. “Look over there, Dad and Bobby. It’s the ocean.” Steve follows her gaze, and his breath catches. From the tree top they can see over the edge of the mesa, to the forest that continues to stretch for a few miles. From so high, it looks like a carpet of gray ivy. Taking out his binoculars, Steve scans the forest. Twisting between the dark gray is a line of thinner cover that stretches from the mesa down to the ocean, where it curves around the peaks rising to the East. It’s a road, he realizes, and on it are people, walking slowly toward the mesa and the Keep. With his eyes, he traces their source. Near the ocean he sees a few dark geometric shapes between the tree line and the water—houses and boats drawn ashore for the winter. Is it a fishing village? He wonders if the orcas of Lake Balstead only reside in freshwater.

He looks out across the ocean. It’s mostly frozen near the shore, but further out he sees deep blue waters and a rock formation that makes a natural arch—the waves crashing against it look like tiny white lines. Steve focuses on the arch and tries to guess its distance. “That arch must be huge,” he says.

Larson grunts. “It looks like Thomas was right, influx of civilians in town.” And Steve remembers that’s what he’s supposed to be looking at. Lowering his binoculars, he turns around; from his perch he can see the line of Frost Giants trickling along the town’s main thoroughfare.

“Market day?” asks Larson.

“Heiðr didn’t say anything about it,” says Steve.

At that moment Claire shouts, “Bohdi and Dr. Amy!” Before Steve knows what is happening, she dives head first from the branch she was sitting on. He almost falls out of the tree trying to catch her, but Larson pulls him back by the back of his parka. He hears his heart thudding in his ears.

A branch whips around Claire, slowing her descent. When she drops below the mushroom-like cap, she swings around and out of the branch’s embrace, jumps to the ground, and throws up her arms in triumph.

Bohdi chuckles. “Claire, you’re going to give your old man a heart attack.”

And isn’t that the truth. “Thanks,” Steve mutters belatedly to Larson.

Already slipping down the tree, the lieutenant says, “Don’t mention it,” and Steve realizes they’re in a race again, but after watching Claire bungee jump from the tree without a cord, Steve’s arms are shaking. His foot slips, and he almost curses. He slides down and his hand slips.

He sits down on a branch, and focuses on his breathing again, this time to keep from falling. He doesn’t stop—not even when he feels the branch wrap around his waist. He keeps breathing … looks down, sees Larson almost on the ground … and realizes that below him there is a gap in the branches just big enough for him to slip through.

Grabbing hold of the branch, Steve lets himself fall. Someone shouts, and he loses his concentration as he hurtles to the ground. The branch uncoils from his waist, but he catches it with his hands. His weight pulls it down further, and he lets himself slide down as though it were a pole—bypassing Larson as he does. He winds up having to drop about six feet, but he’s ready for it, and lands lightly enough to surprise himself.

Claire laughs. Steve looks up at the lieutenant and grins. Larson glares.

In a fair imitation of Darth Vader, Bohdi says, “Impressive, most impressive, but you are not a Jedi yet.”

Mood still ebullient, Steve cracks into his best imitation of Yoda. “When forty-one-years-old you reach, be in as good shape, you will not.”

The human members of the team crack up.

Lewis’s eyes go wide. “Steve, I didn’t know you watched Star Wars!”

Steve blinks. “What?” It’s true it’s not his favorite movie, but who his age in the United States has not seen Star Wars?

“You seem too jocky,” says Lewis. She grins. “I think I respect you more now.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Get into the hole, Padawan, and let us know if we’re in the right place,” he says, using what he hopes is the Star Wars word for apprentice.

Lewis actually giggles. “Yes, Master!” She gives Bohdi a smile, and then she jogs over to the hole in the ground. Steve’s eyebrow arches. So all he has to do to get cheerful and immediate obedience is use Star Wars speak? How had he not known that?

Redman hands Lewis a flashlight, and she disappears. The team hovers over the hole, except Bohdi. Fenrir lopes over and drops her head over his shoulder.

Gaze on the kid, Steve cocks his head.

Scratching Fenrir’s chin, and not meeting his gaze, Bohdi says, “Heard you talked Beatrice down last night.” He takes a deep breath. “Thanks.”

Steve’s first impulse is to harangue him about keeping it on the down-low and not getting Lewis pregnant. Steve only let Bohdi go fetch Lewis because he had a sneaking suspicion that if he sent someone else, Bohdi might have gotten testy. Steve’s taking a chance, betting that it’s better to give him orders he wants to obey, to keep him loyal until he has to give an order Bohdi will hate. Instead of haranguing the kid, Steve keeps to the Star Wars theme and pulls a Han Solo: “That’s two you owe me, Junior.”

He expects a sharp retort—Lewis and Bohdi did save Steve from paralysis after all. Instead Bohdi says, “Yeah.”

A cold wind buffets Steve’s back. He has a feeling like the earth just shifted beneath his feet, but he knows there has been no quake.

Lewis comes out of the tunnel and says, “This is it, I’m sure of it.”

Swinging his M4 around, Steve says, “I’ll take point. Down the hatch.”

x x x x

Bohdi’s heart is beating fast as he stands on the dark staircase just outside Gullveig’s chamber. He shouldn’t get his hopes up, he knows that, but the mirror is so close and the potential to finally know his true origins is overwhelming. He feels a force as strong as gravity or lust drawing him toward the chamber, but Steve insisted on having the SEAL team make sure the secret chamber was all clear.

At his side, Claire says, “Can we go in yet?” Bohdi wants to suggest they just ignore Steve’s orders, but that would piss Steve off and maybe terrify him since Claire is involved. So he hangs back with his friend’s kid, Amy, and Gerðr. Fenrir was too big to come down, but she’s taken guard up top.

“We’re ready,” Larson says. Lights flicker on in the chamber.

Bohdi bolts in, briefly blinded by the light. As his eyes adjust, he sees long desks loaded with books and scrolls. There is also an easel, but it’s empty and Redman is standing above something on the floor beside it. “Captain, I think I found the mirror,” he says.

Bohdi hurries over, but Steve is there first. Steve sits down on his heels beside the mirror and frowns. “It’s broken,” he murmurs.

“No,” Bohdi says, falling to his knees beside Steve. A dark, flat object lays on the floor before them. It’s glass covered in dirt, he realizes.

He feels Amy’s hand on his shoulder. “Does it still have magic?” says Amy.

Sigyn sits down on the other side of Steve. Touching the glass, she murmurs. “Yes.”

Steve gently picks up the largest shard. Amy and Bohdi peer over his shoulder. The glass is dusty, and there are all three of them, faces indistinct behind the grime. Steve cleans the mirror with his mitten. “Hoenir,” Steve whispers. The three of them disappear and for a moment they’re staring at mist. Someone swears, and Claire gasps. Amy’s hand has somehow snuck its way into Bohdi’s, and she squeezes. The mist does not go away. “The Creator,” Steve says quickly. The mist disappears, and the mirror shifts in Steve’s hand, but all that it shows is their reflections again.

“Its magic is fading fast,” Sigyn says. Bohdi holds out a hand to the mirror, and it’s strange, but he can feel the magic leaving. It reminds him of goofing off at a playground with a girl, sliding down the longest slide and hearing static jumping to his hair and clothes, prickling beneath his skin. As he’d stood upon the rubber ground the feeling had dissipated. That’s sort of what it feels like now. He knows he should save any last visions for the team, but his brain lurches forward. “My family,” he says, the words pouring out of his mouth before he can stop them. There is a swirl of mist again. Bohdi’s jaw sags, but then he’s just staring at his, Amy’s, Claire’s, and Steve’s reflections, with Redman, Berry, Nari, Valli, and Sigyn peering over their shoulders. Bohdi sighs.

“I’m sorry,” Amy whispers.

“Close enough, I guess,” he says, trying to make a joke.

Amy squeezes his hand, which he expects. Steve pats his shoulder, which he also expects. But as Steve moves away, Redman puts a hand on his shoulder, and so does Berry. “Of course, we are,” says Berry. In the periphery of his vision he sees Valli nod, and he has to turn away or he might well up. And then he realizes Nari isn’t in the cavern … he blinks over to where Redman is picking up another shard. Redman whispers something, and his eyes get wide. “I see—just me.” His shoulders slump.

“There’s not enough magic left in the shards,” Sigyn says.

Bohdi takes a breath. Seeing Nari was probably just a trick of the light. The team falls silent. Bohdi swallows; he isn’t the only one who is lost—they all are. For a moment there is no sound but their boots on the stone floor. Then, scowling, Larson lifts his canteen to his lips. “Damn,” he says, “it’s still frozen.” He tips it upside down and a pea-sized chunk of slush slides onto his hand. He glares at it.

“I can thaw your water for you,” Sigyn offers. “We are beyond the trees’ reach.”

Jaw getting tight, Larson says, “No.” To Gerðr he says, “Explain to me again how magic unfreezes ice.”

Gerðr starts speaking in her own language. “After harnessing magic, you have to imagine the water at its most basic level, at the level of atoms and molecules.”

“Imagine the structure of water?” Larson asks, in Jotunn. Bohdi tilts his head. He has only ever seen Larson speak Jotunn to Gerðr.

Leaning close, Amy whispers, “I think understanding her is Larson’s talent.”

Before Bohdi can digest that, Gerðr screams, Sigyn gasps, and Valli hoots. Bohdi looks at Larson’s hand. Where the pea-sized ball of ice was there is now a small puddle of water.

Tilting his head, Larson says in Jotunn, “It could have just melted with my body heat …” But then, before Bohdi’s eyes, the tiny puddle turns to ice.

Grinning, Larson sets it at the top of one finger. It looks like a malformed contact lens. He speaks in English. “Well, I guess I won’t be forming ice bridges anytime soon. Still, kind of cool.” He snorts. “No pun intended.”

“It is your talent?” Sigyn says, but she sounds uncertain.

“No,” Larson says, “I just focused on that feeling, and then I imagined water at the molecular level.”

Gerðr holds her hands to her mouth. “No,” she says. “That cannot be it. For Claire, to be gifted in magic, yes, maybe. And Steven, since he and Claire are related, and abilities run in families, yes, but more …”

“It takes years of study to make ice,” Sigyn protests. “You should not be able to do it.”

Bohdi takes out his canteen. He still feels a little wrung out after briefly getting his hopes up. But if he could work magic, that would be something. It might even lead him to the smiling man and woman on his phone. He shakes the canteen; it’s still slush. He knows what water looks like at the molecular level. Unscrewing the cap, he imagines water molecules in his mind, or at least the textbook 3D-rendered versions: two little hydrogens bound by an oxygen in between at an angle, connected by loose hydrogen bonds to other molecules. Nothing happens.

“You have to feel the magic first,” Larson says. He shakes his head. “I can’t believe I just said that.”

Bohdi frowns. He feels magic when he needs to kill someone. He doesn’t want to feel that.

“Hey, I did it!” shouts Steve, holding aloft a tiny icy contact lens of his own.

“Steve,” Amy says, “How?”

Steve narrows his eyes at Amy. “I have taken basic chem, you know.”

Rolling her eyes, Amy huffs. “No, I mean, how did you put yourself in the ‘zone’ to do magic?”

Steve’s eyes rove over the room and stop on Bohdi. Shoulders falling, Steve looks down at the melting ice on his finger tip. “I use mindfulness, it’s a meditation thing. I’ll teach everyone how to do it.” His is uncharacteristically quiet, probably because admitting to meditation is a step away from admitting he has PTSD—and admitting he almost broke a woman’s arm. Bohdi wishes he could go over and punch him on the shoulder to snap him out of it, but he’s playing the good Marine, and good Marines don’t punch their officers.

Amy nods. “That’s how Hoenir and Odin taught Loki to harness magic at first.” She winces. “Of course, with Loki, sometimes all it took was getting excited.”

Bohdi looks down at his canteen. Magic without the desire to kill someone … he rolls on his feet and looks around the room.

“Can I try to make a snowball?” asks Claire, holding out a hand for Steve’s canteen.

“I think I can put myself in the ‘zone’ another way,” says Redman. He takes out his canteen, shakes all the slush onto his hand, begins shaping a little statue out of the ice—and it abruptly changes to water and slides through his fingers. “It worked!” He laughs aloud, and jumps. “Wow.” Bending over, he puts his finger in the tiny puddle—tracing a pattern with his finger. Where his finger touched, a trail of frost follows.

Bohdi shakes his canteen and hears the icy sound of slush instead of water. He stares down at the green plastic bottle. Steve’s explained mindfulness to him before. It’s just about accepting the here and now. He focuses on the weight of the canteen in his hand, the gentle currents of air in the room, the feel of his parka on his shoulders. At the same time he tries to imagine the water molecules in the rigid crystalline structure of ice loosening ...

“It’s hot in here,” Amy says, walking over to Claire. Bohdi tries to ignore her, but she swings off her parka and peels off the first under-layer, so that all she is wearing is only the tight black poly-undershirt. Completely opaque, it hides everything and nothing. He still hasn’t seen what hides beneath, but last night he had rolled her body on top of his in the tiny bed they’d shared, and he’d felt how soft she is. The molecules of water he’s envisioning break apart in his mind. Heat races through his fingers. “Whoa!” shout Redman and Berry.

Dropping his canteen, Bohdi stares in amazement as a cloud of steam billows from the container to the ceiling. He tilts his head—something beside rage works.

“Wrong state,” says Larson, dryly.

“What were you thinking about?” asks Amy from across the room.

“Mindfulness,” he says quickly.

Berry and Larson snort, apparently knowing where his eyes had gone.

“Can someone show me what water molecules look like?” Claire asks. “I want to do it, too!”

“Come here, Squirt,” Redman says. “I can draw a picture for you on the floor.” As Claire hustles over, Bohdi notices that Gerðr, Sigyn, and Valli are backing away slowly, their eyes wide.

“What?” says Bohdi.

“You shouldn’t be able to do that,” Sigyn says, eyes flicking between the humans. Her voice is shaky, and her normal cool is gone. “I don’t understand.”

“I think I do,” says Amy. She’s frowning. Whatever she knows apparently doesn’t make her happy at all.

x x x x

Amy feels all the eyes in the room on her. She meets Steve’s gaze. His eyes are glowing purple again. She gulps. It’s not unheard of for someone to have a “tell,” an external sign that they were performing magic. That is why Helen’s skin was blue—she was always “on.” As far as Amy knows, that is why Loki’s skin was blue toward the end.

“What do you know, Doctor?” Steve asks. His voice is both calming and commanding, and it sets her mental gears in motion. His magic? She shakes her head; it’s not a command she wants to disobey.

She remembers visiting the university with Loki; he’d been amazed that there would be a whole room full of microscopes. “We’re taught about science and math from an early age. We’ve all looked in microscopes since junior high school—”

“Third grade,” Claire says.

Amy looks at the girl. Claire shrugs. “We got to start using them in third grade.”

Amy tucks a lock of hair behind her ear—that’s even earlier than her first experience. “Part of using magic is harnessing it, and part of that is believing in it. But the biggest part of believing for magical creatures is believing in the microscopic world, the world they can’t see.” She turns to Sigyn and Gerðr. “Isn’t it?”

Sigyn’s mouth falls open. Gerðr nods. “Yes.”

Amy swallows. “But for humans that is the easy part. Science is a religion for us—we believe in it, even for people who don’t understand that electricity is the flow of electrons, they believe it will still turn on their light and power their phone.” And they are bound to have seen a picture of an atom somewhere. She looks at the lieutenant. She knows his undergrad was in chemistry—she shouldn’t be surprised he’d figure it out first. Bohdi’s hobby is science; Steve had gone to Yale and had to have taken chemistry—but even Redman picked it up fast.

Putting her hand to her mouth, Amy looks at the ground, the implications becoming clear. She gave humans magic so they wouldn’t be defenseless against magical creatures. But humans will be more than protected from magical creatures—they’ll be dangerous to all the creatures of the realms—and each other.

“When Odin finds out, he will be terrified,” Sigyn whispers.

Amy meets Sigyn’s eyes.

Steve’s voice rolls through the chamber, deep and low. “That might not be an advantage.” It is exactly what Amy was thinking.

“Why not?” says Bohdi, his lip curling a little.

“Cornered animals are the most dangerous,” says Steve.

“It’s not just Odin who should be terrified.” The words come from Tucker. His baby-blue eyes are focused on a drop of water on his finger. He’s been mostly silent the whole time, and Amy had nearly forgotten he was there.

Smiling thinly at the water droplet, Tucker says, “We’ve given infected members of the human race a loaded weapon.”

Bohdi steps closer to Amy, but his eyes stay glued on Tucker. “So? All of you believe the Second Amendment gives you the unfettered right to bear arms.” Amy exhales. That is the truth. In her humble Liberal opinion, she would classify all the SEALs as “gun nuts.”

Tucker narrows his eyes at Bohdi. “This is worse than firearms. Firearms are predictable, and anyone can use a pistol or a rifle. But this …” He waves his hand. “Only some people will be able to control it. Some people will be dangerous by accident. Some people will be dangerous because they want to be.”

Berry clears his throat. “But it’s under control. Just us … Keyif …” His mouth opens and then suddenly gets hard. He turns to Steve. Berry is built like a fire plug; he’s the shortest man on the team and has to crane his neck to look up to Steve. Still his bearing is utterly confident. “Just us, right, Captain?”

Amy rocks back half a step. That’s right, not everyone knows about the contagiousness of the serum. Steve’s eyes go completely purple. Crossing his arms, Berry says, “You’re formulating a diplomatic response, but I’d be happy just with the truth.”

Tucker shifts on his feet.

Steve exhales. “It’s contagious, transmissible the same way HIV is.”

“We have to get home,” says Redman. “My girlfriend … Odin is going to hunt her down, isn’t he? Or maybe the same people who trapped us here.”

Amy’s stomach ties in a knot.

Lips in a grim line, Larson looks down at the floor.

“It’s not generally known to be contagious yet,” Steve says.

Berry cocks his head. Eyes still on Steve and Larson, he says, “But you know.”

Lifting her chin, Amy says, “They know only because I told them. I secretly made it contagious so it wouldn’t belong just to the government and … and … super soldiers.”

Larson’s jaw gets tight. Berry looks thoughtful. Redman rubs the back of his neck; Amy sees his Adam’s apple bob. “My girlfriend, she might be pregnant. How would that affect the baby?”

All the air leaves Amy’s lungs.

“You don’t know, do you?” Tucker whispers.

Steve’s voice rumbles through the cavern. “As soon as we get settled here, we’ll start making lists of everyone we’ve come in contact with who may be infected by the virus.” His voice is so low and smooth, it reminds her of honey. She feels her muscles start to loosen.

Eyes still glowing, he walks over and puts his hand on Claire’s shoulder. “We’ve already seen that developing humans handle the virus well. The virus saved Claire’s life. I’m sure that if your girlfriend is pregnant, and the virus does infect the baby, he or she will benefit from it.”

Amy lets out a breath. She wants to believe Steve, but …

Bohdi sneezes, and it’s like being slapped in the face, and Amy can’t say why.

Blue eyes still on her, Tucker huffs. “And they say your ex-boyfriend was Chaos.” Amy can’t look at him. Among the SEALs, Tucker is the one she’d pinpoint first as a “good guy.”

She feels Bohdi’s hand on her shoulder, and she reaches for it automatically.

From the stairway comes the sound of fast footsteps, and then Nari’s voice. “Valli! Mother! Captain!”

Everyone’s rifles are suddenly swinging around. Nari runs into the chamber, gasping for breath. “Captain! The refugees, they’ve surrounded the inn. There is a mob!”

“Lewis, Gerðr, Claire,” Steve says. “You put up what Promethean wire we have so that no one pops into this cavern while we’re gone.”

Claire cries, “I want to come!”

“No,” snaps Steve.

Amy sees Claire’s jaw get tight. She remembers how strong the little girl can be and says quickly, “I don’t have magic, Claire. And Odin’s out to get me—I need extra protection.”

“Exactly,” says Steve as the rest of the team files to the stairwell. “Please, Claire?” her father says.

Claire’s nose twitches. Crossing her arms across her chest, she mutters, “Okay, fine.”

As he leaves the room, Steve glances at Amy one more time. He gives the tiniest of nods, and his relief is palpable. Bohdi gives her a thumbs up and a smile, and then they’re gone. Amy tells herself that she really shouldn’t be with them. But the cavern feels more like a cage.

Chapter 19

Steve jogs in the forest beside Nari, his muscles burning from the trip up the stairs, his breath catching in clouds. “Refugees of what?” he pants.

“Refugees of Ragnarok,” Nari says.

Storing the mysterious implications of that for later, Steve taps the radio in his ear. “Team at Mission Control, report,” he says, referring to the drafty shack Heiðr lodged them in.

Harding’s voice crackles back. “All quiet here. Park is with me.”

They still have gear at Mission Control; Steve can’t let them leave it unattended.

“Beatrice is at the inn,” Nari pants beside him.

“Beatrice,” Steve says, “What’s going on?”

Jogging beside him, Bohdi says, “Is it because I broke the guy’s arm?”

Beatrice’s voice snaps back over the radio. “No, it wasn’t that. It’s the baby.”

“The baby?” Larson asks.

“What’s the situation, are they armed?” Stave asks.

Beatrice’s voice buzzes in his ear. “Only with torches and rocks, a few pitchforks and shovels.”

And then Thomas’s voice cracks on the line, fury transparent despite the static. “They tried to stone Bjorna and Cannonball!”

Steve stops in his tracks just before the team draws onto the main thoroughfare. He nods for Berry to check around the corner. The grizzled warrior has a mirror mounted on his rifle. He tilts it around the building. Eyes on it, voice steady, Berry says, “We’ve got more problems.”

Lewis’s voice buzzes in Steve’s ear. “What was Cannonball doing outside?” Steve’s skin heats despite the cold. If Amy’s voice is in his ear, she can’t be safely tucked below ground; if she isn’t safely below ground, then Claire …

Berry interrupts his thoughts. “Heiðr and five Frost Giant hunters, armed with crossbows and axes, coming this way.”

“Lewis, don’t come closer,” Steve says.

Lewis’s voice buzzes again. “I need Bohdi and anyone else you can spare. I can clear the mob without violence!”

Steve doesn’t have time to ask how. Tilting the mirror, Berry narrows his eyes. “Coming closer …”

Heiðr and five armed hunters … Steve looks to the forest they just emerged from. He hears no bird calls, and Harding and Thomas have not been attacked. “Heiðr wants to talk,” Steve says. Loud enough to be heard around the corner, Steve shouts, “Lower your rifles!”

And then he turns to Bohdi. Steve doesn’t know what Lewis has planned, but considering how bad this situation is getting, maybe Chaos is just what she needs to make it work. “Get to Lewis. Redman, you and Valli, too.” He isn’t surprised to see that the kid has already started backing back toward the trees. At Steve’s words, he spins and sprints in the direction they just came. Redman and Valli take off without a word, but Larson shoots Steve a glare.

“Follow my lead,” Steve says. With that, he walks around the corner of the shanty and walks out to meet their hosts. Heiðr is at the front and center of the group. At her hip she wears an old-fashioned silver pistol. He hears the footsteps of his team behind him but doesn’t look. The hairs on the back of his neck prickle. He doesn’t need to look. Sometime in the past few weeks he’d learned to identify them all by the sound of their footsteps. He hears Berry, Sigyn and Nari first, and then Tucker, Gerðr, and finally Larson.

Standing a little straighter, Steve says, “Heiðr, looking for us?”

The hunters, four men and one woman, raise their weapons. Heiðr’s jaw gets hard, her hand falls to the pommel of the pistol on her hip. “What have you done?” She snarls, “I give you shelter and friendship, and you align with dwarves, allow for the birth of an abomination, and incite my people to riot!”

Steve’s jaw gets tight. He fights to keep his lip from curling, and his hands tighten on his rifle so hard his fingers ache. Heiðr herself told him that she’d invited dwarves to the Iron Wood to repair “Gullveig’s magic.” Apparently, appreciation for their mechanical skills does not extend to appreciation of dwarves as fellow beings.

Heiðr paces in front of him. “If I had known that Gem was harboring that—” She utters a word that doesn’t translate and then continues to rant, “—Bjorna I would have killed them both.”

Steve is glad he doesn’t have the gift of strength—he thinks his rifle would bend beneath his fingers if he did. He hears Tucker spit. Steve takes a deep breath and holds it for ten. They need Heiðr’s cooperation. They don’t know the full story between the Black Dwarves and the Frost Giants … not that he believes tribal grievances could possibly justify the death of two women and a newborn.

He exhales. He has to talk to them in the language of their twisted backward-ass culture. It’s a good thing he’s had plenty of practice in his life dealing with racism and smiling at bullshit. Ducking his head in false contriteness, he says to Bjorna, “I am very sorry and ask your forgiveness. Black Dwarves are unknown to us, we didn’t understand they were …” He pauses, trying to find the word.

“Vile,” hisses one of the Frost Giants. “They are short, venal, cowardly, and have dog eyes!”

“Their eyes do glow, and they are short.” Nodding, Steve shrugs. “But how could we know the rest?”

Heiðr lifts her chin. “Order your men to step down.”

Steve’s headpiece buzzes with Cruz’s and Thomas’s voices simultaneously. “No, Captain!”

Steve takes a deep breath and lets it out in a slow sigh. “I wish we’d known.” He shakes his head and tries to look grieved. “Now it’s a matter of honor—we can’t step down.”

“Honor!” Heiðr shouts, stepping closer. “What honor do you speak of? ”

Steve pulls back, feigning shock. “Well, they’re part of our tribe, aren’t they?”

The Frost Giants’ eyes slide between themselves.

Steve lets his jaw drop in a pantomime of incredulity. “What? When you assist in bringing a child into the world, they do not automatically become part of your tribe?”

“But they’re dwarves,” one of the Frost Giants says.

“They’re human!” Steve allows himself to roar. And then he switches to the whisper he knows is more terrifying. “Did you not hear me? They are part of our tribe!”

The Frost Giants take a step back, raising their weapons as they do, and Heaven help him, but Steve is too pissed to care or be afraid. He feels his veins throbbing in his neck, and his blood rushing in his ears.

One of the men nods. “The humans must honor the customs of their tribe. Honor is what separates them from dwarves.” He lowers his weapon slightly.

The female huntress among them shifts on her feet. “Some of our warriors sympathize with the peasants.”

“I cannot risk the acrimony of our own, even the peasants,” Heiðr hisses. Steve doesn’t flinch.

Taking a step toward Steve, Heiðr raises a finger to his chest. “You explain the situation to them.” She inclines her head for him to pass, but doesn’t get out of his way. Crossbows still aimed at his head, Steve gives her a tiny nod and strides around her and her team.

A few moments later, Larson whispers, “Well, that was tense.”

Steve’s skin heats. “That was tense? We’re now going to have to perform crowd control without tear gas or rubber bullets, and without inciting a blood feud. That was easy, Lieutenant.”

“My magic won’t work,” Nari says, eyes rolling up to the tree branches. “It works with popular opinion. Perhaps, Captain, it would be best if we just obeyed the laws and customs of this land …”

Instead of provoking rage, Nari’s words hit Steve like a soothing balm—he sees the wisdom of them. The men around him slowly lower their weapons as though in a daze. Then Sigyn wallops Nari on the back of the head and shouts, “Stop it, Nari!”

Steve blinks, and notices a branch curling toward Loki’s more civilized son. It goes limp as Nari rubs the lump. “I can’t help it! It’s what the people want.”

And therein lies the weakness of democracy. Exasperated, Steve raises his rifle again, and his men do likewise. They follow standard urban warfare protocols, hugging the shanty walls, taking turns on point. But as they round the last corner toward the inn, the crowd of one hundred-odd Frost Giants doesn’t turn at first. Shouting and thrusting torches in the air, they’re all facing the inn. All but two of the inn’s copper shutters have been bolted shut. None of his team are on the stoop, but Steve sees rifle muzzles protruding through the two shutters on the upper floor.

“Come out, face justice!” roar the Frost Giants. “Come out or we will come in.” A torch goes hurtling toward the shutters, but bounces off harmlessly and snuffs out in the snow. Steve puts it all together—the stone walls, the copper doors, shutters, and roof; the tree completely enclosed within the inn—the place is fireproof. Was this a common occurrence for Gem?

His headset beeps and Rush’s voice comes over the channel. “Permission to shoot, Captain!”

“No,” Steve says. “Hold off. Lewis? Patel? Where are you? What do you have planned?”

At just that moment, the crowd, only about fifty feet away, like a dim, dangerous animal seems to notice they’re there. One by one, heads and bodies turn. Steve takes in the rough clothing worn by the members of the mob. They’re taller than the average human but shorter than Heiðr’s warriors. His eyes scan the crowd; there are a few warriors, too. Steve’s team has enough firepower to take down the whole crowd, but if they kill a warrior, they open themselves up to a blood feud. The mob grumbles, and Steve takes in their gaunt frames and their threadbare clothes. They’re hungry and probably cold. Is that what is feeding their fury? Can he play to that?

Bohdi’s voice buzzes in his ear. “Almost in place! Don’t worry, this will work!” Steve wants to ask what “this” is but a rough man strides forward and shouts, “Let us in!” The crowd follows behind him. Emboldened, he lifts his chin. “Why should we be cold when vermin are warm!”

“More rats in the woodwork,” says Berry, “coming out of the alleyways.”

“We’re surrounded,” says Larson. “Fire a warning shot?”

Steve’s eyes skim the crowd … it’s mostly men. If they kill the mob, do they leave themselves open to caring for their families? Or do they let them die slowly? “We can’t use deadly force,” Steve says.

Rush’s voice crackles on the line. “We’ll just kill a few, and they’ll all back down.”

Lewis’s voice snaps over the channel. “We’re almost ready!”

Over the radio, Gerðr’s voice buzzes. “I could charm some of them.”

“No,” say Larson, Berry, and Steve all at once.

“Ideas?” says Berry.

“Larson, bring down a branch between us and them at my signal,” Steve says. Stepping toward the approaching crowd, Steve says, “We have powerful magic! Back down or we’ll open fire.” Then he inwardly curses—the expression “open fire” doesn’t translate into Jotunn as anything more than “create a flame”. Of all the times for his magic translation to fail.

“The trees will block your magic!” says the mob leader, not halting his advance. The rest stay on his heels, but Steve hears someone say, “Maybe they can work magic here … there is the new World Gate in the arch.” Someone else says, “That was beyond the trees.” The first voice replies, “Yes, but it’s very strange.”

New World Gate? A question for later. “Now, Larson,” Steve says.

The lieutenant releases a stream of bullets into the air, and the crowd comes to a halt. Someone cries, “Thunder?” A branch falls to the ground. It’s a thin one, narrower than Steve’s wrist, neatly severed by Larson’s precise aim. It writhes in the snow like a snake.

Steve stands a little straighter. Into his small mic he says, “Tucker, Rush … all of you ... if this gets ornery, you fire at the trees some more.”

“Yes, Sir,” say the SEALs.

Steve eyes the mob. They stare at the single branch as though transfixed. Steve exhales. It’s almost done, now just to clear this up.

The leader lifts his head. “You think we’re cowards,” he says. It was not what Steve expected him to say. Dark murmurs rise among the mob. “We may not be warriors, but we’re Frost Giants … We’ll show you humans …”

The leader lets loose a howl and rushes forward. Echoing his cry, the mob swarms behind him, a dark wave of rage.

x x x x

Amy hears the crowd shouting, and then Berry’s voice in her ear. “More rats in the woodwork coming out of the alleyways.”

Larson’s voice crackles over the line. “We’re surrounded. Fire a warning shot?”

Biting her lip, Amy peers around the corner. The inn is located near the stairway that leads to the bottom of the mesa. From where she stands, she can see that Frost Giants are lurking behind the building. Sliding along the wall of the shanty, Amy peeks around the other corner. There are even more Frost Giants in the main road in front of the inn. It’s daylight, but the shade of the trees and the smoke of their torches make it darker.

She turns and sees Bohdi and Valli hovering above a large metal trunk Gerðr, Claire, and Amy had lugged up the stairs. Bohdi is busily taking his M4 apart. Redman is kneeling in the snow, rifle up, eyes on the path they came. Claire is beside him. She snagged a knife from someone—and she’s holding it the way Loki was taught to hold a knife in a fight—thumb on the end of the pommel, the blade facing out and toward her elbow so that if she slashes at someone the blade will keep her enemy from pulling the stunt Bohdi pulled earlier. Amy wonders which of the SEALs thought it would be fun to teach her knife skills—probably all of them.

“Damn, it’s cold,” Bohdi hisses. He gets to a tiny little piece that looks like an ‘L.’ “Thicker than a tension wrench,” he mutters. Then he takes another thin piece of metal from the M4, and tsks. “Good thing this is a fat lock.”

“We’re almost ready!” Amy says, running back to her own team and the trunk. Bohdi nods but doesn’t look up. He slips the foot of the ‘L’ into the lock, pulls down, and then slips in the long, thin metal piece.

She hears Steve commanding Larson to fire at the trees, and then the spray of bullets.

There is a click, and the trunk lid pops open. Gerðr had already investigated the contents of the trunk with magic, but she didn’t know enough telekinesis to pop the lock and verify. Amy breathes a sigh of relief. Just as Gerðr had said, the trunk is filled to the brim with fireworks. Some are tiny, less than the width of Claire’s fingers, fastened in bundles by a long fuse. Others are about three-quarters the length of Amy’s forearm, and half as wide as her palm. Charmingly, instead of having rocket-shaped heads, they have wax heads shaped like beasts: red dragons, gold manticore, blue unicorns, and green wyrms.

“The little ones should be enough,” says Redman. He begins scooping some out and handing them to Claire.

Amy, Bohdi, and Valli do the same. But Bohdi takes a few large ones as well. Gerðr hisses from the corner nearest the back of the inn. “Someone is coming. Why are we doing this for a dwarf?”

Just in case, Amy stuffs a large firework into a pocket that doesn’t have Mr. Squeakers or Loki’s book in it. No one answers the Frost Giantess. Redman inclines his head to the large firework Amy just snagged. “You can’t fire those without an arrow shaft to mount them on.” Amy keeps it. Footsteps sound from around the corner, and Redman says, “I’m on it.”

Amy starts in the other direction, Bohdi at her side, leaving Valli, Gerðr, and Claire to guard the firework stash.

They round the corner and find the crowd in the intersection has turned away from the inn. They don’t pay any attention to Bohdi or her. Amy glances at Bohdi, he nods, and then they dart forward. Bohdi whispers, “We can just toss out the baby fireworks—that should scare them just enough.” Amy nods in assent. A little magic fire is all they need.

They’re almost at the intersection when someone in the mob directly in front of them yells, “You think we’re cowards.”

Amy’s heart sinks. And then she hears more shouts. “We may not be warriors, but we’re Frost Giants … We’ll show the humans!” The Fire Giants begin moving, presumably toward the rest of the team, a slow train of fury gathering up steam. A few heartbeats later and the intersection is almost empty.

Sprinting into the intersection, Amy says, “Light a big one!” She hears Bohdi’s lighter flick and the hiss of a fuse. Spinning, she grabs the firework and shouts, “Light another.” The crowd is racing away from her. Amy takes a few steps forward, pulls back her arm, and hurtles the missile above their heads. It whistles as it flies through the air, lands in front of the crowd, and erupts in a bright volcano of green sparks. She hears screams.

In her ear, she hears Thomas’s voice. “Jesus Christ, Lewis, I did not expect that! Good throw!”

Behind her, she hears Bohdi curse. Looking back, she gasps. There is a lit firework in his hand—but his wrist is caught in the iron grip of a branch.

She doesn’t have time to be afraid. Grabbing his arm, Amy jumps in the air and snatches the firework. Landing with it in her hand, fuse hissing, she takes a step forward and throws again. This time the missile doesn’t have time to reach the ground. It explodes above the heads of the mob, sparks falling down in a torrent of blue rain. Halting in panic, ducking in confusion, the mob turns around, and like a giant beast, advances toward Amy and Bohdi.

Amy turns toward him and jumps up, trying to release his wrist from the branch, knowing she’ll be too slow. They are about to be trampled.

x x x x

The mob swells toward them like a giant lumbering, murderous beast. Wrist ensnared above his head, Bohdi wants to kill them all. “Bring it on, motherfuckers!” The words come from his lips but he doesn’t remember them forming in his brain. Branches whip toward him and Amy, twisting around their waists, tying them together, and making it impossible for him to kill anyone. He snarls in rage and is hoisted into the air, more branches rapidly wrapping around his waist.

Swinging above the mob, Bohdi tries to strike at them with his heels. But he’s too high, and it just makes him angrier and his bonds tighter.

“Bohdi,” Amy says, “It’s okay, they can’t get us.”

Bohdi snarls in frustration. He can’t get them, and that’s what’s pissing him off, doesn’t she get it?

“Bohdi, they’re gone!” Amy says, as they swing helplessly above the ground.

Bohdi feels his rage cooling—because it’s dissipating with the crowd—or because the branches are sucking the magic away, or both?

“Eep,” Amy says as she is released by the slackening branches and slips down his waist. Catching her with one arm, he wraps his opposite hand around the branch that held his wrist, and they slide down into the hard-packed snow. There are a few Frost Giants lying prone on the street, moans audible over the shouts of the SEALs. A few fires are flaring here and there in the branches and wood piles. Fortunately, the thatch roofs are covered in snow.

He hears Steve’s voice buzzing in his ear, ordering the team to use their shovels to pile snow on the fires.

“I have to get to those people,” Amy says. “They’re injured!”

Bohdi doesn’t want her to go to them. He heard what the mob had tried to do to Bjorna and Cannonball. Let them suffer. But Amy pushes against his arms and he lets her go. She sprints to the nearest man on the ground.

Bohdi stays away. Taking out his standard-issue folding shovel, he goes over to help Berry put out a fire on someone’s wood pile. Not even looking up at him, Berry says, “Nice throw earlier. The first firework landed right between us and the mob.”

“That was Amy,” says Bohdi.

“Lewis? Really?” says Berry.

Patting the snow down on the smoking wood, Bohdi looks over to where Amy is bent over a Frost Giant, checking the man’s pulse. Her cheeks are pink in the cold, and her eyes seem especially bright blue next to the snow. It makes her look ten years younger and even more fragile than she is. He remembers her throwing a pillow at him the morning before they left Chicago. She’d missed. But her throw today had been perfect—death or dismemberment by fireworks had been a real possibility for a few minutes there, but nobody had been hurt.

Dropping her fingers from the man’s neck, Amy meets Bohdi’s and Berry’s eyes. “I played softball for a couple years as a kid.” Tapping her headpiece, she says, “Grandma, could you bring out my kit?”

Beatrice’s voice cracks in his ear. “Was just getting it, dear!”

Berry tips his helmet. “We could start a softball team!” His ruddy cheeks stretch in a grin.

Piling snow on a smoldering fire nearby, in a shape that looks suspiciously like a dragon, Redman laughs. “We could call ourselves the Giants!”

“Beatrice used to play catcher for me when I practiced pitching,” says Amy.

Berry chuckles. “We’ll call ourselves the Grannies, and play against the Frost Giants, whip their asses, and make them feel really bad.”

Bohdi finds himself smiling, despite himself, and then he hears a woman scream in Jotunn, “Get away from him! Get away from him!”

Spinning, Bohdi sees a Frost Giantess brandishing a large stick and bolting in Amy’s direction. In a few quick steps, Bohdi hops over the injured man, throws up his shovel and intercepts the woman’s makeshift club with his shovel handle just before it cracks into Amy’s skull. Redman and Berry are there a moment later, each grabbing one of the strange woman’s arms and pushing her back.

“Get away from him!” the woman screams again in Jotunn.

“Tell her to calm down,” says Berry. The stoic warrant officer still struggles with the local language.

Skin heating, Bohdi gestures to Amy and snaps in Jotunn,“She’s helping him!”

“Stay away from him! Keep your evil magic away!” the woman wails.

Bohdi huffs in exasperation. What would Steve say to get through to this lunatic? To win someone over you have to understand them, to understand you have to study them … Bohdi runs his eyes over the woman. She looks like she’s in her mid-fifties or so. Her cheeks and eye sockets are sunken in, and her white hair, where it peeks beneath a rough scarf, is thin. She’s wearing mittens with holes in them and cloth instead of leather clothing. An animal skin is thrown over her shoulders, and she’s a little shorter than Heiðr’s warriors.

The woman breaks into tears. “Please, don’t hurt him! Don’t hurt him!” She sinks to her knees, bawls and bows to Amy and Bohdi. Bohdi’s eyes go to the man in the snow. He has a fat red nose that looks like it’s swollen from alcohol. Like the woman, his cheeks are hollow, his clothing too thin for the weather.

“I’m going to try and help him,” Amy says, in the woman’s language. “He has a concussion, and I think a broken ankle, and a few of his ribs may be broken.”

The woman doesn’t answer; she just curls in on herself. “We have two grandbabies to raise, how will I feed them? How will I manage? He can’t die, he can’t leave me!”

Bohdi feels himself go slightly nauseous.

“He’s not going to die,” Amy says. “But I think it would be better if we got him inside so he can get warm.” She gestures with her head back to the inn.

Wailing, the woman throws herself over the body of the man. “No, don’t take him in there, not where the dwarves will get him! They’ll poison him, they’ll kill him, no, no, no!” Amy’s jaw drops as she leans back and her eyes meet Bohdi’s. He shakes his head; he has no idea what to do. He shivers, feeling the cold worm between his layers and tickling his spine.

Berry’s hand falls on his shoulder. “Let’s leave them,” he says.

“But …” says Amy.

“Do they have people that help with this sort of thing?” the older man asks.

Amy nods.

“Let them take care of him. I don’t know the language, but I know we’re terrifying this woman,” Berry says.

Amy bites her lip and shakily stands. Beatrice materializes at her shoulder with her med kit. Amy takes her grandmother’s hand a little too forcefully, like she’s holding onto Beatrice for dear life. “Thanks, Grandma, I’ll just go …”

Looking out over the road, Amy’s voice drifts off. Bohdi follows her gaze. Frost Giants are dragging the fallen away.

Beatrice sighs and rubs Amy’s arm. “We’ll find the head of these people, and we’ll offer your help … but if they don’t take the offer, there’s nothing we can do.”

Beatrice’s eyes go to Bohdi. “Nice move, summoning magic to have the branches hoist you up.”

That might be the nicest thing Beatrice has ever said to him. Massaging the back of his neck, Bohdi ducks his head. Would she think that way if she knew the way he summoned magic was by wanting to destroy, and how much he’d wanted to smash in the Fire Giants’ heads? He looks away quickly. He has to let Steve teach him how to meditate; if it worked for Loki, it has to work for him. His vision blurs slightly. Hadn’t Shiva, the Hindu incarnation of Chaos, spent time on a mountain top as an ascetic? All ascetics do is meditate. Of course, at the time, Shiva had ignored his wife … his eyes go to Amy. Her lips are as pink as her cheeks, and Bohdi’s body warms, remembering the night before. He can’t ignore her.

Steve’s voice rises from down the street, snapping him back to their literally cold reality. “Patel, Lewis, I need your expertise.”

Amy’s eyes meet Bohdi’s, and in unison they look to where Steve is standing just outside Gem’s inn between Sigyn and Larson, rubbing his jaw and scowling. Heiðr and some Frost Giant warriors are walking away.

Bohdi meets Amy’s eyes again. They both shrug and start walking toward Steve.

When they get close enough not to shout, Amy says, “Do you know why the refugees are here?”

Crossing his arms, Steve huffs, and a cloud of frost rises in front of his nose. “Apparently, the rank-and-file are less enthusiastic about Ragnarok than Heiðr and her warriors.”

Bohdi frowns. “They think Ragnarok is happening because we’re here? How fast can news travel without television, telephones, or the internet?” He lifts an eyebrow at Amy. “Do they have some sort of SSBS?”

Her lips purse. “SSBS?”

“What?” says Steve, uncrossing his arms and taking a step closer.

Grinning, Bohdi winks. “Smoke signal broadcasting system.”

Amy snickers but Steve’s expression goes perfectly flat in his patented, don’t waste my time look. A muscle jumps in Larson’s jaw and Sigyn sighs.

Crossing his arms, Steve says, “The earthquake, the strange behavior of the trees the past two nights—”

“The trees were crazy last night too?” Bohdi asks.

“Yes,” says Sigyn.

Bohdi’s eyes slide to Amy. Biting her lip, she meets his gaze and her cheeks go a shade pinker. Come to think of it, when they had been making out, he’d thought it sounded windy outside, and the inn was creaky. He winks at her.

Clearing his throat, Steve says, “Those signs are what made them think Ragnarok is coming. When they found us here, that was just further confirmation of the end of the world to them.”

“Oh, great,” says Bohdi.

“Ragnarok is the end of gods,” Amy says. “Not the end of the world.”

Steve’s eyes narrow. “Also, a new World Gate opened in the sea arch.”

“A new gate?” says Amy. “Not an old gate?”

Steve sighs. “Yes, a new gate. Do either of you have any idea how that could happen? I know it happens in Chicago all the time, but I thought that was the aftereffects of Cera lingering in the timeline.”

Bohdi says, “Yes, that’s right,” and Amy nods. Magic had a funny non-linear relationship to time, and Cera was basically just a ball of raw magical power. Even years later, Cera’s influence still lingers in the city, and gates are created spontaneously.

Amy puts a hand to her mouth. “That is really very rare, for a gate to emerge spontaneously on its own … except in Chicago.” She looks to Bohdi.

“It could still be Cera,” Bohdi says.

“I guess you’re right,” Amy says.

“Explain,” says Steve.

“Well,” Amy says, “You know how World Gates appeared with the greatest frequency in places right next to where Cera was but sometimes they opened farther away?”

Steve nods.

Bohdi finishes for Amy. “Jotunheim is just another farther-away spot.”

Steve frowns. “Jotunheim is realms away. As I understand it, that means solar systems, if not galaxies away.”

“Which makes it improbable, but not impossible,” says Bohdi, beginning to have a bad feeling.

Steve’s eyes go to Amy. “Dr. Lewis, is it possible that the gate was created on purpose?”

Amy looks at the snow. “The only beings I know who could create a gate are Odin, Hoenir, and probably the Norns … though I suppose there could be more.”

“Loki?” Steve asks.

Not looking up, Amy shakes her head. “No, he could travel through gates, and destroy gates, but not create them.” Her voice gets a little distant. “I think maybe they are in their own way living things … ”

“Do you think it was the Norns?” asks Bohdi. His eyes shift to the trees, half-expecting Ratatoskr, their foul-mouthed squirrel minion, to poke his twitchy little nose out.

Amy taps her lip. “It could be … but why would the Norns open a gate in the middle of the ocean? They send Ratatoskr through their gates, and I don’t think he’d be able to swim that far.” She crosses her arms. “If it leads to Nornheim it has to be theirs, but if it leads anywhere else, it was either natural or someone else’s doing. The Norns’ power comes from the Columns of Fate; without them nearby, they aren’t strong enough to create new gates.”

“Do you think it was Odin?” says Steve.

Amy scowls. “If it was him, wouldn’t we be having company about now?”

Remembering his time in Asgard, Bohdi says, “Creating World Gates is really difficult for Odin. He had to give over the throne to Frigga after he opened a gate to save us from the Norns. I don’t think he’d do it unless he had to.” Bohdi glances around. “And it’s not like he’d create a gate just to spy—from all accounts he already has spies here. And creating a big obvious World Gate would be counterproductive for spying.”

Steve nods, and then he looks to Amy. “Do you think it could be Hoenir?”

Rubbing her forehead, Amy takes a step back. “I … maybe …”

Bohdi scowls. “Wouldn’t he contact us if he opened the gate? He is a friend of Sigyn’s and Loki’s sons, right?”

Steve’s eyes shift to Bohdi. “He’s also a friend of Loki, and Thor suspects Loki’s here.”

Bohdi shrugs at Steve’s code-speak. No one claiming to be the Creator has contacted him.

Amy murmurs quietly, “In the myths and memories they were always together … Loki kind of thought of him as his mom. Hoenir was lover to Lopt and Laugaz ...”

Bohdi shakes his head. “Hoenir was also a friend of Sigyn, Nari, and Valli, right? And he has a magical house with gates to everywhere?”

Nodding, Amy winces.

“Well, if it was Hoenir,” Bohdi says, “Wouldn’t we be on our way home?” He frowns. “It’s more likely it’s just random chance.” He pats his pocket for his lighter—even though it’s empty, he still has the desire to flick it. Random chance … Chaos.

“I have a headache,” Amy says. Her face is pinched and he wants to reach out to her but doesn’t. He’s pretty sure he’s supposed to play the Marine in front of everyone else, even if he isn’t. He scowls at Steve. Their fearless leader doesn’t meet his gaze; he’s focused on Amy, face grim.

“Do you want an Advil?” Beatrice says, dropping the med-kit to the ground and opening it. Bohdi didn’t even realize she’d been nearby … Why hadn’t he thought of offering an Advil?

From the shanties surrounding them, a wail rises in Jotunn, “He’s dead, he’s dead!”

Bohdi’s shoulders fall. Chaos brings destruction without even trying, and that’s something meditation won’t solve.

Chapter 20

The hallway of the inn is empty in the early morning, but the ladder to the attic is open, and Bohdi hears Gem humming above. He can hear the SEALs’ voices in their various rooms as they get ready for the day. He slips as quietly to the stairs as he can. After the incident, the team relocated to the inn. Compared to the glove, the tent, and the little shanty Heiðr had prepared for them, the inn feels luxurious … but there is still no privacy. Bohdi reaches the bottom of the stairs and finds the common rooms empty. He smells eggs, roast meat, and what passes for bread. His mouth waters, but he hungers for more than food. Flicking his now-empty lighter absently, he walks over to the bookshelves. Even if he could read Black Dwarf, it’s too dark in the room to see. The little glow globe on the desk has gone out. The globes are lit by thumb-size bioluminescent beetles from Svartálfaheim, not magic, and occasionally they die, literally. The shutters on the windows are still closed. Even if they were open, the small windows wouldn’t let in much light. Gem’s usual clientele are Black Dwarves, and they are creatures of caverns who like the world dim. They clear out during the winter months and only return in the spring. He brushes back his bangs, and hears light footsteps on the stairs.

Turning around, he finds Amy on the last step. Without hesitation he closes the space between them, wraps his arms around her waist and kisses her. She’s not wearing her bulky outer gear, and he can feel every inch of her from her lips to her hips.

A creak sounds on the stairs, and they break apart. He sees Amy bite her lip as she turns away from him.

Jung emerges at the bottom of the stairs. Grunting, Jung gives them a half-hearted wave and disappears into the kitchen. Bohdi knows they haven’t been seen but …

Sneaking up behind Amy and dropping his hands around her waist, he whispers, “He knows; everyone knows we’re together.” Kissing the back of her neck, he lets his hands drift upwards. “Why bother hiding?”

“Because Steve asked us to keep it quiet for morale reasons.” She brings her hands up to his but doesn’t move his hands lower, just pushes herself tighter against him. It’s agony … and he likes it.

They hear footsteps above and break apart again. Amy looks up at the creaking ceiling. “Steve …” They freeze for a moment, but no one comes down the stairs. Bohdi hears Steve’s voice rumbling above but can’t make out the words.

Turning back to Bohdi, Amy puts a hand to her mouth and meets his eyes, looking slightly guilty. “He asked me if I was pregnant yesterday.”

Bohdi sucks in a breath. She was sick yesterday morning. She said it was nothing to worry about … and he knew she wasn’t lying. She said it was “just her body adjusting.” She hadn’t said to what, but promised to tell him later. And then Bohdi had been sent out on “mesa patrol.” When he came back, she’d been off helping deliver some baby goats and hadn’t gotten back until late in the night. He shakes his head in irritation. “Did you tell him short of immaculate conception that’s not possible?”

They haven’t slept together in the figurative sense. Bohdi’s not that much of an idiot. He knows telling Amy, “Don’t worry, the Norns say I shoot blanks,” isn’t going to make her worry less about unplanned pregnancy. They have done lots of other things though, which kind of makes it okay, except he wishes they could sleep together in the literal sense. When the whole team moved into Gem’s inn, Amy lost her private room. He’d like to wake up next to her again.

Amy huffs. “I should have. Neither of us meets the prerequisites for immaculate conception.”

Bohdi lifts an eyebrow and his lips quirk. “I don’t know … unicorns like you.”

Wincing, Amy scrunches her eyes shut like she’s in pain, but he sees the ghost of a smile at the corner of her lips. Bohdi pushes her backward until the back of her thighs hit the desk. She slides onto it automatically, and Bohdi pushes her legs apart, steps between them and wraps his arms around her. Above, the noise grows louder.

His stomach constricts. “I guess I should have asked you if you were feeling better before I ambushed you?”

“I would have dodged you if I wasn’t.”

“I figured.” He kisses the top of her head again. “You are better, right?”

“Yes, I just …”

Above their heads doors slam, and a stampede of footsteps head for the stairs. With a sigh, Bohdi takes a few steps back. Amy’s lip trembles. “I miss you,” she says. “I mean … I wish we had more time together and …”

Bohdi’s stomach ties up in all sorts of funny knots. He’s not sure if he’s happy or sad that the team reaches the bottom of the stairs before he can respond.

“Lewis … I hear somebody gave you goat milk? And eggs?”

Bohdi turns around to find Berry at the bottom of the stairs. His expression is open and hopeful, his eyes are on Amy. Larson is next to the warrant officer; he is glaring at Amy. “I thought baby goats were only born in the spring?” says the lieutenant, and Bohdi belatedly remembers Larson was born on a farm.

Hopping off of the desk, Amy says, “They’re only supposed to be born in the spring, but the two I delivered yesterday were fine.” As she passes Bohdi, he falls into step behind her. Her hair is braided and pulled back in a neat up-do at the back of her neck. One tiny curl has escaped, though; it’s dark in contrast to her pale skin.

Glare shifting to Bohdi, Larson says, “Feeling better today, Dr. Lewis?”

“Yes,” she says cheerily. “Thanks for asking.”

Bohdi dips his chin and glares back at Larson, hearing the real question. It’s not like he and Amy are the only couple. Everyone knows Harding has been using her free time to see Ralf and Ragnar, Tucker is sweet on Bjorna, Berry would bang Gem in an instant, Thomas has made himself available to a few Frost Giantesses, and Jung, the bastard, is way too happy all the time.

“How’s Gerðr?” Bohdi asks. Larson is gaga over her, but Bohdi’s pretty sure it’s a one-way thing—and probably why Larson is all wound up.

Larson’s jaw twitches. Over Larson’s shoulder, Amy tilts her head and lifts an eyebrow in a look that clearly says, don’t be mean. Bohdi shrugs as he slides past the lieutenant and steps with her into the hallway. She yawns behind her hand and his brow furrows. He’s not exactly sure what time she got home last night. He flicks his empty lighter. He should have gone with her, but he didn’t want to jinx baby goats.

They enter the kitchen and are surrounded by the smell of eggs, the cheerful sounds of plates clinking, and laughter. Since the Asgardians went on their hunting expedition, there have been no more communal feasts in the huge dining room barn-place. His eyes fall on the table … there is plenty of food, but nothing sweet. Bohdi doesn’t particularly have a sweet tooth—but since coming to Jotunheim, everyone is craving sugar—probably because there is none. The first few mornings there had been some sweet syrupy stuff they’d put on what passes for bread. When the jar was empty, the guys had stuck their fingers into it, and then licked their fingers clean, too desperate for something sweet to be ashamed.

He hears Amy sigh and sees her eyes on the spot where the syrup had been. “At least we have lots of food, it’s warm, and not cave-like,” she whispers. The whole inn is pretty toasty, and right now the kitchen is bright, too. Bjorna is cooking today, not Gem. The Giantess favors light and has opened the shutters and added extra glow globes around the room. As Bjorna hovers over the stove, Cannonball is stretched out on his back on Tucker’s thigh. Thomas, the big burly historian, has a knife out and is aiming the reflected light at Cannonball’s face. The baby is following it with his eyes like a cat, and everyone is chuckling. It’s warm, bright, happy even … Bohdi should be overjoyed.

Sliding onto the bench, Bohdi rubs the back of his neck. The team is constantly on top of each other in the inn and also in the cavern where Gerðr, Sigyn, and Nari try to teach them magic, or when Steve teaches meditation. Bohdi’s thumb twitches on his lighter. He wonders what sort of distraction he’d need to slip away from the team just long enough to have a few hours of privacy with Amy.

His eyes meet hers across the table. He can feel Amy’s knees bumping against his … although one of those knees might be Cruz’s. Bohdi scowls, and as if reading his thoughts, Amy shrugs, as if to say, what can you do?

Bohdi helps himself to a heaping plate of eggs. It could be worse, they could not be safe and have no privacy … he stabs the eggs with a fork. He shouldn’t wish for anything to rock the boat. But he does.

x x x x

“How is the food situation?” Steve asks. Almost unconsciously he rubs his stomach. It’s breakfast time, and he’s hungry, but he doesn’t head downstairs to the kitchen, even though the smell of eggs wafting up the stairs is tempting. Instead he stands at the bottom of the fold-out ladder that leads to Gem’s attic, his hand on Claire’s shoulder. The small woman comes down the steps, a pile of neatly folded blankets in her hand. Downstairs he hears the chink of silverware and laughter. The team sounds almost carefree. He’s not sure how many of them realize just how precarious surviving until spring will be. Lewis’s voice rings up the stairs. “Don’t get the knife so close to his face!” Beside Steve, Claire giggles and scampers off.

Steve watches her go. She’s not wearing a sweater. She doesn’t need to in the inn.

Above his head, Gem huffs under her burden. Steve would ask to help, but knows it would offend the woman … as the question about food probably did. After the incident, Steve had been able to convince Gem to let the team move into her inn. It had freed up the team’s former abode for Frost Giant refugees, appeased Heiðr, meant they didn’t have to spread their forces out, and kept Gem, Bjorna, and Cannonball safe. But it hadn’t been easy convincing Gem to keep them. Gem didn’t have enough food or fuel for his team, and apparently to a Black Dwarf, inviting “guests,” or, in this case, “lodging personal security forces,” without the means to provide for them was a huge taboo.

“Gem?” Steve says.

Reaching the bottom of the steps, the tiny woman scowls up at him over her pile of blankets. “We need more food. Your men eat more than I anticipated.” Her shoulders fall at the admission.

Steve rubs his chin. “I’ll send my men on another hunting trip.” Lewis had traded veterinary services for a salt lick; Berry and Redman had put it at the base of the mesa and had been able to shoot unsuspecting wildlife from high above. But with the refugees flooding up to the mesa, the nearby forest will soon be short of game. He rubs the back of his neck. Fortunately, the Barrett rifles have a long range. He tells himself they’ll get by. He almost sighs aloud. A few short weeks ago he was dreaming of power; now his dreams involve just surviving. Maybe it’s the universe’s way of keeping him honest?

Gem drops her eyes. “Also, we need more wood.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “We could wear sweaters.”

That earns him a death glare.

“We’ll collect more wood.”

From the room she’s sharing with Dr. Lewis and Harding, Beatrice pokes her head out. “Rush still has some more pornography; we can trade it for some coal.”

Steve’s jaw drops, uncertain if Gem understood, and if she did, if they’ve wandered into more taboo territory.

Gem’s eyes widen. “What sort of pornography? Male or female?”

Steve’s jaw snaps shut. Obviously, not a taboo …

“All women,” says Beatrice in a sour sort of voice.

Steve’s eyebrows hike. Is it his imagination or did Gem’s shoulders just fall?

“Well,” says the dwarf, “my guests are mostly male … they might be interested.”

Rolling her eyes, Beatrice snorts. “It’s trash, not even the artistic stuff.”

Steve blinks. Beatrice has opinions on porn? He’s grateful for his dark skin’s ability to conceal a blush.

Waving her umbrella, Beatrice says, “You should commission Redman to draw you something instead.”

Gem drops the blankets. “I would like to be the judge of ‘trash.’”

Shrugging, Beatrice beckons with a hand. “He’s on guard duty … but I know where he keeps it.”

Steve’s jaw drops again as the two women head into the room Rush is sharing with three other members of the team. Taking a deep breath, he files away the incident as unlikely to cause offense—Rush is proud of his collection and frequently offers to share it.

A few moments later, he enters the kitchen. His eyes go immediately to Bjorna, thankfully safely stirring something on the stove while the guys ham around with Cannonball. There is a Frost Giant superstition that mothers and newborns should go outside at least once a day, no matter how cold it is. Lewis says it might be a cultural adaptation that’s evolved due to the difficulty of getting vitamin D in Jotunheim’s long winters. Whatever it is, it is how Bjorna and Cannonball almost got stoned to death. Despite almost dying, she still tries to go out every day because she’s convinced not going outside will make her baby die. Steve’s barely extracted a promise from her only to go out with an armed escort.

“What the hell stinks in here?” shouts Rush, his voice echoing from the door to the mudroom. “What is this … mold!”

Bolting from her seat so fast the table rocks, Lewis shouts, “Don’t touch that! I’m trying to grow penicillin for a goat with mastitis!”

“This is gross! I’m throwing it out!” Rush shouts back.

Bohdi bolts out of his seat, and Steve sees an immediate priority. Striding over, Steve puts a hand on Bohdi’s shoulder and forces him down. “Rush, don’t touch the doctor’s penicillin,” Steve orders as Lewis rushes to the mudroom.

There is a too-long pause, but then Rush says, “Yes, Captain.”

Bohdi tries to stand. Steve shoots a glare at him and doesn’t lift his hand. Bohdi meets his eyes. Lifting an eyebrow, Steve sends him what would be for anyone else a withering glare. Bohdi’s jaw twitches and his nostrils flare. Steve doesn’t blink, trying to silently convey, I’ve got this.

Bohdi relaxes and Steve heads into the mudroom. As soon as he enters, he almost loses his stomach.

Holding a hand to her mouth, Amy is saying, “Why did you take the lid off?”

Fumbling as he tries to screw a lid onto a small, clear jar, Rush mumbles, “No reason.” Seeing Steve, he snaps to attention.

“Finish the job, Rush!” Steve orders. Striding between them, he snags a spare boot and jams the door open. Fenrir, sitting on the stoop, looks over her shoulder at Steve, sniffs the air, whimpers, and runs around the inn, tail between her legs.

Grabbing a coat from a hook, Steve begins fanning the stink out of the mudroom.

Finally finishing screwing on the lid, Rush hastily puts the jar on a shelf. Steve’s brow furrows. There are at least ten jars with mossy looking dark green fungus in them, but the one Rush had opened contains delicate crystalline fronds as long as Steve’s fingers and as narrow as pine needles. They sparkle like glass, and where the light hits them, they act like prisms and produce tiny rainbows on the floor and walls. He’ll have to tell Claire not to open the jar. He looks at Rush, now snapping to attention again. “Did you open that because you thought it was pretty?” Steve snaps.

Meeting his eyes, Rush says, “No … no, Sir.” The hair on the back of Steve’s neck stands on end. Steve rolls his eyes in disgust. “Get out of here, and leave the doctor’s penicillin alone!”

“Yes, Sir!” says the SEAL. As Rush walks away, Steve sees his lip curl up in a slight smile; Rush thinks he got away with the fib. Steve shakes his head in annoyance. Rush had admitted to talking to Ullr, and admitted that taking the Asgardian up on a dare to try the beer had been stupid. But he’s afraid to admit he thinks rainbows are pretty.

As soon as Rush is gone, Lewis steps out into the cold, hands covering her mouth. She bends over and looks like she is going to throw up.

Still fanning the fumes, Steve’s stomach twists … and not from the stench. “Are you alright, Dr. Lewis?”

Lewis takes a deep breath. “Yes …” Straightening, she answers Steve’s unspoken fear. “And no, I’m not pregnant.” She’s standing in a bit of sunlight, and tilts her face up to the sun, even as she stifles a yawn.

“Are you sick …” Steve asks. “Do you need to spend the day resting? Goats with mastitis aren’t as important as you are.”

Over the past two weeks, Lewis’s veterinary services have helped supply them with vegetables, milk, eggs, fish, and fruit. She’s also helped improve their image among some of the refugees. Just as important, she’s helped keep Bohdi in line. Lewis can be reasonable. She suggested that Beatrice accompany her on her professional outings because Bohdi’s presence could be distracting, and she convinced Bohdi it would be for the best. Steve’s not sure he could have managed it.

Lewis takes a deep breath, her skin flushes, and she looks away. “I’m not sick … I don’t want to get pregnant, and I’ve been experimenting with the local pharmaceuticals.”

Steve almost drops the coat in his hands. “Is that safe?”

“Yes,” says Sigyn.

Steve turns to see the Asgardian woman a few feet away around the curve of the building. She’d been on guard for the morning shift, and her golden cheeks have turned a deep rose in the cold air. He’d once thought her golden skin was an affectation, a vanity she clung to while she slummed it on Earth. But he’s realized gold is her natural coloring; her blonde hair and violet eyes had thrown him off. It had been foolish on his part to categorize an alien as belonging to any human ethnicity. She’s darker than Park, and Lewis is after her as much as Claire, Steve, and Bohdi to eat fish so she doesn’t miss out on the vitamin D.

He feels a prickle at the back of his neck and he flushes. He’s been staring too long. “You’re sure it will work for humans?” he says, to hide his gaffe. He knows she is sure. Sigyn wouldn’t make a mistake like that. She’s as thorough and organized as Loki was unpredictable and scattered. Is she drawn to her opposite? The idea makes his shoulders fall; he refuses to examine why … he doesn’t have time for where it might lead.

Approaching them, Sigyn raises an eyebrow. “I gave it to a Japanese princess who disguised herself as a samurai during the Meiji Restoration, a Chinese peasant who led the locals to resist the Japanese on the borders of Mongolia during WWII, and Catherine the Great.”

“Catherine the Great had children,” Steve snaps, more fiercely than he intended.

Sigyn’s eyes narrow. “We had a falling out.” She looks away. “Her promotion of the nobility to the detriment of the common man kept the Russian economy dependent upon serfdom as all of Europe was leaving that institution behind.”

“May I go now?” Lewis asks.

Steve nods without looking at her. “You’re dismissed.”

As the door shuts behind Lewis, Steve raises an eyebrow at Sigyn. “You knew Catherine the Great?” When she nods, he shakes his head, overwhelmed by that, but not wanting to show it. Instead, he says, “Russian history has always fascinated me. I had a theory, for a long time, that the more authoritarian the rule, the bloodier the revolution.”

Sigyn’s eyebrows lift, but then she gives him a tight smile. “Although politics and history are among my greatest interests, I am, at the moment, more concerned with why you are so preoccupied with Dr. Lewis’s personal health.”

Steve’s mouth goes dry.

Cocking her head, Sigyn says, “You haven’t been as concerned about Harding’s or Mr. Park’s health, or Mr. Thomas’s activities … But what is really curious,” Sigyn continues, “is that you had the opportunity to nip the romantic relationship between the good doctor and Mr. Patel in the bud, yet you chose not to, even though it is apparently causing you a great deal of …” She purses her lips and then finishes with, “… anxiety.”

Steve opens his mouth to reply … and no words come out.

“Don’t tell me that it was just a gesture of goodwill on your part,” Sigyn says.

Steve can’t help himself; he chuckles. “I wouldn’t insult your intelligence like that.”

Sigyn crosses her arms.

Steve looks away, still smiling. “I’d have as much chance getting away with it as I would lying to my own mother.”

“I’m not your mother,” Sigyn says, and Steve looks at her sharply. He blinks. Is she blushing?

“You haven’t answered my question,” Sigyn says.

Steve looks away. “The more authoritarian the rule, the bloodier the revolution ... I believe that in politics, but maybe it is true between people as well?” He takes a breath. “Which doesn’t mean … I do think it’s good for Bohdi to be with Lewis…” And is what is good for the individual, good for the team? He’s sure at some level it’s true, but the balance—he hasn’t worked it out yet.

“And for Dr. Lewis? You seem overly concerned she might get pregnant. I want to know why. ” Sigyn’s violet eyes narrow.

Steve could lie … but she’d find out some other way. He could ignore her and walk away, but then he’d lose her respect.

From the front of the inn comes the sound of a door slamming and men laughing. Despite being stuck on a foreign realm among savages with scant chance of getting home, spirits are high. There have been a few mild anxiety attacks here and there, but Steve has them mostly convinced they can make it. They have succeeded this far after all ... but a big part of that success has been through the magic of Sigyn and her sons. If the team were to lose them—his chest constricts. He doesn’t want to lose Sigyn for other, personal reasons, but there isn’t hope for that, only for minimizing the damage. She’s fond of Claire. Maybe if he’s honest, she’ll take pity and help him save his daughter.

He keeps his gaze level when he meets her eyes. “It happened before.” He doesn’t need to say with whom. The story of Amy’s pregnancy and miscarriage isn’t pretty. Steve’s involvement less so. He shivers and it’s not an act.

Sigyn’s jaw gets hard.

“You will tell me everything.”

x x x x

“Oh, no, really … you should keep that,” Amy says, as the wizened old Frost Giantess in front of her thrusts goat milk beneath her nose. Amy’s eyes slide to the boy on the floor of the tent. She has just set his leg in a splint. She frowns; they could take him to the cavern, and Sigyn and Nari could heal it in minutes, but that would give away their sanctuary.

Holding up her hands, she tries to explain. “He needs the …” The little gerbil in the wheel in her brain stops. Calcium doesn’t translate into their language and there is no Frost Giant word that quite translates into “minerals.” The closest is “ore” and that is no good.

Across the small tent, Beatrice comes to her rescue. “Milk is good for bones. We can’t take it from you when your little boy needs it for his leg.”

The Frost Giant woman hesitates, and Beatrice says, “We can take something else instead.”

“All we have are tubers,” says the woman, gesturing to some sacks on the ground among heaps of nets. Amy thinks they were probably nets that belonged to fishermen. “... and dried fish.”

“Tubers are great!” says Amy. No one on the team likes them, but they’ll eat anything that isn’t moving. All of the human magic users—especially Claire—are hungry all the time. She’s not sure if it’s the magic practice in the cave, the cold, or Larson and Steve making everyone exercise every day.

As the woman retrieves the tubers, an old man Amy presumes is the grandfather puts his hands on the knee of the little boy she was just attending to. Holding his weathered hands over the boy’s leg, the old man starts to hum. A tree branch snakes through a gap in the tent, other branches pound on the tent sides, and tiny roots shoot out of the ground and twist around his wrists.

The little boy cries, and the old man curses and pulls the slender roots and branches away. Amy’s eyes widen. “You are a powerful enchanter.” The old man ducks his head, and his wife says, “Shhhh … don’t let the neighbors know.”

The little boy, laying on the bed of old furs, sniffles. “But they already know! Grandfather is the one who found the new World Gate in the sea arch—his boat slipped right into Niflheim.”

Amy’s eyes meet Beatrice’s. They’d known about the World Gate in the sea arch—but not that it went to Niflheim. They both turn to the old man.

“It was an accident,” the tiny Frost Giantess says, going and standing beside him, as his shrunken shoulders shrink some more. “He didn’t do anything wrong … he wasn’t buggering anyone.”

Amy blinks. Buggering? She sorts through her Frost Giant vocabulary … the woman means the worst definition of the word. But why would she think that Amy would think he was doing something like …

She squeezes her eyes shut, and she is Loki, in Asgard, hiding behind the throne listening as Odin raged at Mimir’s severed head. “The schools of magic in Jotunheim will reform, or be shut down, Mimir. What the headmasters do to the apprentices is at best superstitious nonsense, and at worst sexual slavery!”

Shaking, Amy opens her eyes. She remembers reading a little bit about that when she was researching paganism—some of the rites of the ancient mages involved young boys being “ritualistically” raped. She takes a deep breath and puts a hand to her eyes. Odin had shut the schools down and invited initiates to Asgard instead. It was self-serving. Odin effectively drained Jotunheim of its intellectuals. She swallows, remembering Odin’s rage. But it might have been a moral crusade on Odin’s part, too.

“Amy?” says Beatrice.

Amy gives Beatrice a weak smile. To the old man, she says, “I know magic doesn’t only happen when you … do bad things.”

The old man lifts his eyes. They are deep and recessed, nearly hidden behind a cloud of beard and white hair.

“Oh, he didn’t do anything bad!” says the woman. “And he had such a fright. He saw clear to Hel!”

Amy’s mouth gapes. “You saw Hel … ” Hel is the name of a region in the realm of Niflheim. Loki had sworn to her that Hel did not exist, but since she’s had his memories, she’s learned that the place where his daughter Hel died had begun to be referred to by that name. It infuriated him that such a miserable place was given his daughter’s name.

Biting her lip, she looks down at the hides on the floor and instinctively touches the tiny book in her pocket. According to Thor, Hel was the new Loki’s destination.

Outside, she hears the wail of a child and the braying of a goat. She lifts her head. Meeting her eyes, the ancient man whispers, “I know it was Hel. I was there, long, long ago, when I was but a lad. Thought I was going to meet my end. You know it’s where those who are dying go.”

Amy’s brow furrows. Can it be just a coincidence that a new World Gate to Niflheim—and Hel, specifically—opened up so close to the Iron Wood? Loki cannot create World Gates, only exploit them, but it seems so random. World Gates opened up close to Cera … or Eisa … they’d opened up at a furious pace when Amy was in the other universe, when she was pregnant with Eisa.

But if not Eisa, Odin, or Cera, then who?

Pain shoots through her skull. A scream comes out of her mouth before she knows it’s left her lips.

Amy’s blood pounds in her ears. Beatrice grabs her arm, and Amy thinks she hears her call her name. Taking deep breaths, she feels the cold hit her lungs and shivers uncontrollably.

She’s not sure how long she stands there. But at last the pain recedes, and she lifts her eyes. The elderly couple are clutching each other, standing between Amy and their grandson. Smiling weakly, Amy grabs her gear. The little jar of prismatic fungus rolls out, and she hastily puts it back in. She’d brought the fungus hoping someone could identify it, but no one has ever seen anything like it before. Another new species for her to name? She shakes her head, feeling a headache building again. Grabbing the bag of tubers, she and Beatrice leave the dwelling.

The tent is situated close to the dilapidated structure that houses the ancient elevator shaft. As she steps out into the dappled afternoon light beneath the trees, she sees black smoke rising from a newly erected chimney in the roof. The doors to the structure are wide open. Larson, Rush, Tucker, and Berry are standing outside looking grim. She hears the chink and grind of gears, and what sounds like the whistle of steam.

Amy and Beatrice look at each other with mouths agape, and then rush over to their teammates.

“You got it working?” Amy says.

Eyes down the shaft, Lieutenant Larson nods. He looks even sterner than usual.

“Well done!” says Beatrice.

Tucker turns to them. “We’re hauling up the first passengers right now.” His voice is somber, baby blue eyes downcast, like he had just said someone died. Larson answers her unspoken question. “The Asgardians are back from their hunting trip.”

Over the sound of machinery, Thor’s voice booms. “Prepare for a feast, humans! We have slain a forest mastodon! They are most delicious!” Then Thor’s beaming face rises from the shaft inches at a time. He’s in the same sort of corral lift that Loki remembered. He’s surrounded by Asgardian and Frost Giant hunters, including Magi and Modi. The Frost Giants look as happy as Thor. The Asgardians look angry and hostile. As gears grind and click, the whole party comes into view … at their feet are the snowmobiles and wings the team had left in the hollow of an iron wood tree.

Amy’s eyes fall upon them, and Thor beams even more brightly. “We even brought these! I look forward to riding one of your magical chariots. Mine doesn’t work here!”

Amy stares at him, overwhelmed by his happy exuberance. The lift grinds to a stop, and he barrels out, throwing his arms over a grinning Magi and Modi as he does. There is something about Thor’s happiness … it’s not that it feels fake … it just feels like it’s too much, too pure, or something. Even his happiness feels heroic, and she’s not sure why.

She looks away and her gaze lands on Queen Jarnsaxa. Amy’s struck by the fact that Thor’s lover doesn’t look ebullient like the Frost Giants, or angry like the Asgardians. Her hands are clasped loosely in front of her, her shoulders are slightly slumped, and her stare is distant; but then, as though feeling Amy’s gaze, she lifts her eyes. They are slightly red and puffy. The woman nods at Amy.

Amy ducks her head in reply, feeling tiny, small, and very human. “Let’s go back to the inn,” she says to Beatrice.

Larson’s icy blue glare lands on her. “Good idea, we should round up everyone there.”

Amy nods and turns on her heel, Beatrice at her side. A pow-wow with the team is a good idea, but Amy feels cold all the way to her bones, and all she really wants to do is see Bohdi and just not be cold anymore. She shivers. Something about Jarnsaxa’s sad smile, and Thor’s strange ebullience makes her feel like she’ll never be warm again.

x x x x

Stifling a yawn, Amy enters the front door of the inn, Beatrice just behind her. They find Bohdi sitting in a trap door that leads to Gem’s larder. He’s still dressed in all his gear except his mittens. Beside him are piles of books and scrolls.

Smiling up at Amy, he gestures to the pile. “Hey, guess what we found during magic practice in the cavern!”

Next to him, Harding’s head pops out of the larder. Vaulting out, she says, “We’ve also got the last trunk of gunpowder.” They’ve brought all the fireworks and gunpowder they’ve discovered in Gullveig’s hidden workroom up to the inn. The trunks are airtight, but Gerðr insisted that having it in the cavern could lead to “magical mischief and mishap” if someone turned out to be too proficient with fire.

Waggling his eyebrows, Bohdi rubs his hands together. “We can make some homemade grenades.”

“The Asgardians are back,” Amy says. Bohdi’s smile drops.

Cruz pokes his big blonde head out of the larder and grunts. “Someone to practice using the grenades on.”

Beatrice strides over to the trap door. “They’re bringing our snowmobiles and wings back … we’d better close up.” She gestures with her chin to the scrolls and books. “Take those upstairs; they won’t fit in Gem’s library.”

Picking up the books and scrolls with Bohdi, Amy stifles another yawn. Ushering two baby goats into the world late at night had been rewarding, but she’s exhausted. Steve comes out of the kitchen with Sigyn behind him. He’s pressing his headpiece to his ear. “I want everyone back at the inn except the two on guard duty in the cavern … Where is Claire? … with Thor? What is she doing with Thor?”

Amy follows Bohdi up the stairs, the fragile books and scrolls heavy in their arms.

They set their burdens down at the end of the hallway. Amy shivers, and Bohdi touches her cheek, his brow furrowing. “You’re cold … are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I …” another shiver ripples through her as though her body is purposefully trying to belie her words. She scrunches her eyes shut. “I’m not as physically cold as I am …” She touches her chest. “I saw Jarnsaxa and I think she was crying, and she doesn’t seem like someone who cries … and I found out the new World Gate opens right to Hel where Thor said the new Loki is, and I feel like it’s all connected, everything, somehow, and we’re sitting on a tinder box.” She lets out a long breath and drops her hand and scuffs her boot on the floor.

“Well, technically,” Bohdi says, “we are sitting on a tinderbox.”

Amy raises her eyes to his. He’s smiling a little sadly. “There’s enough gunpowder downstairs to blow up half a city block.” He drops his eyes. “But here, I have something for you that might cheer you up.” Fishing in his pocket, he pulls out a lollipop. The stick it’s on is bent, but its wrapper is intact. She’s so desperate for sweets her mouth instantly waters. Bohdi hands the candy to her. “My coat … Harrison’s coat ripped … and I found it in the lining.” He pushes the candy into her hand without meeting her gaze. “It’s not dessert at a five-star restaurant in Paris, but it’s yours.”

Amy stares at the candy in her fingers and hears what he’s really saying. He’s not Loki, he can’t take her to Paris and he can’t whisk her away with a thought. The candy wrapper crinkles. Even with magic, Bohdi isn’t as strong as Loki, but …

“This is better than dessert at a five-star restaurant,” she says, feeling her eyes get hot. Paris had been all about Loki wanting to keep her away from the people at the FBI. This little piece of artificially-flavored corn syrup is all about her.

“Are you going to eat it?” Bohdi says, sounding unusually vulnerable.

He doesn’t think she appreciates it. He couldn’t be more wrong. Her fingers slip as she tries to undo the packaging. “Yes,” she says, afraid to look at him. Is it ridiculous to fall in love with a guy over a lollipop?

Unwrapping the candy, she pops it into her mouth. And then she laughs, and pulls it out, her mouth exploding with artificial cherry flavor. It tastes fantastic after tubers, goat milk, moss bread, and meat. “It’s delicious!” she whispers, finally meeting his gaze. He smiles, orange eyes almost glowing. Licking his lips, he says, “Are you going to share?”

She holds out the pop. Instead of taking it, he takes her chin and kisses her, and Amy feels like she might melt into the floor.

Pulling back to catch her breath, she narrows her eyes, as though she’s angry, but she’s not. “That was planned …”

He shrugs, a hand that had been on her back slipping lower than would be appropriate in front of their teammates.

“Always playing games, Bohdi,” she says, purposefully drawing out his name and then shaking her head with an exasperated sigh. Over the past few weeks she’s discovered he has a tiny little kink—he likes it when she says his name when they’re fooling around.

Face getting a little darker, he dips his chin and smiles. Footsteps sound on the stairs and Amy takes a half-step back, but still stands too close. Bohdi’s right, everyone probably knows, and she doesn’t want to leave him.

Ducking her head, she blinks—a thought strikes her. “Bohdi, if Loki, the new Loki, comes through the new World Gate, I’m with you now—you know that, right?”

She immediately feels lighter for having said it. She looks up at him and his expression is flat and unreadable.

“Hey, love birds, pow-wow downstairs. Get moving.” Turning, she sees Park in the narrow hallway jerking his thumb to the stairs.

Slipping the candy into her pocket, Amy heads to the stairs, feeling unbalanced. Bohdi puts a hand on her back, and she can feel the warmth through her parka. It makes her heart speed up and makes her feel so much … but is it for the same reason the artificial cherry flavor tasted so good? Is she so used to feeling afraid and cold that any warmth feels like love? She’s not sure she can trust herself enough to know. But their time is so short—maybe it doesn’t matter.

Chapter 21

In the feast hall, Steve’s ears ring with the rowdy cries of the Frost Giant warriors and refugees, the clang of silverware on plates, and the thump of mugs on tables. With a fork, he idly taps the remains of what Lewis says is a mammoth radius bone and scowls. Thor’s and the Asgardian’s return meant a return to communal feasting.

Leaning down to his shoulder, Fenrir whines in his ear. Steve picks up the dish-sized piece of grisly meat, bone, and marrow and holds it out to the wolf-dog. She snatches it away. Steve glances backward to see the enormous animal stretching out on the floor behind the bench. Lying down, her shoulders are nearly as high as the table. He gives her a pat. He’s becoming fond of the mutt. With her right behind him, the crowd in the hall has kept their distance. Steve’s eyes scan the room. If anything, their first nights here were tame. The refugees in the room are wild, emboldened by liquor and energized by food. A plate crashes into the wall above his head and Fenrir growls. Steve’s jaw grinds. Pretty soon he’ll have to provide entertainment again. He glances down the table. Beside her equipment, Harding catches his gaze and gives a thumbs up.

Steve’s eyes slide to where Bohdi is talking to Lewis. He doesn’t want a repeat of last time—he’s not sure if their dancing caused the trees to go crazy—but he doesn’t want to risk it. A mug crashes into the wall above his head and showers him with the local brew.

“This is not the time for chaos,” he grumbles.

“It already is chaos,” says Sigyn.

“It could be worse,” says Steve. “I don’t want Bohdi to dance.”

Beside him Sigyn whispers, “He does not cause earthquakes … I danced with him many times, I should know.”

Steve meets her eyes. While telling her the tale of Lewis and Eisa, he also told her about Loki and his crazy Elvis impersonation, and why Bohdi and Lewis made him panic.

Violet eyes drifting down the table, Sigyn says, “Doctor Lewis looks tired. Perhaps instead of insisting Mr. Patel not dance, you should suggest he escort her back to the inn?”

Steve raises an eyebrow. After everything, she’s solving the problem for him she doesn’t believe he has. That is loyalty; and she forgives him. He smiles as he slips out of the bench and heads down to talk to Bohdi and Lewis.

x x x x

Sometimes being Chaos is awesome. Bohdi had been wishing for an excuse for time alone with Amy, and it’s happened. He drapes his arm around her shoulders as they head back ‘home.’ It would have been fun to see just how far the Frost Giants wrestling on the table tops were going to go with it—the object seemed to remove each other’s clothes—but this is good, too. Beneath his arm Amy shivers. Snow is falling in uneven patches through the tree limbs. Occasionally it crashes in big clumps.

He needs to tell Amy about the whole incarnation of Chaos thing. It’s time. He’s got it all planned out. “So, Amy, remember in Nornheim when you asked me—”

A large clump of snow lands on the back of his neck. Yelping, Bohdi frantically tries to dislodge the snow as it slides down into his parka.

“Are you okay?” Amy says.

“I’m fine,” he hisses, jumping up and down, shaking the snow out.

“We should get inside, quickly,” she says. “The University of Illinois in Chicago used to have elevated walkways that were designed by some French guy who didn’t understand Chicago winters. Great big icicles would form and fall on people, and they’d die!”

Bohdi stares at her in horror. “Why are we standing here?”

She shrugs. Grabbing her hand, he breaks into a run and pulls her all the way back to the inn. By the time they reach the door, they’re both breathless and laughing. Cruz and Gerðr, sensibly standing beneath the inn’s eaves, raise eyebrows at them as they enter.

It’s warm and toasty inside, and all the little red bug lights are alight. Bohdi peels off his coat and follows Amy up the stairs. When they reach the top, she turns around. “I have something to tell you,” she whispers.

“What a coincidence,” he whispers, “because I have something to tell you.”

She blinks at him expectantly. Her cheeks are pink with cold, her lips are slightly parted.

“You go first,” he says, sliding forward and wrapping his arms around her back.

She bites her lip. “The reason I’ve been feeling sick is because I’ve been using a local drug. It simulates natural hormones so that your body thinks it’s pregnant, so you know, you don’t get pregnant.”

It’s a strange thing, but Bohdi’s body is ahead of his brain in connecting all the dots of what she’s saying. Before he can think of a logical reply, his hands are sliding lower, and he’s kissing her. She jumps up, and he catches her legs around his waist. It’s only when he’s losing sensation in his arm, because he’s pushing her against a wall, that he remembers he should probably say something.

“Umm … are you too sleepy?”

Amy shakes her head in the negative. And he knows she’s not lying. Outside he hears the wind howling and tree limbs snapping.

“You had something to tell me?” she asks, voice breathless, her lips extra pink and full.

He presses his forehead to hers. “It can wait.”

x x x x

Bohdi lies on a spare mattress in Gem’s attic. Amy’s head is on his shoulder. Outside the whipping and snapping of the trees has died down … whatever it was had caused the tree that supports Gem’s inn to groan and smaller branches to twist and curl. The team still hasn’t come back yet. Amy and Bohdi have put their clothing back on so they can throw open the trap door, rush downstairs when the team comes home, and pretend like they’ve been darning socks all evening. Not that anyone will believe it … except maybe Rush. Bohdi’s still got the guy convinced he’s a virgin.

They should probably have moved downstairs already, but Bohdi hadn’t wanted to let Amy go, and she hadn’t wanted to go. Now she’s sleeping in the crook of his arm, which is, in its own way, as nice as what came before her nap.

Bohdi can’t sleep—partially because he promised to stay awake to alert Amy when the team came back. Also he is too happy. It had been better than the dreams; she’d said his name … His eyes drift down to Amy. It wouldn’t have mattered if she wasn’t exactly his physical type, she is cute, and has the perfect mind for him … but it sure doesn’t hurt. The blanket doesn’t hide the steep incline from her hip to the valley of her waist; he wants to slide his hand down that delicious curve. Just the thought of it makes his mouth water and his skin hum. He lifts his hand … and runs it through his bangs instead. He locks his gaze on the ceiling. She’s really tired. She was up all last night saving baby goats, and up early the next morning to make out with him. In her sleep, Amy slips her leg over his stomach.

Bohdi groans. This is a test of his self control. What he needs is a distraction. He surveys the attic. It is neat and tidy without a speck of dust. It’s in the densest part of the mushroom-like cap of the tree the inn is built around. Gem has gone through great lengths to trim the tiny branches away from the large ones so the area is navigable and orderly, but there isn’t proper headroom, even for a dwarf. There are red glow globes all around, neatly folded blankets, crates of dishes, towels, spare furniture, books, and scrolls. He scowls. The books and scrolls are in another language, but he’d look at them, just for something to occupy his brain; unfortunately, they are out of reach.

Amy mumbles in her sleep, and one of her hands slips along his chest and grabs his shirt, dislodging her parka. He had thrown it over him because the dwarf blanket was too small for them both. He raises an eyebrow … is she awake? He listens to her breathing and ... no. He sighs—and then frowns. With the parka shifted out of position, he’s cold. Besides the low ceiling and big twisty branches, the other thing that makes the attic a less-than ideal room is that there is no direct heat and it is chilly.

He pulls Amy’s parka back up to his chin. As he does, something slips from one of the pockets and lands with a plunk next to the mattress. Bohdi reaches over with his hand, and his fingers encounter a small rectangular shape, only a little bigger than a deck of cards, that feels like it’s made of leather.

Picking up the object, he brings it before his eyes and finds himself staring at a small white book. A Bible? He smirks to himself. Oh, it would be so good if she seduced him with a bible in her pocket, he could tease her about it forever. He rifles through the pages and blinks. Before his eyes the tiny tight cursive seems to morph from Hindu to English. He blinks again, and it’s English. He can feel the tiniest thrum of magic in his fingers.

The tree’s branches groan. Thin whip-like fronds from the outer branches wave at the book—but don’t snap it away from him.

His brow furrows. How did Amy have a magic book? For a moment, a dark thread of suspicion enters his mind. A magic book should have been shared with the team …

Catching himself, he shakes his head. She probably just slipped it into her pocket when they were moving Gullveig’s stuff this afternoon, and then she forgot about it. She isn’t magic and wouldn’t have realized its importance. His eyes widen and he looks down at her. Is she magic now? He’s contagious; they hadn’t talked about that.

She murmurs in her sleep. Maybe she’s remembering the hour she lost between the time Loki saved the universe, and she was mysteriously dropped off in his apartment? He should let her be.

His eyes go back to the book. Rifling again through the pages, he finds himself staring at a picture of a woman sitting in yogi position, her body covered in flames. Wincing, he flips back a few chapters and finds a line drawing of a quilt, with a star sunk in the middle of it and a little round ball seemingly suspended around the sunken depression. He tilts his head. An illustration of space-time and the geodetic effect by a magical creature? Well, this is interesting.

Branches snap nearby, and outside the wind roars. Amy sighs in his arms. He kisses the crown of her head and begins to read.

x x x x

Sitting on the table, Steve glares up at the ceiling. Bohdi and Lewis left a few hours ago. Branches are waving, curling and uncurling, and licking the air the same way they had when Bohdi and Lewis had danced. He rubs his jaw. All around him, the Frost Giant peasants drink quietly or whisper in corners. The mood among Steve’s team and the Frost Giant and Asgardian warriors is better—but even they’ve toned it down a little.

Sliding out of his seat, Steve threads his way through the moody crowd to the door. As he stares out into the night he sees the iron wood trees writhe, making snow fall as if from buckets. He has a very bad feeling about this.

Sigyn and Beatrice materialize beside him. “I don’t like this,” Beatrice says. “I think we should regroup at the inn.”

“You might be right,” says Sigyn.

“Yes …” Steve says. But then a hand lands on his shoulder. Turning sharply, he finds himself face to face with one of Heiðr’s warriors. His eyes are wide and worried. “You can’t be thinking of going out there? When the branches wave, large icicles fall from the trees. You could be killed!”

Steve blinks. He doesn’t know the man’s name, but ... “Did I see you swallowing a sword earlier?”

Brightening, the man straightens. “I am the best sword swallower in Jotunheim!”

Steve looks toward the inn. If a sword swallower says it’s dangerous to go out … to Beatrice he says, “The team on guard said Lewis and Patel checked in.”

Beatrice looks out at the night with concern and then down at her umbrella. But sighing, she crosses her arms. “They should be fine then.”

To the man, Steve says, “I won’t argue with a sword swallower.”

Punching Steve’s shoulder with a smile he says, “Ragnarok!” in the same voice a frat boy might use to say, “Let’s drink!”—which is probably the literal translation in this case. As if to confirm Steve’s interpretation, the man grabs a mug of mead from a peasant, toasts the air, and downs it in front of Steve’s eyes. Steve gives the peasant a sympathetic smile, but the man glares at him and sulks away.

Steve surveys the crowd. It’s impossible not to notice that the Frost Giant “civilians” are keeping their distance from the team. It makes Steve worried; he’d suggest Harding turn on some more music, to lighten the atmosphere for everyone, but he’s heard whispers that the “magical box” is responsible for the branches’ mad dance.

Shaking his head, Steve heads back to his team with Sigyn, but Beatrice stays at the door.

An hour or so later the branches finally slow. It’s still snowing, and large clumps still fall occasionally from the trees, but it’s much better. As the Frost Giants and Asgardians break up, he and the team gather together.

“Where’s Tucker?” Berry says. Climbing up onto a bench, the short man scans the thinning crowd.

Steve has another worry. “Where is Claire?”

Thor and all of his sons, including Ullr, are standing nearby. “The little Valkyrie is lost?” Ullr asks. Before Steve can answer, Ullr says, “We will find her!”

All of the Asgardians, humans, and Frost Giant warriors set off to find Steve’s kid, which is a fine moment of interspecies cooperation, but Steve really wishes it wasn’t on his child’s account. It’s not until after Ullr has led a small party of Asgardians out into the night that Sigyn, peering beneath a table, laughs. “She’s over here, come see!”

Steve breaks into a jog, but Thor’s there first. The big man laughs. “The mighty Valkyrie sleeps mightily!”

Heart in his throat, Steve peers beneath the table. His daughter is curled up with Fenrir. One of her legs is beneath Fenrir’s back legs, another is on her haunches, her back is on the floor, and her neck is draped over one of Fenrir’s front paws.

Harding coos over Steve’s shoulder. “Awww … she can sleep anywhere … just like a Marine.”

“Nah!” says Thomas. “That there is the first female SEAL.”

“Is she drunk?” Steve says, panicked. Did someone give her alcohol? He needs Lewis … and he also wants to personally wring the neck of whoever got her intoxicated.

Patting a yawning Fenrir, Thor looks up at Steve and gives a bemused smile. “No, Rogerson, she’s barely a decade old, and it is four hours from sunrise.”

There are chuckles from the Frost Giants and Asgardians, and they pat their hands on Steve’s back affectionately. He manages to laugh at himself … barely.

A few minutes later, he’s carrying a still “mightily sleeping” Claire back to the inn, most of his team behind him. Berry’s voice buzzes in his ear. “Still haven’t found Tucker. Wait! It looks like Fenrir’s got the scent!”

“Let me know as soon as you find him,” Steve says.

Moments later, he enters the inn. Over the sound of the team’s footsteps, Steve thinks he hears Lewis’s muffled voice. He’s instantly on alert. He hears the creak of the ladder to the attic, and he’s about to order the team back outside when there is a knock at the door, and Larson’s voice buzzes in his ear. “Bad news … Heiðr has Tucker.”

“What?” says Steve.

Before Berry can respond, there is another knock, and Cruz’s voice buzzes in his ear. “Sir, Heiðr and some Frost Giants Warriors are here … with Tucker.”

Heiðr’s own voice echoes through the door. “Captain Rogers, you will let us in.”

Steve’s eyes meet Larson’s. Beatrice hisses, “Give me Claire.” Steve deposits her in the woman’s arms, and nods at Rush.

Rush opens the door and Heiðr strides into the room, warriors flanking her, Tucker just behind them. His head is high, back straight, face flat. Behind Tucker come three scruffy Frost Giant peasants, one who is sobbing.

Without preamble, Heiðr says, “This man has murdered one of my people.”

Steve almost gapes. Tucker is one of the more responsible men on the team; he’d be the last person Steve would expect to get into a senseless brawl. “Is this true?” Steve asks.

Raising his chin a little higher, Tucker says, “Yes, Sir.”

Steve’s jaw grinds. He can’t imagine how this could get much worse. Then from above his head he hears Bohdi shout, “Wait! Amy!”

x x x x

Amy is a child, walking through a snowy courtyard. It’s evening in Jotunheim, but she is far from the Iron Wood where she was born. Next to her is a man with a shaved head. He wears dreary brown robes, and his face is waxen. She doesn’t like him. She can’t say why, but when he puts his hands on her shoulders, it makes all the muscles in her back tense up.

The man opens a door in a low stone building with a thatched roof. They step into a short hallway with an animal hide curtain at one end. The hand that had been on her shoulder drifts down her spine. The man’s breathing is too loud. He leads her through the curtain, and she’s in a room with a few candles for light and warmth, straw mats with thin blankets, and lots of boys of varying ages that all look bigger than she is.

“This is where you will live now,” the man says. “The other apprentices will see that you have a place to sleep.” He tugs at the hair at the back of her head, and Amy shivers.

He leaves. The boys in the room crowd around her. Their faces are gaunt, their clothing threadbare. Their expressions range from feral to hungry. Two large boys whisper to each other and step forward. “Look at this one. He’s as pretty as a girl, don’t you think, Ivan?”

Amy gasps. And for a moment everything stops, and it all comes together in her mind. This is a dream, and in the dream she’s a boy. And then it’s like a play button has been pressed and the dream surges forward … and becomes a nightmare.

“We could have fun with him, Gorg,” the boy who must be Ivan says.

“I wonder if the elders already have,” Gorg whispers.

Amy’s back hits the hide curtain; she doesn’t know when she started walking. Ivan and Gorg step forward, Ivan lifts his hands to touch her, and a shout rings out in the dormitory. “Stop!”

Ivan doesn’t … and his robe catches on fire. Gorg spins. “You’ll pay for that!”

A boy, not much older or bigger than Amy, punches Gorg in the gut. As Gorg crumples, the new boy knees him in the face and pounds his fists on the back of his head. Snarling, Ivan throws off his robe and reaches for Gorg’s attacker, but another boy stabs him in the eye with an icicle.

Ivan howls and backs away. Amy’s two defenders kick and punch Gorg until he falls to the ground. All the other boys circle around, strangely mute. Gorg’s attackers don’t stop until Gorg is black and blue and tears are streaming from his face. “Stop it, Odin! Please!”

“Are you begging me?” the boy who must be Odin roars.

Ivan tries to rush Odin, but Odin’s friend throws up a hand, and this time Ivan’s tunic catches on fire. Crying, Ivan runs past Amy, through the curtain. She hears the door slam.

Gorg sobs. “I’m begging you! I’m begging you!”

Odin’s friend looks like he’s about to kick Gorg in the face, but Odin holds him back. Putting himself between the crowd and Amy, he shouts. “No more! No more! The elders may do what they may, but as long as we don’t become beasts we are still men!”

The boys in the circle back away slowly. Gorg continues to cry on the floor. After what seems like a terribly long time, Odin turns around. His cheeks are streaked by tears, and one of his eyes is swelling. It’s the first time Amy’s had a chance to look at him. His skin is golden like Sigyn’s, his eyes are blue, his hair pale blonde. Other than that, he is skinny, unremarkable. This can’t be Odin—Loki never knew Odin as a young boy. Could it be a dream of one of Loki’s past lives in Amy’s own dream?

To his friend, Odin says, “I should have done that a long time ago.”

His friend still faces the room at large. Eyes roving over the boys like an alert hawk, he flicks a thumb and flame flares at the end.

Odin bends so his eyes are at Amy’s level. “Don’t be afraid. We won’t let anyone hurt you.” He puts his hand on Amy’s shoulder, and where the man earlier had made her cringe, this fills her with a warmth that goes straight to her heart. On a whim, she reaches out with her small fingers and touches Odin’s rapidly swelling eye. Before her eyes his skin goes from purple to golden. Smiling, he stands and touches his cheek. “Well, done! That is quite a useful talent.”

And Amy’s aware that the little boy whose body she inhabits hasn’t heard that before from a stranger. She—he—has been called womanly. She—he—smiles at Odin.

Leaning down again, Odin says, “What’s your name?”

Amy shakes her head. She can’t say it, and she feels so ashamed.

Instead of sneering at her cowardice, Odin says, “I couldn’t speak for days when I first came here.” He pats her shoulder affectionately, and she loves him instantly.

Leading her toward a mat, Odin says, “It’s hard, but you’re with me—I’m Odin—and this,” he waves at the other boy, “is Lothur.”

Lothur turns and smiles at her. There’s something manic about his smile, and it makes her draw closer to Odin. Lothur’s hair is dark red, his features sharp, his eyes almost orange. “Someday,” Lothur whispers, “we’re going to burn this whole place down.”

Amy shivers. Lothur is one of Loki’s previous incarnations … but then who is she?

… Her dream self closes her eyes. This is just a dark imagining brought on by the Frost Giants talk of buggering, probably merged with Loki’s memories of tales of magic schools. This is all because of Loki’s memories …

She suddenly has to wake up. She squeezes her hand and encounters soft fabric, there is someone warm beneath her. Her heart races in fear. She opens her eyes and wakes to another dream. She’s with Loki, but it’s the other Loki, in the other universe. He smiles at her, and it’s too much like Lothur, too sharp, too cruel. He rubs a hand over her stomach and says, “How is my baby today?” And then he laughs at his joke, but it isn’t funny to Amy. In the end, all she’d been to him was carrier of his child.

She squeezes her eyes shut again, and wakes to another dream. She’s standing in her Loki’s apartment. He’s in his armor and before she knows what is happening, she’s saying, “I think I love you.”

Eyes cold, he says, “Thank you for that.” And at the same time he says the words, she feels his derision. She is a child, she knows nothing of love … And her heart breaks all over again.

She squeezes her eyes tight, and then she remembers—she’s with Bohdi. Bohdi loves her. He hasn’t said it, but she knows it, because he gets mad at her when she risks her life; because he gave her the only lollipop on Jotunheim; and because he wanted to stay up in the attic and snuggle. She never has to be with Loki again. The new Loki will waltz through the gate from Hel eventually, she’ll hand over his book, tell him he is the incarnation of Chaos, and he can go burn Asgard to the ground on his own.

She’s with Bohdi. She’s safe. All she has to do is wake up.

Gasping, she opens her eyes. She feels a hand gently stroking her back. The light of Gem’s glow globe is dim and it takes a moment to focus. Bohdi comes into view. He’s got Loki’s book on his chest. It’s open, and his eyes are intent on its pages.

Amy’s heart stops. “You can’t read that.” Only Loki can read it.

Bohdi’s lips are nothing like Lothur’s or Loki’s—they’re full and wide. His nose is slightly squished, and his eyes are large and innocent with long lashes, his skin is warm and brown. But then he smirks, and he looks exactly like them. “Well, good morning to you, too,” he says.

“You can’t read that,” Amy says again, her voice coming out a hiss.

He rolls his eyes. “Oh, yes I can.”

x x x x

Amy stares at Bohdi, her eyes wide, her lip trembling.

He’d been mildly confounded, and slightly irritated, when she hissed at him … but now he’s starting to have a very bad feeling in his stomach. His mouth opens, but before he can get a word out, she lunges for the book and snatches it from his hand. Opening it quickly, she thrusts it back to him again.

“Read it!”

A couple of times, members of the team have broken down. They’ve said they’d never get home, never get to tell their parents goodbye, never have their bodies found, etc. Amy’s never had one of those little panic attacks, but there’s something about the wild look in Amy’s eyes that tells Bohdi she’s having one now. He swallows. The key seems to be to stay calm and reason with panic-stricken people. But to reason with her, first he has to know what’s going on. “Amy, what’s wrong?”

“You can’t read it!” she says, her breathing heavy and erratic. She’s not touching him, and he scoots closer, wanting to pull her tight and comfort her. But when he moves toward her, she crawls backward on her knees. It reminds him of the time she leaned away from Odin’s touch.

His whole body goes cold. Not knowing what else to do, he looks down at the page.

It’s the picture with the woman on fire. He takes a deep breath, and reads:

“And I have dreams of my love, who was not my love, but was. Her father said words low against me, so low that it caused her heart to flame. And the flame of her heart spread to the utmost ends of her limbs. My love died in flames.”

He shivers. His eyes skim the page and he silently reads: … my friend, my brother, he learned of this and declared we would go to her father so that he will know, that to worship him is also to worship me …

Bohdi snaps the book shut. “It’s the story of Sati, Shiva’s wife.”

“You know …” she whispers.

“I’m Hindu,” he says. His eyes slide to the side. “Maybe.”

He looks down at the book. But it’s far more than a story of Sati and Shiva. It’s a book of magic, and for lack of a better word, of spells for walking the In Between, opening World Gates, destroying World Gates, telekinesis, creating illusions, and turning water into fire—that last he probably could have figured out on his own, but the rest …

“You know …” she says, “You have to know. You went to the Norns. You are way too good at killing, you set Nornheim on fire.” All the pieces click together—the journal in the first person from Shiva’s point of view, and Shiva is Loki … and for some reason, reading this book is making Amy think he is Loki. But he’s not. “I’m not Loki,” he says, his voice sounding angrier than he means it to.

“Is this a game to you?” Amy says, standing quickly, bowed beneath the low ceiling.

“What?”

“You want to make me fall in love with you, so I what … help you burn Asgard to the ground?”

Bohdi blinks. “You’re in love with me?” It’s the first time she’s said it, and he feels hope rise in his chest. This is just a minor stumbling block, a misunderstanding. He pulls the book to his chest. “And I, yes …”

But Amy’s already backed away. He stands up fast, and knocks his head on the ceiling. Pain cracks from his head all the way down his spine.

Her eyes scan the floor, wide and unfocused. “You told me this was only a game …”

Bohdi blinks. In a movie, this is when the leading man would give a jaunty smile, a wink, and say, darling, I was just talking about sex—and you’ve got to admit that’s a game I can play. But the stakes are too high for him to be cavalier.

Throwing open the trap door, Amy scrambles down the ladder.

“Wait! Amy!” Bohdi shouts, following her. “The book—”

“Keep it!” Amy says, running for the room she shares with Beatrice and Harding. “It’s yours.”

“I’m not Loki!” Bohdi shouts. “We just share a condition!”

Amy doesn’t say anything, but from downstairs he hears the sound of voices.

x x x x

Bohdi’s voice echoes down the stairs. “I’m not Loki! We just share a condition!”

The Frost Giants, both warriors and civilians, don’t react. Bohdi spoke in English, Steve realizes, and not all Frost Giants can use magic to translate the language, except for Heiðr—but maybe she didn’t understand?

His eyes slide to the chieftess. Her mouth is open in shock, and her eyes are at the top of the stairs. Steve’s eyes go to his team.

A muscle in Larson’s cheek is jumping. Harding’s pursing her lips. Tucker and Cruz’s faces are mirroring Heiðr’s. One of Rush’s eyebrows is up, the other is down, and he’s frowning, like he’s doing a particularly hard math problem. Gerðr is rubbing her temples, Sigyn is wincing, and Nari and Valli are edging toward the stairs, but facing the rest of the company. They’re getting ready to defend Bohdi?

Spinning quickly, Heiðr speaks in her own language to her people. “Wait for me outside.”

As they comply, the only sound is Bohdi’s banging on a door upstairs. Steve sucks in a breath. Gem and Bjorna undoubtedly have heard, too.

The front door shuts, and it’s just Heiðr and Steve’s team. Steve’s eyes go to Larson. It looks like all the veins in his neck are struggling to pop out.

Rubbing her temple, Sigyn says, “Well, that could never have gone well, and it could have gone worse.”

Heiðr rounds on Sigyn. “You knew! You had to know …”

Sigyn doesn’t respond. Heiðr turns to Steve. “You’re hiding the man Odin is looking for.”

Gerðr steps forward. “Don’t give him to Odin!” Her eyes are wide, and her voice is so plaintive it takes Steve by surprise. Larson’s head snaps to her, his expression softening from anger to confusion.

“Give him to Odin?” Heiðr says. She smiles, thinly. “Never.” Her eyes rise to the ceiling, and the look on her face becomes calculated and dangerous.

Steve’s heart rate quickens, and he feels electricity throbbing beneath his skin. “I wouldn’t try containing him, either.” He hears the house groan, and he knows his eyes are glowing. “The Norns tried it, and they lost their dragon and half their world to fire. He managed to escape Asgard, right beneath Odin’s nose. He led an army of trolls against the Einherjar on Earth, and he slipped by Odin’s forces here, too.”

Heiðr’s eyes narrow. “I don’t need to confine him. There are whispers that Odin’s fool is the Destroyer.” She smiles again. “He will lead the Frost Giants to victory in Ragnarok.”

“Bohdi? He couldn’t lead anyone,” says Rush.

All eyes in the room slide to the SEAL. Rush shrugs. “I like him. He’s good in a fight, but he’s not a leader.”

From upstairs comes the sound of Bohdi’s voice. “Amy, please come out!”

Larson snorts. “No he isn’t.”

Heiðr’s eyes narrow. “Mr. Patel, get down here!”

x x x x

Bohdi leans against the door. “Amy, I’m not Loki!”

There is no response from behind the door, and then Bohdi remembers the way she flinched from his touch … like he was going to hurt her. He pushes back his bangs. He also remembers the way she’d flushed when he’d asked her in Nornheim if she was still in love with Loki. And it doesn’t make any sense in his head. “I … was waiting …” For what? “I was going to tell you last night … but then …” He forgot about everything for a while.

The voice of the Frost Giant chieftess rises from down the stairs. “Mr. Patel, get down here!”

Bohdi doesn’t move. Down the hall he sees Gem peek out of the room that she shares with Bjorna.

Bohdi hears Heiðr snarl, “Order your man down here!” Cannonball cries and is hushed.

He hears the creak of stairs and then Steve’s voice. “Bohdi, would you come down?” and then Bohdi hears him say, “Heiðr isn’t going to take you anywhere.”

There is a threat in his voice—not directed at him, Bohdi realizes.

“Amy,” he whispers. “I have to go. I hope … I hope we can talk about this later. I’m sorry.”

Pulling out his lighter, he turns to the stairs. As he steps down, he finds everyone’s eyes on him. Steve is standing on the bottom steps. Steve, Gerðr, Sigyn, Nari and Valli have formed a line between the stairs and Heiðr. The chieftess steps toward them, and Valli’s and Nari’s hands go to their hips. They’re defending him? He flicks his lighter.

Bohdi feels naked. He’s only wearing his undershirt, pants, and socks. He left his boots upstairs in the attic. He doesn’t have any weapons, except the knife in his pocket.

Heiðr scowls at him as though disappointed. She shakes her head and snorts, “Come closer.”

“Errr …” says Bohdi. But he pads down the steps.

Heiðr raises a hand toward him.

“Careful,” Valli says, voice low.

“I’m just checking his aura,” Heiðr snaps.

“Let her,” says Sigyn.

The team backs away, and Bohdi remains still while Heiðr lets her hand hover over Bohdi’s chest. “I never met Loki,” she whispers. “I was not here when Odin destroyed the original Keep; I was studying magic in Vanaheim.” She meets Bohdi’s eyes. “But I have letters from my mother. She described you as flickering, like a flame, and not what she expected.”

It’s like a weight has descended on him. “I’m not Loki. I’m me. I never knew your mother.”

Heiðr draws back. Scowling, she says, “Stay away from the Asgardians. Your aura is beginning to show.”

She turns around and then stops, eyes on Tucker. He puts his hands behind his back and looks off into the distance.

“Were there any witnesses to the murder you committed?” Heiðr asks, her voice sharp.

Spinning the wheel on his lighter, Bohdi draws back. Tucker, a murderer? He’d been against the whole kill-the-unarmed-Einherjar incite-the-rest-to-fight thing. And he adores Cannonball and Bjorna. Amy says that Bjorna is too grief stricken to fall in love right now, but Tucker doesn’t seem angry or pissed about that, and some guys would be. Bohdi grips his lighter tighter. He’s absolutely sure that whatever Tucker did was justified.

“Yes, ma’am,” Tucker says, “Ullr saw.”

Bohdi’s heart falls. Ullr is an ass. Tucker is in deep trouble.

“Then he will be called to testify at your trial tomorrow at dawn,” Heiðr says. With that she walks by Tucker and leaves the inn, just as Berry and Redman come in.

The focus in the room shifts to Tucker.

“What happened?” Steve says. “From the beginning.”

Meeting his eyes, Tucker says, “I went outside to take a piss under the eaves … while all the ice and snow was still falling down.” He drops his eyes. “I was finishing up, and one of the peasants, he started talking to me in broken English, he had a bunch of friends with him … seven of them. And he asks me about the wings we took from the Valkyries—Harpies—and if I wore them. I said no, I am a little too tall, and they don’t fit me, but I wished I could fly.”

Tucker looks up at Steve. “And then he says he saw me reading from my magic book in the hall … I had been reading on my phone. You know, I don’t drink and sometimes it gets boring when you’re sober and everyone is sloshed. And Patel”— his eyes go to Bohdi —“let me download a Popular Mechanics issue on my phone. It’s got a piece on building your own windmill, and I thought we could do that so we don’t have to use the dwindling coal supplies to pump the water up here.” He smiles ruefully. “Because it’s soon going to get awfully cold here for the peasants.”

“What happened?” Steve says.

A muscle jumps in Tucker’s jaw. “He said reading magic books, and wanting to fly, well, it was obvious that I liked …” He stops.

Bohdi flicks his lighter, the edge of his vision turning red. “You don’t have to finish.”

Meeting his gaze, Tucker frowns and says, “… to take it up the ass. I told him not to come closer, or I would defend myself. He and his friends laughed and he said that I would like it. Another guy dropped his pants … over his shoulder, I saw Ullr coming around the corner of the building. But then the first guy and his buddies rushed me. I shattered the first one’s nose—bone in the brain probably killed him. Knocked another to the ground fast—I don’t think he’s dead, probably unconscious.” His head ticks to the side again. “I thought I was cornered, that they would fight … but they ran away screaming and shouting.” His eyes drop, and he scans the ground as though he’s lost something. “Heiðr’s people came running, and I surrendered.”

He blinks. “I didn’t see Ullr as they took me away. It was crowded.”

“If he doesn’t testify on your behalf, I will kill him.” The words are out of Bohdi’s mouth without his conscious thought. The inn groans.

“If he doesn’t, I will,” says Rush.

“I’m with you,” says Harding softly, lifting her chin.

Tucker huffs. “Thanks. But if you kill them, you’re all dead … aren’t you?”

“So what,” Bohdi snarls. “You’re not going to be a human sacrifice.” He looks to Steve. “We don’t believe in that.”

“No,” Steve says, jaw tight. “But we’ll wait until the verdict before we consider killing anyone.” To Gerðr, Steve says, “Will execution be immediate upon sentencing?”

The Frost Giant shakes her head. “No, it will be three days later. The accused will have the chance to say goodbye.”

“How civilized,” Tucker says, his tone uncharacteristically dry. He sounds old—it doesn’t fit his youthful appearance.

“We’ll wait for the sentence before we start planning Tucker’s jailbreak,” says Steve.

Bohdi flicks his lighter. A flame bites his thumb, even without it having fuel. Valli’s hand lands on his shoulder. “Don’t worry,” Loki’s son says cheerily. “Chaos is on your side—you have to win.” Suddenly all the attention is back on Bohdi. He almost sighs.

Redman and Tucker, who had been outside earlier, turn their heads sharply to Bohdi. But Larson turns to Steve. “Since you know everything, I suppose you knew about this?”

Meeting his glare head on, Steve says, “Yes.”

“And you didn’t tell me,” Larson says. “That we had Loki with us!”

“He’s not Loki.” The words come from Gerðr.

Bohdi turns to the Giantess in surprise. She is the last person he would think would defend him. She gives him a sad sort of smile. “Mr. Patel is too human to be Loki.”

“What do you mean?” says Larson.

Eyes still on Bohdi, the Frost Giantess says softly, “When you caused the landslide, I wasn’t wearing the Promethean wire.” She touches her cap. “I was hiding Mr. Patel in a gully … and he was lying beneath me. He apologized for something he need not have apologized for.”

Bohdi remembers his body’s reaction to her, and his cheeks flush.

The Giantess continues. “Loki was not the worst of men … but he would never apologize.” Gerðr shakes her head and her eyes get distant. “I don’t understand humans. Some of you are among the worst creatures in the Nine Realms because you spout high ideals, but then don’t live up to them … at Guantanamo …”

Bohdi swears that the shoulders of every person in the room droop. She shakes her head again. “But when you live up to your ideals … I think you are the best of creatures.”

An awkward silence falls over the room.

Bohdi looks up to the Frost Giantess. He wants to say thank you, but her eyes are on the floor. His gaze goes to Larson. The color has left the lieutenant’s cheeks, and he looks like he might cry, or kill someone, or maybe both.

At last Berry coughs. “So, what do we do now?”

Steve looks at Bohdi. “Well, we have to keep you out of sight.” Instead of feeling claustrophobia, Bohdi thinks that might mean he’d have to stay in the inn during the day, alone with Amy … for the safety of the team.

His eyes go to the ceiling above his head. Then he remembers that she’s hiding from him, not just angry, frightened … and it feels like the whole inn is going to crash on his head.

Chapter 22

Amy sits at the top of the stairs, confused and shivering, listening to the conversation below. On her shoulder Mr. Squeakers cheeps. He’s been hiding in her room for the past two weeks, but perhaps sensing her distress, he decided to offer comfort.

She scratches his ears. What could Loki—Bohdi—have gotten out of this game? She knows what the other Loki, in the other universe, got from his game—a plaything and the potential for a magical child that could allow him to slip from Odin’s grip. In this universe, Loki’s last oath was to burn Asgard to the ground while Odin kneeled before him—did Bohdi want her to help him do that? But Bohdi said he didn’t want Asgard to be destroyed. To throw her off?

Downstairs, Gerðr says, “He isn’t Loki …” and Amy is thrust back to another encounter the previous incarnation of Chaos had with the Giantess.

x x x x

Loki sits in a chair by the hearth in Anganboða’s Hall. The “hall” is actually a cottage that he won in a wager from Odin years ago. His first wife had lovingly repaired it before she died. Now paint peels on the walls, and the roof needs mending. It’s also dark and chilly, but Loki doesn’t feel like turning on the lights or even lighting the hearth. Sigyn hasn’t come back to him. He is too ashamed of himself to go to her. She was right. Odin, since the beginning probably, had been out for Gullveig’s blood. When Loki couldn’t provide legal means to do so, the Allfather went around the law. Odin couldn’t allow something magnificent to exist beyond his control.

Thor says it could have been a misunderstanding. Why go through all the trouble to obey the laws just to break them? Thor is a fool. As Loki was—or maybe is.

Loki’s hand moves idly to the low table beside him—his drink sits there—some Alfheim wine. But his fingers encounter Lothur’s journal instead. He rifles the pages, not looking at it. Sigyn hasn’t left Asgard, she hasn’t run off to join the Frost Giants, and she’s no better than he is. He should point that out to her next time he sees her. His jaw clenches, and he reaches for the wine, downing it in a single swallow. If he sees her ... She is rarely at court, and he rarely sees Nari and Valli either.

A knock sounds at his door, and for a moment he feels hope. But it dies quickly. It wouldn’t be like Sigyn to come here, and he’s not sure he’d want her to. He’s alone, and drunk, and just sober enough to know how pathetic he is. He tries to make an apparition appear outside his front door, and it winds up at his back door instead.

Rolling his eyes, he pushes out of his chair and walks to the foyer, the world swimming around him pleasantly. There is another knock, and he opens it just as his would-be-guest is in mid rap. Her jaw and his fall simultaneously.

His visitor is wearing a long cloak that all but hides her face and completely conceals her body. It takes a heartbeat for Loki to recognize her. “Gerðr.” Loki leans on the door frame. “What are you doing here?”

Anganboða’s Hall sits in the parklands beyond Odin’s own abode, close to Hoenir’s hut. Gerðr looks back through the parklands, and then she raises her hands and waves. Loki feels a prickle, like electricity in the air before a lightning strikes, but softer, and almost pleasant. He raises an eyebrow. Gerðr is blurring Heimdall’s sight—he will know she was here, but their conversations will be indistinct. He had no idea she had that capability.

Whatever would she want privacy for? He smirks. Other women have availed themselves of his services … He frowns, although it has been quite a long time since bored wives have sought him out. He can’t actually remember when, for quite some time, he’s had troublesome marriages getting in the way. Scowling, he flicks his thumb and feels flame bite his fingers. He shouldn’t lie to himself. He misses his marriages. He shakes his head at his own ridiculousness.

“Loki, I have a proposition for you,” Gerðr says. Oh, he was right. Loki’s magic is strong enough that she can’t compel him to do her bidding like other men. Even tipsy, he isn’t falling to his knees, pledging his eternal love, nor is he plagued by ardor so intense it’s painful, and he’s unable to walk. But he is not completely immune. The bow of her lips is just visible beneath the hood, and they are like the ribbons on an exquisite package, just waiting to be unwrapped. He blinks. Maybe he is a little drunker than he’s owning up to. Or maybe this is just what he needs, a distraction, a way to fill his house with heat and noise, and to replace the smell of old paint with sweat and sex.

Fixing his eyes on her, Loki gives the Frost Giantess a half bow. Licking his lips, he says, “Do come in.”

Gerðr strides past him into the house. Head high, nose upturned—as arrogant as always, as if she hasn’t come begging. But he will be merciful. He’s heard what a boar her ex-husband Freyr is from other women. The comparison makes him almost snicker—in the human stories, Freyr rides a boar.

He enters the house behind her, striding quickly to catch up. Without preamble, he puts his hands on her upper arms. “Let me take your cloak.”

“That is not necessary,” Gerðr says.

Ignoring her, Loki smooths his hands up to her shoulders and removes the garment. He frowns. There is no appreciative shiver. He hangs the cloak on a hook and finds Gerðr’s back to him as she walks through his living room. She wears leather armor; at her belt hangs Freyr’s sword. She turns around, and seeing his eyes on the weapon, she says, “Alimony.”

Approaching her, Loki takes her hand. Bringing it to his lips, he says, “And what was your proposition?”

“To invite you to come to Jotunheim with me!” Gerðr says, as though it should be obvious.

Loki blinks at her. “Whatever for?”

Gerðr’s brow furrows, and Loki takes the liberty to lean forward and kiss it. Taking a step back, Gerðr says, “So that you may join King Utgard and eventually help him overthrow Odin.”

Loki finds himself genuinely amused. “Utgard? Why would I want to support Utgard?”

“Because Odin is killing our people! I know you know the rumors of Gullveig, and I know that you care about what happened to her.”

Loki draws back at mention of Gullveig. His chest tightens, remembering her beautiful city among the trees, and curling up behind her in bed on a lazy winter morning. He can’t meet Gerðr’s eyes. Turning away, he snorts. “Utgard is Odin, without Odin’s power. Odin isn’t the only one who keeps the tribes of Jotunheim unbalanced—I wouldn’t join him—even if I cared about what happens to those pathetic, backward savages in the tribes and pissy kingdoms of your home-world.”

Loki is a Frost Giant, but Jotunheim has never been his home. Odin and Hoenir, both part Frost Giant, lived there longer than he did in their youth, before they expelled the Vanir from Asgard.

Stepping forward, Gerðr grabs his hand. “But you’re wrong; Utgard is not Odin!”

For a moment Loki is rendered speechless by the naiveté of her simple calculus. To her, apparently Utgard is a Frost Giant, and not Odin, and therefore better. He sighs, and his eyes fall to their joined hands. He feels a slow warmth coming over him that has nothing to do with the alcohol and has everything to do with her magic, her delicate feminine fingers on his, and the skin of her cheeks, so pale and luminous, so close to him. Gerðr, as ever, looks ethereal, and he wants to bring her down to earth, to hear her call his name, pull his hair, and rip her nails down his back. His licks his lips and draws her by their joined hands closer still. “You came here to seduce me, so I might join you in Jotunheim?” He pulls her fingers to his lips again and kisses them gently, careful to do so at the juncture of her fingers. “It will work.” At least the seduction part.

Gerðr’s frame tightens, from her shoulders to her fingertips. She stares at him as though his lips are a strange bird that has alighted on her hand.

“Loki, it is not my intention to seduce you.” And that has the ring of truth to it, but he won’t be deterred.

“You know Odin and his secrets, and I thought you might aid your people.”

“I’d really rather aid you,” he says, leaning to whisper in her ear. And Norns, even her ear is seductive.

“You cannot aid me in that way,” she says.

And again Loki hears truth. Her muscles are so tight, her frame so rigid, but those are not things that can’t be undone. “Don’t be so sure,” Loki says.

“I am a free woman,” Gerðr says softly, as though to herself.

“You’re no longer with that dreadful Freyr—now you can enjoy yourself,” Loki agrees.

“I don’t want to sleep with you, Loki, or anyone.” The words are so truthful, they cool Loki’s magically-fueled ardor like a breeze from Jotunheim. Before he can pull away, her palm hits his chest so hard, he nearly falls over. Every candle in the room flickers to life. The wood in the fireplace roars—as does the wood beside the fireplace.

“What are you doing?” he says, skin heating with embarrassment and anger.

“I am not interested,” Gerðr says. She stands stock still.

Loki scowls. “Well, then why are you here?”

“I told you,” she says.

Loki rolls his eyes. “Gerðr, you know the effect you have on those who enjoy women’s company. If you’re not here to seduce me, why didn’t you send a note? What’s wrong with you?”

Gerðr doesn’t move; she just stands with her fists bunched at her sides.

“I’m not coming with you,” Loki says.

She still doesn’t move.

“Go on, get out,” he hisses.

Her jaw tightens.

“What are you waiting for?” Loki snaps.

Dipping her chin, the Frost Giantess says, “You may be stronger than I am. But I am free now. I will fight to the death.” Her voice trembles as she says it.

Loki snorts in disgust. “I’m not going to force myself on you.” She would think him so pathetic?

Her nostrils flare. Loki steps back out of her way, and she edges around him, keeping her body turned to his the whole time. She doesn’t even bother to take her cloak. After she’s gone, Loki uses the garment to put out the fire next to the hearth, cursing at the soot on the walls and the ceiling. And then he goes to retrieve more wine.

x x x x

Amy puts her face in her hands. How could Loki be so cruel, lack so much empathy? She looks down the stairs. But Gerðr had said he wasn’t the worst of men; for his time and place, his attitude, if not enlightened, was better than Odin or Freyr. It was also better than Skirnir’s behavior—the mage Beatrice had shot when he tried to abduct Gerðr. Skirnir had called Gerðr a whore, and he had assumed that the men of the FBI would be taking advantage of her by virtue of her being a spoil of war.

She puts her head in her hands again and listens. When Tucker tells his story, she hears the rage in Bohdi’s voice. Loki had faced similar incidents in his life, but didn’t get angry about it … she bites her lip, willing herself not to think of Loki’s time in prison on Jotunheim. To Loki torture was just what happened.

She scuffs her toe on the floor. It would make sense that Chaos would be reinvented from one generation to another—hadn’t Order been reinvented over and over again?

The conversation below becomes more muted, and she realizes the team has moved to the kitchen. Giving Squeakers another scratch, she takes him off her shoulder and puts him on the door frame. As he scampers away, she pads down the steps. Beatrice is in the common room. Her grandmother meets Amy’s eyes without comment, but her brow is furrowed, and her arms are crossed. She looks worried.

Amy nods and silently follows the team to the kitchen, but she stays in the hallway. From where she stands she can just see Bohdi’s back as he sits at the kitchen table next to Steve. Bohdi’s gaze is on people across from him, outside of her line of vision. He’s wearing his under-layer shirt, and it hugs the outlines of his back and shoulders. He’s leaning with his elbows on the table, head bent. He doesn’t look depressed … he looks angry … even a little predatory.

Rush huffs. “Respectfully, Sir, I can’t buy all this. I’ve fought him before, and Hadji isn’t some kind of god.”

“Don’t call me Hadji!” Bohdi hisses. The house groans and trembles.

“Bohdi!” Steve says.

Berry’s voice, soft and calm, rises from the kitchen. “It doesn’t matter whether Mr. Patel is the incarnation of Chaos or not. What matters is what Odin believes.” Amy bites her lip. The warrant officer is always so reasonable when talking about these things.

Steve leans forward in his seat. “It doesn’t change anything. We take off to the World Gate to Alfheim’s Dark Lands as soon as spring comes; hopefully this Daevas guy meets up with us before then and gives us some ammo. If we go back, we sound the alarm.”

She hears Bohdi huff and the flick of his lighter. “I shouldn’t go back to Earth.”

There is absolute silence for a moment, and then Steve says, “What?”

Amy can hear the smirk in his voice when Bohdi speaks. “Brett, Bryant, Dale, Laura … they all know about what we’re dealing with, but from our chat with Brett and Bryant we know they haven’t been able to get through to anyone. You’re not just going to waltz through Alfheim, back into Chicago, and have Frey’s evil sister Freyja step down and the head of the FBI resign. You’ll probably have to start some sort of resistance movement.”

There is another uncomfortable silence, and then Berry says, “I would agree with that assessment.”

Steve’s voice rises from the kitchen. “So why shouldn’t you come with us? If the task is impossible, you’ll be what saves us! You’ve saved me before when the odds were impossible.”

Bohdi taps his lighter on the table. “It was Amy who saved you, Steve … And Amy is why I escaped Nornheim and Asgard. Why doesn’t anyone remember that?”

“Pfffftt …” says Rush. “Lewis isn’t a fighter.”

Bohdi’s head whips up, and all the muscles in his back tense. Amy can’t see his eyes, but she swears she can feel him glaring at Rush. Her hands clench at her sides, and it’s a good thing she isn’t magic, because she might set Rush on fire and …

Rush screams, and the house quakes.

“Bohdi!” Steve shouts again.

Slouching back in his seat, Bohdi says, “Sorry, that must have slipped.” But he doesn’t sound sorry at all for whatever just happened.

Park says, “Wow, your hair really lit up, Rush. Using some kind of product?”

Rush doesn’t respond. Amy hears Larson say, “Careful—a lot of us can figure out that trick.”

Bohdi shrugs.

Berry, his voice as calm and dispassionate as before, says, “Why don’t you think you should come back to Earth?”

Bohdi turns in the direction of the voice, and she can see his profile. He looks different from Loki … sort of. It’s like Loki wearing a new face and a new skin, but his frame—lean next to the SEALs and Loki’s sons—that is the same. And his movements ... she’d noticed the resemblance before, hadn’t she? When he’d killed the spiders in their nest and made it look like he was dancing—but then Thor told Odin that Loki was bound to Hel, and all her suspicions had been doused.

When Bohdi speaks, Amy can hear a familiar wry smile in his voice. “Because Odin wants me. So let him chase me, let him try to find me; that way his eyes aren’t on you.”

“But we’ll need you with us,” says Steve.

“I’ll still be on your side,” Bohdi says. “I just won’t be with you.” His head bows. “Odin said the incarnation of Chaos is destined to die in flame. I might as well make it worth it by drawing Odin’s fire.”

Berry comes around to the head of the table; the short warrant officer is the only person in the room that looks proportional next to Gem’s small furniture. “I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunities for you to die in flame with us back home.”

Bohdi shrugs again and doesn’t look at Berry.

Amy’s mouth drops. He’s already made up his mind … she knows not just because of Loki’s memories floating around in her brain, but because it’s what she would do. If Bohdi can’t convince Steve to let him go off on his own, he’ll do it on the sly. But he’ll never make it. Even with the book, he doesn’t know the ways and customs of the Nine Realms. There are things Loki knows that she’s sure Lothur didn’t write down.

She swallows. Is Bohdi trying to draw Odin’s fire to be noble, or for some ulterior motive?

She steps into the kitchen and everyone lifts their heads. Bohdi looks over his shoulder, his eyes meet hers, and he spins in his seat.

“Are you planning to have Odin kneel before you while all of Asgard burns?” she asks.

She’s vaguely aware of Larson snorting, as though to say, “As if he could.”

Bohdi slides out of the bench. He takes a step toward her and then stops, holding up his hands. “I swear, I don’t want that. I don’t want Odin to control Earth; what he does in his own realm is his own business.”

“How can I believe you?” Amy says.

“I didn’t lie to you.”

Amy opens her mouth to protest, and Bohdi holds up a finger. “Never said I wasn’t the incarnation of Chaos.”

Amy’s eyes narrow. “But you did misdirect me.”

Bohdi’s jaw is hard, but his Adam’s apple bobs. He doesn’t say anything. For the first time Amy looks at the other people in the room. Harding is resting her elbows on the table, and has her chin on her hands. She’s looking up at them very expectantly. “Don’t stop,” she whispers.

“It’s like my soaps,” says Berry, putting a hand on Harding’s shoulder. Everyone’s heads spin to the stoic warrant officer, except Bohdi. He’s still looking at Amy, eyes wide, hands now at his side, fingers fidgeting. He’s nervous, but Loki never was nervous about what she thought. Realization begins to dawn on her, terrifying and wonderful at the same time. Maybe he never told her because he really cares about her? If he had told her he was Chaos, then what … would she have treated him as Loki? Would she have slept with him? Or pushed him away? He’d never have known if she loved him, or hated him, or if all he was to her was the embodiment of a ghost.

“You knew before anyone else,” Bohdi says.

Amy lifts her eyes. “That’s not —”

Holding up a finger, Bohdi says, “It’s true. When we were in Nornheim you asked me if I sneezed when I heard lies.”

“You told me I was crazy!” Amy says.

Bohdi raises his hands. “I hadn’t made the connection yet. Amy, not even the Norns were sure; the whole hiding as a human thing threw them off. That’s why they made it so difficult for us to reach them.”

Amy blinks. Thor met with the Norns. “Thor,” she says. “He knows. How did he lie to Odin?”

Bohdi winces. “He didn’t so much tell a lie as tell a metaphor.”

“He said the Norns told him Loki was bound to Hel and would be there soon,” Amy protests.

Bohdi shrugs. “Bound to Hel, as in bound to die quickly. A human lifetime isn’t long.” He puts a hand through his bangs. “And I do have a knack for getting into difficult situations.”

Amy closes her eyes. Her fists tighten at her sides. He’s preparing to die, like Loki was prepared to die when he tricked Cera, and like the other Loki, the full Chaotic Loki in the universe Cera destroyed, was prepared to die. “No, no, no …” she murmurs.

Bohdi whispers. “Amy, I’m sorry, I …”

Opening her eyes, she closes the distance between them fast. Wrapping her arms around him, she says, “You’re not allowed to die on me.” Not again.

Harding and Berry simultaneously sigh. Rush snorts. Amy swears she can hear Larson’s jaw popping and Steve rubbing his temples, but she doesn’t care.

Bohdi wraps his arms around her and pulls her tight. He huffs near into her hair. “Well, the goal is to avoid going to Hel as long as possible.”

Outside the inn, Fenrir howls. Amy hears the sound of wind and feels a gust of cold air. From the front room, Thomas, now on guard, shouts, “Thor, Ullr, and a bunch of Asgardians are headed this way.”

Amy looks over Bohdi’s shoulder. There’s the barest hint of light coming between the cracks in the shutters. Amy gasps, “It’s almost dawn, Tucker!”

The benches squeak and the table rattles as everyone stands up. Amy looks at Tucker; he doesn’t meet her eyes. His posture is rigid, but he looks more angry than afraid. Berry drops his hand on Tucker’s shoulder. “We’re all with you.”

“Yes,” says Bohdi.

Pointing at Bohdi, Steve says, “Not you. You stay here.” Then Steve, Tucker, and the rest of the team go into the front room, swinging their rifles around as they do.

Bohdi and Amy glance at each other for a moment, and then without a word, they slink over to listen beside the door to the hall.

There is the sound of the front door opening, and then Thomas says, “Thor and Ullr, Sir.”

Amy hears boots and heavy footsteps that can only be Thor. From the living room, Amy hears Ullr’s voice. “We are enemies. But we are on neutral ground. Even among enemies there can be honorable intentions and honorable men. I come to affirm that I saw what happened, and I know Mr. Tucker was justified in his actions.”

Amy’s mouth falls. Bohdi whispers, “I wonder if Thor pushed him?”

Steve’s voice rises from the front room. “Thank you.”

Amy peeks around the corner. Ullr gives a tight smile. “We should approach the great hall together; both of our parties are bound to be unpopular with the peasantry.”

“Great hall?” says Rush. “You mean the barn where we eat?”

Thor snorts. Ullr laughs … albeit nervously. “That is an apt description,” he says.

“We accept your offer,” Steve says. To the team, he says, “Let’s suit up.”

For a few minutes there is a flurry of activity as people put on their gear and exit the building. And then there is eerie silence. Bohdi and Amy leave the kitchen and find Beatrice, hands on her hips, staring at the door.

Turning around and wiping her hands, Beatrice says, “Well, that was exciting. I’m going to bed.” Amy blinks as her grandmother turns and goes up the stairs.

As soon as Beatrice is out of sight, Amy turns and pokes Bohdi in the chest. “I know you’re going to run off and play decoy as soon as spring comes.”

Bohdi’s eyes widen fractionally and then narrow. His teeth grind, and she thinks she can see all the gears in his brain spinning at once. She expects a denial, or a misdirection, but he is silent.

Poking him again, Amy says, “This isn’t going to be one of those deals where you run off and leave me behind to protect me, is it?”

Before she knows what is happening, he picks her up and hugs her so tight all the air is squeezed out of her.

Putting her down, he grins down at her. “You’re coming with me?”

She blinks. “Of course I am, you —”

He picks her up again and hugs her so tight she almost squeaks. Kissing her head, he says, “I’m so relieved. I thought I might have to convince you.”

Amy’s mouth falls open. Putting her down and releasing her, he rubs his neck, not quite meeting her eyes. “I’m pretty sure that Odin will figure out that all he would have to do to summon me to Asgard is to kidnap you.”

Amy swallows, and then all the little gerbils in her brain come to a full stop. That’s an awfully big pronouncement. She shakes her head and wills her brain gerbils back on their wheels. “We should probably do something big, to get his attention.” Her eyes widen. “Maybe we should go back to Earth and steal Loki’s sword, Laevithin. It still has Cera’s magical charge. If you had that, I bet you could World Walk, and walk the In Between whenever you wanted to without being tired.”

Bohdi blinks at her. “That’s not a bad idea.” Slipping his hands up to her shoulders, his eyes slide to the door.

Amy taps her chin. “We’d have to plan it …”

“Yep,” says Bohdi, sliding his hands down her arms. “But at the moment, I’m more worried about the team.” He looks to her and raises an eyebrow. “But I probably don’t have to. I mean, Thor’s with them, and Ullr’s not lying?”

Hand still on her chin, Amy shrugs. “Ullr is going to testify on Tucker’s behalf. I really don’t think there will be any trouble. But how to get Laevithin …”

Catching her hands, Bohdi says, “It can wait until we have more information.” He looks up at the ceiling, and Amy realizes how quiet the house is. Looking back down at her, he says, “I think I’d like to take a bath.” He smiles mischievously and meets her eyes. “I feel a little dirty.”

Amy tries to look mildly scandalized, but the corners of her lips are pulling up.

“Care to join me?” he asks.

Her eyes go from his eyes to his full lips. He starts to pull her backward. She sighs but doesn’t resist. Bohdi may be himself … but in some ways he is a lot like Loki.

Chapter 23

A few days after the big reveal, Amy is picking her way through the fires outside the refugee tents. The world did not stop spinning when the team discovered Bohdi was Chaos. The Asgardians didn’t break into the inn in the middle of the night.

She looks around. In fact, the more immediate concern is probably the refugees. Every day more people arrive. Most of them are not friendly. She tries not to look at the eyes that glare up at her as she walks by, the exonerated Tucker and Beatrice just a step behind her. Steve has assigned two guards to Amy. Harding was attacked a few nights ago. Apparently, her short stature made some of the newcomers doubtful that she could be a “warrior.” Things went very badly for them.

No one thinks Amy would fare as well in a confrontation, and everyone knows if she was caught alone there would be one. Frost Giant society isn’t particularly sexist—if you’re a warrior. Frost Giantesses who bear arms have all the rights of men. She looks into a tent and sees a woman stooping over a pot, her clothing noticeably more threadbare than the man drinking from a earthenware mug beside her. If you’re not a “warrior” and you’re a woman, a womanly man, or a child, you’re at the lowest rung of society.

She shivers. It’s like Asgardian society in a warped mirror. The Valkyries have all the rights and responsibilities of men—though Odin begrudged them those rights. On the flip side, Odin did his best to protect the women and children of Asgard. Even with the one creepy servant, Amy hadn’t felt as much on edge there as she does here.

A man with dark circles under his eyes casually slips a foot in front of Amy; Beatrice and Tucker’s rifles click. Withdrawing his foot, the man turns his head and spits. Amy swallows. “Thanks,” she whispers to Beatrice and to Tucker. They both nod, which Amy hopes means Tucker doesn’t hate her anymore.

She bites her lip and tries to make conversation. “I hear you used magic to light a candle the other day,” she whispers to Tucker. “That’s really great.”

Not meeting her eyes, Tucker says, “Yeah, I know the basics of thermodynamics.” His jaw gets hard. “Back on Earth, magic is going to be just one more thing now to separate the haves from the have-nots, and the educated from the uneducated.”

Amy doesn’t know what to say to that. She nervously shifts the frozen fruit she’s carrying to her opposite arm, relieved to see the inn coming into view. She sees members of the team out in front, playing baseball with some Frost Giant warriors. Asgardians have joined them, too. They’re sprinkled between both teams. Ullr is among them—he nods at Tucker. After a beat, Tucker nods back.

Amy’s brows draw together. The human team could be fighting the Asgardians in a few months … it’s like Christmas in the trenches during WWI when the German and French soldiers had put down their weapons to celebrate the holiday and forget the war. It’s even cold like it had been then—Loki vividly remembers frost hanging in front of his nose as he and Thor met in the middle and shook hands. Thor had favored the Kaiser and Loki had ...

She blinks, passes through the cloud of her own breath, and the memory fades.

From where he stands on the pitching mound, Thomas says, “Want to join us?”

The tip of Amy’s nose is biting with cold—but it’s early afternoon, and Bohdi’s probably in the cavern practicing magic. A game would be just the thing to take her mind off his absence. “Sure!” Amy says, putting down the fruit.

“You’re on,” Beatrice adds.

Looking at Amy’s grandmother, one of the Asgardians says, “It’s the lion killer. We are doomed!” Everyone laughs, which makes the moment all the more surreal.

Thomas hurls a handmade ball of lion skin at Amy. She catches it with a grin.

And then from behind her comes the sound of gunfire. Dropping the ball and ducking, Amy touches her earpiece as all the SEALs swing their rifles around.

Rush’s voice comes over the channel. “… we have a situation near the great hall … we’ve become separated from Bjorna.”

Before Amy can catch her breath, all the guys are sprinting off to the sound of gunfire. The Asgardians and Frost Giants are left standing on the makeshift field, looking confused.

“Quick, inside,” Beatrice says. Gathering up the frozen fruit, Amy hastens with her grandmother into the inn.

x x x x

Steve opens the door of the building they set up outside of the cavern. Cold air hits his lungs in a sharp blast. He nods to Cruz and Fenrir, standing on guard outside the structure. “See anyone?” he asks.

“No, sir,” Cruz says. Steve’s lips purse. Bohdi’s little fib about the little building above the entrance to Gullveig’s cavern being an access tunnel to the old toilets has been surprisingly effective. The warriors are calling the building on top “the shit house.”

Beside Cruz, muzzle level with Steve’s shoulder, Fenrir barks in agreement. Steve scratches her behind the ear. It’s a bit disconcerting to realize you know when a wolf is in agreement.

Claire emerges from the building, and Steve drops his hand onto her shoulder. Berry, Larson, Redman, Bohdi, and Gerðr follow her out. As one, they start walking toward the inn.

Gerðr sidles up to Steve. “Mr. Patel’s abilities are developing unusually fast.” The Frost Giantess shakes her head. “Even with your unique … heritage, Mr. Patel, I am at a loss to explain it. I wonder if your magic matter is being stimulated in some way?”

“I’d say he’s being stimulated,” says Cruz.

Steve clears his throat meaningfully. Everyone knows Bohdi and Lewis are involved, but no one is mentioning it, especially not around Claire.

“That’s not magic matter,” says Gerðr. “Although I suppose those regions are well innervated and might be more susceptible to magical stimulation. But considering his partner is not magical, I’m not sure how that could be the case.”

Steve coughs, or more accurately, chokes. And then he feels that funny tickle at the back of his neck. Lewis might well be magical at this point ...

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bohdi says, remarkably keeping a straight face. Steve’s just about to breathe out a sigh of relief when Claire says, “They’re talking about sex, aren’t they?”

Steve’s eyeballs just about pop out of his head, and Bohdi starts to laugh.

“I knew it,” says Claire. Her tiny nose wrinkles. “Adults are gross.”

Steve pats her shoulder and silently wills her to maintain that attitude as long as possible.

Beside him Larson grunts. His face is tight, his eyes shifting between Bohdi and Gerðr.

Larson had confronted Steve about Bohdi’s “heritage” not long after Tucker was exonerated.

In the stairway to Gullveig’s cavern, the lieutenant caught him alone. “Patel’s real identity was important to the mission. I should have been told.”

Steve had carefully kept his voice neutral. “No one knows Patel’s secret identity, not even Patel, Lieutenant. Loki stole his memories from him.”

“You know what I mean,” Larson growled.

“If it was one of your men, would you have told me?” Steve asked.

There were several moments when the only sound was their steps on the worn stone stairway. “My men are loyal,” Larson ground out at last.

“Patel is loyal to humanity,” Steve had snapped back. “Which is an accomplishment considering some people wanted him sent to Guantanamo.”

Steve had tensely waited for a response, but Larson had given him none. Still, he catches the lieutenant staring at Bohdi through narrowed eyes occasionally, like now. Is it because Gerðr complimented the kid, or because Bohdi’s magic makes him nervous? Gerðr isn’t exaggerating; Bohdi is wielding more magic than the rest of them. He just lacks control—Steve’s very glad that they moved the gunpowder. It may be in airtight trunks, but Steve isn’t confident Bohdi’s magic wouldn’t undo them somehow. As it is, they’re keeping piles of sand in the cavern because Bohdi’s set the sparse furniture on fire more than once.

Steve’s headset crackles, he taps to receive, and Rush’s voice comes over the channel. “We have a situation near the great hall … we’ve become separated from Bjorna.”

Claire moves the fastest, but she’s immediately swept up into the trees. She roars with fury. In her anger, she must not remember to let her magic go because more branches snap toward her. To Gerðr, Steve says, “Watch her!”

Shots go off in the distance, and Steve sprints to catch up with the other members of the team already running in their direction. He catches up to Berry quickly, and he outpaces the shorter man. He sees Bohdi in the lead, followed by Larson a few steps behind, both charging past the first of the tents hugging Heiðr’s Keep. Lungs burning with cold air, Steve wills his legs to go faster, and then stops as a branch nearly trips him. Cursing, he tries to clutter his thoughts with everything that could be going wrong. Fortunately, Steve is naturally fast; he quickly catches up to Larson, but Bohdi is still pulling away in front of them. In the hard-packed snow by the tents, Larson and Steve slip, but Bohdi’s footing is weirdly unerring as he heads toward a crowd of peasant Frost Giants—Chaos in action?

Bohdi is just a few hundred meters from the inn when more shots go off. Bohdi screams—it is a cry of pure, unmitigated rage, and it makes every hair on the back of Steve’s neck stand on end. Branches snap toward Bohdi and haul him upward. Steve doesn’t know when the kid took out his pistol, but he sees it in his hands.

“What is he doing?” says Larson.

Slipping out his own Glock, Steve says, “He’s getting above the crowd.” And then he shuts up and quiets his mind to everything but the muscles in his legs … branches snap down to his feet, but he doesn’t let that distract him. When they snap around his ankles, he twists 180 degrees and lets himself be hauled feet first into the air. It keeps his hands free and points his body in the right direction.

He lets his breathing even out, focusing on his whole body, down to his toes. Branches slide around his middle. He tries to mentally welcome them, trying to maintain the magic feeling. What he sees makes him almost lose it.

Less than three meters away, Bohdi swings in the branches, wrists bound above his head. He’s pummeling Frost Giants beneath him with his boots as they try to grab him. Beyond Bohdi, Steve makes out Rush and Nari fighting with Frost Giants for control of their rifles. A baby wail pierces the air from the crumpled mass on the ground in front of them.

It’s like the baby’s wail is wired directly to the finger on the trigger of his Glock. Steve fires his pistol at the heads of the Frost Giants nearest the cry. They waver, and sway, and then crumple. He hears another pistol fire and a rifle.

The crowd panics. The men fighting for control of Redman’s and Nari’s rifles break apart like leaves in a gale. Steve has to fight the urge to mow them down. One passes beneath Bohdi’s feet; Bohdi doesn’t restrain himself.

Nari lunges for the shape on the ground, shouting something to Redman. The tree branches snap from above and haul Nari and Bjorna, with Cannonball on her back, up into the air. Redman catches hold and avoids being trampled.

In the loosening branches, Steve pulls himself up in alarm and looks the way he came. Larson is in the trees, pistol out, branches holding him up by his armpits. His lips are curled back in a snarl. Steve looks for Berry … the stoic warrant officer is the poorest at magic. He doesn’t see him in the trees and for a moment he panics. But then he sees him stretched out on top of a tent shaped like a long house with a domed roof. His rifle is out, and his expression is unreadable behind the scope.

Bohdi lets out another cry of rage. For the first time Steve catches a whiff of smoke, singed skin, and burnt hair. Twisting around again, Steve sees some of the retreating Frost Giants beating flames in their hair and clothing, and a pile of kindling by someone’s tent that has roared to life. His eyes go up to Bohdi—every one of the kid’s limbs, and his stomach, is tied up in the branches. Steve’s heart falls. He’s caught up in his own mayhem, a metaphor for Chaos, perhaps? In the distance, Steve sees Asgardians approaching, following in the footsteps of Steve’s own team.

Eyes widening in alarm, Steve calls out, “Bohdi! Let it go.” But Bohdi only struggles more. Pulling himself free, Steve drops to the ground and runs over to the kid, trying to ignore the whimpering of Cannonball and the rapidly approaching Asgardians.

x x x x

Amy looks through her supplies in the mudroom. The light catching in the filaments of her “special penicillin” sparkles from the shelf above her. Steve’s command echoes in her ear. Do not leave the inn. They’ve made a stretcher for Bjorna, and she’s on her way. She hears Harding’s voice outside the back door, and Fenrir’s whine.

Amy throws open the door, expecting to find Bjorna on a stretcher, but it’s Bohdi and Berry. Bohdi’s not looking at her. As he comes in, she touches his arm, but doesn’t ask him questions. Glancing down at his boots, she notices that they’re stained with blood. She bites her lip. What would she have done if she’d seen someone trying to stone a mother and baby to death? She scowls. What would she have wanted to do? Her wrath is as immaterial as a breeze.

Berry says, “Patel, take off your boots and then keep out of sight.”

Sitting down heavily, Bohdi mutely does as he was told. Amy wants to speak to him but hears a commotion in the front and the sound of Cannonball’s cries. Heading into the main room, she finds Gem cradling Cannonball, trying to quiet him and at the same time sobbing. “I told her it was too dangerous … I told her it was too dangerous …”

Amy knows the guys checked him for head trauma, and his wail sounds more furious than pained, but she says to Thomas, “Unswaddle him and check for any signs of bruising.” Thomas obeys, and Amy is glad they’ve all received basic medical training, and that at least in one way they don’t question her.

Tucker and Cruz file through the door, carrying Bjorna between them. The Frost Giantess is cradling one knee. The rest of the team follows behind them, which she expects. What she doesn’t expect is Ullr to be there, along with Thor, a few other Asgardians, and Ralf, one of the Frost Giant warriors smitten with Harding.

As soon as the guys deposit Bjorna close to the fire, Amy rushes to her side. “Cannonball,” the Frost Giantess whispers.

“I don’t see any bruising on him,” Thomas says. “Pupils look good … follow my finger; that a boy.”

“He is going to be fine,” Amy says, and almost on cue, the baby’s cries die down.

Tucker towers over Amy as she kneels on the floor. “Give me your knife,” Amy says. It’s part of their standard kit. He obliges, and she takes the blade and begins slicing the leather trousers Bjorna wears beneath her skirts.

As she does, Ralf says, “His eyes glow. You can say that he is human, but of course people are afraid.”

All ambient noise in the room stops. Amy, peeling back the leather from Bjorna’s kneecap and what she is almost positive is a patella fracture, freezes in place. She bites her tongue. She wants to reply to that—loudly and forcefully—but she doesn’t want to tip any diplomatic scales.

From where she stands at the door with Sigyn, Gerðr, and her father, Claire roars. “He’s a baby!”

As Claire says the words Amy’s sure everyone wants to say but can’t, Amy feels like an atmosphere of collective relief settles on the room.

“As humans say, from the mouths of babes,” says Ullr. Amy’s eyes go to Thor’s adoptive son. It may be the lighting, but he looks more like Thor than even Magi and Modi. The look he’s giving to Ralf could kill. Steve had mentioned that Ullr had run off to help find Claire—that’s why he was witness to Tucker’s “incident.” She remembers Loki’s memories of retrieving Ullr’s child from a Dark Elf. Ullr understands the plight of a lost child—the hurt of it.

Bjorna hisses in pain, and Amy turns back to the Frost Giantess and takes her hand. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to need to touch your knee. It will mostly likely sting.” Bjorna nods, and Amy gently runs her fingers over Bjorna’s bruised kneecap with wrongly dimpled skin. The Frost Giantess hisses again, but louder than that is the sound of her patella fragments, grinding together. Amy almost gasps … she can see in her mind’s eye the multiple fragments, radiating from a point just below the patella center. Her skin heats. No, she’s having a hallucination; she could not have possibly heard Bjorna’s bones grind. The rafters of the iron wood tree groan above her head … she looks up at the ceiling. That’s what she heard, the branches.

Thor sits down on his heels on the opposite side of the Frost Giantess. “May I?” he asks.

Suddenly needing reaffirmation she’s not crazy, Amy nods. Thor reaches forward, and Amy realizes her fingers are still hovering over Bjorna’s knee. Just before she draws them back, Thor’s fingers brush her own. He snaps back his hand.

Caught off guard by his strange behavior, Amy mumbles her diagnosis, “Patella fracture. Multifragmented, undisplaced.”

Thor raises an eyebrow. “That would be my diagnosis as well.”

“It’s the dimpling in the skin …” Amy says, trying to explain how she knows, though she isn’t sure how she knows. “You can see it.”

Thor does not respond.

In the background she hears Ralf saying, “There will be a blood feud now, but they are only peasants … you don’t have much to worry about. The warriors of Jotunheim are still your friends.”

“And with friends like these …” someone mutters, maybe Tucker. Amy doesn’t turn to look. Thor is staring at her. His expression is calculating, but not cruel.

“I will report events as they happened to Heiðr,” says Ralf, and the floorboards creak as the team parts to let him pass.

It’s only when the door slams shut that Thor speaks again, gaze still steady on Amy. “I’m afraid if I use magic to treat this it will bring the house down on our heads.”

“It’s alright,” Amy says, snagging a pillow and gently putting it under Bjorna’s leg. “I’ll splint it.” She takes an instant ice pack from her kit and gently puts it on the kneecap to reduce the swelling. They have all-purpose splints as part of their medical gear—she’ll put it on so that when the guys haul Bjorna to the cavern for Sigyn or Nari to work their magic, her leg will stay immobile. She tries to give Bjorna a reassuring smile.

“I can do something for the pain perhaps …”

All the wheels in Amy’s brain start spinning. She doesn’t have much in the way of painkillers that will be strong enough for a fractured kneecap and safe for a nursing mother. “Please!” say Amy and Bjorna at once.

Thor reaches toward Bjorna and murmurs, “Sleep.” He uses his fingers to gently close her eyes. The inn creaks and groans, but Bjorna begins to breathe deeply. When Thor pulls his fingers from her eyes, they stay closed.

Thor returns his gaze to Amy, and Amy has a weird sense of déjà vu, but she can’t figure out why. She has an impossible-to-ignore urge to fidget. Ducking her head, she pushes a strand of hair behind her ear … and becomes aware of the goings on in the rest of the room. Someone is pacing, their footsteps are too loud—almost as if they’re stomping in a temper tantrum. She hears the sound of impact, and turns to see Rush, standing in the little hallway between the main rooms and the kitchen. It takes a moment, but she realizes that he’s banged the wall with the flat bottom of his fist. His face looks anguished. “They were going to stone Cannonball! Rapist butt fuckers and baby killers! What is wrong with these people?”

Amy suddenly feels lightheaded. She had never thought she had a lot in common with Rush; he’s a misogynistic, passive-aggressive creep who only laid off his “subtle” advances when he decided Bohdi was a worthy teammate. But she’s more like him than the Frost Giants.

“They only respect violence,” Ullr says, walking over to Bjorna. “They have no respect for those women of gentle grace like Bjorna, or for children.”

Amy looks to Gerðr. The Giantess does not refute Ullr’s statement. Amy bows her head; the Asgardians are more human than the Frost Giants. No, that isn’t quite right. Her brow furrows, remembering stories she’s read of places in the third world where stoning is a punishment for adultery or for marriages not approved by parents. Such things don’t exist in Asgard; the death penalty is reserved for traitors. Her eyes flit to Nari and Valli … although the Asgard definition of “traitor” is a loose one.

“What will happen to them after we leave?” Tucker says.

His words invite the proverbial elephant into the room. Amy tenses, and her eyes flick to Steve. She can see the muscles in his jaw working. She looks around the room. Asgardians and humans shift uneasily on their feet; everyone looks pained.

Ullr bows his head. “The Allfather is merciful to women and children. If she surrenders to us, she might bring her child to Asgard and find gainful service as a household servant. The child is unusual … but a lesser house would be accommodating.”

“What about Gem?” Amy says. Her eyes go to the small dwarven woman.

“The dwarf woman would be welcome,” Ullr says. He nods at Gem. “The industriousness of your people is well known.”

Where she is gently jiggling Cannonball in her arms, Gem says, “Thank you. But the Allfather has repatriation agreements with my realm. He would send me back.”

Amy’s mouth falls open.

Gem’s gaze stays fastened on Ullr’s. “Do you think any proper Black Dwarf would live in this cold-bright realm? I’m a member of the resistance movement in my home realm. Do you really blame me?”

Amy remembers Loki’s thoughts on the puppet monarchies of the Red Dwarf and Black Dwarfs—they were venal toward their people, profligate in their personal ways, and they granted the ordinary dwarves much less legal protection than the lowest Asgardian.

Ullr raises an eyebrow. “Perhaps not.”

Amy looks around the room. The SEALs are staring at Gem. The Asgardians are shifting on their feet, looking bashful. At that moment, Amy realizes there is one Asgardian who has been very quiet. Her eyes slide to the normally very vocal, boisterous Thor. He’s still gazing at her, expression somber.

“We will leave you now,” Ullr says.

One of the other Asgardians says, “Perhaps we can resume the game when you’ve finished here.”

There is an awkward beat of silence. But then Tucker says, “Sure.”

The Asgardians begin to file toward the door, but Thor doesn’t budge. “Father?” says Ullr.

Thor smiles up at him. “I’d like to speak with my friend Bohdi Patel.”

Ullr draws back but says, “Very well.” He takes a step toward the door, but then stops. “Is one of your number perhaps gifted in fire?”

In her own language Gerðr snaps too quickly, “They are all gifted in fire.”

It’s an exaggeration, and too obvious a coverup; Ullr’s eyes narrow at the Giantess. And then Larson waves a hand, and the few real candles in the room spring to life. Steve draws himself to his full height, his eyes flash purple, and a fire springs to life in the hearth. Amy blinks, and Tucker snaps his fingers—a spark flickers in the air and then vanishes. The building groans, and the plaster in the walls cracks as the rafters bow.

Looking up at the ceiling, Tucker mutters, “We are a danger to ourselves and others.”

Ullr gapes and Gem snaps, “Don’t destroy my home!”

Ullr’s eyes slide to Thor, wide with alarm. Thor shrugs and stands up. “I’m used to the company of chaotic fire wielders. I’ll be fine.”

“As you say,” Ullr says. He nods at Steve, Larson, and Tucker, and then leaves the inn. There is a moment when all is silent, and then everyone starts talking at once.

Thor turns back to Amy and says, “Do you know?”

Amy stares blankly at him, and then figures out what he’s really asking. “Oh, we all know that Bohdi is … you know … Chaos.”

Thor’s brows draw together. “Hmmmmm…” he murmurs. And then he says, “I’d like to see your splint, Dr. Lewis.”

Amy takes a breath, a little surprised, but then she shrugs. “Want to see the primitive way to do it?”

Thor gives her a bemused smile. “You said it, not me.”

Lifting the ice pack from Bjorna’s knee, Amy blinks. “That’s weird, the swelling has gone down much more than I expected.” And then she shakes her head. Of course, Thor probably did that! It was probably too small a magic to crack plaster. She almost says thank you, but then a thought occurs to her. She has to have been infected by the virus by now. Maybe it wasn’t Thor’s magic, maybe it was–

Amy crumples at the waist, pain flashing behind her eyes.

“Doctor Lewis,” Thor whispers. She feels his hand on her forehead, surprisingly cool. Amy shakes herself; she can’t have a headache now. Bjorna needs her. The pain recedes enough for her to open her eyes. “Thank you,” she mumbles to Thor.

He raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t comment as she shakily takes out the splint. The military splints are actually kind of cool. They are essentially rolls of metal tape covered in a thin foam for comfort against the skin. They can be placed over just about any sprain, fracture, or break, and secured with tape or bandages to immobilize the injury site. Amy slips one splint behind Bjorna’s leg and molds it to keep the knee slightly bent, the tremor leaving her limbs as she focuses on her task. Then she takes tape and creates straps above and below Bjorna’s kneecap, being sure to leave room for an ice pack. When she’s done, she sits back and admires her handiwork.

“I thought you were an animal doctor,” Thor says.

“Did I set it wrong?” Amy asks. She was sure the fragments were still together and that the angle of Bjorna’s knee was correct. Not that she’s done this before, but she has this strange memory —

“No, you did it perfectly,” says Thor.

Amy sighs with relief, and from the hallway comes Bohdi’s voice. “Of course she did!”

Thor lifts his head and grins. “Mr. Patel! There you are.” Laughing, he stands up and heads toward Bohdi with huge lumbering steps, his honest, wide open face like a ray of sunshine. He smacks Bohdi on the back so hard, he nearly falls over.

“Wait,” whispers Redman. “I thought we were supposed to keep Asgardians away from Patel.”

“He knows,” Amy whispers back.

“You lied to your people?” Larson growls.

Thor stops mid-stride. He’s no longer smiling, and Amy feels like the sun has gone behind a cloud. “I did not lie,” Thor says to Larson. “And I kept my first and most important oath: to protect Asgard.” He smiles tightly. “Sometimes, we protect what we love by disobeying orders. Doesn’t your military, in fact, command you to disobey orders if a superior’s orders contradict the laws of your people?”

The tightness in Larson’s jaw softens, but he does not speak.

Steve rumbles. “Yes, we are ordered to obey only appropriate orders.”

“You understand our oaths right,” Berry says. Harding and Cruz nod. Rush cracks his knuckles. Park and Tucker are staring at the floor, both looking lost in thought.

Thor steps back from Bohdi. Putting his hands on Bohdi’s shoulders, he squints at the empty air around Bohdi’s head—looking at Bohdi’s aura, Amy realizes. “You are starting to show.”

“It’s not like I’m pregnant, Thor,” Bohdi snaps.

Pulling back his hands, Thor roars with laughter. Wiping away a tear, he says, “You know, there is a very entertaining myth about Loki and a horse …”

“Don’t even go there!” Valli roars.

“No, please do,” says Larson.

Putting a hand to his chest, Bohdi flutters his eyelashes. “I, for one, am very proud of Sleipnir.” Thor’s jaw drops. Bohdi bounces up and down on his feet. “But I’d rather tell them about the time we both dressed up as girls!”

Thor snarls, “Why, you little …”

But Bohdi is already sprinting for the kitchen, cackling maniacally. Thor chases after him, and Claire tears after Thor, and Nari, Valli, and Sigyn follow Claire. The SEALs blink at each other for a moment, and then the normally calm, rational Berry says, “I gotta see this.” He breaks into a run and the rest of the SEALs follow.

Gaping, Amy sits in place, overcome by déjà vu. It is so much like the interactions between young Thor and young Loki. She feels hope flare in her chest.

“This is not good.” Steve’s voice makes her jump. Turning, she sees him by the door. His eyes are glowing purple. A branch from the rafters uncurls and twists toward his neck. Steve slaps it away with a grimace. “Too many people know,” he says.

Amy bites her lip. Trying to be positive, she says, “Even if Odin finds out, he can’t open a World Gate here … and the Asgardians’ magical armor doesn’t work. Our—your—rifles will work.”

“No,” Steve says. “Odin will find a way.”

With that he storms from the room, calling for Larson and Berry.

Chapter 24

Bohdi sits on the staircase in the inn, flipping quietly through Lothur’s journal. There are so many tantalizing tricks to try on its pages. He stops on a page that describes the In Between. Hyde, author of Trickster Makes this World, said that tricksters are the master of the In Between and the crossroads. In Lothur’s journal, the In Between is described as the ultimate crossroad, a step between anywhere on a given world and anywhere else. The journal uses a metaphor to describe how to get there—and so far Bohdi’s had only limited success. Gerðr says he is as powerful as an Asgardian or Frost Giant now; she says he’s only held back by lack of experience and control. He scowls. His lack of control may stem from the fact that he doesn’t meditate to harness magic … he thinks of sex or destroying things. He thumps the pages with his thumb. He’s sure if he knew the hard science behind the In Between he could master it faster.

Below him just out of his line of sight he hears Steve sigh. It makes his nose itch—Steve is acting—and Bohdi is supposed to be monitoring the act. Reluctantly putting the book to the side, he tilts his head to hear better. Tucker’s voice rises from the room below. “Sir, what’s wrong?”

Bohdi hears the tiny chair of Gem’s small desk creak and Steve begins his standard script. “There are just too many players in this game, Mr. Tucker. Someone is going to slip up, and Odin is going to learn the new incarnation is with us.”

“Every one of the SEALs and Harding are patriots, Sir. None of us would work for Odin.”

And that is really defensive considering that isn’t what Steve asked directly. It was, of course, the indirect question, and Bohdi’s nose doesn’t even tickle. Steve’s gone through this routine with everyone in the past three days since Bjorna was injured. Bohdi’s been listening; none of the SEALs or Harding has told a lie.

“I don’t drink, Sir,” Tucker says. “I won’t slip.”

“Of course not, Mr. Tucker,” Steve says.

Bohdi hears a floorboard squeak and then Tucker says, “It’s snowing outside. Will you still be taking Bjorna to the cavern to treat her knee?”

It’s been three days since Bjorna’s “accident.” They’ve been waiting for things to cool down a bit before moving her. Bohdi leans down so he can peek out one of the tiny windows. Large flakes are drifting down, making the just-past-noon hour seem later.

“We still have every intention of taking Bjorna to the cavern,” Steve says, “As soon as the sun sets and we can go without attracting attention.” There is a pause, and then Steve adds, “I see you have guard duty here tonight—I can have you on the team that brings her to the cavern.”

“No, Sir, that’s alright, Sir.”

Bohdi’s ears perk up. His nose doesn’t tickle, but Tucker sounds nervous. He’s kind of crazy about Bjorna, so why wouldn’t he want to go with her?

“Really?” says Steve. The surprise in his voice genuine, according to Bohdi’s nose.

A floorboard creaks and Tucker clears his throat. “I think that all my attention may be making her uncomfortable.”

Amy had voiced a similar opinion to Bohdi just a day before. So Tucker recognizes it too, and is voluntarily stepping back? Bohdi shakes his head. Tucker can be an uptight-rule sticker, but Bohdi feels bad for the guy.

When Steve speaks, his voice rumbles with sympathy. “She’s been through a lot.” Bohdi lifts an eyebrow; Steve may not be able to sing, but when he is speaking he has perfect pitch.

The chair squeaks again, and Bohdi hears Steve’s footsteps, Tucker trailing behind. He stands up quickly and tries to look like he’s casually descending the stairs.

Steve comes into view and says, “Patel, Lewis is back. Let’s go get her,” and Bohdi snaps to attention.

x x x x

“Well?” Steve says, a few minutes after the interview with Tucker in the hallway.

Bohdi shakes his head. “Tucker wasn’t lying.” His eyes go back to Amy. They’re having a meeting in Steve’s tiny room. She’s very close, and Bohdi’s finding it hard not to wrap his arms around her. Consummating their relationship hasn’t made him want her less; if anything it’s made him want her more.

Steve clears his throat. Bohdi’s eyes remain locked on Amy. She’s wearing a new linen shirt that looks like it was made for her. It’s cut generously in the chest and nipped in at the waist. She’s also wearing some new brown leather trousers. They have an interesting drawstring closure. He wants to untie it.

Amy’s cheeks flush and she smiles a little shyly. “Loot,” she says. “The Frost Giants gave it to me—my clothes got messy.”

While everyone else was at PT she’d helped with the delivery of a warrior’s baby. The locals are beginning to believe she’s good luck to have around during birth. She finds it ironic, and he knows it brings back bitter memories for her. Which makes him want to pull her tight even more—that wouldn’t be selfish, would it?

The past few days she’s told him a lot about her time in the other universes, about the other Loki’s: one that destroyed the Nine Realms, and one that tried to essentially enslave her. He understands why she reacted the way she did that first night … and he is overwhelmed that despite everything, she still wants to be with him.

“Bohdi,” Steve says, “did you find any World Gates between Niflheim and Earth in Loki’s book?”

Bohdi blinks, looks to Steve, and shakes his head again.

“There is a World Gate there that Hoenir made later.” Amy’s words make Bohdi and Steve’s heads snap toward her.

Tapping her lip, she adds hastily, “Between Asgard and Niflheim … not Earth and Niflheim. After Helen died Loki was … well, I think Hoenir didn’t want him to have to go through the main Gate, so he created one from her grave that opens in Asgard near Loki’s home.” She scuffs the floor with her foot, and Bohdi slides closer to her and hooks his hand in hers.

“Sigyn knows about it,” Amy says. “Guess it doesn’t matter though.” Squeezing Bohdi’s hand, she looks up at Steve. “I mean, we’re not thinking of going to Niflheim, are we? In the Dark Lands we’ll have allies, and the magical runoff of the Delta of Sorrows will distort Heimdall’s gaze and make it difficult for Odin to create a new World Gate.”

Steve sighs and leans against his dresser. “Odin expects us to go through the Dark Lands; I was hoping we could surprise him.”

Bohdi’s free hand finds his lighter. Steve’s been tense the past few days, and it’s putting Bohdi on edge.

“Hey,” Bohdi says. “Even if Odin figures out I’m here, he can’t swoop down and take me—the trees keep him out. And even our M4s can pierce steel armor when it’s not magical. We’re safe for now, and we have plenty of time before spring to think of a way to get to the Dark Land’s World Gate.”

Steve’s jaw twitches.

Amy steps closer to Steve, releasing Bohdi’s hand. “If that Daevas guy brings some magical objects, Bohdi might even be able to use them to walk the In Between.”

Steve rubs his temple. “Bohdi can’t walk the In Between yet—even if Daevas comes.”

“But I did look into the In Between!” Bohdi says, trying to be encouraging to Steve, or himself, he’s not sure. “I think—it was dark and cold and felt like I was in a vacuum.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “You passed out immediately after you did that. You could have been hallucinating.”

Bohdi spins his lighter between his fingers. That might be true, but he feels like it’s not. He’d been so hungry afterward and so tired. He’s hoping he can try it again tonight in the cavern, after Bjorna’s leg is better.

“Bohdi is getting better at creating illusions, too!” Amy says.

Bohdi’s lips purse. At the moment, he can create tiny will-o-wisps of light, not really illusions per se.

Steve raises an eyebrow at the exaggeration.

Amy lifts her chin. “We’ll think of something. We have to stay positive.”

“Of course,” says Steve. But he doesn’t sound positive. His eyes fall to where Bohdi has slipped his hand behind Amy’s back.

Steve straightens. Very quietly, he says, “I know you have to be infected with the virus now, Dr. Lewis.”

Amy’s back stiffens beneath Bohdi’s hand. Bohdi looks at her worriedly. She always gets nervous when her magic is discussed.

“Do you remember anything of your missing hour yet?” Steve says.

Amy takes a step back, and her hand goes to her head. Bohdi shoots a glare at Steve. Steve knows better than to go there. Ignoring him, Steve takes a step closer to Amy. “Dr. Lewis, I’m sorry, but I have to ask. I’m almost positive it was Hoenir who saved you. We need the Creator’s help, he’s the last piece of the puzzle—”

Bohdi blinks. Steve hadn’t told him that. He looks to Amy. Ducking her head, Amy says, “I can’t tell you where the Creator is.”

“You can’t? Or you won’t?” Steve takes a step closer. “This is important, Dr. Lewis.” Steve’s voice is soft and soothing, but Amy whimpers and bends. She’s so tiny, even compared to Bohdi, but especially compared to Steve.

“Stop!” Bohdi hisses.

Steve draws back. His eyes flash to Bohdi. They’re glowing purple, and a branch from the rafters is uncoiling and waving cautiously toward the back of Steve’s head. “We have to know,” Steve says. “Our lives may depend on it.”

Bohdi’s lip curls, but Amy says, “I know, I just can’t.”

“She’s telling the truth,” Bohdi snaps. Steve meets his gaze, and then looks back to Amy; she’s still shaking.

Steve’s shoulders fall. Footsteps sound in the hallway outside the door. Bohdi hears someone opening up the ladder to the attic and the creak of the steps.

“Are we dismissed?” Bohdi says.

Steve nods, his eyes on the window.

“Come on, Amy,” Bohdi says, leading her to the door, but she stops before he opens it.

She turns to Steve, her lip trembling. “I’m sorry, Steve,” she says. “I know it’s important.”

Bohdi’s jaw grinds. Why does she have to be so nice?

Steve lets out a long breath. “I don’t want to hurt you, but …”

Bohdi’s nose doesn’t itch. Steve’s not lying, he’ll give him that.

“Everyone is depending on you and you feel responsible for all of us,” Amy says, nodding, her eyes wide and sympathetic. “I’ll try, I’ll try and remember, I promise.”

Steve’s frame relaxes, and he lets out a long breath. “Thank you.” Bowing his head, Steve says, “Would you do something else for me?”

Amy takes a step forward. “Sure.”

Not raising his head, Steve says, “You two have more experience with these things than anyone.” He looks at Bohdi. “And you have the best luck. If I don’t make it … will you look out for Claire?”

All the hard angles have left Steve’s face; he looks vulnerable and open. Bohdi gulps. Steve isn’t just looking out for the team, he’s looking out for his kid—who’s practically the whole team’s kid sister. Bohdi nods. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Amy nod, too.

Steve puts a hand through his hair, and then pulls out his phone and scans the screen. “Why don’t the two of you take the afternoon off?”

Bohdi stands up straighter. He’d been on kitchen duty this afternoon—which he really had not been looking forward to. The mudroom still smells like vomit—Rush got drunk again last night, and his inebriated clean-up efforts were less than exemplary. Meeting his eyes, Steve says, “Rush can take over for you. He should have done a better job of cleaning up his mess.”

Amy gives a timid smile. “Thank you, Steve.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Bohdi says, gripping his lighter. As an apology for freaking Amy out, it’s generous. Bohdi spins the wheel on his lighter. What did he expect? Steve has always looked out for him, for both of them.

“Just be at the cavern by sunset,” Steve says. “I know Bjorna will want you there when her knee is repaired, Dr. Lewis.”

Bohdi’s eyes slide to Amy. She’s not trembling anymore. “I’ll be there.”

x x x x

A few minutes later, they’re alone in the hall. “I want to get out of here,” Amy says, voice just audible over Rush’s lumbering footsteps on the stairs.

Bohdi’s eyes slide to her as Rush passes by. Amy looks like she has the Frost Giant melanin impairment. She worries about other people, just like Steve. Maybe Bohdi’s job is to make the worriers not worry for a while?

“We could go to the cavern,” Bohdi suggests; it’s the only other place he’s allowed to go that is warm. He glances again toward the attic. The stairs are down, and he hears Gem and Berry’s voices above. He can think of some ways to make Amy forget to worry up there.

“That sounds okay,” Amy says. She doesn’t sound excited.

Down the hall, Steve’s door opens. “Rush, get in here,” Steve roars.

“Aren’t you supposed to stay inside?” Amy says.

Bohdi huffs. “If I’m expected to run seven miles of PT in the snow, I can go outside for R and R.” It was only supposed to be five miles but then Larson added two more when Bohdi stopped to look at what he is sure are some ancient ruins of the old Keep. Larson had said he was just stalling. Which he had been, partly, but he is very curious about the ruins.

Amy bites her lip.

“We’ll avoid Asgardians,” he says.

She nods. They’re just at the stairs when Amy whispers. “I don’t really want to go to the cavern. I’ve just had enough of everyone …” She looks at him quickly. “Except you.”

Bohdi looks to the attic. That’s really the only place in the inn to even be barely alone. He hears Gem laughing at something Berry says. Bohdi scowls—and then he has an idea.

Chapter 25

A knock sounds at Steve’s door. He lifts his head from the map he is surveying. Sigyn is standing in the door frame. “Time to go, Captain,” she says.

He glances toward the window. Sure enough, the sun is setting. From the attic above comes the sound of rhythmic thumping. Sigyn’s gaze lifts, and her lips part slightly.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Lewis and Bohdi—I keep telling myself at least I know where they are.” They have been at it for hours. He frowns, and his eyes slip to Sigyn almost unconsciously. As always, she looks put together. Their clothing has started to disintegrate on their bodies. Like everyone else’s, her sweater has patches on the elbows, but on her they look like a fashion statement. He picks up his own sweater and scowls. Bohdi has said Steve’s patches look like they were sewn by an inebriated spider.

“They have the right idea,” Sigyn says, as the noise above ceases.

Steve grunts in assent, shrugging on his sweater. He knows what she means. Their chances of surviving past the winter are very slim. If he could, he’d make the most of every moment. He longs to have a partner, to have some vent from the fear—and some comfort. His eyes slide to Sigyn again and then he quickly looks away. “They have time.” The words rumble out of him with more bitterness than he intends.

Sigyn closes the door until it is open just a crack. “Perhaps you should make time.”

Where he is zipping up the front of his sweater, Steve’s hands freeze. He’s not startled by the suggestion; he’s felt the attraction between them. Still, the implications of her words make his skin heat and his nerves sing. He almost expects the tickle of a branch on his neck, but none comes. She’s being very diplomatic, opaque and transparent at once. He likes it, he likes her, and he wants, but there isn’t much he can give.

And then he meets her gaze. Her almost-violet eyes are steady and unfazed. She looks like she’s fifteen years his junior—and alluring as that might be to some men, to Steve younger than thirty just means trouble: sentimentality and immaturity. But she’s older than him by several centuries; she has to know he can’t give her grand gestures or consuming adoration.

Closing the distance between them, Steve says, “I only have a minute.”

The corner of Sigyn’s lips turn up in a smile. “Perhaps you should make the most of it?”

Steve finds the air leaving his lungs in a long gust of relief that he doesn’t expect. He’s become so accustomed to the weight of what they’re trying to accomplish, he’s startled when it lessens. Reaching to touch her cheek, he wishes he could make the moment last, but he hears Claire’s footsteps rapidly approaching. He kisses Sigyn, despite his daughter’s rapid advance. It’s a quick kiss, barely a brush, but it’s been so long it’s like electrical jolt down his spine, more heady than magic. The footsteps get closer, and Steve and Sigyn break apart. Without words, he knows they have a promise, not of forever, just for now. He feels muscles in him uncoiling and hope rising in his chest as Claire bounds in the door. Steve blinks. Instead of little puffs of pigtails, on either side of her head her hair has been twirled up into little unicorn-shaped horns. She grins wildly. “Do you like them? Sigyn did them for me!”

Steve’s eyes go to Sigyn. She shrugs. “Some of my friends among the Valkyries had the same hair texture. I told Claire of their hairstyles … she chose this one.” Steve’s eyes narrow at the woman. Over Claire’s head Sigyn mouths the words, choose your battles.

She’s right. Raising an eyebrow at his daughter, Steve says, “You won’t be able to wear a hat with those.”

“But I look fierce!” Spinning, she says to Sigyn, “Can I go to the cavern, too? I want to practice being the strongest again.”

Sigyn looks to Steve. Steve looks at Claire. “Yes, but behave.”

Claire jumps and turns 180 degrees in the air. “Yippee!” Then she dashes from the room, leaving the door wide open.

“And put on a hat!” Steve shouts after her.

Backing up, Sigyn says, “I’ll find a hat that will work—or at least earmuffs. Thank you for that minute of your time, Captain.”

“My pleasure,” he says, keeping his voice flat as Larson emerges in the doorway. She winks outside Larson’s line of sight. And that almost makes him smile. She understands.

To Larson he says, “We’re ready?”

“Yes, Sir, Bjorna is loaded on a stretcher,” he replies.

Steve looks toward the ceiling and hears the faint sound of footsteps.

“Go on ahead,” he says. “I’ll follow. I want to escort Patel and Lewis.” Bjorna may only want Lewis there, but if Lewis is there Bohdi will come, too, even if he stays above ground for fear of “jinxing” anything.

Larson nods. “Yes, Sir.”

Steve finishes putting on his gear. Below him, he hears Sigyn talking to Bjorna, promising to carry Cannonball and stand right next to her the entire time during the journey; Larson ordering Redman to take point; Harding grousing happily about finding an empty shell casing for Fenrir; and Claire shouting cheerfully that she’ll hold the door.

Moving to the hallway, Steve stands beneath the attic trap door and clears his throat. Below him he hears the team exiting the inn, Claire’s footsteps among them. Above he hears scuffling, but the trap door to the attic doesn’t budge. Beatrice steps out of the room she shares with Harding and Lewis in full gear. Looking up at the trap door, she says, “You can come down now! We know you’re up there.”

All scuffling above ceases. The trapdoor opens, and Berry’s ruddy face peers down at them. Steve’s jaw drops in shock. The iron wood branches had been throwing fits earlier—he was sure it was a sign of Bohdi and Amy dancing between the sheets.

The warrant officer’s eyes meet Steve’s. “Is something wrong, Captain?”

“Where is Patel?” Steve says.

Berry’s face visibly reddens. “Not up here. It’s just me and Gem.”

Steve hears a squeak that sounds very much like it’s coming from an embarrassed dwarf.

Berry licks his lips. “I was helping her move some things around—just wanted to keep the ladder out of the way.” Steve’s eyes narrow. Berry had the afternoon off, and Gem is not in his chain of command. Except for the lie, technically he’s done no wrong. But Steve’s annoyed. No, worse, he’s worried. Where are Bohdi and Lewis?

Steve turns to Beatrice and finds her already bolting down the hall. “I’ll get Fenrir and go look for them. Meet you at the cavern.”

Steve struggles to keep calm. He tries mentally chiding himself—it’s the nature of Chaos to slip away—but it’s Bohdi’s nature to come back. And Lewis, at least, is responsible. They’re probably in the mudroom, playing with Amy’s fungi or reading Gullveig’s books. He shivers beneath his gear. He can’t keep the feeling of wrongness away.

“Are they missing?” Berry says, letting the ladder drop.

Steve’s jaw gets hard. “I have no idea.”

Chapter 26

Bohdi has wonderful ideas Amy decides, awakening from a blissfully dream-free doze. She’s curled up against him, her bare limbs tangled with his in the sleeping bags they zipped together. Even through the thick fabric, she can feel the stones beneath them. She doesn’t care. She’s warm and happy, despite everything. Lifting her head, she rubs her eyes and peeks at Bohdi. Like her, he’s wearing a hat and nothing else, the white fabric contrasts with his dark skin, and a single snowflake is suspended in his long black lashes.

She looks around. They’re in the ruins of a guardhouse that was on the second tier of the mesa, or as Claire calls it, “the second level of the wedding cake.” There is a roof above their heads, and three walls, but the northern wall of the guardhouse is a gaping hole. Because the guard house is perched at the very edge of the second tier, or middle wedding cake layer, they have a clear unobstructed view above the tree tops of the forest straight to the sea. Even without binoculars, and the snow, she can make out the sea arch that leads to Niflheim.

Close beside her she hears a mournful cheep. Dropping her gaze, she sees Mr. Squeakers peeking out of a mitten she cast aside. He’s probably cold. Her nose wrinkles in consternation. “You were the one who thought stowing away would be a good idea,” she scolds, but then stretches an arm out into the cold air and puts her muffler on top of the mitten.

She pulls her arm back into the sleeping bags’ pocket of warmth, and Squeakers burrows deeper into his own makeshift sleeping bag. She sees the faint sheen of spider silk and sighs. Her mitten is going to be a sticky nest of spider web.

She feels fingers gliding up her spine and Bohdi’s arm shifting beneath her. “Hey,” he whispers. “Are you alright?”

She turns back to him. His brows are drawn together.

She smiles, and it’s genuine. “Yes. This was a great idea.” Even if they’re out of radio range, they’re not really far away, but the cliff face between them and the top of the mesa blocks reception. Okay, maybe it wasn’t the safest of ideas, but Bohdi can be surprisingly persuasive—or maybe not surprisingly. She bites her lip. The whole Bohdi as an incarnation-of-Chaos thing makes her head spin sometimes.

Bohdi whispers again, “Aren’t you cold?” She looks and finds him smiling mischievously.

She’s about to say no, but realizes that her position has exposed her shoulders. Before she can answer, Bohdi draws himself up and blows gently on her exposed skin. The heat of his breath is unnaturally warm, like sitting next to a radiator. She gasps, and hears branches scratching at the roof, and feels the rocks shifting beneath them. A root cracks through the rubble and twists toward them. Amy draws closer to Bohdi, alarmed.

He chuckles and the root limply sinks to the ground. Amy stares at it. She shouldn’t be surprised that Bohdi was using magic, or be unnerved, but she is. Bohdi is able to harness magic with increasing ease. Something is happening to Bohdi that’s making his magic develop faster. Is it just the magic of chance and Chaos?

“Hey,” he says again, “are you okay?”

Amy meets his gaze. The mischievous smile is gone, the hand on her back is firmer. He frowns. “I haven’t pushed you into a flashback, have I?”

Amy shakes her head quickly. He has done that occasionally—said little things that are so like Loki they made her seize up and not sure where she was. She brings her hand up and threads her fingers through the hair on the back of his neck beneath the cap. “No, Bohdi,” she says. She feels his muscles relax and his jaw softens. She’s told him everything about her trips to the other universes—about Loki, and about the other Bohdi she’d met there. Sometimes she thinks it was a bad idea; she thinks it’s made him extra worried about being those Lokis.

Trying to change the subject, she says, “Aren’t you hungry?”

Bohdi’s appetite hasn’t grown proportional to his magical ability, which is also weird. The mischievous smile returns. He rolls her over on her back. Hovering over her, he says, “Who needs food when I have you?”

Amy tries to be mad. “It doesn’t work like that!” He’s too warm and feels too good for her to be mad at him.

He hums. “Doesn’t it?” he teases.

She opens her mouth, about to rebuke him, but he puts a finger to her lips. At first she thinks it’s a game, but then she feels his muscles tensing. “Someone’s coming,” he whispers.

She blinks and hears it: voices—still far away, but getting louder.

Before she can process that, Bohdi’s diving into the sleeping bag, retrieving his clothes. He’s dressed in his under-layer and trousers only a few moments later, slinking along the wall, M4 rifle in his hands while Amy retrieves her own gear. A few moments later, she creeps out of the bag and starts packing their gear as quickly and quietly as she can. She casts a furtive glance at Bohdi. He moves with cat-like grace. She’s not sure if it’s inherent in his nature or the result of his training. She doesn’t remember him being as athletic before Steve shipped him off to the Marine Corps. Her brow furrows. Is Chaos inherently deadly, or is it merely a reflection of the society from which it has sprung?

“I can’t see them,” Bohdi huffs softly, peering through his scope. “But I can hear them getting closer.”

“I’m almost done packing our gear,” Amy says. She wishes she could hear them—it could just be some friendly Frost Giant warriors out hunting.

Someone in the approaching party shouts. Amy stops packing. If they could just hear who it is ... She cups her hands to her ears and tries to focus on the sound of their voices but can’t quite make them out. She scowls in frustration. Stupid, limited, human hearing. She starts picturing the enormous neural apparatuses of bats—if only hers was not so paltry. She almost curses aloud, but then she hears the voices as though they’re just a few feet away. She listens for just a few heartbeats and then drops her hands. “Oh, it’s just Thor, and Magi, Modi, Nari, Valli, and Jarnsaxa. They’re talking about hunting.”

“You did not just hear them,” Bohdi says.

“Don’t you hear them?” Amy says. “They’re loud as day now.”

Bohdi squints at her. “Loud as day?”

Standing up, Amy mumbles. “Errr …” She tries to go over to their pack but something catches at her foot. “Hey! The root.”

Bohdi looks down at her foot, and his mouth drops open. “Your magical talent is hearing!”

Amy looks down at the creeping root. Did she use magic to hear Thor and his entourage? Is hearing her talent? That would be … kind of underwhelming. Also, it doesn’t feel right.

Bohdi straightens. “Not quite what I would have expected, but kind of cool.” He grins at her. “Especially if you grow bat ears.”

Amy scowls at him.

“You’d look adorable with bat ears,” he says in a low voice. And then it’s impossible to be mad at him, because he says adorable in a tone that says sexy.

The shouting voices of Thor and his friends stop. And then Thor himself bellows, “Who goes there?”

Bohdi turns and shouts, “It’s Amy and me, Thor! Don’t shoot us!”

Amy hears Valli mutter, “Damn, I was hoping I was finally going to shoot something.” She rubs her ears. How can she hear him mutter if she can’t see him? Something tickles her leg, and she looks down to see a root creeping up inside her pant leg—in her haste to get ready she hadn’t tucked it in. “Pervert root,” she grumbles, jerking her leg away. An instant later, Bohdi shoots the tiny tentacle, quickly pulverizing it, and sending little bits of rock and rubble flying. Squeakers squeals in terror, Amy jumps back, and as soon as Bohdi is done, Nari shouts, “Don’t shoot us!”

Bohdi stares at the remains of the root. “I may have overreacted there.”

From outside the guardhouse, Thor roars, “My friend Bohdi Patel is here. Now things will get exciting!”

Bohdi’s eyes lift to hers. “The last time things got exciting with Thor, we were in Nornheim.”

“Adventure awaits!” Thor bellows.

Amy gulps and says, “I suddenly have a very bad feeling about this.”

x x x x

There is absolutely no reason for Steve to have such a bad feeling about Lewis’s and Bohdi’s absence. His jaw gets tight. Except there is good reason—Odin is searching for them both. He wipes his jaw. But they’re safe in the Iron Wood, just as Bohdi said only hours earlier.

Hours—in a few hours Lewis and Patel could have run off to Niflheim or have been dragged off there.

“I’ll help find them,” Berry says, scampering down the ladder.

“I’ll come too,” says Gem, following behind him.

Steve taps his headpiece to alert the team. Nothing happens, although it had been working just moments ago. He scowls. Their electronics are starting to break down. Going into his room, he searches his gear for a charged headpiece. A few minutes later, he’s tapping his new headpiece and heading down the stairs; the whole inn is eerily empty. “Anyone see Lewis and Patel?”

He gets a chorus of nos.

Exiting the front door into swiftly swirling snowflakes, he steps past Tucker on guard there.

“Lewis and Patel are missing?” asks Tucker, sounding as worried as Steve feels.

Steve turns to the man and nods.

Rush’s voice crackles. “Sir, I just remembered, they were going to the cavern.”

Steve almost sighs with relief, but then the voice of Park, on guard at the cavern, crackles over the channel. “I didn’t see them come this way.”

Steve taps his headpiece again. Rush is currently on guard at the rear of the inn. “Rush, when did they leave?”

“I don’t know, Sir. I just heard them discussing it in the hallway.”

“Is that them over there, Sir?” Tucker whispers. Steve turns around and looks out into the square. He takes a step forward automatically, as though that will clear his vision in the snow. He sees nothing—he feels a sting at the back of his neck. He tries to scream, but no words come out of his mouth. Stumbling, he tries to raise his pistol but his hands feel like he’s wearing oven mitts. Somewhere a door slams.

Turning, he sees one shadowy silhouette, and then another … maybe, his vision is blurring … and is that a hypodermic needle? Steve can’t tell. The world is shimmering, as though Steve’s looking at it from underwater. And then everything goes black.

x x x x

Amy steps out of the guard house with Bohdi, walking carefully around the narrow edge between the building and the cliff face. They reach the corner of the building, step onto the wider space of the lower tier of the mesa, and find Thor leading his company out of the forest. Thor’s smiling broadly, but as he draws closer his smile drops. His gaze is so heavy on Bohdi that Amy stops and turns to her … lover, partner, co-conspirator … she doesn’t even know.

“What?” says Bohdi, pushing his bangs underneath his cap.

“You’re practically glowing!” Nari says.

Magi, Modi, and Jarnsaxa stop. Jarnsaxa sighs. “You are right. It’s him.”

“Uncle Loki?” Magi says, tilting his head.

Valli releases a mournful sounding sigh. “He doesn’t remember who he is.”

“I am not Loki!” Bohdi snaps, his hand going to Amy’s back. She can feel the heat of it all the way through her parka.

“Your temperament is very similar,” says Jarnsaxa.

Bohdi screws up his face and sticks out his tongue.

“My mother is a queen!” Modi snarls, raising a cross bow. “You should be shot for your impertinence!”

“He’s your uncle,” Jarnsaxa says. “Hold your fire.”

Glowering, Magi lowers the weapon.

“You weren’t glowing so brightly this morning,” Nari says.

Thor draws closer. “You should not allow yourself to be seen by any Asgardians, even at a distance.”

Amy looks at Bohdi closely. She can’t see any glow around him. And then she looks to the west. The sun is setting. “We had better go back,” she says, picking up her mitten and transferring Mr. Squeakers to her shoulder. He tunnels into the muffler on her parka.

Thor sighs, thunders over, and lays his hand on Bohdi’s shoulder. “We’ll have our adventure, never fear.”

From the mesa proper comes a happy yip. Amy looks up the cliff face and sees Fenrir about forty feet above them, staring down at her and panting. Beatrice’s face emerges next. Amy’s grandmother shakes her head. “There you are.”

“Is something wrong?” Amy says.

Beatrice scowls. “Yes, you’re missing!”

“Not anymore!” Amy says, giving what she hopes is a cheesy, yet irritation-quelling smile.

“Don’t you even try to charm your way out of this,” Beatrice snaps. “Get up here.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Bohdi says beside Amy. “We’ll be up in just a minute.”

Beatrice narrows her eyes at him.

Nari steps toward them. “How were you planning to get back up there? Did you bring some climbing gear? The stairs are about a mile away.”

Amy looks at Bohdi. He shrugs. Hoisting the gear she packed over his shoulder, he steps over to Amy and wraps an arm around her waist. Together they walk over to a large tree that’s just about five feet from the base of the cliff to the mesa proper. This particular tree must be very old, because its peak is about a hundred feet above the top layer of the mesa.

Ducking his head, Bohdi blows at the space just behind her ear. Once more, the air is unnaturally hot. Bohdi keeps blowing, and Amy arches her neck, swearing she can hear snow melting. Branches crack above their heads. A moment later, the tentacles of the trees are squeezing Bohdi’s body tightly to hers and hoisting them up so quickly her teeth snap together. All the breath is squeezed out of her, and Bohdi groans. “Too tight.” As soon as he says it, his concentration must drop, because the bonds weaken, and they both scramble to hang on.

Squeakers gives a chirp. Below, she hears Magi and Modi saying, “He is a deviant!”

“Much like your uncle,” says Jarnsaxa.

“Ah, load-bearing branch just to the right,” Bohdi says. “Let’s swing!”

Amy and Bohdi twist their bodies and swing over to the load-bearing branch. It’s not elegant, but they manage to land on it, untangle themselves from the branches that hoisted them up, and then walk across the bigger branch and around the trunk. Beatrice admonishes them to be careful, and from below, Valli grumbles, “A pair of monkeys.”

Amy can’t help smiling the whole time. It’s fun walking along the tree branches, even in the cold. It’s like being a kid again. Once they round the trunk, Bohdi hops on another branch that extends over to the mesa proper. He walks along it, holding a branch above for stability, and Amy follows along behind.

He stops a few feet along the branch and looks down. The snow covered ground and a scowling Beatrice are just a few feet away. Turning, he smiles, “Ready to jump?”

Amy opens her mouth to speak, but can’t. He looks blue, his orange eyes look black. She blinks—she knows it’s a trick of the twilight on his dark skin. His brow constricts. He opens his mouth to speak … and a boom rocks through the forest, the tree they are in sways, and for an instant, Bohdi’s face is lit by orange flame.

x x x x

The motion stops, and Steve’s face lands in the snow. He can’t breathe. He knows he’s going to suffocate, and there is nothing he can do about it, but his mind is too cloudy to be worried. It’s worse than the paralysis he had experienced after Freyja’s henchmen shot him, but he can’t feel fear. He feels a twinge of pain in his side, his body is shifted to the right, and his head lolls onto the side. He can breathe. He can’t be thankful for it; it’s just an observation.

The ground rocks, his ears ring, and the snow turns orange. “Bohdi …” It takes Steve’s mind a moment to realize that he’s said the kid’s name aloud.

And suddenly his body is being rolled over. He hears a snap in his ear. His radio … is it broken? Someone’s hands grab him by the collar and shake him, but their form is silhouetted by flame and Steve can’t tell who it is.

“Wake up, Steven.”

The words rumble through the darkness. The voice is familiar. Where has Steve heard that voice before?

“Wake up, Steven,” the voice commands again.

His eyelids flutter and he sees a dark blur. He feels pressure on his arms and chest. The blur comes into focus, a Caucasian male, in his late fifties … one eye covered by a metal patch.

“Odin,” Steve whispers. In the periphery of his vision he sees men in armor on either side of him; they must be holding him aloft because Steve can’t be standing on his own power. He can’t feel his feet or fingers, and his whole body feels numb. A panicky part of his brain wonders if his paralysis is back; he silences it.

“We meet again, Steven Rogers,” the Allfather says. The man smiles. “And lucky for you; you would not have survived the spidermouse venom, otherwise.”

Steve wants to grind his teeth, but his jaw is slack. How did Odin get here? Steve’s eyes slide to the side. The trees … the trees beyond the Allfather are gone. In their place is a large smoking crater, filled with men in gleaming armor, reflecting the glow of orange flames. The hair on the back of his neck rises—someone let them know about the gunpowder beneath the inn. The trees in the immediate vicinity, the inn, and at least four dozen other structures have been obliterated. He hears moans around from the ground, sees the men in armor gingerly step over writhing forms.

Steve blinks back to the Allfather. Still, all the pieces don’t fit together. Odin had to create a World Gate, but Lewis and Bohdi said that after opening a gate Odin should be weak, not upright, holding a sword … Steve gulps, and his eyes fall to the blade. It is glowing with blue fire. Fear hits Steve in a wave so strong he thinks that he might lose consciousness again. “Laevithin,” he whispers. The blade had been altered by Cera, the World Seed, made powerful enough to pull Lewis through two alternate universes, and to allow Loki to walk the In Between as casually as stepping through a door. Back on Earth, before their ill-fated survey mission, Steve had asked to use it to open the gate between Chicago and Jotunheim—and had been told that letting the blade go was too much of a security risk. Steve feels tears burn at the corner of his eyes. Not everyone in the U.S. government was on the Allfather’s payroll, and he had hoped they would keep it safe. Apparently they failed.

Chuckling, Odin says, “Your people did an admirable job concealing it from me, some held out to the end.” It’s as though he’s reading Steve’s mind, which, considering their history, he might be.

Steve shudders, thinking of what must have happened to those humans who “held out,” and at the same time he feels a glimmer of hope. Some humans are still fighting back on Earth. If they hadn’t been, Odin would have seized Laevithin and captured them weeks ago, while they cowered in the glove or sped across the frozen Southern Wastes.

“But it’s mine now,” Odin says.

Steve’s finally able to make his jaw move. Grinding his teeth, he meets Odin’s single eye. Something tugs at Steve’s consciousness. It strikes him that the men who are holding him are trembling … no, the ground beneath them is trembling. He hears groaning like an old house, and a snapping like a thousand whips. His eyes slide to the side, and his mouth gapes. The trees on the periphery of the crater are pulling themselves loose from the ground, shuddering, and leaning this way. His eyes widen. The trees are not just leaning—they’re moving—walking on their roots and branches, drawn by Laevithin’s magical glow.

Someone shouts in Asgardian, “Sir, we must move. The trees approach.”

Odin reaches forward and grabs Steve by the jaw. “Where is he? Where is Loki?”

Steve smiles. “He’s dead.” And damn, doesn’t it feel good to be a little shit occasionally.

Odin’s lips curl up in a snarl. “Do not toy with me. Where is Patel?”

Laughter pours out of Steve—of all the moments for the kid to slip away, he chose the perfect one. “I don’t know!” Odin may have nearly infinite power, but Bohdi’s still free, and so is hope. Steve nearly chokes on his own laughter. “Chaos is such a slippery thing.”

Another Einherjar says, “Sir, we can’t find the girl either.”

Odin’s lip curls. “Where is Miss Lewis?”

Steve smiles with all his teeth. “I have no idea where Doctor Lewis is, either. She’s slippery, too.”

Odin raises an eyebrow.

“Should we kill him?” one of the Einherjar holding Steve asks.

Odin shakes his head in the negative.

Steve feels a chill creep up his spine. A prisoner, to what end? Anger flares in Steve’s chest. To get Bohdi, of course. He lifts his head and shouts. “Bohdi! Do not follow me! Do not come for me! Do not come for me, Bohdi!”

“Quiet him!” Odin shouts. Steve forces his numb feet to move. He struggles with his captors, even though it feels like he is half-dreaming. He feels a prick on his neck, and the world swims again. A ball of fabric is unceremoniously stuffed in his mouth and another is wrapped around it and tied behind his neck, holding the gag in place.

The Einherjar before him part, and he sees more warriors bearing an enormous cross on their shoulders. For him? The men on either side of him begin to pull him forward. The ball in his mouth keeps him from screaming.

Chapter 27

Bohdi grabs Amy with an arm and ducks his head into the corner of Amy’s neck as explosions rock the giant tree. He is dimly aware of Beatrice and Fenrir hitting the dirt beside them—or hit the snow, as the case may be.

The thunderous booms stop, and Bohdi lifts his head. He sees the orange glow of flames in the direction of the Keep.

“The ground is still trembling,” Amy gasps. “Is it an earthquake?”

Bohdi hears Thor roar and smells ozone. A moment later, Thor shouts, “Get out of the way!”

Bohdi turns his head and sees Thor, one hand on his hammer, on the other side of the tree trunk on the branch where he’d been with Amy moments before. The hammer Mjolnir is sparking lightning and is wrapped in the iron wood tree branches.

“Let’s jump,” Amy whispers. He nods, and they spring from the tree into the snow, landing lightly on their feet. Thor growls behind him, and they quickly scramble out of the way as he leaps from the same branch.

Bohdi taps his headset on. He hears nothing but static.

From below the cliff Magi says, “Father, we will meet you at the Keep!” Nari shouts, “Bohdi, wait for us!”

The branches on the far side of the tree unwind and before Bohdi can think or ask questions, Nari is suspended by his scabbard, and Valli is suspended by his sword—still in the scabbard. They follow the path Thor, Amy, and Bohdi have taken. Before they’re out of the tree, Thor is already striding to the Keep.

Bohdi tries to sprint ahead, but one of Thor’s meaty hands land on his shoulder with such force he nearly falls over. The big man grins. “I knew as soon as I found you, the day was bound to get exciting.”

Bohdi scowls, the orange light of flames is getting brighter, and there’s a peculiar sort of trembling beneath his feet. He has a very bad feeling in his stomach. Magic couldn’t cause such a loud explosion, not in the Iron Wood—the trees quell even the lightning in Thor’s hammer. He needs to get to Steve, but Thor is holding him back. Prying the giant vice-like hand from his shoulder, Bohdi mutters, “That’s great, Thor. Just great.”

Thor laughs heartily, but his grip does not loosen. “Do not run into this, my friend. We do not know the source of the explosion.”

“My radio went out just before I found you,” Beatrice says. “Can you contact the team?”

Shaking his head, Bohdi says, “I just heard static. They could be in Gullveig’s chamber.” As soon as he says it, Larson’s voice comes over the channel. “Patel? I can’t reach the Captain! Is he with you?”

“No, Steve’s not with us,” Bohdi says. “Where are you? Still at the cavern?”

“No, we’re almost at the Keep,” Larson says. The lieutenant swears. “My God, the trees are pulling themselves out of the ground and moving.”

Bohdi stumbles. “We’re—”

Berry’s voice cracks on the line. “Far away, we know it!”

Bohdi sneezes at the lie.

“And I’m so glad, because that means the fucker can’t get you,” Berry finishes.

Bohdi blinks. No lie there, but... “Who?” he says. Over the channel comes the sound of gunfire, and the SEALs’ shouts.

“Bohdi,” Amy whispers, “The explosion could only have been caused by non-magical weapons.”

“The gunpowder in the larder,” Beatrice hisses.

Bohdi’s jaw falls. “We kept it in sealed cases, we made sure they were airtight, it could only be set off by—”

“Subterfuge,” says Thor, his voice becoming hard.

“Who was on guard?” asks Amy, tapping her ear.

Larson’s voice comes over the channel. “Tucker and Rush.” And then Bohdi hears gunfire through the radio and the SEALs shouting. “Our bullets don’t work on their armor when they aren’t in the trees … but it looks like they’re retreating—they’ve opened a World Gate,” and then, “Fuck, what are they doing to Tucker? No! No! No!”

x x x x

“Dr. Lewis? Dr. Lewis?” Park’s voice is plaintive in Amy’s ear over the open channel. “We need you!”

The SEALs are calling for her, not Bohdi or Beatrice and that makes Amy distinctly uneasy.

Stumbling from the empty forest to the edge of the tents that surround the Keep proper, Amy’s eyes meet Bohdi’s. The sound of gunfire is dwindling, and over the radio, she hears, “I think they’re gone.”

A few steps later, they pass between one last row of tents and find the team and at least thirty Frost Giant warriors crouched behind one of the Keep’s few remaining stone walls. Beyond the wall the land is cleared of trees. “What has happened here?” Thor says. The men and women at the wall swing crossbows and rifles in their direction. Amy holds up her hands—and realizes the weapons are all aimed at Thor.

Heiðr strides over to him. “What is the meaning of this, Odinson!”

Before Thor can answer, Bohdi shouts, “He doesn’t know!” Heiðr’s attention snaps to him, and Bohdi says, “He’s telling the truth. I can tell.”

No one puts down their weapons, but they don’t fire either. “Dr. Lewis!” Park says, “Tucker is going to need your help.” Amy gulps and approaches the wall. She looks over the edge and her heart drops. About twenty feet away from her the tree line ends. Beyond that there are fallen tents and the remains of rough wooden buildings. Small fires flare here and there in the debris. In the center of it, where the inn should be, is a barren crater of dirt. In the crater there is a wooden cross; Tucker has been crucified upon it. Amy puts her hands on the wall, prepared to hurtle over and run to him.

Park grabs her shoulder. “The crater is the World Gate. If you walk into it, you’ll be taken to Asgard.” He swallows. “That’s why we haven’t gone to retrieve him.”

“Send me,” says Thor.

“No, Odinson,” says Heiðr. Thor raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything. Heiðr barks some orders to her men, and they jog toward the crater.

Brushing Park’s hand aside, Amy says, “I’ll stay in the trees.”

She hops over the wall, and Bohdi is a step behind her. She hears more footsteps and realizes the entire team is in her wake. She’s only gone a few paces when she realizes the trees are all wrong. She takes a sharp breath. “The trees, they’re uprooted. How?”

Larson sidles up to her. “From where we were, it looked like they were crawling toward Odin.”

“Odin was here?” Bohdi exclaims.

Larson scowls. “In the flesh, unless there are some other one-eyed Asgardians I should know about. He was carrying a glowing blue sword.”

Amy’s feet stop, though she hasn’t reached the perimeter of the destruction. “Laevithin!” She gasps.

“Oh fuck,” says Bohdi.

“That’s really bad?” says Larson.

Amy puts a hand to her head. “After Cera, that is the most powerful magical weapon in the universe.”

“It wasn’t stronger than the Iron Wood,” Heiðr snaps. “He did not venture past the line of trees.” She spits. “More’s the pity. They would have seized it.”

At the crater’s center, the Frost Giants begin to upend the cross Tucker is crucified to from the ground. His moans are like arrows to Amy’s heart. Balling her hands into fists, she holds her breath. She expects Odin to open the gate and take the Frost Giants and Tucker to Asgard at any moment, but Odin’s warriors do not come. As they bring Tucker forward, Amy’s eyes fall on the trees at the treeline. Their roots and branches are out of the ground, and bent beneath the trunks, as though they were crawling on hands and knees toward the crater. The magical source was so strong, even the appendages as thick as the waist of a man are bent—some appear to have broken from the strain. Now that the gate is closed, and its magic no longer active, they’ve gone still again, in eerily twisted positions.

The sound of Tucker’s moans grow louder. Amy gulps and turns toward the Frost Giants bearing the crucifix. They are still a few yards away. Park’s hand lands on her shoulder, and it’s only then that she realizes she had begun to walk toward the crucified SEAL.

“You can’t go there,” she hears Nari say, and she turns her head briefly and sees Bohdi in the grip of Loki’s sons. His face is twisted in a snarl, and he looks like he might cry.

Amy can’t cry. She will be expected to give advice, to ease Tucker’s suffering, even though she doesn’t have any tools. She takes a deep breath …

… and instead of Tucker she sees another man on the cross. No, not a man, she sees the son of a Frost Giant woman and a Vanir man, a mixed blood. Amy gasps. Odin was on a cross. She closes her eyes and tries to seize hold of Loki’s memory, knowing it could be important.

She swallows. In the myths Odin had himself speared to the World Tree on purpose, so he would gain eternal life. But it wasn’t true. Odin had been crucified by the Vanir when he tried to drive them from Jotunheim. He hung there for days.

“You can fix him, can’t you?”

Amy turns her head … and sees Lothur, older now, perhaps thirty-five. She doesn’t know how she knows it’s him, she just does.

She looks back at Odin, on the cross, so close now she can touch him. Reaching up, she touches his bare calf. His body is warm, but she knows instantly that his pulse has stopped, that he’s dead. “Yes,” she says anyway, and she’s startled by the masculine tone of her voice. Closing her eyes, and bowing her head, she focuses, willing magic to pool there, to be ready to spark Odin’s nervous system again, to recharge his magic matter, and fix all that has broken. She closes her eyes tighter. Something is wrong with her own magic—it’s not as strong as she expects; the magic matter in her body has retreated, and it no longer inhabits her entire nervous system. She wills it to grow and expand and focuses on what must be done. She … no he … murmurs to himself. “His mind has been starved for oxygen, as have many cells in his body, but he will recover.”

“Don’t just talk, fix him!” Lothur screams.

No, not Lothur ... someone else is screaming.

“Amy!”

Amy blinks. Bohdi’s hands are on her shoulders. Beatrice is poking at something near her feet, with her umbrella. Amy tries to hop back, but finds her legs and hands are ensnared in roots.

“I had a hallucination,” Amy murmurs.

Bohdi’s eyes drift down. “Are you sure it was just a hallucination?” Someone coughs, and Amy realizes that the human team and Frost Giants are staring at her.

Tucker moans and whimpers just a few feet away, and the Frost Giants bearing the cross lower it slowly to the ground. Amy doesn’t answer Bohdi or acknowledge the stares—extricating herself from the roots, she rushes to Tucker and kneels beside him. His extremities are bare. Taking off her muffler, she lays it across his exposed skin. “Cover his feet, and other hand,” she says, and Thomas and Cruz quickly do. Amy observes the nail closest to her. It is thicker than her finger, and protruding a good inch from the place of puncture. They’ll be relatively easy to pull out—but not for Tucker, she has no anesthesia. She glances toward his face; his eyes are glazed and he’s staring upward, mouth open.

“Where is Rush?” someone says. “Someone had to help them set off the gunpowder …”

Amy grits her teeth and fights the flare of rage she feels in her chest. Rush walks away and Tucker suffers. Biting back her fury, she says calmly. “We need to pull these out. Tucker, can you hear me?”

He doesn’t respond. Dropping her hands to his hand, she wills the nerves there to silence, imagines the pain receptors ineffectual, and …

A root whips up and grabs her hands.

She stares at it, mouth dropping open.

“You can fix him, can’t you?” Bohdi says, echoing Lothur’s words.

“I …”

Tucker moans. “Patel, you’re here?”

Somewhere a few feet off, Fenrir whines.

Bohdi drops down beside Amy. “I’m here, Tucker,” he whispers, “I’m here.” He looks like he’s about to reach out, but he draws back.

Eyes still glazed and on the sky, Tucker says, “Bohdi, you have to go to Asgard. You have to go through the gate. Otherwise … otherwise … Captain, suffer consequences …” Tucker’s eyes slide closed.

Bohdi leans back, mouth agape.

And then from the crater comes a shout. “No!”

Bohdi lifts his eyes. His lips curl in a snarl. “Motherfucking Rush.”

x x x x

Bohdi sees Rush over the shoulders of the Frost Giants and humans bending over the crucified Tucker. The world becomes tinted with crimson. Bolting to his feet, he crashes through the onlookers and is immediately ensnared in tree branches and roots shooting out of the snow-covered ground.

Cursing, Bohdi tries to throw off his bonds. He hears Berry say, “What happened to you?”

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry …” Rush says.

Bohdi raises his head, about to snap liar. But Rush isn’t lying. His eyes fall on the man. Rush is hanging onto the ruff of Fenrir’s neck. His body is swaying, his feet are stumbling, and with his free hand he’s clutching his stomach. His parka is stained and bloody.

“You can’t go, Hadji,” Rush says, his hand slipping from Fenrir’s neck, and his body slumping into the snow.

Bohdi’s lip curls at the insult. He tears at the branches, but they don’t budge.

Rush swallows audibly. “Captain’s orders, brother.”

Bohdi detects no lie. Rush reaches out at empty air. “Hadji, I’m so sorry … I know he is your friend.”

“No!” screams Tucker. “You have to go!”

Bohdi turns to Tucker.

“Don’t believe him!” Rush cries from the snow. “He betrayed us, let the Asgardians in, told them about the gunpowder.” Rush shakes his head. “Odin crucified him so you’d think … so you’d think he didn’t betray you …”

Bohdi’s mouth falls. He stops pulling at the branches.

Amy stands up beside Tucker. “You’re lying,” she hisses at Rush. “You’re trying to cover your butt after you got Steve captured!”

Bohdi’s gut twists, and he feels heat at the corners of his eyes. “Amy,” he whispers, “Rush’s not lying.” Bohdi can’t really believe it, though. Rush is an ass, and Tucker is a good guy, a much better guy than Bohdi.

The branches around Bohdi loosen. Extricating himself, he stands between the two men, not sure what to do.

Taking a step back, Amy shakes her head. “No, no … Rush has to be wrong. He has to be mistaken. Maybe he thinks Tucker did this.”

Tucker moans on the cross, and Amy falls beside him. “It’s okay, we’ll fix this, we will.”

A Frost Giant approaches with what looks like tongs from a fire. Holding Tucker’s arm, Amy says, “I’m so sorry, but we have to take the nails out of your hands out here. But we’ll saw off the crossbar and carry you into the cavern and then Sigyn can use magic and it won’t hurt anymore.”

The Frost Giant grabs one of the nails with the tongs, and Larson shouts, “Stop!”

The Frost Giant pauses and looks up at the lieutenant. Larson’s eyes are on Tucker. “Did you let the Asgardians into the inn, Tucker? Did you tell them about the gunpowder?”

Tucker whines. Through the crowd of Frost Giants, humans and Thor, comes Sigyn’s and Gerðr’s voices. “What’s going on?” A moment later, Sigyn, Claire, Gerðr, and Bjorna, Cannonball strapped to her back, step out of the throng. “Where’s my dad?” Claire asks, looking up at Sigyn. Sigyn shakes her head and wraps her arms around Claire’s shoulders, pulls her close, and whispers something in her ear.

Bjorna’s eyes go wide, and she falls to her knees in the snow at Tucker’s side.

“Answer me,” Larson says quietly. “Did you help the Asgardians?”

Tucker sniffles and shouts, “No!”

A sneeze wracks through Bohdi’s body with such force he bends at the waist. As he recovers, Larson meets his eyes.

Bohdi feels like crying. “Tucker’s lying,” Bohdi says.

Amy pulls back from Tucker. “Why?” she gasps, putting her hands to her mouth.

Tucker closes his eyes. “Because what you did was wrong! You turned the human race into guinea pigs, and if magic destroys us you can’t stop it, but Odin can. Because we’ve killed Americans since we’ve been here. Because magic in human hands is too dangerous—we are still killing each other in droves. And look …” Sobbing, eyes red, he turns his head to the Frost Giants nearest Bjorna; they’re staring down at Cannonball strapped to her back. “Look who our friends are! Baby-killing rapists, just like Rush said.”

His body becomes racked with sobs. “Odin is our only hope now.” Lifting his head, he looks at Bjorna. “Odin is your only hope. Walk through the gate and you’ll be safe. He promised me.”

Scuttling to her feet, Bjorna backs away from Tucker. Her slender frame shakes, and her thin lip turns into a sneer. “You think I want Odin’s charity?” Her hands ball at her sides. “I am a Frost Giantess! I would rather die a thousand deaths and watch my baby die than submit to Odin’s mercy!” With those words, she spits on Tucker.

Tucker’s head bows. One of the Frost Giants says, “Kill him! Kill the traitor!”

Someone yells, “Burn him!”

Tucker sobs and Bohdi thinks he might, too. He trusted Tucker … he liked Tucker. The betrayal hurts, and he wants to hurt the man, and yet some part of him rebels and he can’t. Everything Tucker said to Amy he believes. Traitors are supposed to act out of fear, or envy, or for power, not because they’re trying to save the human race and babies.

The Frost Giants loom closer to Tucker. Someone throws a ball of ice at the crucified SEAL, and it hits him in the side of the head with such force his whole body jerks. He moans in pain. Grumbling, the crowd looms nearer.

“Form a perimeter!” Larson shouts.

All of Bohdi’s conditioning kicks in at the lieutenant’s words. Raising his rifle, he spins to the crowd of Frost Giants. Beside him all the SEALs and Harding do the same. Nari, Valli, Sigyn, and Gerðr’s eyes slide between each other, and they don’t move. Sigyn keeps her arms wrapped around Claire. The Frost Giants shift on their feet. Some growl. The ones closest to Bohdi are warriors, but over their shoulders, Bohdi sees the peasantry has crawled out of hiding and has come to join the party. He feels sweat prickle his brow, not in fear—anger—and the awful knowledge that Tucker may be right—their friends probably aren’t any better than Odin, they might even be worse.

“Lieutenant,” Berry says softly, “the punishment for treason during wartime is death.”

Bohdi hears Larson take a deep breath. “Tucker, you have to tell us … what does Odin want?”

“He wants Patel!” Tucker says, his voice a strangled sob. “Just to talk to him! I swear that’s what he told me.”

Bohdi’s nose doesn’t itch. Berry says softly, “Patel, is he telling the truth?”

Eye still in the sights of his M4, Bohdi nods. “Yes, Sir.”

“This—Tucker—lies! Give him to us,” Heiðr says. “We’ll draw the truth out of him!”

Voice soft, Larson says, “Is there anything else you can tell us?”

Tucker’s voice cracks. “No, that’s all I know.”

“Patel,” Larson says. “Is he telling the truth?”

Bohdi nods. “Yes.”

“He needs to pay!” screams a Frost Giant warrior. “He let Odin into our lands.”

“His magical fire destroyed our homes,” screams a peasant. Amy hears murmurs of assent.

“Skin him alive while he’s trussed up,” someone whispers.

“Burn him, we’ve got the wood,” someone hisses, and laughter rises from the crowd.

A single pistol shot silences the crowd. Amy gasps. Claire cries out. Angry roars rise from the Frost Giants, but they back away. Bohdi turns his head. Larson is standing above Tucker with his pistol drawn. Tucker’s eyes are open, his head sagging to the side, his lips parted. A single crimson bullet wound mars his forehead, and Larson’s gear is stained with spatters of blood.

Bohdi swallows. Larson looks gray; there are deep lines between his brows. He doesn’t put his pistol away. He just stares at it.

Claire whimpers. “Where is my dad? Why did the lieutenant do that?” The enormity of all that has just happened crashes down on Bohdi. He hears his heart beat in his ears. Steve is missing because Odin wants him. What had Odin said about Chaos? He destroys everything and everyone he loves. Bohdi trembles. Tucker said if Bohdi didn’t go to Asgard, Steve would suffer the consequences—and that wasn’t a lie. Bohdi feels the burn of tears in his eyes but none fall.

He starts to see red. Forcing the rage down, he charges through the line of SEALs and pushes his way past the Frost Giants.

“No!” Rush cries. “Bohdi, Captain doesn’t want you going after him!”

Rush’s words make him stop short. Rush isn’t lying. He grits his teeth in frustration. He wants to go through the gate … but Steve said no? He hears Claire say again, “Where is my dad?”

Bohdi closes his eyes. All Steve wants is for him to take care of Claire. Bohdi walks to the edge of the trees and stops just past the shadows of their branches. He feels a light pressure on his arm and finds Amy by his side. “Heimdall’s probably watching us, isn’t he?” asks Bohdi.

She nods.

Lifting his head to the sky, Bohdi shouts, “You want to talk, Odin? Fine! I’m right here! Come down and talk to me!”

x x x x

Amy stands beside Bohdi, looking at the sky. Behind them, she hears Frost Giants muttering about “losing their fun.” She hears Gerðr say softly, “It had to be done.”

With a grunt, Bohdi swings his rifle behind his back, lifts his hands above his head and shouts, “I know you can tell I’m not lying. You want to talk? We can talk!”

There are jeers among the Frost Giants, and Claire whimpers. “Where is my dad?”

In the crater, a fire snaps and crackles, sending sparks into the sky, but nothing else happens. Amy looks at Bohdi. He stares upward, not even blinking, hands high. From behind them Thor rumbles, “Odin will not come.” Everyone goes silent. The only noise is the wind and the snap of flames.

Bohdi drops his hands, and Amy slides her mittened fingers into his and squeezes. He doesn’t look at her, but he squeezes her hand back. Together they turn to Thor.

Odin’s sons stands amidst the Frost Giants who are aiming crossbows at him. Lifting his chin, Thor says, “He expects some trick.”

Bohdi’s voice is anguished. “Some trick? I have no tricks!”

“The trees say otherwise,” Thor says.

It’s only then that Amy realizes the trees have begun to move again. They’re not creeping toward the crater, but their smaller branches are waving gently, as though stirred by an unseen breeze.

Still clutching her hand, Bohdi looks back toward the gate, eyes wide and frantic.

Berry comes toward them but doesn’t leave the shadows of the trees.

“He’s got a trap for you over there,” Berry the ever-rational warrant officer says, his voice perfectly level.

Bohdi bows his head and nods. “I know.”

Amy squeezes his hand, and he squeezes back. She’s ridiculously grateful for that. She still matters in his universe.

Berry nods, and returns to Larson’s side. The lieutenant is talking in low tones with Heiðr.

“Amy,” Bohdi whispers, head still bowed. “If it weren’t for Steve, I wouldn’t have you, I wouldn’t have anything. I’d probably be in Gitmo right now.” Not raising his head, he whispers, “I have to go, I have to try and save him.”

Amy bites her lip and feels tears that don’t fall. She thinks of Tucker, Odin’s ally, crucified. What would Odin do to Steve, his enemy? If she was in Bohdi’s position, she couldn’t live her life knowing Steve was suffering, no matter how troubled their history.

Squeezing his hand, she says, “I know.”

Bohdi lifts his head. He’s got a five o’clock shadow, and his hair has gotten longer in the past few weeks. Meeting her eyes, he takes her other hand. Somewhere a flame crackles loudly, and in the periphery of her vision she sees sparks shooting into the sky. He gives her the grimmest of smiles. Amy pulls him toward the shadows of the trees and out of Heimdall’s sight. “We need a plan,” she whispers. Bohdi stops short for a moment, as though startled, but then he says, “Yes.”

They begin moving again, and together they approach the team. The Frost Giants are arguing about what to do with Tucker’s body. They seem to have forgotten Thor. He and his family are standing with the humans and Loki’s family. Cruz is kneeling beside Rush, who’s collapsed on the snow. Fenrir is hovering above them and whining. Releasing Bohdi’s hand, Amy drops to her knees beside the wounded SEAL.

“Crossbow bolt to the abdomen,” Cruz says. Amy gulps. If it weren’t for the magic users around her, she’d say he was done, but with magic there is hope.

Cruz winces. “He broke the shaft off so it wouldn’t get in the way when he crawled.” Cruz gently rubs Rush’s hand, and Fenrir whines. Rush’s eyes are closed; he seems to have mercifully fallen into unconsciousness. Looking at her, Cruz says, “You can get it out, right, Doc?”

Rush’s eyes snap open. “Oh, no, no … she can’t operate on me!” He coughs. “I’m not an animal!”

Amy sits back on her heels. Technically, she isn’t qualified to operate on him. Above her Bohdi hisses, “You idiot! Vets are smarter than doctors!”

Pushing his feet up underneath his butt, Rush scrambles backward in the snow, leaving a bloody trail. “Keep her away from me!”

“Don’t move!” one of the guys says. “You’re making it worse, you dolt.”

Rush shivers and doesn’t speak, his face contorting in pain.

“May I?” Thor rumbles.

“Yes, Thor!” Rush moans. “You can make me better.”

Thor touches his eyes, and says, “Sleep and be well.” Above his head, branches swing down and then sway in the air. Rush’s body slumps over.

Thor scowls down at the man. “You’ll need to operate on him, Dr. Lewis.”

Amy puts her hand to her face. “He doesn’t want me to touch him.” There has to be some ethical breach she is committing if she does operate on him.

“He’s being stupid,” Harding says, pushing back her helmet. “How can we help you make some tools?”

Amy looks up. All of the humans are looking at her expectantly. Before she can think of a reply, she hears Claire say, “Odin took my dad.”

She hears Bohdi whisper, “Don’t worry, I’m going to go get him.” There’s something about the answer that makes Amy pause, but then Larson says, “Dr. Lewis, what do you need us to do?” She pushes the tingle of worry to the back of her mind.

Chapter 28

Bohdi stands in the building they erected above the cavern. They have their snowmobiles stored here, a couple of Harding’s comm relay boxes, a single cot someone made out of tree branches and vines, and a sleeping bag. Jaw grinding, he turns away from the meager supplies, goes to the door and stares out into the snow. Downstairs, Amy is operating on Rush with Thor. Most of the rest of the team is down there helping out in one way or other. Valli and Nari are standing guard outside, Fenrir pacing between them. Beyond them is a small fire. Sigyn is sitting in the snow next to it, talking to Claire.

He hears footsteps. Turning, he finds Larson coming out of the tunnel to the cavern, Berry and Gerðr behind him. Larson looks like he’s aged ten years in the past few hours. His shoulders are too tight, he has dark circles under his eyes, and it looks like a scowl has settled permanently between his brows. When he speaks to Bohdi, the scowl deepens. “Berry tells me you intend to go to Asgard.” Even though the lieutenant is perhaps a half-inch shorter than Bohdi, he still manages to look down his nose at him.

“Yes,” Bohdi says, fingers finding his lighter.

More team members file into the room—but no Amy, Beatrice, or Thor. As they enter, Bohdi notices that Park and Thomas give Larson strange looks. Larson stands straighter and draws his head back, making him look like he’s looking down his nose even more.

“You can’t order me to go back to Earth,” Bohdi says. He smiles tightly.

Beside Bohdi, Park mutters, “Patel isn’t technically a Marine anymore, and he’s not even an American. You can’t shoot him for treason.”

Bohdi shifts on his feet, and his mouth falls open. “Larson wasn’t thinking about shooting me,” he says sharply, Park’s and Thomas’s strange looks suddenly making sense. They’re angry at Larson. His eyes graze over the other members of the team; except for the stoic Berry, they’re standing a little farther from the lieutenant than necessary, and they’re more restless than usual. Bohdi’s gut twists. When he thinks of Tucker, he is filled with conflicting emotions. But the more he thinks about it, the more relieved he is that Tucker is dead—he betrayed all of them and cost Steve most of all. Tucker wasn’t remorseful; being alive he’d be dangerous. Someone would have to kill him, and Bohdi’s glad it doesn’t have to be him. He looks at Larson and nods. “You did what you had to, Lieutenant,” he says softly.

Instead of making Larson relax, Bohdi’s words just seem to wind him up tighter. “Do you really expect you’ll just walk into Asgard and rescue Rogers?” Larson snaps.

Bohdi looks down at the muddy floor of the building the Frost Giants call “the shit house” for its supposed location above the toilet plumbing of the old Keep. The odds are against him. Supposedly, that makes him even more likely to succeed, but he doesn’t really believe it. He flicks his lighter. “No, but if I die trying, it will give Odin one less reason to want to hold onto Steve.” He swallows. Or chase after Amy, if she manages not to be captured.

Shrugging, he tries to give a cocky grin. “Hey, maybe if Odin’s busy with me he’ll be less likely to catch you guys, right?”

There is absolute silence in the room. Then Berry says softly, “If it were up to me, I’d go with you.”

Bohdi’s eyebrows shoot up to his bangs.

The warrant officer rubs his chin. “The World Gate to the Dark Lands is well known, Lieutenant. Odin will have people waiting for us when we arrive. Chances of any of us making it to the World Gate between the Dark Lands and Chicago are slim and none.”

“Chances of us making it back from Asgard, let alone rescuing Rogers, are slim and none,” Larson snaps.

Berry gives him a crooked smile. “But at least we might get a chance to shove a grenade up Odin’s throne.”

Redman crosses his arms, and says, “Yeah.” Bohdi sees Harding nodding. Park and Thomas grunt in agreement. The tension leaves Larson’s shoulders, and the scowl in his brow melts. For a moment his eyes slip closed like he’s saying a prayer, but he opens them quickly. “We’ll need a plan.”

Bohdi blinks. Larson wants to go to Asgard and get Steve, probably has all along.

Berry puts a hand to his chin and looks at Redman. “If you can make us invisible—” Redman is the best so far at manipulating light.

Larson snorts and then chuckles. The whole room looks to him. Larson shakes his head. “Sorry, still not used to sentences that begin with if you can make us invisible.”

There are a few more chuckles in the room. Gerðr, quiet up until this point, says, “He can’t make you invisible … yet … but I can.”

Larson’s frame winds up again. Berry says excitedly, “We storm the gates without Odin knowing we’re there … we’ll get a few good shots in before he figures it out.” There are earnest nods and a few wry laughs.

Bohdi snaps, “I don’t want any storming, I just want to get Steve.” Tension returns to the room, and all eyes are on him. Before he can say what is on his mind, he hears Thor’s voice rumble up the stairs, and Amy’s hushed response, still too far away for the words to be distinct.

Larson looks to Bohdi. “Whose side is Thor on?”

Bohdi shakes his head and shrugs. He has no idea how far Thor’s we’re on neutral ground and so still friends let me help you aid your injured comrade thing goes.

“We need to find out,” the lieutenant says tightly.

Thomas bows his head and scratches his stubble. “He was amazing when Lewis was operating. Rush’s intestines were torn …” He exhales sharply and shudders. “Thor just touched them and the pieces melted together.”

Park meets Bohdi’s eyes. “Dr. Lewis did it too. And then sewed him up with the neatest stitches I’ve ever seen.”

Bohdi tilts his head and smiles, his chest puffing a little. Of course, when Amy started manifesting magic, she’d be able to do that. She fixes broken people-and-animal-parts even without hocus-pocus.

“Someone needs to escort Dr. Lewis, Beatrice, and Claire back to Earth,” Berry says softly.

Bohdi’s smile drops.

“Dr. Lewis would be a liability,” Berry says.

Harding snickers and puts her hand over her mouth. “Not Beatrice, though!”

Ignoring the Marine, Berry keeps his eyes trained on Bohdi. “Don’t you want her to have a chance?”

Swallowing, Bohdi rubs the back of his neck. When he told Amy he wanted her to stick with him he’d meant it, but at the time he’d been thinking of avoiding a visit to Asgard. As soon as she said, “We need a plan,” he’d realized she expected to go to Asgard with him. “I do,” he whispers, just before Amy and Thor enter the room.

x x x x

Amy exits the tunnel with Thor. The big man is carrying Rush in his arms as lightly as though the SEAL were a doll. She’s sure Thor had used magic deeper in the cavern to help with the load, but even without magic, the man is incredibly strong.

Without a word he lays Rush down on the single cot in the room. Everyone on the team looks to Amy. She slips into professional mode. “Thor was able to heal most of his internal injuries with magic—”

“You did too, right?” says Bohdi with a grin.

Amy looks at the floor, memory of the moment still strange. She’d touched the perforated sections of Rush’s small intestines and imagined the endothelium, nerves, and muscle tissues at the cellular level, healthy and whole. She’d felt heat beneath her fingers, warmer than Rush’s open wounds, and something else she’ll never be able to describe: something wonderful, extraordinary, and so natural it was like breathing.

Clearing her throat, she raises her head. “Yes, unfortunately, the external injuries were too much for either of us.” She tilts her head. “Too many layers of muscle, ligaments, and dermis,” she murmurs. “We had to use lion gut stitches.” She swallows and meets their eyes. “It will take him a few weeks to be fully healed. Although the risk of sepsis is very low, if he tears the stitches he could potentially bleed to death.”

“So no fun for him for a few weeks,” Larson says.

By Rush’s cot, Thor says, “Before that time Dr. Lewis may be strong enough to heal him.”

Amy looks sharply to the big man. “I think that is an overestimation of my abilities,” she says, feeling distinctly uncomfortable.

“Well done, Dr. Lewis and Thor,” Larson says. “I really didn’t expect him to make it.”

Amy blushes and finds Bohdi’s eyes on her. He’s smiling like a shark and looking like he might eat her alive … in a good way. Feeling warm all over, she does the only logical thing. She looks at her boots.

An uncomfortable silence settles in the room. The guys shift on their feet. Beatrice fiddles with her umbrella, Mr. Squeakers crawls out of Amy’s pocket, up to her neck and then scoots into her collar.

Thor stands up from the cot. “So you intend to go to Asgard.”

It’s not a question. There is another awkward silence, and then Bohdi says, “I don’t want Asgard to burn, I don’t want to take out Odin—that was Loki’s schtick. I just want to get Steve.”

“I believe that is all you want, friend Patel,” Thor says. “I will help you achieve it.”

Everyone stares sort of slack-jawed at Thor. He doesn’t meet their eyes; he just sort of sinks back to the edge of the cot.

“Thor,” Amy says. “You —”

“Must aid you,” Thor finishes for her. Thor rubs his brow. “The hero’s role is not to preserve order or to destroy chaos. The hero’s role is to keep either from going too far.” He sighs. “My father has been betraying the laws he laid out for Asgard, he has been betraying Asgardians, and I have not just been complicit. I have aided him.” He meets Amy’s eyes. Amy’s mouth falls open. She walks toward him, and she remembers.

x x x x

Loki is sitting in Odin’s throne. In the distance he hears Odin’s and Frigga’s voices. They sound far away, or like he’s listening to them through water. Their voices are faint and gurgly. Maybe this is what conversation sounds like to fish. That thought makes him laugh, and he nearly falls from his seat.

Regaining himself, he wipes an eye. And then he has a moment of panic. He really should get off Odin’s throne. Odin’s and Frigga’s voices are getting closer. Putting his hands on the armrests, he pushes himself up, almost loses his stomach, and carefully lowers himself back into the seat.

He hears a door creak and Frigga say, “We need to have that oiled.” Odin grunts in reply, and then the two monarchs’ footsteps approach. Loki tries to open his eyes, but it’s much too bright.

“I’m sorry to be sitting on your throne,” Loki says. “Plssh don’t dump me in the void.”

Frigga gasps. “Loki, you reek!”

Odin rumbles, “You’re not sitting on my throne, you idiot. You’re in my library.”

Loki opens one eye. Sure enough, he sees books and scrolls, neatly stacked and sorted in shelves that stretch to the ceiling. Looking up makes his stomach churn. He shuts his eye quickly. “How did I get here?” he muses aloud.

“When did you get so drunk?” Odin demands.

“It’s not even mid-morning, Loki. This has got to stop. Even a magical liver can’t stand this amount of abuse!”

“Pfffffffttttt ….” Odin says. Or maybe it’s Loki. Someone snickers.

“You can’t send him on a mission like this,” Frigga says.

Loki abruptly sits up straight and opens his eyes, despite the brightness in the room. “If it’s to Earth you can! Love going to Earth … Granted, that mess at Hiroshima was a wee bit distressing; did you know skin can fall off and eyeballs can melt? But otherwise, only place that anything interesting happens. I love Japan. I don’t know why. Feels like a second home … Am I rambling?”

“The mission is to go to Alfheim, as we discussed,” Odin snaps.

Slouching, Loki closes his eyes. “Oh, yes, that’s why I got drunk. Stuck-up, pointy-eared fascists. So boring, boring, boring …”

Frigga sighs. “You can’t send him like this.”

The world progressively gets darker.

Odin’s voice rumbles through the gloom. “Loki, I’ve put up with your penchant for alcohol long enough …”

“He doesn’t hear you,” Frigga says.

“This is inconvenient. I need him to leave.”

“You let him become an alcoholic because it was convenient for you, husband. I warned you it was a bad idea. The tighter the chain, the more likely he is to slip loose.”

“I did it to avoid putting a chain around his neck! Now stop nagging me, woman,” Odin says. “I’ll think of something.”

Loki giggles and falls into dreams. In the dream he is a dragon battling Thor, but Thor has deep brown skin, dark hair and dark eyes, and Loki’s dragon self insists on calling him Gilgamesh. Gilgamesh strikes him down and he falls, and falls, and falls … and lands in a cloud of the softest, most wonderful pillows.

Loki blinks. His head screams and he groans.

“Would you like a glass of water?”

Thor’s voice makes Loki pull the covers over his head. Wait, how did he get into bed? He pulls the covers down and finds himself in his own room. Thor is sitting in a chair at his bedside, holding a glass of water out to Loki.

Loki scowls at the glass. “Can’t you just wag your fingers over my forehead and make the headache go away?”

Thor’s lips purse. “You know dehydration is the root cause of a hangover; until that is remedied, I can provide no lasting—” Thor scowls. “Loki, stop that.”

During Thor’s talk, Loki had slipped his hand from beneath the quilts and was opening and closing his fingers, making his hand mouth words in time with Thor’s speech.

Loki turns to his hand. “Hand, stop that.” He makes his hand swipe at his own nose.

Thor puts the glass down. “Must you always be such a clown and must you always be drunk?”

Loki turns his hand to Thor and magically projects his voice from his fingers. “Yes!”

Thor drops his head and rubs the back of his neck. He’s sweating, even though the room is cool. Loki almost asks him what’s wrong, but his head hurts too much. He drinks the glass at his bedside instead. As he does, Huginn and Muninn land on his windowsill.

They whistle and rawk amongst themselves. Loki throws his glass at them. It sails through the window without hitting either of them. Loki curses not only because he missed but also because he’s just realized it’s late afternoon. “I had better get to the council meeting,” he mutters. “Your father will be angry enough at me for not going to Alfheim.” Standing, he staggers to the wardrobe.

“Loki, I need to talk to you,” Thor says.

Loki turns on a foot. Smiling, Loki bows. “Of course, letting the prince of Asgard bend my ear might be the noblest thing I can do as a true servant to Asgard. May I suggest the pub?”

Outside, the ravens rawk. “Remember Asgard! Remember Odin!”

Loki scowls at the window. “Well, now I am more determined than ever to drink.”

“Have you seen Nari and Valli about lately?” Thor says.

Loki scowls. Now he really feels like drinking. “No, Thor.”

“Don’t you worry about them? A lot of our young have … strange ideas.”

“A lot of our young have nothing to do. Since Odin’s judges on the Diar are undying.” He smiles at Thor and winks. “As are you and I, but I have no intention of ameliorating that.”

Thor ducks his head and twiddles his thumbs. “And it has always been thus. And we haven’t had a war on our own soil in over a thousand years.”

“Not since your daddy kicked out the Vanir.” Loki’s jaw goes hard. “And well he should have. Why, the Vanir were causing the Frost Giants to riot among themselves, helping the dwarves and elven monarchs maintain stifling and vicious order in their own realms, and slaying their own who suggested they do otherwise.”

All things Odin does, too. In fact, after centuries without the death penalty, Odin has just reinstated it. Loki smiles bitterly. Just a few hundred years ago, Odin would have manipulated events to make sure executions happened on other realms. Loki thinks of Gullveig and shudders, and he thinks of Aggie, Helen … and Baldur. Baldur had been executed by Odin, too, hadn’t he? Though Loki had delivered the fatal blow.

“I really need that drink, Thor,” Loki mutters, heading to the door.

Thor gets up and follows him without a word. They walk through the gardens, passing a few lesser nobles as they do.

“We have a good life here,” Thor says. “Remember what we saw in Hiroshima and Nagasaki?”

Loki scowls at the mention of the last two cities he visited on Earth during their latest Einherjar recruitment. Thor had favored the Axis powers during that trip, Loki the Allies. Just to make sure the Axis’ horrors don’t go without comment, Loki says, “And Warsaw, Auschwitz, Dachau, Nanking …” Loki shrugs. “Why, yes, Thor, Asgard is a veritable paradise of peace and harmony.” He frowns. And boredom, monotony, and infuriating hypocrisy.

“My first oath is always to Asgard,” Thor says. Standing straighter, he says, “I cannot allow those ways to reach our realm.”

“Of course, you must,” Loki snips. Odin will have their hides if they do anything otherwise. Odin managed to kill his invincible son—he could do as much to Thor. Loki snaps his fingers and flame flares over his thumb. Still, as much as Odin’s hypocrisy infuriates Loki, he’d rather Thor not see it. Thor would try to fight it, the big noble oath, and even if Loki doesn’t consider Thor to be the friend he once was, he’d rather not see the big lug dead.

He looks at Thor. The big man is walking with his shoulders slumped, and his hands fisted at his sides, brows knitted like he’s deep in thought—probably wondering how he bet on the wrong horse in the last race. Thor’s pure and trusting like a child—and Loki can’t be angry at children.

Together they walk into the pub. They’ve put back a few when when Huginn and Muninn flutter in through a window. Perching on the bar, they rawk, “Asgard. Remember your oaths to Asgard.”

Loki sighs and stares down at his mug. “I should go to that council meeting,” he mutters. “Show my loyalty.” He feels like throwing up.

Thor scowls at his mug. He’s been unusually taciturn all evening.

“Asgard, Asgard,” rawk the ravens.

“Are you talking to me?” Loki demands, just to be irritating.

“Yes,” says one of the birds.

Every inch of Loki’s skin itches, and his hair feels like it’s been rubbed the wrong way. He needs to get to that council meeting, he knows it with every fiber of his being. Bolting from his seat and turning to the door he says, “Thor, I have to—”

Pain shoots up the back of his neck and everything goes black.

x x x x

“I promised Loki that I would always look after his sons as though they were my own. I didn’t … but convinced myself that it was for Asgard. This time, I must abide by my conscience before I am beyond redemption,” Thor says.

Amy swallows. “You did what you thought was best at the time.”

Thor smiles crookedly. “Did I? Or did I act out of fear, knowing that my father who had slain Baldur, his most beloved son, would just as soon turn on me if I became inconvenient?”

Amy draws back. “You knew about Odin’s part in Baldur’s death.” She hears several of the guys shift in the room behind her.

Thor lifts his eyebrows and then looks away. “I suppose I deserve that.” He meets her eyes again. “When your golden older brother is as murderous as your father, you learn to hide your thoughts.” He cocks his head and looks past Amy. “Unless you’re Loki. I always admired that about him.”

Following his gaze, Amy realizes he’s staring at Bohdi. Rubbing the back of his neck, Bohdi puts a hand on Amy’s back. “Errr …”

“I will go with you to Asgard,” Thor says, giving Bohdi a nod. “And do what is needed to help you retrieve your Captain.”

Amy hears Bohdi take a deep breath. The hand he has on her back stills and becomes firmer. “What I need to do is march through Hel.”

Chapter 29

It’s almost dawn. Bohdi runs a hand through his bangs. He has just finished telling Amy his plan. It had not gone well. Taking a deep breath, he tries to stay calm. “Amy, you have to promise me, you won’t try to follow us.”

Where she is sitting on the cot, taking Rush’s temperature, Amy glares up at him.

Claire harrumphs and crosses her arms. “I’m not promising anything, either.” Bohdi looks at Claire and sighs. She’s grown taller during their trip, but not any broader. Her face is still that of a child—the pigtails don’t make her look any older.

Scowling at the thermometer, Amy says, “You need me.”

And here they go again. Bohdi frowns. “We have Sigyn to take us to the World Gate in Hel and walk us through. She and Valli will put us in contact with the resistance in Asgard.” And they’ll hopefully inform them of where Steve is.

Standing, Amy says, “You shouldn’t take Valli without Nari!”

Bohdi takes a step closer to her. “You need Nari to open the World Gate to …”

“To where!” Amy shouts. “The Dark Lands? As Berry says, there will be Einherjar waiting for us there.”

“He’ll open the World Gate to Earth when Daevas shows up.”

Amy puts her hands on her hips. “If and when Daevas … whoever he is … shows up, I won’t need Nari to open a World Gate!”

She looks adorable when she’s angry. He wants to wrap his arms around her and kiss her nose, but that would probably really piss her off. “If he doesn’t show up, Nari has allies in the resistance movements of the dwarves, elves, and Asgardians,” Bohdi says, which is one of the primary reasons Nari needs to stay behind and not Gerðr. “And in combat he has his scabbard to protect you.” She’s so close he wants to pull her close and never let her go. He reaches to her shoulders ...

“I don’t need protection!” Amy snaps.

Bohdi drops his hands. “Really?” The word comes out colder than he means it to.

From the bed, Rush says, “You’re shit on the battlefield, Lewis; you’d endanger the team.”

Amy doesn’t look at him, but her face crumples a bit and her shoulders sag.

Lip curling up, Bohdi turns to the SEAL. “Shut up, Rush!”

“Just telling it like it is, man,” Rush says.

“She saved your life,” Bohdi says.

Rolling to the wall, Rush mutters, “Didn’t ask her to.”

Bohdi turns back to Amy and finds her gone. He hears her footsteps echoing up the stairwell from Gullveig’s cavern. Cursing, Bohdi follows. He catches up with her a few minutes later. One step below him, carrying a lantern, she doesn’t turn around. “It was my idea to put the tiny saplings on the fishing boats so Heimdall won’t be able to see you.”

“It was a good idea,” Bohdi says. The tiny trees that uprooted themselves from the frozen ground are going to be very useful.

Her shoulders tighten. “It was my idea to have the old Frost Giant guy stand in the crater and say that you were coming and that you were just working out some details for Claire’s safety.”

Bohdi nods. “That was a good idea, too.” As far as the Frost Giant knew, everything he said was true, no lie for Odin to detect. And, hopefully, knowing Bohdi is coming will keep Steve from being tortured.

“I fixed part of a perforated intestine with my mind!” Amy says. “You need me.”

Bohdi takes a deep breath and tries to keep his words even. “We’ll have Thor for that.”

Amy’s hands fly into the air. “What if he’s busy blowing things up?”

Bohdi doesn’t answer her. It’s because she doesn’t blow things up that they can’t take her, and she knows it. Something tickles the back of his mind … he wants to reach out to her.

Amy stops, and he nearly bumps into her. “You need me!” she shouts. “You need me for this.”

“For your brain,” Bohdi says, more for himself than for her. The answer feels incomplete.

“Yes! I’m at least as sneaky as you are.” She starts flying down the steps again. He jumps down a few stairs to catch up. Giving in to the need to touch her, he slides his hands down her sides. She stops again. She’s not wearing her parka and he can feel the curve of her hip and imagine the softness of her skin. He steps down so they’re on the same stair and turns her toward him. She doesn’t resist. He wishes he could back her all the way against the wall, but ... “There’s something more, isn’t there, Amy?” Something is tickling the back of his mind.

Amy’s mouth opens. Her lower lip is so plump, kissable, bitable, and delicious, and he wants her so much. But there is one secret between them, and he has to know. “It’s something about that time, that missing hour.”

Her hands fly to her face. “I …” Her forehead crumples, and he feels like a heel. From up the stairs comes Claire’s voice. “Let me go! Let me go! He’s my dad! I have to come, too!”

“Be quiet, young lady,” Beatrice snaps. Remarkably, Claire is quiet. Bohdi blinks. They’re in the part of the stairwell where there are barely any iron wood tree roots. Is hushing errant children Beatrice’s magical granny power?

Somehow in the past few moments, Bohdi has pushed Amy against the wall, and one of his legs is between hers in a way that is probably not granny approved. Bohdi draws back. Amy is still clutching her head, and he feels a lump forming in his throat. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, leaning forward to kiss the top of her head.

She pulls away as though he was about to strike her. Bohdi wants to say something, but Beatrice rounds the last spiral of the staircase. In one hand she holds her umbrella, with her other hand she’s dragging a strangely dazed-looking Claire.

Beatrice points the umbrella at Bohdi. “Amy can’t die. I’ll keep them both here. You have to leave.”

“Grandma!” Amy says.

Bohdi turns back to Amy. “Amy, I’m sorry. I …” He swallows. He’s said “I love you” to lots of girls, normally with a cheeky grin, so they knew he was joking. Maybe that’s why at the moment the words feel too small, like not enough. His lips part, and then he thinks of something he can say. “I’ll find my way back to you,” he whispers. One way or another, they’re bound to each other, he’s certain of it.

Eyes widening, Amy drops her hands from her head. “Don’t do this to me again!”

From the top of the stairs comes Berry’s voice, “Patel, we have to go. It’s almost sunrise.”

“I have to go,” he says.

“We have to go,” Amy says. She slips her fingers into his. Bohdi kisses her forehead, and she doesn’t pull away. He squeezes her fingers. Maybe he can just let Larson say no to her joining the team. His shoulders relax. Larson is hard ass enough to shoot a traitor; he’ll make Amy stay behind.

Together they turn and walk up the stairs. Above them, Beatrice doesn’t budge. She points her umbrella at Amy. “Stop, Amy.”

Amy slips her hand away from Bohdi’s, as though to push the umbrella out of the way. Beatrice’s eyes go wide, and she takes a backward step up the stairs, the mute Claire beside her. And then Amy’s jaw goes slack, her hand falls on the umbrella, but doesn’t shove it away. She stares at Beatrice.

“Go, Bohdi,” Beatrice says.

Bohdi’s eyes go rapidly between the two women and girl. Amy’s eyes are wide with shock, Claire’s eyes are strangely empty. He feels magic in the air and isn’t sure of the source.

Above him, Berry says, “Patel!”

Beatrice glares at him with such force he almost backs against the wall. He swallows. It will be better for Amy and for Claire this way. Ducking his head, Bohdi goes up the stairs, but gravity feels like it is increasing with every step.

He enters the room at the top of the stairs. Berry is holding the door open. Harding is sitting on the floor playing with the only comm box not destroyed by Tucker’s explosion. She’s staying behind, too, and not happy about it, but like a good Marine, she follows orders. She doesn’t look up at Bohdi; instead she mutters, “Swear I heard something.”

On the cot, Rush grunts and nods at Bohdi. “Good luck, Hadji,” and then smiles with all his teeth.

Bohdi’s lip curls, but Berry grabs his arm and steers him out the door. Ahead of them are the snowmobiles, charged up and ready to go. A new makeshift sled is behind one of the two seaters, laden with saplings and the only set of Harpy wings Gerðr and Sigyn believe are still reliable. They don’t have much gear this time—not just because Tucker blew it up—but because they don’t expect to come back. He glances at the two seater Redman’s on. From the passenger seat, Thor gives him a nod. Bohdi manages to nod back but feels hollow inside.

His eyes slide over the team. Gerðr is sharing a one-seater snowmobile with Larson. The team agreed she’s better in a fight than Nari—especially in close combat—and she’s slender enough to wear the one working pair of Harpy wings. Larson didn’t want her coming, but he looks pretty comfortable now. Bohdi scowls. Valli is seated behind Sigyn. He’s talking to Nari, leaning over the sled. “Don’t get too angry,” Nari says. “You know what can happen when you get really angry.”

“Don’t be too much of a coward,” Valli counters with a snort. And then a little softer, he says, “One of us has to protect mother.”

“It’s more likely she’ll protect you!” says Nari.

Larson clears his throat, and Sigyn says, “Hush boys, it’s time.”

Bohdi goes to sit behind Park. Berry gets on his own vehicle. Cruz and Thomas nod, on their own machines and ready to go. Bohdi closes his eyes. Ten people against an empire. He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes. He’s made it to Asgard and back before with less; they’ll be able to do this. Park puts the snowmobile in gear, and they begin to silently cruise away. Bohdi bows his head. Who is he trying to kid? They’ll never make it.

x x x x

Claire blinks her eyes. She’s sweaty in her parka, even though she’s only been in the comparative warmth of the stairwell for a few minutes. Everything is pitch black, and her heart rate jumps from zero to sixty before she can blink again. Somewhere, someone is shouting. She hears words. They fall like a jumble of blocks. The words are in Frost Giantish. Claire takes a deep breath, relaxes, and understands. “We need Dr. Lewis! There is a man, a creature, in the crater, asking for her.”

A light goes on; it’s Dr. Amy’s phone. Claire sees Beatrice whacking at a root from an iron wood tree that has burst from between the great stone slabs that line the stairwell. The root is wrapped around her umbrella. Claire blinks. There shouldn’t be roots this low. It must have grown; to grow it would need to be attracted to something really strong. Claire’s mouth drops. The umbrella—the umbrella is magic!

“Beatrice,” Dr. Amy exclaims, sounding really mad. “What have you done?” Dr. Amy pushes between Claire and Beatrice and starts to race up the stairs. Claire follows. They have to catch up to Bohdi and the SEAL team!

Claire feels bad because Dr. Amy is a little slower than she is, so she grabs her hand. In the stairwell there are no trees. She wills that magic feeling into her legs—the stairs seem to fly beneath her, even as roots shoot from the wall in her wake. She’s dimly aware of Dr. Amy stumbling and breathlessly saying, “Thanks.”

From below them comes Beatrice’s voice and the old woman’s footsteps. “I had to, Amy. You can’t die! You can’t die!”

Claire and Dr. Amy are already at the tunnel mouth. The roots are starting to reach for Claire. She takes a deep breath and thinks of something that annoys her. The tiny fatty fish that Dr. Amy makes her eat at breakfast every day comes to mind. Dr. Amy makes Claire eat it because she needs vitamin D and her skin is too dark to absorb enough sunlight. She snorts— the fish are nasty things. She’d never eat them if she weren’t so hungry all the time, vitamin D or not.

Her irritation makes that magic feeling go away, and no roots touch her as she and Dr. Amy enter the room. Bjorna and Gem are standing close to Rush, the SEAL she doesn’t like, who always looks past her instead of at her. Rush is still in bed, but he’s sitting up and has a M4 aimed at a Frost Giant. Harding is talking to a Frost Giant, her rifle is down, and she’s saying, “Calm down, Sir. Would you please calm down and explain?”

Dr. Amy shouts. “It’s nearly noon!”

Claire looks to the window. When she went down the stairwell with Beatrice it was still dark outside. Her heart drops. “They’ve left, haven’t they?”

“Yeah, kid,” Rush says, not looking at her. “You don’t belong with them; appreciate it.”

Claire runs her tongue over her teeth, eyes on Rush. She wants to punch him, or shake him, or grab his head and make him look at her, make him see her. Her hands ball into fists and her skin heats. Something tickles her foot. She doesn’t have to look, she knows it’s a tree root—she’s getting that magic feeling again.

Taking a deep breath, she makes herself think of fish—disgusting, boiled, smelly fish.

Nari bursts in the door. He gives a quick nod to Claire. Claire narrows her eyes at him. There’s something about Nari—he’s too nice, too anxious to please—she doesn’t trust him as much as Valli, but even Valli annoys her. Not because of anything logical, it’s just that Harding is always saying he’s “hot,” and that annoys her. She hates to think she’ll ever be a grownup and be so distracted by sex. Blech.

Turning his gaze to Dr. Amy, the son of Loki gulps with such force that Claire sees his Adam’s apple jump in his throat. “Dr. Lewis, there is a crowd of Frost Giants outside. They are very unnerved. A … being … calling himself Daevas has arrived at the crater site.”

“Being?” says Dr. Amy, rushing forward.

The Frost Giant in the room says, “He is hiding his true nature, we know it. And he won’t come beyond the trees. And when we shot him, he just pulled out the arrow.”

“What?” says Dr. Amy.

“He’s asking for you.” The Frost Giant stutters, “Says you know him.”

Dr. Amy’s jaw falls open, and she gives what Claire’s dad calls, “That confused Scooby Doo look.” And then she grabs her parka and throws it on.

“Amy … Dr. Lewis,” says Harding. “Maybe Nari and I should go and check it out?”

But Dr. Amy is already rushing through the door. Claire follows on her heels. They both nearly plow into Fenrir’s behind. The dog is sitting right in front of the door, guarding the way. Peeking around her enormous back, Claire sees a semi-circle of Frost Giants surrounding the little building.

“Come on, Fenrir,” Dr. Amy mutters. “Let’s go.”

Mr. Squeakers gives a cheep and sticks his nose out of a shiny cobweb nest between Fenrir’s ears. He waves one of his velvety black arms, and there is a gasp from the crowd. “You, too, Squeaks,” Dr. Amy says.

The giant-wolf-dog gets to her feet. The Frost Giants, warriors and poor people alike, part as Fenrir lopes forward, Dr. Amy in her wake, Claire a step behind her. Dr. Amy heads in the direction of what the locals call the Keep, but Claire calls the Camp Ground. Now that the pretty little dwarf inn is gone, it’s just a whole bunch of buildings that no one would even keep as sheds in Chicago, and there are tents, more and more tents everyday.

“Amy, wait,” Beatrice cries from behind them. Dr. Amy doesn’t wait, or even look back, but Claire spares a glance. Beatrice is hot on their heels. Behind her are Harding, Nari, Bjorna, and Gem. She blinks. Rush hobbles out of the tiny little house the SEALs built over the cavern entrance. Claire’s pretty sure that Dr. Amy told him to stay put a while ago.

Claire looks north, toward the sea. The team is gone. She knows their plan. Head to the sea, get a boat. Put the little saplings on the boat to hide it. Sail through the arch, into Hel, walk through a World Gate there to Asgard, and find her dad. She looks in the direction she’s going now. She knows the Daevas guy is supposed to take them back to Earth.

Her footsteps slow so much that Beatrice rushes past her, and then Nari and the rest. Beatrice is still asking for Dr. Amy to wait. Harding is saying maybe they should talk to Daevas. The crowd of Frost Giants walk past Claire … and then Rush passes her too. As usual he doesn’t look at her, but he grunts out, “Come on, kid.”

She slows to a stop.

Rush staggers ahead, head bent, hands gripping his middle. “Can’t chase after you, kid,” he mutters.

He can’t chase her. Claire looks past him and sees Dr. Amy and the others that were left behind. They are safety and security, and she wants to run to them and be surrounded by the noise of people. She looks the other way, northward through the trees. At ground level she can’t see the ocean, but she knows it’s there—and so are Bohdi and the team.

She bites her lip. She is so afraid, she feels tears welling in her eyes. But she thinks of what Odin did to Mr. Tucker and what he could be doing to her dad. She blinks her tears away. She promised her father she’d never be weak. With a small cry of fury, she breaks into a run, careful to fill her mind with thoughts of boiled fish. The virgin snow is about eight inches high, and it slows her progress, but at least running keeps her warm, and she doesn’t need magic to be a good runner.

At the edge of the mesa, Claire stops and takes a deep breath. The mesa is like a tiered wedding cake. For the first time she can see the ocean, but her vision is partially obscured by tree branches from the middle tier of the cake. She thinks she makes out a boat being pushed from the beach into the sea. She scowls. No, they can’t be that far ahead of her. They can’t be. She looks down the cliff face—it’s a forty-foot drop.

Her hands ball into fists inside her mittens. No, this isn’t the end. She is not weak. She will not be afraid.

Trembling, Claire backs up. She lets her hands uncurl, takes a deep breath, stands just as she was taught to stand by her ballet instructors, and turns on the music in her head—sometimes she turns on her magic when she’s angry, but when she’s dancing, it’s better. “Daddy, I’m coming,” she whispers. She doesn’t run, lifting her arms, stretching out a leg, she does a pique turn, another, and another. She spins faster and faster, tree branches whip toward her but none catch her until she leaps—lifting her arms high above her head and pushing her legs up into the splits as she soars over the cliff’s edge.

Chapter 30

Steve sits with his head bowed at a long table set with gold place settings and dishware made of delicate porcelain inlaid with mother of pearl. He’s wearing clothing that isn’t his own. It is simple but fits him perfectly—nothing like a prisoner’s garb. The room he is in is warm, but he feels cold all over. He is being treated like a guest, which can mean only one thing: they expect Bohdi is coming.

His limbs feel stiff and heavy, whether from the aftereffects of spider mouse venom or the realization that they are expecting Bodhi, he is isn’t sure. Silverware clinks across from him. Steve raises his eyes. A beautiful woman sits there. She has light brown hair and tan skin but piercing blue eyes. She wears a diaphanous gown of the same hue. She looks like she is no more than twenty-six. He fights with his brain to remember she is much older than he is. She is Queen Frigga of Asgard, Amy and Bohdi’s would-be savior, and he has to be careful not to underestimate her.

“Are you enjoying the meal, Captain Rogers?” she asks in perfect English, with just the hint of a British accent. She has been asking him other such innocuous questions. He’s responded just as innocuously and always truthfully.

“The food is delicious,” Steve says, which is only a slight evasion. His eyes slide to the head of the table where Odin sits. The Allfather is reading a scroll and scowling, seemingly oblivious to his presence. Steve’s jaw gets hard. He’s not being treated like a guest, he’s being treated like family. It doesn’t make him any more comfortable.

Steve focuses on his food, taking a bite of purple fruit, trying to stay calm. He scans the room—and meets eyes with an unsmiling Einherjar who has skin nearly as dark as Steve’s.

Frigga says something, the words rolling over Steve without him comprehending any of them. Steve blinks. No, that’s not quite true, it sounds like the language the Frost Giants use, but smoother, more flowing. Focusing on his plate, he practices mindfulness and reaches for his magic ...

Voice sweet, Frigga says in Asgardian, “He understands Frost Giant, I am sure, but not Asgardian.”

“Do not argue with me at the table, woman,” Odin responds in the same tongue.

“I will discuss anything I like at my table,” Frigga responds. “You should have gone to meet with Mr. Patel in Jotunheim when he asked you to.”

Steve wants to drop his fork. Instead he exhales slowly and carefully brings a piece of fruit to his mouth, trying to stay in the right mindset to understand their words without revealing his understanding.

“But I did not, and now he is coming to me, just as I planned,” Odin says.

Steve takes a too-sharp breath. No, Bohdi, no, no, no … He closes his eyes, and then he realizes his outward calm has momentarily slipped. Frigga seems not to have noticed. “It will never go as you planned—you are dealing with Chaos!”

“I’ve managed to control Chaos for nearly a thousand years, woman,” Odin says, eyes not leaving his scroll.

“With brotherhood and nurturing you did control him! But kidnapping his friend is the opposite of the spirit of brotherhood. You must release the captain.”

Odin casually takes a sip from a mug of frothy juice, as though his wife has not spoken.

A note of pleading enters Frigga’s voice. “Husband, I would get down on my knees and beg you if it would move your heart.”

Steve notices a subtle shift in the room. He looks to see some of the Einherjar have shifted almost imperceptibly. All are staring at the queen with wide, surprised eyes. Apparently, begging Odin for anything isn’t something Queen Frigga is in the habit of doing.

In the periphery of his vision, Steve sees Odin lift his eyes from the scroll. Silence so profound it feels like a physical weight hangs in the room.

Steve looks across the table at the queen. She turns in her chair and leans toward her husband.

Frowning, Odin looks down at the scroll once more. “It would do you no good.”

Frigga’s body sags. Her eyes go to Steve; they are wide and pleading. Steve isn’t sure what he is supposed to do. Reveal he has understood the conversation? To what end?

From an open window comes the sound of rawking. Steve’s jaw tightens. He recognizes the voices of Odin’s winged messengers, Huginn and Muninn, who’d followed him for over a year. The rawking grows louder, and then there is the sound of flapping wings.

He must be frowning because Odin says in English, “What’s wrong, Captain Rogers, don’t like birds?” He chuckles gently. Before Steve can respond, the two black-winged rodents alight upon a chair beside Steve.

“Master, master!” one of them croaks in English. “There is a boat! A boat afloat!” The bird turns to Steve and winks. “Quoth the raven!”

“Stop clowning, Huginn, you show off!” screeches the bird that must be Muninn. Flapping its wings, it screeches at Odin, “To the sea arch! To the sea arch! To Niflheim.”

Odin sits up straighter. “Why doesn’t Heimdall see?”

“Iron wood trees on the boat!” rawks Huginn, and then both birds leap into the air, sending feathers fluttering through the air. Frigga picks one off her plate with visible distaste.

One of the birds rawks, “Loki’s on the boat.”

Odin turns to Steve with fury practically glowing in his eyes. “Does he expect to unite with the Fire Giants taking refuge in Niflheim?”

“Fire Giants?” Steve says, heart dropping. He belatedly remembers Bohdi and Amy saying that the Fire Giants were in Hel looking for the new Loki.

Odin rounds to the birds. “Huginn, Muninn, alert Jörmungandr. Tell him to kill all onboard, except Patel. Have him brought to me.”

“But … but …” Huginn and Muninn rawk.

“Do it,” says Odin.

“You overplay your hand!” Frigga says, this time in English. “Just let Patel come in peace. Let him take Captain Rogers home—”

“Be quiet, woman!” Odin roars, “Or you’ll go to the dungeons.”

Frigga draws back in her chair.

One of the birds whispers. “But Thor—”

“Shhhh …” the other bird rawks quietly. “Do what he says. Remember Baldur? Odin doesn’t do favorites.”

Steve blinks as the birds fly off. Before he can digest their words, or Odin’s talk of dungeons, there is a knock at two great double doors at the end of the hall opposite Odin. The Allfather nods, and an Einherjar opens the door. Outside the door, another Einherjar falls to one knee and bangs his fist over his heart.

“Stand,” Odin says in Asgardian. As the man complies, Odin says in English, “You have news?”

Head bowed, the Einherjar speaks in English. “Strange tidings, my Lord. An enchanter of enormous power, calling himself Daevas, has appeared at the site of the World Gate in the Iron Wood. He will not approach the trees, which begs the question of how he got there. It’s as though he dropped from the sky, but how he could do that without Heimdall seeing it … he’d have to have made himself invisible, which combined with flight would be impossible without a magical device of enormous power. A carpet perhaps, or a—”

“What does he want, an audience with Asgard?”

The man swallows. “No Sir, he wants an audience with Dr. Lewis.”

There is a rush of air in the room, and Steve’s ears pop, as though the air pressure has dropped … and there is a new man beside Odin. He wears golden armor; his skin, where it shows in his open visor, is deep gold, as are his eyes. “Forgive me, my Lord, for the sudden interruption,” he says in Asgardian.

Odin nods, completely undisturbed by the man’s sudden appearance. “What news have you, Heimdall?”

Steve’s brows draw together. So this is the watcher Heimdall—did he just walk through time, like Sleipnir, or walk through the In Between like Loki? Steve looks down at his plate. Those were abilities he thought were the domain of only Loki or Loki’s children.

Bowing low, Heimdall says, “The interloper in the Iron Wood—I have surmised his species.” Heimdall leans close to Odin and whispers something in the Allfather’s ear.

Odin drops his cup, and Steve looks up in alarm. Odin’s face has gone a shade paler. In English he says, “No. We will send in our troops.”

The fork in Steve’s hand slips and clatters on his plate.

Standing, Odin’s face becomes grim. “Be afraid, Captain Rogers. Death comes for your people in Jotunheim. If they survive it will only be by my grace.” He doesn’t meet Steve’s eyes when he speaks, and Steve knows like he knows how to breathe that the Allfather is not lying.

Across from him, Frigga whispers, “Life and Death and Chaos … it has begun.” She closes her eyes. “And we are all undone.”

Steve sits dumbfounded, his limbs heavy and cold. He thought he was the one in danger, that Claire, Bohdi, and Amy at least had the protection of the Iron Wood, but whoever, or whatever is facing the team in Jotunheim is enough to frighten Odin himself.

x x x x

Amy approaches the line of trees at the crater’s edge. A few of the Frost Giants on guard there, and Jarnsaxa and her sons, turn and nod at her. Ralf and Ragnar both wink at Harding. Amy can’t see over their shoulders. She turns to the team and her eyes widen, “Where is Claire?”

There are blank looks among the humans and the Frost Giant entourage. And then stumbling through the crowd, Rush says, “Oh, she stopped a while back. She’ll catch up.”

Amy’s mouth drops open, and her thoughts tumble out in a torrent. “She followed her father to Jotunheim. She’s following Bohdi and his team now!” She puts a hand to her mouth. “Harding, you and Nari, you have to go after her. Rush—” She looks at the SEAL clutching his side. “Sit down, you’re going to hurt yourself. Please?”

Rush ignores her. Harding doesn’t move, but the small Marine shifts nervously on her feet. Amy stands straighter.

Gesturing to the Frost Giants at the crater, Fenrir, and Beatrice, Amy says, “Please, I’ve got an army behind me. Claire’s just a little girl.”

“You’re right,” says Harding. The woman turns on her heel. “Come on, Nari.”

Ragnar and Ralf say, “We will come with you.”

“As will we,” says Jarnsaxa.

“But mother …” Modi starts to say.

“Father said …” Magi says.

“I’m going after the girl and your father. Are you with me?” The Queen says, already striding from the perimeter to Harding’s side. Her sons follow without a word.

As they leave, Amy looks through the gap in the perimeter around the crater. A man is standing there. His features are handsome, but there is pallor to his skin that looks unhealthy. He is bald, and from a distance, he appears to be unblinking. He is wearing a backpack that looks like it could have come from any Earth sports store. He’s wearing a thin cotton shirt, blue jeans, and hiking boots. A cold wind blows, but he doesn’t even blink.

Heiðr and Beatrice sidle up beside her. Beatrice’s rifle clicks. Fenrir whines and cowers on her stomach.

“Oh, come on, Dog,” Rush says, staggering over and draping an arm around Fenrir’s enormous haunches. “It’s just one guy.”

Fenrir whines again and Squeakers cheeps in fear. Amy’s eyes slide to her eight-legged friend; he dashes from a perch on Fenrir’s head into the nest he’s made in Fenrir’s ruff. Amy gulps and shivers. Squeakers isn’t afraid of Odin or Loki.

She lifts her eyes to the man.

“I mean you no harm,” he says.

“Do you know him?” Beatrice asks.

“I …” Amy tilts her head.

“We have met,” the man says. He takes a step forward. Amy hears an arrow hiss. The man looks down at his chest as though merely curious. He pulls the arrow out, shuddering only a bit. Taking another step forward, he says softly, “Please, Dr. Lewis, I need your help.” The branches of the trees begin to wave in his direction.

Amy walks carefully toward the perimeter but doesn’t quite leave the safety of the trees.

He cocks his head, his unblinking eyes wide open. Visibly shivering, he falls to his knees and drops his head. “I beg you.”

Amy stares at him, mouth agape. Almost on instinct, she approaches him, her team beside and behind her. Somewhere, she hears Gem order someone loudly, “Give me a crossbow,” and then say, “Bjorna, you take this.”

Amy walks closer to the man. Without looking up, he stammers, “I bring you gifts from your home world—artifacts of great power.” He slips the backpack from his back, and Rush shouts, “No sudden moves.”

He nods, or maybe his body just shakes, Amy’s not sure. Beside her, Rush says, “Lewis, let’s stop and think about this.”

Beatrice huffs. “Amy—”

“I have to do this, Grandma,” Amy says, her eyes glued on the man as he slips a small suitcase, the type used for carrying ammo and small firearms, from the backpack.

Rush’s hand falls on her shoulder. Before Amy can protest, Beatrice whacks it away with her umbrella. “Are you crazy, old woman? Do you want to get your granddaughter killed?”

“Amy can’t die,” Beatrice says softly.

The man opens the suitcase. The inside is lined with Promethean wire, and it is filled with bullets. The trees behind Amy groan. The ground trembles. He shuts the case quickly, sealing the magic within the Promethean wire, and the trees are silent.

“See?” he says, “For you.”

“I’m sorry,” Amy says, drawing so close he is less than her body’s length away. Something tickles her as she gets closer, a sort of static in the air. Her brain chokes through Loki’s memories, and she stumbles on the answer. Magic, she’s feeling magic, because she is a magical creature now. “Daevas, that’s your name, isn’t it?”

He bows his head. “It was my name. Before they unmade me.” He lifts his head. “But then you made me again.”

Amy takes a step back. A few feet away, she hears Gem whisper, “Look, Bjorna, it’s the door! My lovely front door! It survived.”

Amy shakes her head. “I couldn’t make you …” She starts to feel a headache forming behind her eyes. She feels her brow furrow.

“But you did!” Daevas says, his voice rising. “You gave me the mind of a man again, and the heart of a man, but you left me incomplete!”

Amy takes a step toward him. She reaches out a hand, not to touch him, it’s just an extension of sympathy. She feels the tickle of magic on her fingers. She pulls back her hand. Staring at her fingers she says, “I don’t even know what you are, Daevas.”

“If I show you, will you promise not to run? I will not hurt you.” Her eyes go to his. They do blink she realizes, but very slowly.

She nods. The prickle in the air intensifies, and the air behind Daevas begins to shimmer, shapes emerging on either side of his body. Someone screams. Crossbow bolts whizz through the air, and gunfire cracks. Amy instinctively drops to the ground, Daevas throws his body over her, and Amy half rolls to the side under the force of his body hitting hers. Her eyes go wide. Attached to Daevas’s back are an enormous pair of dragonfly wings; just visible through his barely parted lips she sees the glint of fangs. Her heart stops for an instant. An adze, here … who talks and reasons and is not seeking to devour her ... but how?

Beatrice shouts, “No!”

And then Amy remembers where she has seen Daevas’s face. She had met him before when he’d tried to kill her as she’d drifted down the river in Nornheim.

“Stop!” Amy screams at Daevas, the Frost Giants, her team, or the headache building behind her eyes, she is not certain.

The arrows and the gunfire cease, and Daevas slowly withdraws, pulling himself back up onto his knees.

Amy climbs up to her knees. “I …”

“Now make me whole! Please,” Daevas cries.

Amy’s cheeks redden, remembering the bodily parts the normally naked adze were conspicuously without. She shakes her head. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can!” he roars. “You infected me with life! Finish the job!”

Stumbling to her feet, her vision is filled with Daevas’s finger-length fangs and her breathing comes in short, shaky breaths. She’d spit at him while she’d held Bohdi above water. The headache behind her eyes becomes so painful she goes blind. It’s so painful, her consciousness seems to split from her body, she hears herself screaming, but her mind floats above it all. She’s tired of this … this mental block that always occurs when she tries to remember. “No!” she shouts. Clutching her head she shouts, “Enough!” She wills the pain in her head to stop … and it does.

And she remembers everything.

From the perimeter guarded by the Frost Giants, the old man shouts, “The gate is opening!”

Daevas’s eyes glow, and he shouts, “Odin!” Pushing Amy down, he crouches above her, shielding her with his body. Over his shoulder she can see rainbow light shimmering from the crater’s center. Einherjar spill through. Beatrice and Rush fire their weapons, crossbows whizz through the air. They have absolutely no effect. The Einherjar part, and Odin strides between them, Laevithin in his grasp. The ground trembles beneath Amy’s feet. Behind her she knows the trees have begun to lumber forward, drawn to the warriors’ magical armor, and the magical power used to open the World Gate.

Heiðr’s voice rises in the din. “Draw them into the trees! Their armor will be useless!”

“You heard her!” Rush shouts. “Into the trees!”

Amy’s hands ball into fists. She grabs the ammo case left by Daevas on the ground, and crouching low, dashes to where Bjorna and Gem are cowering behind Gem’s front door. “Daevas, everyone follow me!” she shouts.

“What the hell?” Rush shouts.

“Follow her,” Beatrice orders.

As soon as she reaches the door, Amy sits behind it with Gem, Bjorna, and a wailing Cannonball. “Doctor?” Bjorna whispers. “What are we going to do? Should we run?”

Amy doesn’t answer. She hears the trees rumbling toward them from behind, and the Einherjar and Odin approaching from the other way. Throwing open the ammo case, she grabs a bullet. Magic flows through her. She looks down at the shining metal, for an instant, transfixed. It’s powerful—from Loki’s memories she’d say at least as powerful as Gungnir had been when it had been whole. Shaking her head, she shouts, “Beatrice, take some!” and goes to the door handle.

“The trees are going to attack us!” Rush shouts.

Beatrice starts pulling ammo from the case without a word. She picks up a clip, reloads her Glock and fires. An Einherjar screams and falls.

“What the hell is she doing?” Rush shouts. Fenrir’s crouched on the ground behind some rubble beside him, growling and barking.

Amy doesn’t respond. She squeezes the bullet with one hand, and then has a terrifying thought. “Lift the door!” she says to Gem. “It has to be vertical or Fenrir won’t fit.”

The dwarf blinks at her, but Beatrice jumps forward and helps Amy set the door upright. It decreases their cover and Amy has to act fast. Grabbing the handle of the door, magic bullet still in her other hand, she tries to block out the sound of weapon fire, the shouts, the thunder of Einherjar feet, the rumbling of the trees, and Cannonball’s wails.

She takes a deep breath. Loki couldn’t create gates, but he knew the theory of it. She closes her eyes, feels the magic of the bullet and the magic within her, and tries to imagine time and space bending and flexing to her will.

Beatrice shouts, “We’re drawing the trees as much as Odin, now!”

It’s not working. Amy squeezes her eyes more tightly shut. She doesn’t know what time and space are, she has no mathematical formula in her head that she can rely on. But this is her talent, isn’t it? She should be able to do this. With a low growl, she pictures a giant seed of magic within her growing toward a point she has seen in Loki’s memories many times … and feels nothing … but then she remembers—or Loki remembers—that place has relocated to the Fire Fields of Musselpheim. She imagines that realm, and that room, and feels the connection to the point, the change in space in time, rippling through her hand, and into the door. She pulls on the handle. Gem screams as they lose their cover; Amy finds herself staring at Odin about twenty feet away. “Through the door, Fenrir!” she shouts, gesturing to the empty space.

Perhaps thinking she will get a chance to wrap her jaws around the Allfather, the giant dog dashes forward … and disappears in a shimmer of rainbow color into the new World Gate Amy has just created and is holding open.

“Everyone else!” says Amy.

Beatrice shoves Bjorna and Gem through.

“What?” says Rush. Beatrice grabs him and physically pulls him through the empty space.

Eyes on Odin through the empty space, Amy shouts, “Daevas, take the ammo!” The former adze picks it up and dashes through the gate. As he disappears, Amy sees Odin, mouth agape, Laevithin in his hands. “Stop!” he shouts, charging forward.

The trees are closing in, and a branch almost snaps the bullet away from Amy. Clutching it tightly to her stomach, Amy grins. “No way.”

She drops the bullet on the ground, and a root the width of her body whips out and wraps around the shiny piece of metal and gunpowder. Amy plunges through the door and finds herself face to face with her grandmother. “Grandma! Magic bullet!” Amy shouts. Beatrice throws one to her, Amy catches it, and an enormous tree branch crashes through empty air, and then a root. Both magically sever themselves from their respective points of origin, and crash to the ground—no, stone-tiled floor—of the place Amy and her team have found themselves.

Leaning against a panting Fenrir, Rush stammers. “What the … What did you do?”

Amy smiles down at the root and wipes her hands together, very pleased with herself. She isn’t tired at all. She really has to thank Brett and Bryant for packing those bullets with magic.

Daevas explains for her. “The tree that grabbed the bullet devoured the magic holding the World Gate open, thereby closing it. The gate still exists, but unless the trees blocking it are destroyed, the gate cannot be reopened as they would devour the magic used to do so. Of course, if the tree were destroyed, and then someone were to reopen the gate, other trees would be drawn to the magic. A substantial amount of trees would have to be destroyed for it to be used. Unless the forces of the Frost Giants withdraw from the Iron Wood, that is unlikely to happen.”

A voice familiar to Amy says, “Oh, that is a very good explanation.”

Rush turns, clutches his stomach and screams, falling backward on his butt as he does so and giving Amy a clear view of the rather crowded room they all now occupy.

“What the … ?” the SEAL mutters a string of obscenities.

“That is Mimir,” Amy says. They are in Hoenir’s kitchen, and the head is propped on the counter as Hoenir sits at the kitchen table. For his part, Hoenir looks like he’s frozen in place. His eyebrows are hiked up, and he holds a tea cup in front of his lips.

Taking a step forward, Amy says, “We need to talk.”

The teacup slips from Hoenir’s fingers and shatters on the table.

Chapter 31

The icy wind coming off the water makes Bohdi pull his muffler higher. He loses his grip on his oar. Behind him Larson barks, “Patel!” Grabbing the oar again, Bohdi ducks his head against the wind, shivers and rows, shivers and rows ...

Bohdi thinks the fishing boat they are on looks vaguely Vikingish. Made of rust-colored iron wood, it’s a little over seven feet wide and a few body widths long. There are dragon faces carved on the front and back. There isn’t a cabin, and right now there is no sail, just an iron wood sapling they’ve lashed to the single mast. On either side, they’ve lashed other saplings. The boat would normally look sort of elegant, but with the added tree branches it looks like a floating bush.

“Heave-ho!” says Thor, managing his own oar on the opposite side of the boat.

Larson clears his throat. “Not so much, Thor, you’re setting us off course.”

“Ah, yes,” Thor says. “Too bad the little Valkyrie isn’t here. She can match my strength.”

“Rub it in,” says Berry, and Redman chuckles.

“Try and use your magic, everyone,” Larson says.

Leaning into the next stroke, Redman says, “Let me just get out my pixie dust.”

Thor sits up straight, releasing his hold on the oar. “You have pixie dust?”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Valli cries.

“Throw it out of the boat, quickly!” shouts Gerðr, swooping down from the sky on her Harpy wings.

There is a moment of complete silence, and then Bohdi starts laughing so hard the oar slips from his hands, bumps up, and bonks him in the forehead. Rubbing his temple, he keeps laughing, as every other human on the boat joins in.

“Just a joke,” Park chokes out.

“How can you joke about something so awful?” Valli declares, sounding absolutely scandalized.

Larson makes a coughing noise. “Everyone, back to it.”

Bohdi groans but grabs hold of his oar and leans in. And then from the mast comes Gerðr’s voice, “Something approaches below the water!”

Before Larson can issue any commands, Thor stands from his bench. Pulling out his hammer, he says, “It is Jörmungandr.”

“The beast is big enough to swallow the boat whole,” Gerðr gasps.

Thor strides toward the prow. “Aye, but a blow from Mjolnir to a weak spot will fell him.”

Bohdi’s eyes go wide, remembering his mythology. “Wait! Thor!” he cries, springing from his seat. “Jörmungandr, he’s a son of one of Loki’s incarnations. I might be able to reason with him.”

Thor looks at him slack-jawed, but Larson says, “If he can swallow us whole, I hope you can.”

Shakily going to the prow, Bohdi looks over and sees a dark shape beneath the crystal clear waters a few hundred meters away. Behind him he hears Larson shout, “All stop.”

Bohdi turns sharply to him.

The lieutenant shrugs. “Might be threatening to him.”

Bohdi looks at the rapidly-approaching shadow beneath the water. It’s as wide as a road. “Uh … no, we don’t threaten him.”

Leaning over the prow, Bohdi shouts, “Heya, Jörmungandr!” He winces. That was probably the lamest diplomatic opening ever. The shadow slows, though. Bohdi blinks. Could this actually work?

The looming shadow beneath the waves draws up toward the surface about twenty feet from the prow of the boat. “Jesus,” says Larson, and Bohdi jumps at the sound of his voice.

“Jesus would be helpful now. I never could manage walking on water,” Thor says, with a sigh.

Bohdi’s eyes get wide and meet Larson’s. Shaking his head, the lieutenant mouths the words, don’t ask.

There is the sound of rushing water. Bohdi looks out into the sea. An enormous scaly head is emerging from the waves. Had he thought Nidhogg was big? Jörmungandr is enormous. The huge creature is green, covered by scales that vary in size from dish plate to garbage can lid. It has an oddly high, humanish forehead, but its compact-car sized eyes are set further to the side. It has whiskers on either side of its snout as long and as thick as a man’s body. Its mouth ...

“Yep, big enough to swallow the boat,” Larson whispers. “Good luck, kid.”

Bohdi clears his throat. Wrapping a hand around a carving of a wooden dragon, he leans over the edge. “Uhmm … Hi, Jörmungandr, we haven’t been introduced.”

The great mouth opens, revealing teeth as tall as a man and draped in huge hunks of seaweed.

Bohdi and Larson draw back, but Thor silently stands his ground.

“We don’t need an introduction,” the great beast rumbles. “You are Bohdi Patel, latest incarnation of the Destroyer.”

The circuits in Bohdi’s brain blink off for a moment.

“Say something,” Larson says, nudging him in the back.

“Errr … you say that like it’s a bad thing,” says Bohdi.

Larson groans. Jörmungandr bobs his head and makes a gurgling noise, creating waves that splash against the boat, creating an icy spray, and a gust of wind that bears with it the distinct smell of rotten fish.

Placing his hands over his chest, Bohdi says, “But I’m not evil! Really—”

Jörmungandr’s immense head stops bobbing. “Of course not! I was laughing, tiny two-leg.”

“Oh …” Sensing hope, Bohdi brightens. “So maybe you wonder why I am out on this boat—”

“Not really,” Jörmungandr says.

“You know why I’m on the boat?” Bohdi asks.

“I do not know, but my master’s orders are to kill all aboard except you and to bring you to Asgard,” Jörmungandr rumbles. “Fulfilling those orders is my primary concern.”

For a moment, Bohdi is blinded by panic. And then several circuits in Bohdi’s brain light up. “It may be your primary concern, but you’re talking to me instead of eating my friends.”

Behind him someone whispers, “Don’t rush him, Patel!”

The great head draws back. Bohdi swears the giant beast frowns. “During your last incarnation, we did not get much time together. Odin forbade it.” He draws closer. “But there have been lives where you have transversed worlds on my back and explored the deepest corners of the seas in a bubble in my maw.”

Bohdi’s feet feel light. That sounds stinky, but cool, and he knows Amy would love it. She might even forgive him for leaving her behind if he proposed a makeup date under the sea.

“I have missed you,” Jörmungandr rumbles, in a voice as mournful as the rattling of an empty train car at 2 a.m.

Bohdi feels a lump in his throat. “Oh, Big Guy, we could do that again.”

“If Odin allows it,” Jörmungandr rumbles.

“What does Odin have to do with anything?” Bohdi says, ire sneaking into his voice.

Jörmungandr draws back, as though Bohdi has struck him … if that was even conceivable. “When you are not in the service of Order, you bring only death.”

Bohdi’s jaw gets tight. “Odin kidnapped my friend, and it’s Odin, not me, bringing a lot of death to my world right now.”

The great sea monster huffs. “Tiny suffering compared to what humans bring upon themselves and their seas.” Pulling closer, he turns his head to look at Bohdi through a single eye, and says, “He would clean your waters, your lands, your air, and send your rubbish to feed your star.”

“I will not be Odin’s servant,” Bohdi hisses, his mittened fists tightening.

“You will,” Jörmungandr replies. “You may rather rule in hell than serve in Heaven, but it is inevitable.”

Bohdi starts to see red coloring the edges of his vision. “Did you just compare me to Lucifer?” Somewhere in his brain it registers that he must have received one hell of an education to catch the reference.

“You are the antagonist,” Jörmungandr says.

“I am the Transformer!” Bohdi roars, leaning so far from the boat he almost falls in. Thor catches him by the back of his coat and pulls him back onto the boat. Regaining his feet, Bohdi tries to keep his hands from shaking.

Jörmungandr snorts—or sighs—making waves hit the prow of the boat. “I must return to my mission.”

Before Bohdi knows what’s happening, Jörmungandr lunges forward, mouth wide. Bohdi hears gunfire as though it comes from far away. He backs up on instinct—but he isn’t fast enough. Jörmungandr’s gaping maw is above him and surrounding the entire prow of the boat. The boat lifts, and the air is suddenly warm, and the smell of rotten fish invades his nostrils. Before Jörmungandr’s jaws can snap shut, capture Bohdi, and break the boat in half, Thor lifts Bohdi by the waist and hauls him backward, shouting at Larson. “Run, Lieutenant!”

Over Thor’s shoulder, Bohdi sees Jörmungandr snort angrily and then withdraw. The boat slides backward, like a theme park log ride. Thor puts Bohdi down but keeps a firm hand on Bohdi’s shoulder. Scanning the seas, he says, “You tried, it was more than I would have done.” He meets Bohdi’s eyes. “Please do the same for my people in Asgard.”

Bohdi nods absently. “Of course.” Still shaking, more with rage than with fear, he says, “What do we do now?”

Patting his shoulder, Thor says, “Stand here and be the bait, Mr. Patel, but do not fear, I will protect you.”

Bohdi blinks up at the big lug. Bohdi isn’t afraid. Thor is here, and they’ve only known each other for a short while, but whenever Thor’s around, things tend to work out. He pats the big guy’s hand. “Sure … you know, you can call me Bohdi?”

Thor’s whole face lights up, and he grins so happily Bohdi feels embarrassed. Catching Bohdi in a back-breaking, hug-headlock, Thor turns to the team. As Bohdi sputters, the big man roars, “On my word, start rowing! Whatever happens, make your way to the World Gate!”

At the rudder, Larson says, “We’ll do it.”

“Let me go, I can’t breathe!” Bohdi chokes, trying to pry Thor’s hamhock-sized arm off his neck.

Patting his head, Thor says. “Always joking. I’ve missed you, too.”

“I can’t feel my feet!” Bohdi sputters.

“What’s going on?” Park says, looking over the edge of the boat.

Thor instantly lets Bohdi go. As Bohdi grabs his neck and gasps for air, Thor says, “Jörmungandr can’t let Mr. Patel fall into the water. The risk of hypothermia is too great.”

“How thoughtful,” Bohdi coughs.

Thor chuckles. “The beast will try to catch Mr. Patel in his maw, and then he will coil around the boat and crush it.”

“Oh, good,” someone says.

Soaring above the boat, Gerðr shouts, “He’s off the starboard bow!”

“Row forward, men!” Thor bellows. And then to Bohdi he whispers, “Remember, no matter what, the hero always finds Chaos.”

Bohd blinks. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Thor smiles, all warm and friendly, like they’re out fishing instead of being fished by a giant sea serpent. “It was good to have met you, Bohdi!”

“He’s rising!” Gerðr calls. Bohdi hears the sound of rushing water to the right.

Thor turns to the sound, raising his hammer. Bohdi sees Jörmungandr’s head rising out of the sea and takes a step back. Thor runs forward. The big man leaps, lands lightly on the bow just as Jörmungandr opens his mouth. Bohdi expects lightning to flash from Thor’s hammer … instead the big man leaps again and lands squarely in the giant creature’s gaping maw.

Bohdi’s jaw drops, and then running forward, he screams, “No, Thor!”

Thor’s hammer sparks, and maybe on instinct, or as a reflex to the shock, the sea monster’s jaws snap shut around the big man, lightning sparking along his snout. The sea beneath the boat roils, and the boat slides down a mountain of water toward the World Gate.

“Row!” screams Larson.

“No!” Bohdi shouts, leaning over the edge of the boat, frigid spray hitting him in the face. Jörmungandr shakes his head violently and disappears with Thor beneath the now roiling sea. The boat tips, and Bohdi almost falls in, but hands grab him. He turns to find himself facing Valli. “Uncle knows what he’s doing!” Valli says, as a wave cracks over the stern.

Icy cold water hits Bohdi in the face as another wave hits them from the side.

“We have to move before we capsize!” someone shouts.

“But Thor!” Bohdi shouts, as cold water sloshes over his feet. Fear takes over, and with something between a curse and a sob, he picks up a bucket and starts bailing for all he’s worth. The boat lurches forward, the roiling waves pushing them forward faster than they could ever row. They’ll reach the sea arch too soon for Thor to escape. Teeth chattering, Bohdi dumps a bucket over the edge. Pausing for an instant, he sees coils the size of hillocks rising from the water, and briefly thinks he sees Jörmungandr’s whiskers encased in lightning. If there is lightning, there is Thor, alive, and still fighting.

From where she has been helping Larson with the rudder, Gerðr jumps into the sky, wings pumping madly. Hovering in the air below the arch, she takes off her Promethean wire cap—and for a moment—she is a shining star above blue waters. Bohdi drops his bucket. The men drop their oars—except for Cruz. He and Sigyn row for all they are worth. Over the roar of the waves, Bohdi hears a cry of a gull that sounds creepily human. The boat lurches forward with the force of a giant wave, there is rainbow light and ...

He blinks. Gerðr puts her cap on and drops into the boat. Bohdi finds himself staring out at a misty, eerily calm, deathly quiet sea. The air is suddenly warm and damp, but Bohdi shivers. The only sound is the mad chattering of his teeth. From the prow, Valli says in a leaden voice, “Welcome to Hel.”

x x x x

For a moment Amy stands transfixed. Hoenir’s even thinner than Loki was; there’s something about the way he sits, legs crossed, shoulders slightly slouched, that is feminine. He has wide green eyes, sharp cheekbones accented with the barest hint of stubble, and his hair is dark and long. He’s wearing blue jeans, sneakers, and …

“I used to have a t-shirt like that,” Amy whispers. Hoenir’s t-shirt features a cartoony cat and says in an Old West font, Schrodinger’s Cat Wanted Dead and Alive.

Hoenir shrugs. “I saw you wearing it in my teacup, liked it, and got one for myself.” His voice isn’t high or low; it’s smooth and cultured, slightly British.

Amy’s lips purse. Her eyes fall to a book in his opposite hand. Amy blinks at the title: Jane Austen Game Theorist.

Hoenir sets the book down carefully. “I wasn’t expecting you back so soon,” he says.

His eyes scan the crowd and linger on Fenrir and even longer on Daevas. “You’ve been busy, Amy,” Hoenir whispers. The adze flutters his wings, and his hands form fists.

On the counter, Mimir sputters at Amy. “You were supposed to find your way here after a lifetime of quiet contemplation and meditation, after you discovered you weren’t aging or dying!”

“Yeah, well, my generation is very impatient,” Amy says, her eyes on Hoenir.

Closing her eyes, she remembers the first and only other time she’s been in this hut. It was just after Loki died. In Loki’s apartment, Amy had stood clutching Ratatoskr to her stomach, one hand pressed to the floor-to-ceiling window in the living room. Her body had itched with morphine, her eyes burned with tears. It was too much. Loki was selfish, and selfless, and she loved him. “Remember for me,” he had said. He was coming back, and even though she knew it was for himself, she wanted to believe it was partly for her. She began to sob—her wracking body tore her stitches, and pain needled through her morphine haze.

Ratatoskr chittered a few choice words about getting his fur bloody. She didn’t care.

And then she heard a knock, not from the hallway, but from the wall. Sniffling, she wiped her nose.

“Whoa, fuck damn … that is some powerful magic,” Ratatoskr chittered. In the smooth white plaster of the wall a door of rough hewn wood appeared. With a creak it swung open, and Beatrice stood silhouetted in the frame, a pink flowered umbrella in her hand. “Amy,” Beatrice said, stepping into Loki’s apartment and stretching out her arms. “We have to go. The FBI will be here soon.”

The last time Amy had seen Beatrice, her grandmother hadn’t remembered her or Loki. There was only one explanation. Amy ran into her grandmother’s outstretched arms, squishing Ratatoskr slightly. “We’re dead, aren’t we?” Amy sniffed.

Squeezing her tight, Beatrice said, “Nope, not yet! Come on, I have someone who wants to meet you.”

Amy let her grandmother pull her through the door. She found herself in a workshop that reminded her a little bit of wood shop, drama class, and every biology lab she’d ever been in. There were boxes of nails and needles, huge spindles of thread, bones of all sorts, antlers, various pickled organs and cadavers in jars, and a stuffed jack-a-lope. There was a rolled-up old carpet, a few swords, books, and even a suit of armor. And there was a man she recognized. “Hoenir,” she whispered.

“Oh,” Beatrice said, “you know him?”

Walking over to her, Hoenir tilted his head. “You recognize me?”

“From Loki’s dreams of his past lives,” Amy said.

Hoenir’s eyes widened a fraction, but then dropped to her stomach, bleeding from cuts left from an explosion of glass. “May I fix that for you?”

Amy swallowed. “Please.”

Hoenir let his hands drift over her stomach. There was the briefest flash of warmth, and then all of Amy’s pain was gone.

“I’m going to remove the morphine from your system,” he said softly. “I need your head to be clear.”

Amy nodded, and he touched her back. Amy took a few breaths. Each time her lungs filled, the itchy sensation caused by the drug diminished—and then it was gone.

“Hey? Can you help out a squirrel, too? I got some broken ribs here,” Ratatoskr chirped.

Without a word, Hoenir took Ratatoskr from Amy’s hands. Stroking the little guy’s sides, he kept his eyes on Amy. “I don’t have time for pleasantries,” Hoenir said. “I need to hide Creation from Odin. Odin and I had an agreement: he’d keep his hands off of Earth and in return I’d never tell Loki he is—was—the Destroyer. That agreement is over now. Odin is going to try and take over your world.”

“What do you want from me?” Amy asked.

Hoenir opened his mouth as though about to speak; but then his eyes dropped to Ratatoskr. The squirrel’s nose twitched furiously. “I’m not even here,” he said, putting his tiny paw hands over his eyes.

Lifting an eyebrow, Hoenir gave Ratatoskr’s ears a scratch. “Ratatoskr, you gossip, you need to leave. Even your mistresses can’t know my scheme.”

Clasping his tiny squirrel hands together, Ratatoskr batted his eyelashes at Hoenir. “Oh, come on. You know the ladies are your friends. You’re always welcome to come visit.”

Hoenir handed the squirrel to Beatrice. “Beatrice, take Ratatoskr back to Earth. He’ll find his way home.”

“Oh, rotten nuts and fuckity fuck!” Ratatoskr squeaked, polite demeanor disappearing.

Wrapping the angry squirrel in a handkerchief so he couldn’t scratch or bite her, Beatrice picked up her pink umbrella, tucked it under her arm, and stepped to the door.

“Remember what I told you,” Hoenir said.

“Amy can’t die—and don’t let go of this umbrella,” Beatrice responded over the furious chittering of Ratatoskr. With a nod, she went through the door and was gone.

“What do you want from me?” Amy asked. She was dressed only in a hospital gown, but she wasn’t uncomfortable around Hoenir. Nor was she suspicious; she just couldn’t imagine what she could do for the Creator.

Hoenir’s green eyes had searched her own. “I need to hide Creation, Miss Lewis, some place where Odin will never look, and if he did look, he wouldn’t see it.”

Rush’s voice shatters the memory. “Can someone please explain to me what’s going on?” Amy blinks. She’s not in the hospital gown, she’s in her military gear. She’s surrounded by Rush, an adze, Fenrir, Bjorna, and Gem.

“I’m the Creator,” Amy says. Hoenir made a human the Creator for the same reason Chaos reincarnated as a human—because without magic Odin couldn’t find them. She blinks and remembers the Norns asking her if she’d ever want to be a boy. Her eyes widen and her jaw sags … was that a proposition? And could she do that? She shakes her head quickly to clear that thought. “But you’re not dead?” Amy says to Hoenir in the present.

Hoenir shrugs. “The Creator cannot kill and cannot die. If I had to kill myself to pass off the mantle of Creation … well, it would never work.”

Amy nods mutely.

Hoenir stands up from the chair. His voice drops to almost a whisper. “When I did it you weren’t…”

He doesn’t finish, but Amy understands. She wasn’t pregnant when he handed off the baton of Creation. She shrugs. “Sperm are sneaky bastards,” she whispers.

On the floor, Rush hisses in pain. Amy turns to him in alarm—she’d forgotten about him. Striding over to him, she kneels beside him, and holds out a hand.

“Don’t touch me!” says Rush.

Amy’s hand pauses in midair. Bjorna, standing quietly next to Gem, snarls at the SEAL, “Do you want to bleed to death?”

Beatrice harrumphs. “Good riddance.”

Amy bites her lip. “I can’t kill,” she says, staring at the SEAL.

Rush snorts, and Hoenir says, “No, you cannot.”

Amy looks down at her hands. “But I don’t have to fix everyone either.”

“No,” Hoenir says, “that is up to you.”

Amy looks down at Rush. He’s not meeting her eyes. He doesn’t like her; not because of anything she’s done, just for what she is. He hates women. But he is loyal to the SEALs. He broke off a crossbow arrow at the shaft so he could slither on his belly through the snow to warn them of Tucker’s betrayal.

“I know you don’t like or trust me,” she says quietly.

For the first time he looks up at her.

“But I can fix you,” she says, “and take you to the team, so you can fight with them. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

Rush’s lips part. He lets out a breath. “Yeah,” he whispers.

Beatrice huffs. “While you’re fixing his stitches, why don’t you fix his penis. Turn the damn thing off.”

“Grandma!” Amy says.

Scooting back on his butt, Rush screams, “No!” He looks to Daevas and Hoenir. “Can she do that?”

“I imagine so,” says Daevas.

Hoenir shrugs. “If she thinks it will help you in some way.”

“Would it help him not pretend to graze our rears accidentally?” asks Gem.

“He did that to you, too?” says Amy, her nostrils flaring.

“You touched Amy’s rear?” Beatrice cries, whacking Rush over the head with her umbrella.

“Argh!” he screams.

“Grandma!” shouts Amy.

Beatrice hits him again.

“Stop, Grandma! I need to fix him!” Amy says.

“Not my dick,” says Rush, tightening his legs at the knees, and curling over on himself. “Please, I’d rather be gay!”

“Really?” says Hoenir, sounding curious.

“Yeah,” says Rush. “Just don’t neuter me.”

Amy puts her hands on her hips. “I will not make you gay. You’d be an evil woman-hating gay, not treat women as fellow humans gay!”

Hoenir sniffs. “Oh, no, one of those.” He crosses his arms and glares at Rush.

Rush groans and looks up at Daevas. The adze’s face is completely inscrutable. “Don’t expect sympathy from me.”

Rush falls over on his side. There is sweat on his brow, and he’s still clutching his body in a ball.

Feeling pity, Amy reaches toward him, but he wriggles away like a worm. She sighs. “Rush, I’m not going to fix your penis.”

He actually whimpers.

“Promise,” Amy says.

He doesn’t uncoil but lifts his hands. With Beatrice’s help, Amy unfastens his blood-soaked parka. When she tries to lift his shirt, he hisses in pain. Amy opens her mouth, about to say she has no painkillers, but then catches herself. She slips her hand up beneath his shirt, willing his nerves to be calm as she does. Rush blinks as though confused. She lifts the fabric away entirely, cleans it with a soft damp cloth Hoenir gives her, and then lays her hand on his stomach again. She can feel the tear in the muscle, fascia, ligaments, and dermis—it’s beyond her power to mend on her own.

“Daevas,” she says, “I need a bullet.”

“No!” shouts Rush.

Barely controlling the urge to roll her eyes, Amy says in her slowest, calmest clinical voice, “I need the bullet as a magical battery.”

Rush is quiet.

Taking the bullet Daevas proffered, Amy feels power thrum through her. Mind clear, feeling like she could run miles, she instead goes to work. Putting her free hand on his stomach, she imagines the battered tissues at the cellular level: mending, whole and free of scars. The world goes silent, time stands still, and she feels a rush of euphoria—like she’s reached a mountain peak, or the end of a marathon. It’s done, she can feel beneath her fingers the blood pumping through formerly-severed capillaries and the gentle hum of life at its most essential level. She sits back on her heels and puts a hand through her hair. She is a little awed at how easy it was. But maybe she shouldn’t be. After four years of undergrad, four years of being at veterinary school, and all the years she spent as a vet tech, she’s actually been practicing for quite some time.

“It looks like you shaved me,” Rush says.

Amy blinks. She had shaved a strip around the arrow wound before the first operation.

Beatrice whacks him in the back of the head with the umbrella. “Say thank you!”

Fenrir whines.

“Grandma!” Amy says. “Hitting him doesn’t help his misogyny!” Climbing to her feet, slipping the bullet into her pocket, Amy says, “I’m sorry, Rush, I’m not wasting magic regrowing your belly fur.”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Rush glares at his navel. “Women are so irrational.”

Gem snorts. “If you want to see irrational, we’ll tell Dr. Lewis’s fiancé that you touched her rear.”

“You’re engaged?” say Hoenir and Mimir.

Rush’s eyes go wide.

Beatrice starts to cackle. “You thought you could get away with accidentally-on-purpose being a lecher, didn’t you?” Gem and Bjorna snort, Cannonball shrieks, and Mimir says, “Oh, my.”

Dropping his head into his hands, Rush mutters, “I’m in hell.”

“No, Bohdi and the team are,” Amy says. “We have to go rescue them!”

Rush scrambles to his feet. “Do you think they’ve made it there yet?”

Amy taps her chin, counting down the hours. “Yes, and they may have already moved on to the next phase.”

“Next phase?” says Hoenir, sounding alarmed.

Amy’s jaw gets tight. “But don’t worry, we’ll catch up with them. Even if we have to go to Asgard!”

“You can’t go to Asgard!” Beatrice says, putting her hand to her mouth.

“Why not?’ says Amy.

Hoenir responds, his voice soft, “Because you can’t die.”

Chapter 32

Bohdi stands on a rocky beach next to their boat and abandoned winter gear. Staring out at the mist-covered water, he puts a hand through his bangs. “We should go back for Thor,” he says.

“We almost died of hypothermia,” Larson snaps. “If it weren’t for magic, we all would be snuggled nose to groin right now trying not to die.”

Bohdi bows his head. It’s true. Their gear isn’t made for the kind of soaking they got.

Larson sighs. “We can’t go back. Gerðr is wiped from opening the gate, and if Sigyn opens it, she’ll be wiped.”

Bohdi swallows. “But Thor is still fighting Jörmungandr.”

“And we can’t help him, and I hate it too. We all hate it,” Larson says.

Bohdi blinks and looks at the SEALs. They nod one by one. There is no lie in Larson’s words, or their expressions, and the honesty makes Bohdi hoist his pack on his back. Something still nags at him, and he can’t put his finger on what it is. Maybe it’s just guilt. He looks to Sigyn, but she won’t meet his gaze.

Doubled over beneath the Harpy wings, Gerðr looks up at Larson. “We have to leave. The iron wood saplings were poisoned by the sea water. Their lives are seeping away quickly. We have no protection from Heimdall’s eyes but the mist.”

Adjusting her pack a few steps away, Sigyn says, “And he knows where to look, so even that isn’t worth much.”

“Alright,” says Larson. “Valli, you know the way?”

“Aye,” says Loki’s son, smiling too wide. “I’ll take point.” With that, he practically skips around the other men. They fall into line behind him, with Larson and Bohdi at the end.

They leave the rocky beach and pass onto muddy ground pocked with waist high grasses. The mist persists. Bohdi can only see a few meters in any direction. The air is not cold, or warm, and there is no wind, but it is humid and it makes their clothing damp and sticky. The muddy ground sucks at their boots, and silence is impossible.

Someone mutters, “I wish this place was filled with fire.”

The tops of the grasses on either side of the team flicker into tiny flames.

“Patel, is that you?” Larson asks.

Bohdi’s jaw sags. Had he? From the front of the line, Valli says, “I’m sorry, that’s me. I’m just so excited.” He bounces on his feet and spins around and begins trudging through the grasses.

Bohdi blinks. Even when he doesn’t cause the fire, he brings it.

“Patel,” Larson says, “Is it just me … or has something about Valli changed?”

Bohdi looks to the man currently on point.

“When I squint, he shimmers like pavement on a hot day.” The lieutenant tilts his head.

Bohdi looks over the shoulders of the team. Valli is definitely shimmering. Bohdi goes cold. “We should have brought Nari,” he says. Amy had said so.

Larson shakes his head and looks like he is about to say something but Berry says, “Shhhh ….” Putting his hand into the air, the stocky warrant officer motions for the team to stop and crouch down in the grass.

Redman lifts his nose to the air. “Is it just me or does anyone else smell meat?”

From the mist comes the sound of mud sucking at boot heels.

“Uh-oh,” Park says.

Valli shouts, “I sense a party.” He grins with all his teeth.

Before anyone can hush him, a deep voice rumbles in heavily accented English, “I for one smell meat.”

“Something fresher than the troll we’re roasting, I’d wager,” says another voice.

A chorus of chuckles echoes around them.

“Show yourselves!” Valli roars, and around the team the grasses leap into flames.

The first voice roars, “You threaten Fire Giants with fire, Asgardian?”

From the mists a hominid figure emerges. Black skinned, with blonde hair, yellow eyes, and a heavy build, he is over seven feet tall and is dressed from head to toe in grayish leather armor. He sweeps through the scattered flames. In one hand he carries a spear. Bohdi gulps. A Fire Giant is coming out of the trees. He and Amy had heard that they’d come to Hel after Thor “revealed” that the “new Loki” was here … but the Fire Giants that Odin’s forces had encountered had firearms, and this man only appears to have a sword and spear. He exhales. Of course, they had been trading with the Dark Elves for military tech. If Freyja has shut down the trade route from Chicago, they would have run out of ammunition fast.

“I am not Asgardian!” Valli shouts, “Odin is my enemy.”

“Don’t come any closer!” says Larson, “or we’ll shoot.”

The Fire Giant thumps his spear on the ground. “There are many more of us, more than you can slay even with your weapons of fire.”

At his words, more Fire Giants emerge from the mist. Bohdi scans them nervously. There are too many of them.

Valli shouts, “Back off, Fire Giants! We are on our way to—”

“Valli!” Sigyn says.

Bohdi’s jaw sags. Valli was just about to say they were going to Asgard.

“On your way to what?” asks the Fire Giant, tilting his head.

Bohdi clears his throat. “Worship at the grave of Loki’s daughter, Helen, who we, human folk, regard as the Goddess of Truth.”

The giant narrows his eyes at Bohdi. “Loki’s daughter … I never met her.”

Bohdi puts his hand to his chest. “Yes, well—”

“But I did meet Loki, once.” The Fire Giant shifts on his feet, his hand going to the sword at his hip. As his hand falls to the pommel, the sword shifts in its scabbard. For the briefest of moments, a light shines from the blade, like a mirror catching sunlight. Bohdi feels the fizzle of magic in the air.

“Sutr,” Sigyn says. “What are you doing here?”

Bohdi blinks. He thinks he remembers Sutr as being the king of the Fire Giants.

Sutr tilts his chin. “Only regrouping.”

Bohdi finds himself pressing a hand beneath his nose to fight the urge to sneeze.

“Awaiting the return of the Destroyer,” says another giant. “He will lead us to victory!”

For a heart-stopping moment, Bohdi is afraid that someone will reveal him. But none of the SEALs, the Asgardians, or Gerðr so much as spits.

“As you can see, besides my son, myself, and Gerðr, there are only humans here,” says Sigyn. “Let us pass, Sutr.”

The Fire Giant’s eyes narrow, he scans the team, and for a moment, Bohdi swears Sutr’s gaze lingers on him.

Beyond the Giant, there is the sound of clanking weapons, people shouting, and a fire crackling. “Very well,” Sutr rumbles, at last. Turning to the other Giants, he barks some orders. They fall back into the mists without a word.

Redman lets out a long breath, but Berry whispers, “That was too easy.”

The sound of a hunting horn rips through the mist in the direction the Fire Giants have gone.

Sigyn’s eyes go wide, and Gerðr says, “That isn’t the sound of a Fire Giant’s horn.”

“Odin has sent his Einherjar,” Sigyn says.

Valli smiles sharkishly, making Bohdi’s skin prickle. “He has sent them through the Main Gate!” Loki’s son snorts. “That is where he expects us to go.” He giggles maniacally. “Come comrades! We must hurry!”

With that, he turns on his heels and begins to jog. The team hastens to follow him. Stumbling in the muddy ground, Bohdi hears the sound of plasma fire behind him, followed by shouts in Asgardian, and Fire Giantish. He looks behind him but sees nothing but mist.

“We’re nearly there,” Valli says, his voice not even breaking.

Plasma fire streaks over their heads. Somewhere a Fire Giant screams.

“Too close!” says Larson.

“We’re here!” Valli says. Feet slowing, Bohdi blinks. At first he sees nothing, but as he takes a few more steps he sees a headstone in the waist-high grasses. It’s a few inches taller than Bohdi, and a little wider than his shoulders. Thor would barely have fit through, but it’s the perfect size for someone of Bohdi’s height and build. Instead of the brownish grasses, in front of the stone waist-high orange flowers with sea green leaves grow. Emerald green ivy, with delicate blue butterfly-shaped flowers, crawls over the headstone itself, nearly obscuring Nordic-looking runes. Bohdi feels a sort of heaviness coming over his heart. The grave site looks like it hasn’t been tended in years. Still, it is the only color they’ve seen since coming to Nilfheim. It’s evident that someone who was loved is buried there. Valli strides over to the stone and stands guard. Sigyn follows; taking out the shard of Gungnir she carries, she wades through the orange flowers, brushes the ivy aside, and starts to chant.

“Form a perimeter,” Larson says, and Bohdi obeys, kneeling in the grass, raising his rifle to the sound of battles.

Behind him, Sigyn pants. “It’s done. Go!”

Larson starts calling out names one by one. Bohdi keeps his rifle ready as he waits, but doesn’t see anything but swirling mist. Another bolt of plasma whizzes above his head, and he flinches. He hears someone scream orders in Asgardian. Odin knows he’s disobeyed … he swallows. If Steve is being tortured now, it’s all his fault.

“Patel!” Larson calls. Bohdi hesitates just a moment, thinking he sees shadows approaching ... but then shaking his head, he turns, takes a breath, and plunges into the headstone.

x x x x

Steve hangs like a limp rag between two guards. The bright sun overhead is too hot. He feels a sharp jab at his side. His body tenses in anticipation of what will come next. Sure enough, a bolt of pure pain shoots from his side to the rest of his body. When it’s over, Steve feels completely drained. Forget trying to summon magic, it’s hard to summon oxygen. In the periphery of his vision he sees people by the side of the road staring at him. He reminds himself that this is all his fault.

After breakfast they’d taken him to a dark room, tied him to a chair, and smacked him around a bit. He’s bruised, one tooth is loose, his nose might be broken, and he can’t open one eye: injuries that look worse than they are. Or maybe being paralyzed and in unending, inescapable pain has just dulled his sense of what pain is—at least when someone is smacking you they pull back occasionally. He’d almost laughed at one point, thinking how ironic it was that Odin had made him immune to their little game, but he couldn’t quite manage it. He’d glimpsed instruments of torture in the room that made his blood run cold. They could do worse, and they were letting him know about it.

Afterwards, they’d taken him to a room and locked him in. It was actually a very nice room, opulent even, with a huge comfy bed, tiny sitting area, and a window with a beautiful view of Asgard proper, and ice, lots of it, for his bruised face. Steve knew what they were doing—letting him know they could be nice, and they could be cruel—probably in hopes that he’d beg Bohdi to cooperate with them. Steve had sat for a few minutes in that room, feeling like a damsel in distress from a fairy tale. He knew from friends who’d done prisoner-of-war training that the best thing to do was play along. Instead, he’d used magic to set the curtains on fire, hoping to escape in the confusion.

He’d been captured and gained some broken ribs in the process. And now, being dragged along by his shoulders, he’s got bloody knees, too. Why had he been such a fool?

Because he had to do something—for Bohdi, Lewis, and Claire … his head sags. But really, it was pride that made him rebel. He cannot accept not being in control, the master of his own destiny.

A skinny man at his side snaps in English, “Do you think we don’t know how to deal with magic users? Now you’ll spend your captivity in the tower!”

He jabs Steve again, and Steve must black out because when he opens his eyes, he’s indoors, this time in a building with rough stone floors. He hears the clink of metal and Skinny Guy with the poker talking angrily in Asgardian a few feet away. Steve is still being held aloft by his guards. After his pain-induced nap, he is feeling slightly better. Carefully keeping his eyes on the floor, he takes a deep breath, summons his magic, and translates …

“He must be kept here! He’s a dangerous magic user!” Skinny Guy grumbles.

“We’re filled to capacity with Fire Giants. We haven’t even finished processing them,” someone else says, and Steve’s stomach constricts at the implications of “processing” living beings. The speaker continues, “We expect more from Niflheim at any moment.”

Steve hears the sound of fast footsteps, and then a man shouts, “Honorable Mage, your presence is requested in Niflheim.”

“What? Why would I be summoned there, Messenger?” Skinny Guy responds, his voice an octave higher. He’s afraid?

The messenger, says, “The humans have gone missing.”

Skinny Guy snaps, “Give this human the traitor’s cell!”

“We can’t give him the traitor’s cell!” the guard declares. “The traitor is dangerous.”

“Process him, then!” snaps Skinny Mage Guy, and for a terrifying moment Steve doesn’t know if they’re talking about him or “the Traitor.” He wills his muscles not to tense up and his breathing not to give him away. “That will make the Traitor behave.”

Steve’s eyes slip closed in relief and shame of that relief. Someone might be “processed” because of him.

“Odin doesn’t want the traitor processed,” someone else says.

“Honorable Mage, we must leave,” says the messenger. His feet are so close Steve can see the points of his leather shoes.

“Throw the human in with the Traitor. But keep an eye on them,” says Skinny Guy.

“How can we do that? We’re shorthanded as it is! Every inch of the tower is packed.”

“Do it!” shouts Skinny Guy. Steve hears his footsteps, lets go of his magic, and feels the jab of the stupid magical prod. White pain flashes behind his eyes, his body goes limp and he must temporarily pass out again, because next thing he knows he’s sitting on the floor. Shackles are affixed to his wrists. They are bound together by a chain, and from that chain dips another chain. It leads down to a third chain stretched between his ankles, also shackled.

He’s hauled to his feet and a new guard appears, decked from head to toe in metal armor, his face behind a mask. He says something in Asgardian to the two guards at Steve’s side. One of them barks in British-sounding English, “Walk!”

They make him climb a spiral staircase. The chains around his feet are too short, and the shackles cut into his ankles. As he climbs the stairs, Steve notices a section of wall seems to be composed of newer stones and mortar. He surveys the irregular edge of the repairs, and sees what looks like black discoloration caused by smoke. Was there some accident here or a prison break? The thought gives him hope.

That hope is dashed when they reach the next landing. Before them stretches a long hallway. At one end he can just make out what looks like a guard room. Between the landing and the guardroom are what must be Fire Giants. They’re chained to the walls. They have skin shades that range between blacker than Steve’s own to tan; and they’re taller, with hair that might be blonde when washed. Packed shoulder to shoulder, and back to stomach, they’re emaciated, filthy, and stripped naked. Some are sitting, ankle shackles affixed to rings on the floor. Others are standing with their wrist shackles bound to rings in the ceiling. They don’t even acknowledge the guards’ presence.

“Norn’s teeth, Forge,” Steve’s guard says in Asgardian, “How will we sell them to the Red Dwarves if they’re so thin?”

The man who must be Forge takes what looks like a thick, long hose from the wall. “We haven’t had time to process them and don’t want them starting fires. Even the ones that aren’t mages can do that.”

Pointing the thing that looks like a hose at the Fire Giants, he whistles. Water shoots from the hose and he unceremoniously drenches the prisoners. “‘Course we keep them extra wet and naked to make sure they don’t start fires, too.”

Moans and screams rise up from the Fire Giants. The guards grunt. Steve is hauled down the hallway to a huge wooden door. The guard slides a little bar and then peers in a window set in the door. Seemingly satisfied, he takes some keys out of his belt, pulls the door open, and motions with his head for the guards to escort Steve into the dark cell beyond.

One of Steve’s minders steps toward the door … and almost falls over. Steve blinks down and sees that the Fire Giant closest to the door has thrust a bony elbow in the guard’s way.

“Why you—” The guard yanks out a slender stick, like the one Skinny had used on Steve. Something in Steve lights up, he feels magic flowing through him, and he has to react. Ducking his head, Steve plows into the guy before he can touch the Fire Giant.

He immediately gets magically tased, of course. The world goes bright white, and he’s pushed into the darkness and lands hard on his shoulder. The guards are shouting, but he can’t understand their words. He feels like his ears are stuffed with cotton, as though his nose is blocked, and his vision is blurry. But he does see the eyes of the Fire Giant who checked the guard with his elbow. The man’s eyes are bright yellow and wolf-like. He nods imperceptibly at Steve before getting tased himself—and then the door slams.

It’s too dark to see … and too quiet. Steve shakes his head and struggles with his bonds, a sense of dread overcoming him. He feels like he’s wrapped in black cotton—every sense, even touch, feels muted. From the darkness comes a voice with words that are a jumble of gibberish. Steve wonders if he’s been put into some sort of magical madness designed to disorient him.

He shakes his chains to hear sound and feel pain. He bites his tongue to taste the blood.

The voice rises again, this time in English. “Are you seeking magic?”

Steve inhales sharply. That is what is missing—magic. Even in the Iron Wood he’d been able to feel it. Now it is gone, and it feels like he’s lost a limb.

“A human should not notice,” says the voice.

Steve takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. Even without magic he can make himself calm. He opens his eyes and realizes he isn’t in complete darkness. There is a window high in the wall; backlit against its meager light is a tall hominid with long, silvery-blonde hair.

The hominid approaches, and Steve makes out the tips of pointed ears.

“You’re Steve Rogers. You’re the one arming the Dark Elves,” the man says.

Steve’s heart beats fast. What had Skinny called this guy? The traitor. And he’s an elf that recognizes him. He’s been a “passenger” on the “Dark Elf Underground Railroad” that Steve’s parents are part of.

The man takes a step closer. Like most elves, his features are finely hewn and so symmetrical it’s hard to look at them and hard to look away—Lewis once told him that when your brain encountered perfect symmetry in a face it went into overdrive trying to find flaws. Steve blinks. This man is tall. He doesn’t have Steve’s mass, but he’s still more muscular than typical. Steve’s glad they’re on the same side. Releasing a breath, he says, “You’re a Dark Elf.”

The man gives him a thin smile. “I’m a Light Elf, actually.”

Steve deflates. Had he felt hope? Had he sought to be the master of his destiny? He rattles the chains that bind him. Once again, he is at the mercy of Chaos.

x x x x

Amy can’t die. She looks at Daevas. “You scratched me, didn’t you?”

He blinks his lashless eyes. “Yes, you should have sickened and become weaker. I would have feasted on your flesh, and then you would have been reborn as one of us … them.”

Rush, standing close to Daevas, slides away with a “yeesh.”

Daevas’s dragonfly wings flutter. “Instead of catching our disease, I caught yours—life.”

Amy’s eyes go to the floor. “I didn’t get sick in Nornheim, but Bohdi nearly died, and the bear flu only gave me a cold.”

She runs a hand through her hair and looks at Hoenir. “The World Gate that opened off the coast of the Iron Wood?”

Hoenir nods. “It was probably your influence.”

“I’ve discovered three new species in the past two years!” Amy says.

Hoenir nods again. “Evolution of all sorts will always happen around you.”

Amy’s lips part. “I invented a virus that makes humans magical.” She puts a hand to her mouth—magical viruses, World Gates opening around her, and evolution. “Is Bohdi really the incarnation of Chaos, or am I?” she whispers.

Hoenir sighs. “Perhaps, but don’t claim the title. Chaos is despised, Creation at least gets lip service … however there is a reason the word luddite exists.”

Amy blinks, remembering all the hostility she faced for making the magic virus contagious—even she isn’t completely at ease with it. She bites her lip and looks down at her hands. Creation isn’t always fair.

Drawing her from her musing, Mimir sputters, “Wait, what? Bohdi … the skinny Indian lad, he’s the next incarnation of Chaos?”

Hoenir’s eyes go wide. Turning to Mimir, he says, “We really should have been suspicious.”

Amy puts a hand to her temple. “We’re always together …” Hoenir had told her that, hadn’t he? Her mind goes back to that day, just after Loki’s death, in Hoenir’s hut.

She’d asked Hoenir, “Why do you want me to be the Creator?”

“Because you have the heart for it,” Hoenir said. He had touched her temple. “And the mind. Your training in the biological sciences suits the role well.”

Amy had narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. “But I still have so much to learn.” She’d looked to a countertop. Her eyes fell to a jar with a six-legged, bat-winged, chameleon-like creature crawling up its side. Could a chameleon-sized heart support all those extra appendages?

Hoenir smiled. “But it will come to you. All life, even the life of the stars, the galaxy and the universe will be knowable.” Stepping back, he spread his hands. Between them a glowing flower had emerged, as wide as his spread arms. Amy gasped. It was not a flower—it was a map of the universe suspended in his hands, the light of billions of stars and their galaxies converging to make it appear solid. She felt drawn toward the glow; she imagined if she just stepped into the light she’d know everything that really mattered.

She almost did. But then, she remembered that just a few hours ago Loki had offered her an apple that bestowed magic and life. She’d turned it down, knowing that Cera would be able to control her if she became a magical creature. There was no Cera now, but ...

“There’s a catch, isn’t there?” Amy whispered.

Hoenir had sighed and closed his hands, the universe between them fading away. “You will not be able to kill or maim, even in self-defense. You won’t age, unless you expend energy to do so, and you won’t be able to die, no matter how great the injury or the pain.”

Amy had forgotten to breathe as the implications of that had set in.

Hoenir dropped his eyes. “And as the Creator, Chaos—the Destroyer—will be drawn to you, no matter what form it takes. You are two sides of the same coin.”

Amy blinks back to the present. That last catch, that was what made her say yes. Loki had just died, and there was nothing she wanted more in the universe than to have him back. Had Hoenir been counting on the grieving heart of a young woman to make her say yes? She swallows, jaw getting tight. He was older than Loki, and at least as old as Odin. Of course he had counted on her love and naivety. Creation isn’t always nice.

Amy’s hands ball into fists at her side. She remembers him putting his hands on her temples, being overcome by a delicious feeling of warmth, and being amidst the stars, of literally being the heart of the universe exploding outward. But then, it was over, and she’d been just herself, the memory of galaxies spinning away from her, a mirage just out of reach.

“The knowledge will come back,” Hoenir had whispered, “with time, as you find a way to harness your magic. But for now, you need to forget …”

Amy opens her eyes and glares at Hoenir. “You made me forget everything. How?”

Hoenir sighs. “I am still magical and still a master of biology. You weren’t. It was simple.”

Amy takes a step closer. “And you made Sigyn, Nari, and Valli forget the World Gate in Chicago that led back to you.”

He nods. “If you’d known what you were, you might have revealed it, accidentally. Odin would have found you before you could reunite with Loki. If Odin found me too quickly, he’d realize that I was no longer the Creator, and then he’d start looking for you.”

Amy grinds her teeth and looks at the cobblestone floor.

“Don’t be so angry,” Mimir says, his voice scolding. “Heimdall’s eyes are seeking Hoenir, he’s being your bait. Be grateful, young lady.”

Remembering her own conversation with Odin, Amy gives the head and Hoenir a rueful smile. “Odin isn’t interested in Hoenir. He doesn’t think Creation is dangerous.”

Hoenir straightens.

Amy levels her eyes at him. “I’m going to show him he’s wrong. I’m saving Bohdi, Steve, and the rest of the team. Are you going to help me?”

“Amy …” Beatrice says. “You can’t confront Odin alone. He has Laevithin. Won’t that make him next to invincible?”

“I’ll confront him with Bohdi!” Amy says.

“You’re still too weak—both of you,” Mimir huffs. “Especially if Odin has Laevithin.”

Hoenir is silent.

Amy looks to the other people in the room. Her eyes fall on Beatrice’s umbrella. She’d used it to stop her on the stairwell. Beatrice follows her eyes, but Hoenir answers her unspoken question. “It has one of the fragments of Gungnir in its shaft. It has some of Odin’s magic.”

And Odin’s magic is to preserve. Amy’s brow furrows. “But someone would have noticed.”

Beatrice raises her chin. “Someone did … Gerðr recognized it after I used it to save her when Skirnir tried to abduct her. She kept it to herself.” Beatrice shrugs. “And it’s been giving Brett’s and Bryant’s more sensitive magic detectors trouble for months.”

Amy’s mouth drops open. She remembers that—they always blamed their equipment.

“No one is suspicious of a grandma,” Beatrice says. Her jaw gets tight. “I’m sorry, Amy, but if you force me to use it on you, I will.”

Next to her, Daevas says, “I need your help to be whole. If you’re in Odin’s clutches, you can’t help me.”

Amy looks to Gem. The stoic little dwarf crosses her arms. “Marching into Asgard is a foolish idea.”

“It would be better to return to the Iron Wood,” says Bjorna. Cannonball gurgles.

Amy’s shoulders sag. No one agrees with her. Even Fenrir looks uncertain. The giant wolf is looking between Amy and Beatrice like she isn’t sure who she should be sitting next to.

There is nothing Amy can do. She may be the incarnation of one of the three most powerful forces in the universe, but she is helpless at the hands of her enemies … and much worse, her friends.

Chapter 33

The saplings in the apple orchard seem to have grown exponentially since the last time Bohdi was in Asgard. Beside him, Gerðr says, “The orchards never stretched this far before …”

Bohdi’s jaw gets hard. He was just worried about starting fires, but looking at the orchards, he wants to burn them. Odin uses the apples to bribe humans like the one that stranded them in Jotunheim.

“No fires, Patel,” Larson says, and Bohdi’s head jerks up.

“It will give away our position,” the lieutenant says. Bohdi takes a deep breath. Think happy thoughts, think happy thoughts ... The balcony where he had lunch with Amy is within eyesight. He can just make out sunlight shining on the armor of the men guarding it. He doesn’t think of that tense lunch; instead, his mind wanders to the last time they’d been alone together, Amy’s hair draping over him like a curtain, his hands on her hips, the heat between them enough that even the snow …

“Patel!” Larson snaps.

Bohdi blinks. Stamping out a fire in the grass, the lieutenant scowls up at him.

Bohdi averts his gaze to a small cottage a few hundred meters away across an open field. He sees the door open, but no figures emerge. He squints and sees the grass bend and move in a wave toward the team. In his ear his radio crackles. Tapping it, he hears Sigyn’s voice. “He’s been taken to the tower.” A few seconds later, she and Valli seemingly appear out of thin air. “He’s in Asgard proper. It will be hard not to attract attention.”

Berry and Larson exchange glances, and then the warrant officer says softly, “Can you get us closer to it? If we can get a look at the place, it’ll be easier to formulate a plan.”

Sigyn nods. “There is a place just outside the city.”

“Lead us to it,” says Larson.

The team slips into a single-file line. Sigyn and Valli lead them through the orchards. The air is warm and smells like grass and sunlight; small insects flit around them but do not bite. Bohdi’s clothes are finally drying.

It’s a beautiful day … and so far everything in Asgard has gone beautifully. “This is all wrong,” Bohdi says.

Jung turns sharply to him and opens his mouth. No words come out. The man’s feet stop, and he just stares at Bohdi. Redman freezes midturn. An insect hovers silently in front of Bohdi’s nose—but its wings don’t move. Bohdi looks at his other teammates. They all appear to be frozen in place—even Sigyn, Gerðr, and Valli.

“Fuck!” Bohdi says. He should be afraid, he should be terrified, but he’s too annoyed.

“There is no need for obscenities,” a familiar voice says. Bohdi spins in the direction of the voice. As he does he sees sunlight reflecting on armor in the trees on every side. From the line of semi-invisible men comes the Allfather. He’s drawn Laevithin. It shimmers blue in his hand and even from a distance, Bohdi can feel it pulse with magic. Odin’s visor is up; beside him walks a man in full armor.

Odin gives him a tight smile. “Did you really think you could sneak through Asgard and not be noticed?” he asks. He snaps his fingers. An Einherjar comes forward, and Odin says, “Trace the path of Mr. Patel’s team back to the World Gate. I’ll see that it is closed later.”

The Einherjar motions some of the men toward him. As Bohdi watches, they easily follow the team’s path backward through the orchard.

Odin whispers something to the first man. It might be, “Resume looking for her, Heimdall,” but Bohdi’s not sure. The man who might be Heimdall raises his head, flips open his visor, and crosses his arms. He looks for all the world like he is scanning the sky for clouds.

Bohdi’s eyes drop to the M4 still in his hands. He considers taking a pot shot at the Allfather, just for the fun of it. He suspects it would be useless, but it would also probably annoy the old man, and that would be extremely satisfying. Taking a deep breath, he lowers the rifle instead. “You wanted to talk, Odin?”

Two ravens alight on Odin’s shoulders. The old man doesn’t break stride. “I think it’s a little late for that, don’t you, Mr. Patel?”

Bohdi narrows his eyes. “All I want is Steve back, and then I’ll leave.”

The ravens rawk and cackle. Odin snorts and draws to a stop a few feet away. “You are in no position to issue demands.”

“Really?” Bohdi says, feeling the edges of his vision go red. “I’ll burn down your orchard, Allfather.”

Odin huffs, “You could try.”

Bohdi snarls, imagines the grass at his feet catching fire, the molecules in the air itself jumping, electrons spinning faster and … nothing happens. He feels magic; but it’s like a well within him that he cannot draw on.

“I mute your power,” Odin says. He tips his head toward Heimdall beside him. “Heimdall here says you are a compassionate man; I think you can see how that could be a good thing.” Odin takes a step closer. “You bring death, destruction, and pain, Mr. Patel. But with my influence, you bring only mischief.”

His words roll over Bohdi like cool water over a burn, but then Bohdi takes a step back. He shakes his head, his lip curling. “No, you are bringing pain and destruction to your own people and mine.”

“We can do this the civilized way, Mr. Patel,” Odin says, drawing so close Bohdi could reach out and touch him.

A bitter laugh bubbles out of Bohdi. “Kidnapping my friend isn’t civilized.”

Odin’s nostrils flare. “You will obey me, or Steve Rogers will suffer.”

Those words cool Bohdi’s anger in a heartbeat. The adrenaline in his system seeps away.

Odin must read his expression because he says, “Good, you can see reason.”

Bohdi swallows. Maybe he should just offer to be an obedient minion, play along until Steve and then the team are safe, and then break the oath? He scowls. Amy had confided that she suspected the Einherjar’s oath had magical compulsion behind it; he can’t risk it.

There has to be a loophole. He looks to his team, frozen in place. His jaw drops. “You can’t control me,” he whispers.

“Mr. Patel, I can control you,” Odin drawls in a bored voice. “I could freeze you in time. If I so choose, I could stop your heart.”

“But you didn’t,” Bohdi says softly. He meets Odin’s single eye. “You don’t want to stop my heart—I’d die, and then you’d have to find me again. And you don’t want to freeze me in place because you want me to come willingly.” His eyes widen at the realization.

“Of course,” says Odin, through gritted teeth.

Bohdi smiles. “And I’ll give it to you!” He puts a hand to his heart. “If you let Steve and my friends go free.”

Odin’s single eye narrows. “In exchange for an oath, I’d be willing to compromise.”

Bohdi holds up a finger. “And … you’d leave Earth, and humans, magical and otherwise, alone.”

The Allfather’s jaw gets tight.

Bohdi’s M4 sags in his arms. In a way he’d hoped the Allfather would have accepted the bargain. “You’re too afraid of Earth to do that,” Bohdi says softly. He puts a hand to his head in frustration. “But don’t you see, you don’t have to be. You don’t have to rule humanity as an absolute monarch, you could be more powerful as our mentor …” Bohdi actually smiles in wonder, for a moment seeing it. “Your experience and magic, our technology and vitality—we could bring about a Golden Age the likes of which the Nine Realms have never known.” He spreads his hand. “No, not Nine Realms, it would be more! Humans are ready to go to the stars, and with magic we could, all of us!”

“Enough, Silvertongue! You’ve the delusions of a boy.”

At his words, Bohdi’s vision shatters like glass. His skin heats and his vision goes red. He roars at the Allfather, “And you have the fear of an old man!”

“Stop!” Odin says, raising Laevithin.

The sword pulses with blue light, and Bohdi’s muscles become rigid. He can’t blink or snarl.

Odin says brusquely, “You are only conscious at my whim. I own you now, Bohdi Patel.”

Bohdi can’t do anything. He stands a mute, angry, ineffectual statue. And then, a shadow spreads from behind Bohdi, and he hears the sound of splintering wood and a scream.

“Heimdall!” Odin barks. “What is it?”

Heimdall drops his eyes, and for a second, they meet Bohdi’s. His features remind Bohdi so much of the Norn Lache that Bohdi would say her name if he could. The guardian’s eyes shift to the air beyond Bohdi’s shoulder and grow wide.

“Fire Giants have entered the orchard, my lord.”

“How many?” says Odin.

“Sutr has widened the gate,” Heimdall whispers.

“How many?” Odin says.

“There are hundreds … they’re setting the orchards alight!”

“Show Mr. Patel all he has done!” barks Odin, and then he turns fast and delivers a few curt orders to his men. The circle of Einherjar breaks apart, leaving only a few behind. Odin vanishes completely, and as he does, Bohdi feels strength returning to his limbs. He hears his team members groan behind him.

Heimdall says, “Watch over the humans!”

The Einherjar come closer, swords raised. Before Bohdi can raise his rifle, Heimdall strides forward and grabs Bohdi by the collar. “Now you will see what you have done!” he says, forcefully spinning Bohdi around. Over Heimdall’s shoulder, he sees Larson’s eyes get wide, the lieutenant lifts his rifle … it will be useless. Gerðr puts a hand on the lieutenant’s shoulder, lifts her magic blocking cap, and smiles sweetly at the Einherjar behind Heimdall’s back.

Bohdi’s body thrums with heat and lust. Heimdall, blind to the goddess behind him, only growls. The Einherjar closest to Gerðr lower their weapons—as do most of the SEALs and Valli—but not Cruz, Sigyn, or Gerðr herself. And then the world is a blur ...

x x x x

The darkness seems to close in on Steve. The feeling of cotton in his ears intensifies, the taste of blood on his tongue becomes muted.

He may have a bit of concussion, because he feels dizzy. He lays down as gently as he can. His ribs ache, his knees burn, and his injured eye throbs. He can feel it weeping.

The clink of chains sounds mere feet away. But in that instant, Steve’s too tired to care what the Light Elf does to him. He feels a soft pressure on his face. The man says softly, “What have they done to you?” The stranger sighs. “But without my magic, I can’t fix your wounds.”

Steve’s eyes open and he sees the Light Elf hovering over him, his pity palpable. Steve can’t take it. He sits up with a snarl.

The elf skitters backward.

Steve shakes his head and barely mutters, “Sorry.”

He’s had enough. He was born without magic and he lived forty-some years without it just fine. What had Sigyn and Lewis said? Magic just made you more of what you already are, and he’s always been cunning, charming, and manipulative.

Meeting the Light Elf’s eyes, Steve gives him a gentle, benevolent smile. “Is the enemy of my enemy my friend?”

“I am not Odin’s enemy,” says the Light Elf, backing away.

The answer catches Steve off guard, but he doesn’t let it show. In a light, chiding voice, he says, “So, you want to stay here?”

The man sighs, shoulders slumping, and turns away. “No, but we have no magic. We cannot escape.”

Steve’s good eye narrows at the man’s back. The elf doesn’t believe Steve is a threat or an enemy. That’s good. But his sense of defeat isn’t going to be helpful.

“Yes, we can,” says Steve, even though he doesn’t know how. Clambering awkwardly to his feet, he winces at the pain in his ribs and knees. Gritting his teeth, he surveys the cell. It’s completely barren. There isn’t a toilet, a mattress, or even straw.

The Light Elf watches him warily. “They allow us to use a chamber pot mornings and evenings, if you’re curious.”

“Like dogs,” Steve says.

The Light Elf snorts. Steve walks over to the door and examines it. There is a keyhole that looks relatively primitive. Bohdi could probably pick it. There is a smaller door set into the door at the bottom—large enough for a chamber pot, but too small for Steve to fit through.

He tilts his head. “When they pass things through the door, the seal must break. Magic comes into the room … maybe we could create some sort of illusion in the hallway, make them think we escaped?” Not that Steve can do any of that—yet—but maybe the Light Elf can.

“What are you talking about?” the Light Elf says. “There is no seal, our magic doesn’t come back when they open the door. Magic is rolled back in this space. We’re helpless.”

Steve exhales, heaviness settling in his heart. He closes his eyes. He’d thought this magicless room worked the way Promethean wire lined rooms worked. But of course—there are more ways to thwart magic. The iron wood trees do so by devouring it. The waters in the Dark Elves’ lands warp it and make it unpredictable. He’d felt his magic leave him before they shut the door, hadn’t he?

The Light Elf sighs. “Humans, always full of impossible ideas.”

Steve’s eyes snap open. The sound of defeat in the Light Elf’s voice makes him even more determined to find a way. He has to stay calm and think—survey the situation completely. Leaning awkwardly with his bound wrists, he presses his ear against the door. Even without the help of magically-heightened senses he can hear moans from the hallway. Wincing at the pain in his knees, he considers the logistics. “The guards’ magic wands won’t work in here,” he says, thinking aloud.

“No, but their spears will,” says his companion.

Steve tilts his head, remembering Skinny Mage’s conversation with the guards. “They won’t use their spears on us; we are both too valuable.”

“So they’ll beat us with clubs,” says the Light Elf. “There are four men in the guard post at the end of the hall. At least a dozen are stationed below. More than a match for two unarmed men.”

Steve wills himself not to be dismayed by that intel. He grits his teeth. Where Bohdi goes, so does Chaos—and Bohdi has to be on his way here—that’s why he went to Niflheim, not to raise a Fire Giant army. Either way, Asgard is going to be in a fire storm soon. Steve has to be ready to escape when it comes … or at least to die. He will not be the source of emotional blackmail for a thousand years. “They’ll beat us with batons—but they don’t want us dead,” Steve says.

“Actually, I’m scheduled for execution by the Void tomorrow,” the Light Elf says with a wry smile.

For a moment, Steve feels a wave of panic. And then his brain starts working again. “Then you have all the more reason to want to escape,” he says.

Before the guy can get a word out, Steve says, “I have a plan.” Or at least he’s working on one.

“Why should I help you?” says the Light Elf, turning his head away.

Steve almost snaps, but then he takes in the man’s slumped shoulders and his bowed head. This man isn’t arguing for argument’s sake. He’s afraid to get his hopes up. Steve’s jaw gets hard, and then it clicks. “The Void is punishment for people who speak their minds.”

The man lifts his head.

“You didn’t agree with something your Queen and Odin decreed,” Steve says, going out on a limb. The elf sits up straighter.

Ah-ha. Steve plunges onward. “You spoke up in a way that was loud and public.”

The man rolls his eyes dismissively.

Steve’s heart rate speeds up. He’s a little off. “Or at least in a way that they considered dangerous.” He tilts his head. “You’re a person of some rank, so they won’t ’process’ you.” He jerks his head back toward the door. “Like they will the poor souls out there.” He tilts his head. “You get a clean death.”

The other man’s face becomes uncertain.

“You don’t deserve to die,” Steve says. “Not for doing what you thought was right.” Steve licks his lips nervously at that last statement. Even on Earth, the punishment for treason is death. He’d order whoever betrayed his team on Jotunheim executed. But this man … Steve tilts his head. “You didn’t hurt anyone.” He’s not a warrior. His stance, his sense of defeat, they say he hasn’t received a warrior’s training. His act of defiance didn’t bring anyone harm.

“How do you know?” the man whispers.

Steve chuckles. Leaning against a wall, he gives into the weariness in his limbs and sags to the ground. “Because I’m beaten and bruised, and you could have taken out all your frustrations on me or ignored me. Instead you bemoaned not being able to fix me.”

The man is silent for a moment. Then he says, “Lionel, my name is Lionel. I was the chief steward to my … the … Queen.”

Steve’s eyebrow raises. That explains the recognition. Lionel would have access to a lot of intel an ordinary Light Elf would not. And he’s encountered humans before, what had he said, “humans, always full of impossible ideas”? Was it an observation based on Amy and Beatrice’s trip to Alfheim, or another encounter with humanity? Steve pushes it aside—he has to focus on now.

“What is your plan, Steve Rogers?” Lionel says, raising his chin.

Steve looks at the door. “I’ve got an idea to get this door open, but we need to keep it open. Managing that would be a lot easier if I spoke Fire Giantish, but without magic—”

“I speak Fire Giantish well enough,” Lionel says. He shrugs. “If you use magic long enough to translate, eventually the native tongue becomes a second language to you.”

Steve tilts his head to the door. “Tell the guy on the other side we have a plan. And his job is to keep the door open.”

“He won’t—”

“He will,” says Steve, remembering the certainty he’d felt when he’d tried to protect the man.

Going over to the door, Lionel relays the message in a language that sounds like the barking of dogs.

There is a moment of tense silence, and then the Fire Giant barks back. Lionel pulls away from the door, chains rattling and eyes blinking. “He says he’ll help us.” He looks up at Steve. “He could be lying.”

Steve shakes his head. “He isn’t.”

From the hallway comes muffled shouting. Steve blinks. “That’s Asgardian.”

Pressing his ear to the door, Lionel says, “Something about a fire …”

Steve hears the Fire Giant barking. He climbs hastily to his feet.

Lionel’s eyes widen. “Two of the guards are leaving … there is a fire in the orchards.”

Steve swears; there won’t be any time to discuss his plan with the gentle elf. “Lionel,” he whispers, “you have to fight me and make it look real!”

“What?” says Lionel, raising his shackled wrists and shrugging helplessly. “How?”

Hearing the guards move away, Steve headbutts him in the chest… hard.

“Are you mad?” Lionel shouts.

Steve whips him with his chains and shouts, “Help! The elf is trying to kill me!”

x x x x

Amy doesn’t cry. She bites her lip, and the gerbils on her brain wheels race. She tries to look chastened, and meek, and at the same time tries to survey the room. She makes a move to turn around but catches Beatrice narrowing her eyes at her and freezes in place instead.

“Hey, Daevas,” says Rush, hooking his rifle over his shoulder and walking toward the adze, “What sort of ammo you got in that case?”

The adze blinks at the SEAL. “I have ammunition for standard Glocks and M4s.”

Rush scratches an ear and puts a hand on his chin. “I don’t know if it will work.”

“Of course it will work,” snaps Beatrice.

“I’ll just check,” says Rush, taking the ammo case from Daevas’s hands.

Beatrice snorts. “Rush, you paranoid—”

Rush swings the ammo case at Daevas’s chin, sending him sprawling backward into Beatrice and Hoenir. Fenrir gives a startled yip.

Spinning on his heel, Rush sprints to Amy, grabs her by the arm and pulls her to the back of the room, and then yanks her out the door into a hallway full of doors.

“Which way?” Rush says.

Amy opens the first door; beyond it is another hallway with lots of doors. “This way!” she shouts. Rush follows her into the second hallway, and through another door into another hallway, and then a fourth. Amy stops, she is completely lost—she doesn’t have any idea where to go.

Panting, Rush says, “Can’t you open another door to Asgard?”

“They have Fenrir!” Amy pants back. “They can use her nose to track us!”

“I’ll hold ’em back!” Rush says, raising his rifle.

Slipping through another door, into another hallway, Amy stops dead in her tracks. “You can’t shoot my dog!”

Pushing her backward down the hall, Rush huffs, “I wouldn’t shoot Fenrir!”

“Or my grandmother!” Amy says.

Rush’s jaw twitches.

Amy’s nostrils flare.

Rolling his eyes, Rush says, “Sure, I won’t shoot Beatrice. Now choose a door, Lewis! Stop being a pussy!”

Amy’s fists ball at her side. Swearing, Rush reaches around her and opens a door. Amy blinks. She’s staring at room with walls, floor and ceiling of a familiar pearlescent substance. In it are three looms and three beautiful women sitting at them. Amy’s eyes go wide. “Norns!” Amy shouts.

Chloe, the beautiful South Asian-looking Norn sits up, her extra arms either behind her back or magically hidden. “Oh, Amy is back! Have you decided to be a boy for us?”

Rush clears his throat.

“Look she’s brought us a boy,” says Lache. She’s wearing lipstick that is shockingly red against her ebony skin. Her four extra appendages are also hidden. “Delicious.”

Rush lowers his weapon, as though transfixed. “Hello.”

“It’s Herbert Rush,” snorts Addie, a bone-pale finger pulling back a stray lock of white-blonde hair. “Tough and stringy, but he’ll do.”

“Mmmm ....” says Rush, leaning forward as all three women glide toward him.

Amy grabs him by the back of the shirt and yanks him back into the hallway. The three women shriek and raise their extra arms. Lightning swirls around their hands. Amy slams the door just in time.

Rush blinks. Amy sighs and shakes her head, dragging him down the hall. “That probably isn’t going to help your misogyny.”

“Were they going to eat me?” Rush says.

Deciding not to answer, Amy drags him around a corner.

“Do you have a plan?” Rush asks.

Amy’s eyes fall on a pair of aprons hanging from a peg just in front of them. Next to the aprons is a metal door with a single circular nautical window made of heavy glass. Her eyes get wide. Throwing an apron at Rush, she puts on the other one and slips through the door. “This way!”

She finds herself in a room with a utilitarian kitchen on one side. Rush is in a moment later, the apron thrown over his shoulder. “What is this place, a kennel or a kitchen?”

Amy looks to her left. There is a heavy sink with cleavers hanging from the wall and a large chopping block. She blinks. Around the base of the block are bags and bags of dog food—the Earth kind. Apparently Hoenir still visits. She looks to the opposite wall. There is a large metal cage that stretches from floor to ceiling, with a human-size door set into it. Beyond that is another door with hinges on the top—it’s like a pet door—but big enough for Rush and Amy to walk through side-by-side. Running over to the cage, she quickly undoes the lock. “Come on, in here!” she says. Her eyes snap to the apron over his shoulder. “And put that on.”

Slamming the cage shut, he says, “Why?”

There is a huffing at the swinging door. “Because if you don’t, the velociraptors will eat you,” she says.

“Velociraptors!” Rush squeaks.

Raising her hands, Amy says, “Don’t worry! They don’t eat their own. Probably because there is a velociraptor equivalent of mad cow disease and they’ve evolved an aversion to their own meat. That would make sense; there is a human equivalent of the disease, too. It’s called—”

“Stop the verbal diarrhea! Why are we in a velociraptor pen?” His eyes get wide and he looks over her shoulder. “One’s coming through the door!”

Amy spins, and sure enough, a lizard-like head, half-feathered, half-scaled, is peering at her through the over-sized doggy door. It sniffs at them curiously and opens its mouth, revealing finger-length long teeth and … squeaks.

“Don’t shoot it!” Amy says, hustling over to the pen’s door. “They’ll keep everyone away while I create a new World Gate.”

“It’s not okay for me to shoot your grandmother, but it’s okay for a velociraptor to eat her?” Rush snaps. “Oh … it’s sniffing me ... is that a good sign?”

Remembering Loki’s encounter with the velociraptors, she says, “If he’s not eating you, we’re good.” She looks out of the cage. “I’m sure my grandmother won’t actually follow us,” Amy says, although she isn’t sure. Her hand hesitates on the pen lock.

The kitchen door swings open. Hoenir is there, a cup of tea in one hand, a saucer in the other; she can’t see anyone else beyond him.

Amy’s hand tightens on the lock. “Don’t come closer! I’ll open the door, and they’ll get out.” Her hand doesn’t shake. She looks down at the lock, and then looks up in wonder at Hoenir. “I can do that, can’t I?”

Hoenir nods and says softly, “Your creatures can kill, even if you can’t.”

Amy looks down at her hand and remembers when Loki entered Hoenir’s house without knocking—this was the room he’d come to. He’d almost been killed by the velociraptors. Her jaw drops. “They’re your guard dogs, aren’t they?”

Hoenir’s eyes widen a fraction. “Yes,” he whispers.

Amy hears some more squeaks. She looks back. Rush is patting a velociraptor on the head, as two others butt their heads against him. “Nice lizard, nice lizard.” Without looking at her, he says, “I dunno, Lewis, these guys seem too tame to—”

At that moment, one of the velociraptors sees Hoenir. With a roar, it leaps onto the bars of the cage and begins shaking and hissing, sending spittle flying everywhere. The others lift their heads and quickly do the same. From beyond the swinging doggy-velociraptor-door comes the sound of hissing.

“Eh, they’ll do,” Rush says. “Let’s go open a gate.”

“Wait!” Hoenir says. “I want to help you.”

Amy looks at his hands. They’re shaking on the tea cup. Hoenir licks his lips nervously. “I can find your friends for you,” he says, “in my tea leaves.”

Rush snorts.

“Okay,” Amy says.

Putting the tea cup down on the chopping block, Hoenir says, “Fenrir is leading everyone on a merry chase—she’s quite a smart puppy—but Mimir will figure out where we are in a bit. I think between Beatrice and Daevas, they’ll find a way to stop us.”

With that, Hoenir opens a cabinet beneath the block, pulls out another apron, and puts it on. As soon as he does, the velociraptors stop hissing. One by one, they drop from the bars and pace the cage, looking vaguely confused. “They aren’t particularly bright,” says Hoenir, as Amy opens the door to the cage and lets him in, tea cup shaking in the saucer in his hands. “But much smarter than the originals.”

Curious about the “originals,” Amy opens her mouth, but before she can get a word out, Rush snaps, “Don’t ask him any questions! Let’s get this show on the road.”

Outside the kitchen door, Amy hears Mimir’s voice. “I don’t think they could go through there …”

“Come,” Hoenir says. Ducking, he leads Amy through the swinging velociraptor door, Rush bringing up the rear. They step out into a world with two blood-red suns. In every direction Amy sees smoke spilling into the sky. There are strange palm-like plants that reach just above her head and an overpowering stench of sulfur and burning feathers.

“There is a ring of volcanoes around us,” Hoenir says, looking into his tea cup, his hands shaking. Through the door Amy hears Mimir’s voice more clearly. “They can’t have gone through there.” And then his words are obscured by the hissing of velociraptors. From the palm bushes, velociraptor heads shoot up. She sees at least seven dash through the swinging door.

“Now where was I?” says Hoenir. Sitting down on the blackened ground, he hunches over his teacup, and Amy sits beside him. Above them, Rush growls. “Hurry it up!”

Hoenir swallows audibly. In his hands the tea cup clatters in the saucer. He takes a deep breath. “I’ve been planning this day for centuries, and yet, I’m finding it hard.”

“Planning this day?” Amy says.

“The day that Odin is overthrown,” Hoenir whispers, not looking at her.

“We don’t have to do that—”

“But you will,” Hoenir says. “Odin will not let you go without a confrontation. And he will not surrender. He will have to be destroyed, and a new incarnation of Order will take his place.”

“Good,” Rush mutters, now kneeling beside them, slipping bullets from a clip and replacing them with the magical ones from the ammo case.

The clattering of the teacup grows louder. Amy remembers her dream of being a boy in Jotunheim. She’d thought it was a remnant of Loki’s memories. But it wasn’t; she was Hoenir in the dream, wasn’t she? She touches Hoenir’s shoulder. “You knew him before he became Order, didn’t you?” she whispers.

He looks up at her, his green eyes red-rimmed and wet. “Yes. He was … good.”

“I believe you,” Amy says, her eyes getting wet remembering the little boy standing up to Hoenir’s bullies.

“I loved him,” Hoenir whispers.

Amy nods. “I know.”

Snapping a clip into his Glock, Rush clears his throat. “We need to find the team.”

“I don’t think I can kill him,” Hoenir says, looking down at the cup.

“You don’t have to,” Amy says.

“I will,” Rush mutters.

Hoenir’s eyes slide to Rush. “No, you won’t.” Turning to Amy, he says quickly, “Creation is given and received by choice; the chaos of Destruction is given by chance; Order can be surrendered, but usually it has to be taken by the one who replaces it.” His Adam’s apple bobs and he looks down at the teacup. A scene shimmers into view on the liquid’s surface. Amy sees the shining spires of Asgard, the orchards to one side … and smoke.

“Bohdi’s there,” says Amy.

“Right,” says Hoenir.

He zooms in. Surprisingly, Bohdi is not at the center of the flames. He’s a few hundred meters away. Behind him is the team; directly in front of him is Heimdall and a team of Einherjar.

“Oh, no …” says Amy. “In the myths, Loki was killed by Heimdall.”

“But that ain’t Loki,” says Rush.

Heimdall runs forward so quickly he is a blur. Amy gasps. Heimdall collides with Bohdi and then both he and Heimdall disappear from view.

Chapter 34

The air rushes out of Bohdi, his body cools, and his lust evaporates. His hands catch Heimdall’s wrists as the world blurs by, much as it does when Sleipnir is at a full tilt. Bohdi curses and hears no sound—they’ve left time behind. Panting, his brain spins. Loki’s ability to walk the In Between is related to time-bending. It makes sense that his kids got a little bit of that talent.

An instant later, the blur coalesces. Bohdi crashes into cold stones, biting his tongue in the process. Before he can even lift his head, Heimdall rips Bohdi’s M4 over his shoulder and tosses it to the side. Bohdi hears it clattering on stones far away. He looks around frantically. He’s on a podium in a wide plain with eight circular platforms. Beyond that is a stone wall; over the wall’s top he can see the golden spires of Odin’s palace.

A breath of relief escapes him; he is still in Asgard. His hand falls to his side, he still has his Glock and a knife. At that thought, Heimdall hauls him to his feet. “See what you have done!” he roars. Pulling a horn from around his waist, he lifts it to the heavens and blows. Bohdi feels his skin prickle and swears he can taste magic in the air. On the circles around the platform, scenes spring to life. He squints—they’re slightly transparent—projections of some sort?

His mouth gapes. He sees Chicago in one of the projections. The Willis Tower is in the background, and men and women in police uniform are standing beside civilians throwing Molotov cocktails … at other police officers in riot gear. Heimdall spins him in another direction and he sees Nornheim at night—adze are flinging their bodies at one another in the sky—ripping each others’ wings off. Heimdall spins him again, and he sees dwarves locked in combat, stalagmites crashing from the ceiling. He is spun again, and he sees a swamp that looks peaceful … but then as he watches crimson bubbles come up from the depths of the water, and the bodies of elves. They spin again and he’s looking at trolls, Einherjar, and Fire Giants locked in combat in Niflheim. Heimdall spins him once more, and he’s staring at the beach on Jotunheim by the World Gate. No one is there, but one tall, skinny girl, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Claire …” Bohdi whispers. Where is Amy? Why is she alone? Jaw gaping, he walks in the direction of the conjured image, almost falling from the platform. Steve gave him one request—and he failed to do it.

In the shimmering magical projection, Claire looks down the beach. Her eyes get wide and her lips part in a gasp of fear.

“Run, Claire, run …” Bohdi whispers, not knowing what she is afraid of, but knowing it is terrible.

Instead of running away, Claire runs toward whatever it is. “No!” Bohdi shouts, but she doesn’t hear him. And then he sees what she is running to. He screams so loud his voice echoes off the stones.

x x x x

Panting, hungry, and limbs tired, Claire reaches the ocean. Standing on the ice, she leans, grabs her knees to catch her breath, and stares at the sea. She can’t see any boats. She stamps her feet, and her face crumples in sorrow and anger. They’d left hours before her, and they’d had snowmobiles; of course they are gone. She should go back to the mesa, but that feels like defeat. Lifting her head to the sky, she screams in rage.

She hears a rush of water and the ground trembles, as though the world is echoing her sentiment. She blinks out over the horizon. Far out in the sea, between the arch and the beach, rises the head of an enormous snake-like creature, lightning bolts sparking along its snout.

She takes a step back, watching as the thing continues to thrash in the water, as though fighting an invisible foe. Giant waves crash on the icy beach. The monster’s head disappears, but huge coils rise where its muzzle had been. Claire releases a breath. And then the head emerges again, slowly and gracefully. She swallows and takes a step back; it’s on a trajectory for a spot down the beach a few dozen meters away. It has huge eyes set into the side of its head, but if it sees her it shows no sign.

Taking a step back, she watches as the water beyond the great beast’s head rises, and then the immense coils break the surface as the giant head glides closer and closer to the shore. The creature’s eyes blink a few times, and then the lids rise and do not blink anymore.

The creature lays in the surf, waves crashing against its head and coils. Claire swallows. Up close she can see that it’s nearly as tall as a house. She takes a step forward. The creature’s eyes still do not follow her movements. Maybe she is too small to eat or maybe it’s dead.

At that thought, the jaws of the creature spring open. Claire gasps in fear. But the creature doesn’t dart toward her; its eyes stay focused on nothing, and then something tumbles out of the creature’s mouth onto the icy beach. Claire bends down, trying to get a closer view. It looks like the creature has spit out a giant boulder. She takes a step closer. The boulder uncoils and stands.

Claire’s mouth drops open and her eyes go wide. It’s Thor. He has no helmet, his red hair is dark and wet, and pieces of his armor are missing on his arms and legs. He sways as though caught in a breeze.

“Thor!” Claire screams, running forward, heedless of the monster behind him.

He turns his head in her direction. As her feet race through the snow, her magic races to her limbs, the world speeds by her.

Thor takes one step. And then another, his hammer swinging awkwardly in one hand.

He’s only gone six steps when she reaches him and he falls. “No!” Claire screams. Her magic is already flowing through her, and when he falls onto her shoulder, she’s able to bear his weight. He’s enormous though, and even with her strength, it’s hard to hold him.

“Little Valkyrie, put me down,” he whispers.

She doesn’t know what to do, so she helps him sit down on the ice. He immediately falls backward.

“Thor, I have to get you to Dr. Amy,” Claire says. She can’t see any gaping wounds, but his body is covered in scratches and bruises. Maybe there is something below his chest plate? Claire wishes she’d seen a clot under a microscope. Maybe if she had, she could help him.

“Strange I would meet you here,” he whispers.

“You left without me,” she says, her voice accusatory, even though she knows that’s mean, and you shouldn’t be mean to someone who is hurt. But it felt like betrayal. “Thor, you told my dad I could be a warrior, and then you left without me. I have to go! I have to go get him!”

Dropping his hammer, Thor pats her hand. Even with her humongous mittens on, his hand dwarfs hers. “You do need to go get him.” Grasping his hammer again, he pulls it to his lips, whispering words quietly in another language. And then he pushes it toward her. “Take this. It is yours now.”

“What?” says Claire, sitting back on her heels, staring at the weapon. She can feel the air around it hum.

“It’s yours,” says Thor. “Use it wisely.”

Claire looks to Thor’s eyes, they’re half-closed and dark blue, like storm clouds. A few months ago, she wouldn’t have known what he was saying, but now she’s seen death and she does know. “No,” she says, “Thor, you can’t die.” People died, but not Thor. He had fought Loki, had gone to Nornheim, laughs as loud as thunder, and says that she is a warrior. He’s larger than life, and beings that big don’t die.

“I hope I can,” he whispers.

Claire’s mouth drops open, but she’s too caught off guard by that answer to know what to say.

He smiles weakly. “I betrayed my word for my father, and then I betrayed my father for my word.” His eyes slip closed for a minute.

“Thor, wake up!” Claire cries, tears so hot they burn rolling down her cheeks. She grabs his hands.

His lids flutter open. “I had a daughter,” he whispers. “She was like you. She had a brave heart. I tried to break it, but failed, and she became a Valkyrie … and then …” He sighs.

Claire sniffs. “Thor, I can’t … you can’t.” Her grandmother says you can never give up, or let people give up. Lifting her chin, she says with feigned sternness, “I’m too young, Thor.” Her voice sounds like a tiny version of her dad’s.

“You are too young,” Thor whispers.

Claire crumples. “So you see why you have to live.” Leaning over him, she puts her hands on his shoulders. “I can carry you back to the Keep, and then Dr. Amy will save you.” But how will she bear his weight under the trees? They’ll steal her strength away. Her lip curls in anger—she will find a way ...

Thor grabs her wrists. “Jörmungandr and I, we fought for hours … nearly a day. It was glorious. But now his venom is in my veins. By the time we get there, I will be dead, and my body will be too cold, even for Dr. Amy.”

Claire shakes her head.

Squeezing her hands, Thor whispers. “Claire, you must take my hammer, and you must go to Asgard.” He coughs.

“I can’t go to Asgard,” Claire protests. “I can’t open a World Gate.”

Thor coughs again. It sounds weak and sickly, and it makes Claire’s heart hurt. “You will find a way,” Thor gasps. “My father, he will hurt Captain … your father. Your father needs a hero, and it has to be you.”

“I can’t leave you here,” Claire sobs. “My dad, he’s a Marine, and he says Marines never leave anyone behind.”

He smiles. “They are allowed to leave their dead behind, Claire.”

“But you’re not …”

Lifting his head, Thor’s smile melts away. “You must save your father and Bohdi, Claire.”

And then his head falls back onto the ice. He should blink. But his eyes remain open, staring at the sky. Claire feels as though the universe has just released a breath. The air around her goes from cold to unbearable.

“Thor?” Claire says. She pounds his chest and screams, “Thor!” He doesn’t respond. She sobs and pounds more, and of course there is no reaction. It’s just so wrong, and horrible, she wants to scream at the universe. She does scream.

Pulling back, she continues to sob, and her eyes fall on the hammer. Thor said Odin will kill her father, and Bohdi, too. She looks at Thor. His lips are open, his eyes are getting cloudy, and it’s like his huge body is just an empty shell. She can’t let this be their fate. She won’t.

Wiping away her tears, she picks up the hammer. It’s not as heavy as she would have expected. Or maybe that’s just magic. She thinks of lightning, and it crackles. She looks around, and nearly breaks into sobs again but grits her teeth instead.

Thor said she’d find a way to get to Asgard. She needs a miracle. She swallows. She knows that Dr. Amy once had a miracle happen. She prayed for help, and Loki came for her. Her dad told her sometimes magical creatures heard it when humans called them, or thought stuff to them, and Loki had heard his thoughts, too. Claire looks at the hammer. Tucker says they’re not really humans anymore, now that they’re magical. But Tucker was wrong about some stuff. She wipes her face and closes her eyes. She squeezes the hammer tight and feels lightning spark up her hand. “I have to save my dad, and I have to save Bohdi … he’s kind of like my big brother, or my uncle … and I have to get to Asgard to do it, and I just need someone, anyone, to help me.”

x x x x

“Do you see what you have done?” Heimdall roars. The scene disappears and Bohdi turns to Asgard’s guardian. “You killed Thor! You are Chaos, Death, and Destruction. Without the power of Odin you bring only despair.”

For a moment Bohdi stares at Heimdall. He does bring despair. He thinks of all the humans who died during the troll invasion of Earth. But, he shakes his head. “No! I did not kill Thor,” Bohdi snarls as his skin heats, and red tinges his vision. “Odin killed Thor; he ordered Jörmungandr to kill everyone on the boat but me.”

“No,” says Heimdall.

“It’s true,” Bohdi says.

“He didn’t know,” Heimdall hisses.

Bohdi snorts. “Yeah, I get it, no one is perfect. But if he hadn’t given a dumb-ass order to Jörmungandr, my friend and my …” His voice catches, thinking of the wistfulness in Jörmungandr’s voice when he talked of swimming through the seas together. “... my son wouldn’t be dead.”

Bohdi looks up to Asgard’s guardian. He’s staring at Bohdi, mouth agape. His hands drop to the pommel of his sword, but he does not draw it.

Bohdi hopes that means that he’s getting through to him. “We can stop this now, you and I, Heimdall. I just want Steve back. I don’t want to fight Odin, and I don’t want to fight you.” Bohdi licks his lips. Jörmungandr liked him; maybe deep down, Heimdall does too. “I know your mothers were the Norns.” In the myths Heimdall had nine mothers, but Bohdi guesses that was just a euphemism for nine sets of arms. “And I know that your father was—”

“No!” Heimdall screams, drawing his sword.

Bohdi draws his Glock instinctively. Heimdall lunges forward, and Bohdi jumps backward as something gleaming spins through the air in his direction. And he knows it’s over, that the random factors of Chaos cannot save him now. Bohdi fires and hits Heimdall square in the forehead. He feels pain, sees Heimdall crashing backward, and then he feels nothing at all.

x x x x

Lionel sits on top of Steve. He bangs a shackled hand at the space just to the side of Steve’s head, clipping his ear. Steve yelps in surprise.

“I’m sorry!” Lionel whispers.

The door swings open behind him, and before Lionel can say anything more, he’s hauled off Steve. Another man leans over Steve, raising a club. Steve swings up his legs, clipping the man under the chin. The man staggers a step backward. Before he can regain his footing, Steve spins on the ground, hooking his shackled ankles around the man’s ankles and knocking him to the ground. Steve rolls over and wraps the chain between his wrists and ankle around the other man’s neck; the chain gets caught between the helmet and chest plating of his armor. The man beats his club, hitting Steve’s forearms. Gritting his teeth, Steve leans back, and he feels the chain slide deeper into the man’s neck.

Behind him he hears a club hitting flesh and chains rattling. That sound stops and then a second club hits him in his injured eye. Steve’s body jerks on the impact, his grip loosens. Body tensing for another blow, he pulls hard on the chain around the guard’s neck—he’ll take one with him.

… and the next blow never comes. Steve hears a choking, sputtering sound behind him.

The man wrapped in his chains goes limp. Steve pants and looks back. Lionel is standing behind the other guard who is kneeling on the floor, clutching a chain similarly wrapped around his neck. Steve hears a light rattling. It takes Steve a moment to realize that the Light Elf is shaking so badly his ankle chains are shaking.

Steve hears shouts in the hallway. “Lionel,” he says. “We have to hurry.”

The Light Elf looks up at Steve, his mouth open, a look of pure horror on his face.

“Come on,” Steve says gently, “We have to go.”

Lionel nods over and over, too rapidly. He blinks. “I must go first.” He slips his chain away from the fallen guard and goes awkwardly to the door—it’s open just a crack. Steve sees what looks like the shadow of a bent elbow. “Come on,” Lionel whispers, pushing through the door.

Steve hears guards shouting and scrambles to his feet, following Lionel into the hall. He promptly bumps into a solid invisible wall. He’s about to swear when he sees Lionel and himself down the hall screaming, “Don’t shoot us!” just before disappearing down the stairs. Following Steve’s doppelganger and the elf down the steps, two guards rush past them. Steve’s mouth gapes. To his side, from the floor the Fire Giant who had just held the door open spits and swears in the direction of the two apparitions.

From the invisible wall comes Lionel’s voice. “That will keep them busy for a few minutes. Hurry, to the guard room, let’s get the keys to these shackles.” Steve looks down at his bonds—realizes he’s invisible—and promptly comes back into view. The Fire Giant looks up at him in alarm. Steve says, “We’ll be back for you, play dumb or dead.” The words tumble out in the Fire Giant’s harsh guttural tongue before Steve’s even thought about it.

Lionel appears halfway between the guardroom and Steve’s cell. “Hurry!”

Steve shambles after him, pain stabbing through his ribs and from his wrists and ankles. He hears shouting below as he enters the guard room. Lionel’s already got the keys out and is releasing his own wrist shackles. “I’m sorry but I’m horrible at telekinesis,” the Light Elf says. He looks up at Steve. “And I’m afraid that I won’t be able to fix your eye, but your other wounds I shall heal quickly.” At those words, Lionel’s ankle shackles fall away and he immediately begins working on Steve’s own bonds. As his wrist bonds clatter to the floor, Steve feels his pain disappearing everywhere but his eye.

“Lionel,” he says, “what sort of magic can you do?”

“A lot,” says Lionel, as Steve’s ankle bonds pop away. “I can slip through World Gates so easily it is a fault; besides that I can start fires, create ice, illusions, be invisible, and I have very limited sight.”

Steve shakes his head. Of all the dumb luck to get stuck in a cell with a powerful magic user.

“I’m not certain how we’ll get past the men downstairs,” Lionel says.

From down below comes the sound of explosions. Steve and Lionel both duck instinctively, but Steve grins, having a feeling he knows who it is. “Don’t you worry, Lionel, Chaos is on my side.”

From down the hall comes the sound of scuffling. Lionel, face deadly serious, says, “I have met Chaos, Steve Rogers, and he thinks only of himself.”

There is a whizzing in the air, a crack, a thud, and the elf slumps into Steve’s arms.

“Lionel?” Steve cries, looking down at the man’s face. It’s badly bruised. He’d healed Steve’s injuries before his own. “Lionel!” Steve says again, and then sees the crossbow bolt protruding from the elf’s back, and a hole cut clear through the door of the guard room. The door swings open.

There is an Einherjar there. Steve can’t see his face, it’s covered by a mask. In his hand is a loaded crossbow pointed at Steve. Steve stares at the tip. Chaos has failed, or overflowed, and he is going to die. He won’t be able to help Bohdi or Lewis, and his daughter is alone somewhere … Claire … who will take care of her?

Chapter 35

“Ratatoskr is opening up the World Gate in the bornut tree.”

Where he grazes on the Vanaheim plain, Sleipnir perks his ears toward Star Clover, the unicorn mare who has made the pronouncement.

Pearl Horn, the other mare in his small family, shakes her head and whinnies. “It’s Ragnarok! I wonder what gossip he has to tell us? Let’s go sniff it out.”

Sleipnir’s trotting toward the tree before Pearl Horn has finished. The mares have been talking about Ragnarok every day since they formed a herd. They’ve lived through two Ragnaroks, which is two more than Sleipnir. They’ve assured him that Ragnarok isn’t the end of the all-plain, it’s just a change within the all-herd: a new Creator and Destroyer have already been chosen. Now it’s time for a new Order, and they’re very excited to see what it will be.

Sleipnir isn’t excited; he’s worried. He’s certain that Ragnarok is why Bohdi, his two-leg-mother, has disappeared from Earth without a trace. Sleipnir’s head bows. He misses meeting Bohdi in the grassland between the lake edge and the sparkling city in the human realm. He enjoyed sneaking up on his human parent while he pedaled his two-wheeled mechanical horse and knocking him flat. Every time, Bohdi cursed at him and then offered him apples, carrots, and the magical drink the humans call lemon iced tea.

Approaching the hollow at the tree base, he feels magic tickling his muzzle and smells squirrel, seeds, nuts, and—

“A human!” says Pearl Horn. Sleipnir’s ears swivel as the mares rear back in alarm.

Sleipnir sniffs the air; he smells a human and blood. It is not Bohdi he smells, which makes him both relieved and alarmed. He recognizes the scent. He tosses his head. “It is one of my rescuers.”

From the tree hollow comes a rush of obscenities in the language of squirrel—which is, to be fair, mostly obscenities. Amid insults such as “your mother is the bacterium in the putrid cyst of an infected anal gland,” Sleipnir hears, “Let me go! You’re squeezing me too tight!”

And then comes the loud booming voice of the human male known as Dale. “I’m not all the way through!”

Dale’s head pops out of the tree hollow, but his shoulders get stuck. From within the hollow comes Ratatoskr’s muffled cheeping.

“The human’s bleeding,” Star Clover sniffs, and Sleipnir can hear both mares backing away. Sleipnir feels the urge himself. Pawing the ground, he reminds himself he was trained as a warhorse and has smelled far worse before. And then, reaching down, he grabs hold of the faux hide attached to the back of the human’s neck and pulls. The human screams as Sleipnir drags him out of the tree, Ratatoskr swears, and then both the man and the squirrel are flat on their stomachs at Sleipnir’s hooves. The human rolls over fast, and then seeing Sleipnir, he releases a loud breath. “Sleipnir! Oh, thank—argh!” Dale screams, releasing Ratatoskr from his grip.

Removing his teeth from Dale’s hand, Ratatoskr darts up the tree, swishing his tail. “So long—” What follows is a litany of abuse so obscene it makes Sleipnir snort, stamp, and protest. “Not in front of my family, rodent!”

Dale snorts, too. “You said it, Sleipnir. That’s disgusting. Look, Ratatoskr, you promised if I helped you escape Quantico, you’d help me escape.”

Shaking his tail, Ratatoskr laughs again. “And I did! Welcome to Vanaheim, two-footed cripple!” In a swish of his tail, the rodent darts through a smaller World Gate to his home world.

Dale inhales deeply and meets Sleipnir’s eyes. In other creatures, eye contact is a threatening gesture, but in certain human cultures it is a gesture of comfort and familiarity. Sleipnir doesn’t blink. Then it occurs to him— “You understood me?” he asks.

Dale puts a hand through his hair. Beside Sleipnir, Star Flower snuffles, “Their young are so charming, but their forelimb tentacles are disturbing.”

Dale’s eyes slide to the mare. “Forelimb tentacles?” He lifts his hand and stares at it. “Oh, yeah, fingers,” he says wiggling the aforementioned appendages.

Sleipnir shakes his head. “You do understand us!”

“He’s magic,” says Star Flower, cautiously approaching.

Sleipnir snuffles closer to Dale, as the human swallows audibly and takes a deep breath as though gathering his strength. The magic is good, but the blood is disturbing, as is a faint smell of chemicals within it. Also, Dale’s appearance has changed. Where before he had the yellow-colored head-mane and pale skin that Sleipnir thinks of as ‘reverse palomino,’ now his hair is silvery-white—and his skin is much paler, as though he has not seen the sun in months.

“Yeah, Sleipnir, I do understand you.” Sleipnir takes a step back, almost rearing in his surprise. Dale’s eyes slide to Star Flower. “And I’m magic, understanding languages is my talent and ... It’s a long story.”

He grasps his stomach, where the stench of blood arises. Sleipnir sees it beginning to stain the faux hide he wears. “Sleipnir,” Dale says, “my buddy Steve, do you remember him?”

Sleipnir snorts. “Of course I remember the leader of your herd and his child filly.” Turning to Star Flower and Pearl Horn, Sleipnir says, “They were part of my first free herd, as was this one.”

“This one is going to die,” says Pearl Horn, head bowed, nostrils wide. She still stands a body’s length away. “It appears an old wound on his stomach is reopening.”

Star Flower snuffles. “I smell a chemical the Black Dwarves use to thin blood. No wonder it can’t clot.”

“Damn it,” Dale mutters, “I knew it was taking too long …”

“You can fix him,” says Sleipnir, raising his head to the mares. Sleipnir doesn’t know such magic, but they do.

Throwing back her head, Pearl Horn stamps a hoof. “He doesn’t meet our prerequisites for associating with two legs.”

“Sleipnir, it doesn’t matter. Listen to me,” Dale says sharply. “You have to get to Steve. He’s in the Iron Wood on Jotunheim, you have to tell him somehow …” He closes his eyes. “Odin stole Laevithin … It’s the strongest weapon, even stronger than the toys Brett and Bryant have been making.” His voice drops to a whisper. “He has to be warned.”

“He’s putting his herd’s life above his own,” whispers Star Flower, cautiously approaching Dale.

“Maybe he does meet our prerequisites,” whispers Pearl Horn, drawing a few steps closer.

Sleipnir snorts loudly and stamps all eight of his hooves for attention. “Is Bohdi with them?” he asks.

Dale’s eyelids move rapidly but he makes no sound, and then Sleipnir realizes that since he can’t make the sound of the human tongue he’s used his own language to say Bohdi’s name. Literally translated, it means two-legged fire-mother.

“Dr. Lewis?” says Dale.

Sleipnir stamps a hoof and tries again. “The two-legged bay-colored colt with fire.”

“Bohdi?”

“Yes,” Sleipnir whinnies.

Dale sputters. His eyes close. “Yeah, he’s with them. Maybe I can write a note and you can take it …”

His voice drifts off. He takes a breath that is almost inaudible to Sleipnir’s sharp ears.

“Unconscious,” says Star Flower.

“Poisoned,” says Pearl Horn.

“You will fix him?” Sleipnir asks, backing away.

Pearl Horn snuffles closer to the human. “He is part of your first herd.”

“And putting the herd above his own life,” says Star Flower. She presses her muzzle to Sleipnir’s. She smells like clover, and long golden grasses, and it makes Sleipnir sad to leave her. “We will take care of him. Go find your mother,” she whispers.

Snorting, Sleipnir backs away and then slips through time. He takes the closest World Gate to Jotunheim, and then slips along the banks of the great sea that borders the Iron Wood. As he passes, the trees at the forest edge raise their branches toward him. He has never been in the Iron Wood, and in winter, with the trees desperate for sunlight and especially ravenous, it could be deadly to do so. He slows his pace until he is at a normal horse trot, his hooves sinking deep into the snow, the chill of the world stinging his muzzle and seeping through his summer coat.

He rears slightly. How will he get his human herd’s attention? Shaking his head, he looks for signs of habitation. Surely, word of Odin’s former warhorse is bound to travel quickly? He lifts his snout and sniffs. He catches familiar scents in the wind, but they are mingled with death. Alarmed, Sleipnir gallops toward the smells of Thor, Jörmungandr, and Claire.

A voice rises in the wind. “I have to save my dad, and I have to save Bohdi … he’s kind of like my big brother, or my uncle … and I have to get to Asgard to do it, and I just need someone, anyone, to help me.”

It is Claire, she is alive, and she wants to save their parents. He slips through time, approaches more swiftly, and sees Jörmungandr sprawled out on the beach, Claire tiny and as slender as a stalk of wheat, just before him. Sleipnir slips back into time just behind her.

She spins and lightning sparks in her hand; he rears up in surprise. Thor’s corpse is at her feet, and she holds the warrior’s hammer. He shakes his head. He never cared much for Thor; Thor always treated him as just a horse.

As his fore hooves touch the ground, he inhales deeply. He smells tears, but more than that, he smells Claire’s rage. This is not the little filly he knew in the human realm who wept and begged her father to let Sleipnir stay in her herd. She has changed. She is magical like Dale. More than that, he can feel her fury, and it is contagious. Shaking his head, he bugles.

“Sleipnir,” she says, wiping her tiny nose with a forelimb, Thor’s hammer sparking in the other. “Can you help me?”

In response, Sleipnir lowers himself to the ground.

Claire runs forward, her slender hind limbs moving with startling speed and grace through the snow. He expects her to jump onto his back. Instead, she throws her arms around his neck and presses her lips to his forelock. “I missed you,” she says. He smells salty tears again, but she quickly releases him and climbs aboard his back. Picking up on the determination in her movements, he rises to his feet.

“They went through the sea arch to Niflheim and Hel,” she says.

Sleipnir’s ears go back, following her words. He’s been through the main World Gate between Niflheim and Asgard many times.

Claire sounds uncertain. “It’s across the water, I guess you can’t go that way—”

Sleipnir snorts, even though he knows she doesn’t mean to be insulting. He stomps the ground with all his hooves, shifting his body weight and making her grab tight to his mane.

And then with his most ferocious battle scream, he charges toward the waves, slipping through time, across the water on his way to Hel.

x x x x

Amy stares into the teacup in Hoenir’s hand. “No!” she screams as Heimdall’s sword soars in a shimmering arc, neatly severing Bohdi’s head at the neck.

Looking up at her, Hoenir stammers. “I’m sorry—”

Amy’s fists ball at her side. “No! I will not let him die, not a third time!”

“A third time?” whispers Hoenir.

“Lewis,” Rush says. “I liked Ha—Bohdi too, but we need to find the team—”

But Amy’s already dashing through the raptor-door to the pen at the other side. The kitchen is empty and the velociraptors have slipped back outside. Looking around the room, her jaw gets tight. No, it’s not just a kitchen—it’s an examination room. Hoenir was—maybe is—a veterinarian extraordinaire. He’ll have supplies here. Slipping quickly out of the raptor pen, she starts digging beneath the counter and finds what she is looking for. Grabbing the items, she slips them into her apron and goes back to the gate to the raptor pen, a plan forming in her brain.

Rush and Hoenir are already inside the swinging door. “Rush,” she says. “I’m creating a World Gate, right here. Give me a bullet.”

His jaw gets tight, but he doesn’t protest … maybe he thinks it’s the only way to get to his guys. Taking out a few bullets, he presses them into her palm.

“My goodness,” says Hoenir, staring at her hand. “Those bullets are very powerful. I can feel their magic from here.”

“Hoenir,” Amy says. “You might help us more if you go back to Earth. Let Brett and Bryant know we’re coming. Do you know how to get hold of them?”

Hoenir nods. “I’ve been covertly supplying them with Promethean wire for years now.” Amy shakes her head. The Promethean wire is Vanir in origin—and Hoenir had been held captive for years in Vanaheim as part of a prisoner exchange. It should have been a clue.

Hoenir slips from the raptor pen, carefully locking it up behind him, and then leaves the kitchen. Grasping the bullets in her free hand, Amy says, “Rush, you saw the scene in the teacup. I can fix Bohdi but you’re going to have to clear any guards who stand in the way.”

Rush opens his mouth and before any sound comes out, Amy hears the kitchen door swing again. “Stop right there!” Beatrice says.

Rush freezes in place. Amy feels like gravity has increased, or like she’s moving in jello, but she turns around.

She finds Beatrice pointing her umbrella, made from the shaft of Gungnir, at her. For hundreds of years Gungnir had belonged to Odin. It must have picked up Odin’s essence and ability to stop time. She looks down at the bullet; it’s keeping Gungnir from working on her—but she’s not consciously focusing her magic, she blinks—because her nature, her essence, is change. Her eyes widen. Odin had tried to stop her when she was in the other universe, but she’d been holding Laevithin, and it had augmented her own nature, and she’d slipped away. She gulps. The only other person who could resist Odin’s magic was Loki … at the end of his life he was so strong he could resist Odin alone.

Another thought occurs to her ... Bohdi had swept away Beatrice’s umbrella without a bullet when Amy held his hand. Her eyes widen. Together she and Bohdi have broken the magic of Order, they are Creation and Destruction, they are both Chaos, and they can stop Odin even if he has Laevithin ... if they are together. She squeezes the bullet. At least she hopes they can.

She hears the raptor-door behind her swing, and a hiss and a clang, as the animal smells Beatrice and leaps onto the bars of the pen.

She meets Beatrice’s eyes. Her grandmother doesn’t look angry, but she’s shaking. “Amy, don’t do it …”

Amy gulps. “Grandma, I have to face Odin someday. I’m going to Asgard now, are you with me or against me?”

x x x x

The side of Bohdi’s head hits the stones, and the feeling is strangely muted. He tries to get up. At first nothing happens, but then he stands, feeling oddly weightless. He looks around. Einherjar are running to the platform. He sees their lips moving. He raises his hands to fire his Glock, but his hands are empty. The Einherjar stream up the stairs to the platform, and Bohdi expects them to order him to raise his hands above his head, so he does that, proactively. But the Einherjar ignore him. Instead, they run to Heimdall’s body.

And that’s weird. Someone comes over to him and stops just inches from his nose. The man looks down and curses. Bohdi looks down, too—and sees his body spilled out on the stones, his head, lying on its side, a few feet away.

Bringing his hands down, Bohdi looks down at them in horror—and they’re not there, all he sees is his headless body … a headless corpse. He feels a wave of panic and can do nothing about it. He can’t fight; he can’t scream. He’s helpless and amorphous. Shouldn’t he be incarnating as someone else right about now?

No, wait, consciousness remains tied to a body immediately after death. Amy told him that after Ruger died. He thought she’d just been trying to make him feel better.

Amy … he wants so badly to see her now … he won’t remember her much longer, will he? He’s going to have to find her all over again. He wishes she were here, so he could say goodbye, even if she couldn’t hear him. If only he could find her … staring down at his body, he wishes … and wishes … and realizes his body is getting farther away. From a bird’s eye view he watches as the Einherjar crowd along Heimdall, some falling to their knees to weep. No one pays attention to his body. He floats higher, and his attention is caught by a fire raging in the orchards beyond Odin’s palace. He sees Odin, Laevithin glowing blue in his grip, locked in combat with Sutr, the Fire Giant with the sun-bright sword. As they battle, Einherjar and Frost Giants stand frozen in place immediately around them … but beyond their melee Fire Giants are running through the orchards toward the city proper, leaving flames in their wake.

Bohdi’s consciousness jumps ahead to the city. There is a tower that catches his eye. Outside of it he sees a crowd of Asgardians, with Valli at their head, shouting … his amorphous form feels their rage as though it were a tangible thing. In a realm of the spirit, could the intangible be all that is real?

His consciousness floats through the walls, and he sees the SEAL team, surrounded by bodies—it looks like a grenade has been detonated. And then he’s floating up through the ceiling and floors and he sees a hallway packed with Fire Giants that look like concentration camp victims. At the end of the hallway Sigyn materializes behind an Einherjar, firing a Glock as she does. The bullets bounce from his armor. The man turns around, crossbow raised ... and is attacked from behind but not before the bolt is loosed. Sigyn falls, and Bohdi sees Steve on top of the Einherjar, a chain in his hands wrapped around the man’s neck. He feels rather than hears Steve cry Sigyn’s name.

He watches Steve jump over the Einherjar’s body and lift Sigyn from the ground. One of Steve’s eyes is swollen shut. The other is glowing purple. Bohdi feels Steve talking to Sigyn, urging her to hang on, and he feels her being brave, making a joke about always getting shot in the tower. He wants so much to be there and help …

Time seems to speed up … maybe when you aren’t attached to your body time doesn’t hold you? Steve and the team are moving in fast forward. He watches as they let the Fire Giants go. Many of the Fire Giants run from the tower, but many remain. One by one, the remaining Fire Giants fall to one knee; they pledge their loyalty to the son of Roger who delivered them from Odin and the wrath of Sutr who would have them drawn and quartered for letting themselves fall prisoner.

Bohdi would laugh if he could. It figures; Bohdi let loose a chaotic mob of trolls in Chicago but Steve is organizing an army. Steve isn’t comforted by their promises of service; Sigyn is fading in his arms, and a new friend behind him is likely dead, and he’s terrified for Claire and worried for Bohdi. Bohdi tries to reach out, to tell Steve he’s fine, at least Odin can’t catch him anymore … but he can’t. He feels himself drifting up and away from the scene. But he feels Steve ask Larson, “What is the backup plan for getting out of here?”

“Gerðr says we should go to the Center, to the World Gates—they’ll be heavily fortified, but we may make it through.”

The Center—is that where Bohdi is? It sounds like the right place. Maybe Steve will find his body—at least he would know Bohdi is safe, then.

Bohdi feels himself drifting away from the scene, and he wishes he could call out, just once … and then he’s floating above Asgard again. In the center of the orchard, the Fire Giants and Einherjar around Odin and Sutr are still frozen in place while the two men remain locked in combat. Bohdi watches as Odin shatters Sutr’s sword, but the Fire Giant doesn’t relent. He attacks the Allfather with the stump of the blade.

Bohdi feels the panic of the people in the city, even as he feels a sensation like the universe is trying to pull him up and away. And he wants to leave. The fires from the orchard have reached the city, and the panic of the men and women who live there is rising up all around him, and it fills him with despair.

And then strangely close he hears Amy’s voice, “No, no, no! Bohdi, no!”

And like he’s caught in a whirlpool, his consciousness is condensing, coalescing, and being sucked back to his body.

Chapter 36

Amy creeps through the tunnel that leads through the three-meter thick wall that separates the rest of Asgard from the area referred to as the Center. The tunnel has two enormous metal portcullises. One is in front of her, just before the opening to the Center. The other is behind her, a nose away from the entrance to the city. The one before her is open; the one behind that leads to the city is closed.

The tunnel is strangely empty—as are the two custom houses set into the wall on either side of the tunnel. She reaches the end of the tunnel and stops short before stepping into the sunlight. She’s seen the Center in Loki’s memories, but the real thing makes her almost gasp aloud.

Wider than a football field, the Center is a circular area within which the major World Gates to all eight of the other realms are located. Each World Gate is a circle of flat stones. Unlike the tiny, secret World Gates she is accustomed to sneaking through, these are the conduits of commerce and troops, and each is as wide as a highway. There is no commerce today and no civilians in sight. Between the World Gates rises a dais. It is the place where Heimdall prefers to stand guard. Above it is the entrance to the Void, not activated, thankfully. The whole plain is empty—because of the recent unrest in the realms? From where she stands she can see Einherjar, a few mages, and men wearing customs officer uniforms collecting the body of a fallen warrior. She blinks. The fallen warrior is Heimdall. As they begin to carry his body down the steps of the dais, Amy sees Bohdi’s body headless and abandoned on the stones.

“No, no, no! Bohdi, no!” she whispers, and then covers her mouth with her hands.

Above her, she hears someone say, “Did you hear something?”

Amy ducks back into the shadow of the tunnel. Squeezing her magic bullet, she runs to the closed portcullis, sees a flash of rainbow light, crashes through the tiny World Gate she has just created, and finds herself just outside of the raptor pen. Beatrice is loading her M4 with a clip of magic bullets. Rush is standing beside her grandmother. His hazel eyes meet Amy’s.

“It’s ready,” she says.

“So are we,” says Beatrice.

Rush nods.

Amy gives them a description of everything she just saw, opens the World Gate, and seconds later there is a flash of rainbow light as her grandmother and Rush dart through to Asgard. Remaining in Hoenir’s hut, Amy takes a step back and a deep breath. Even though she can’t be killed, she can be injured, and if she’s hurt she can’t help Bohdi.

The kitchen door creaks, and she jumps. Spinning around, she finds herself face to face with Daevas. He stares at her, as though surprised to find her. For a moment her heart stops. Then gulping, she says, “I’ll run through the World Gate I made right here and get myself mangled if you take one step closer ... and then I have no idea when I can help you.”

The adze’s jaw twitches. Fenrir bursts through the door behind him, Mr. Squeakers perched on her ear. Behind Amy comes the sound of claws on the concrete pen floor, and she hears a chorus of velociraptor screams. The metal pen creaks and groans as the animals rush the bars, shaking and hissing at Fenrir and Daevas.

The adze’s eyes stay focused on hers. “What do you want me to do?” he asks.

Amy gulps. “Be prepared to open the World Gate.” She looks back at the velociraptors. “And let these guys out if we need, errr … claw power.”

The adze looks past Amy’s shoulder. “Are those large turkeys?”

Close enough. “Yes, but carnivorous,” Amy says.

The adze licks his lips. “Your … pets?”

“No, they’re not really domesticated,” Amy says, brushing some raptor spittle off her cheek.

Daevas licks his lips again, eyes still on the raptors. Amy doesn’t have time to think on it. “Fenrir, Squeakers, will you come with me? It will be dangerous and —”

Fenrir’s at her side a moment later, giving her a swipe with a tongue that smells suspiciously like green sausages. Amy pats the supplies she’s put into the front pocket of the velociraptor-hide apron she wears, and then puts her arm around the giant dog, buries her head in the fur at Fenrir’s shoulder, squeezes the bullet she has in her hand tighter and says, “Okay, here we go.”

There is the flash of rainbow light and then Amy is back in the tunnel beneath the wall facing the portcullis. Through its metal bars she can see the streets of the city proper. Rush and Beatrice are behind her, firing their M4s intermittently. She turns and her jaw drops. In the field of the World Gates—the Einherjar have been mowed down like blades of grass. “I guess the magic bullets work,” she whispers. Plasma fire streaks just above her shoulder. Not everyone has been mowed down.

“Amy, get in here!” Beatrice shouts.

Amy dashes into the custom house with Beatrice. Fenrir stuffs all but her tail into the custom house behind Rush.

Eyes steady on the Center, despite the large dog panting over his shoulder, Rush shouts, “There are still guys taking cover on the wall. If you run out there, you’ll be down in an instant.”

As if to punctuate his words, a blast of plasma hits Fenrir’s tail, and the dog whines.

Amy gulps and Beatrice looks up at her. “Don’t you even think about it, Amy. Their plasma blasts would melt your skin and then you wouldn’t be able to move and—”

“I know,” Amy says. Biting her lip, she looks out to the dais. There are two mages there, firing plasma blasts. “But I have to get to Bohdi before his body is too cold.”

Rush uses a little mirror thingy mounted to his M4 to peer outside of the custom house window and around the corner. “There are stairs to the top of the wall on the World Gate side. If I can get up there, I may be able to take those guys out one by one. Cover me, old woman?”

“I prefer grandmother,” Beatrice snaps. “Yes, I can cover you.”

“Do you have enough bullets to take out all the guards on the wall?” Amy asks.

“No,” says Rush.

“Amy,” Beatrice says, “I know you don’t want to hear this—”

“Then don’t say it!” snaps Amy. Could she set the velociraptors loose on top of the wall? She bites her lip—they’d probably run out and eat Bohdi first thing.

She looks out at the platform. Could she go back to Hoenir’s hut and make another gate directly to his body? She winces. Bohdi’s head is too far from his body—she’d have to make two gates—but could she with the mages there? She bites her lip. No, they may not be able to create World Gates, or destroy them, but they can keep them closed.

She puts her hand to her mouth. Could this situation get any worse?

From the city side of the tunnel she hears the stomp of feet. Plasma fire whips past them from the tunnel’s other side, Rush shouts, and Fenrir whines.

Amy looks around the corner. On the other side of the portcullis that blocks the street, the street is packed with troops … and the portcullis is rising.

Rush shouts, “We can all make a break for the wall!”

Beatrice snaps back, “We’ll be killed and Amy will be captured. Amy will create a World Gate right here, and then I’ll cover you and Fenrir while you get your butts across the tunnel and through it.”

More plasma fire streaks in from both directions. Amy has no idea if Rush heard because he doesn’t respond. She looks frantically from the Center to the city. The portcullis is rising very slowly, inch by painful inch. It’s only a foot above the ground, but soon it will be high enough for the troops on the other side to enter.

She wishes desperately for a miracle. And then in her ear, her radio cracks. She’d forgotten it was even there. She taps it and hears Steve’s voice. “This is Captain Steve Rogers; human forces, please identify yourselves.”

“Steve!” Amy shouts, hope flaring in her chest. “Where are you? Who’s with you?”

Steve replies with a voice so calm it borders on infuriating. “The SEAL team that came to rescue me. I’m with them, Gerðr, two dozen friendly Fire Giants, and a few members of the Asgardian resistance.”

Amy gulps. He didn’t mention Sigyn or Valli. “Do you have any magical weapons?” she asks hopefully.

“Negative,” Steve responds. “Valli’s location is unknown.”

Gerðr voice cracks on the line. “You have me! I can make myself invisible, slip between their ranks and order them to remove their helmets. Then you could fire.”

Larson’s voice snaps on the line. “You’ll be downed by their snipers before you get that far.”

Amy’s brow furrows. The SEAL team isn’t the miracle. It is more people for her to save, and she doesn’t know where they are so she can’t create a World Gate to them.

At just that moment, the portcullis between the city and the tunnel begins to rise with alarming speed. A few troops try to slip in, but Beatrice spins and quickly fells them. “Amy, we have to leave now! Rush, Fenrir, be prepared to get over here!”

“No!” Rush shouts, “I’m staying to help the team.”

“Amy!” Beatrice cries.

“Steve, where are you?” Amy says, trying to stay as calm as he is. Maybe if it’s a place Loki remembers, she can create a World Gate from Hoenir’s hut to that point.

“Get going if you can, Lewis,” Steve responds, voice cracking on the line. “Odin wants you too much. The disorder in the city may be keeping him away, but he’ll be here soon.”

“I need to know so I can save you!” Amy cries back.

“There’s too many! I can’t stop them!” Beatrice says. Amy looks up and sees the Einherjar, despite the gunfire, are starting to stoop beneath the still-rising portcullis and enter the tunnel beneath the wall.

Beatrice’s M4 must run out of ammo, because she starts fumbling for her Glock. In that split second, one of the Einherjar rushes Amy. She hears Mr. Squeaker’s squeak, the man reaches toward her—and then he falls back trying to pull up his helmet.

“Amy, we have to leave!” Beatrice says, firing her Glock over Amy’s shoulder. Amy knows she’s right. She looks back to Bohdi, and then to the rising portcullis. Maybe she can just send them back to Hoenir’s hut, and then come back and try to save Bohdi and the team all by herself.

“If you can go, save yourself,” Steve commands.

“Amy!” Beatrice roars.

“No, Lewis!” Rush says, “Don’t do it.”

Amy gulps, and the world drops into shadow. For a moment, Amy thinks that the mages by the dais have concocted some horrible plan to trap them. And then she hears a roar of thunder.

Amy glances toward the Center and sees Sleipnir standing on the World Gate that leads to Niflheim. On his back, clutching what looks like lightning in her hand, is Claire.

With a roar, Claire throws the lightning through the tunnel at the flood of Einherjar. Amy’s eyes widen. It’s not lightning she throws—it’s Thor’s hammer! The magical weapon sparks, sends Einherjar toppling over, and then leaps back into Claire’s hand before Amy can blink.

The mages scream in what sounds like shock. They raise their plasma shooting spears and fire, but Sleipnir has already slipped through time and disappeared—literally. Amy blinks again and sees the mages lying on the ground, unconscious or dead. Amy hears a scream from the top of the wall and sees men toppling to the ground, as though pushed by an invisible force.

Her mouth gapes. In Chicago, before Bohdi and Amy had freed Sleipnir, the warhorse had disarmed the Einherjar warriors trying to reclaim him by slipping through time. As she looks up, she sees two dark shapes in the sky. Huginn and Muninn, Odin’s raven messengers—they fly away before she can even mention them to Beatrice or Rush. She grits her teeth. In a few minutes, Odin will know what’s going on here.

Amy looks back at the tunnel, empty but for a few stragglers. To Rush, she shouts, “Give the team cover and get them into the field. Then close the inner portcullis and I’ll set the raptors free! I’m going to save Bohdi.”

At those words she squeezes the bullet, envisions Hoenir’s hut … and for a moment nothing happens. She squeezes the bullet tighter, closes her eyes, bows her head, and feels the familiar rush of magic. Feeling unusually breathless, exhausted, and hungry, she opens her eyes and stares down at her hand. The bullet is losing its magical charge. Thrusting it back into her pocket, she pulls out another. She concentrates, sees the familiar rainbow colors, and lifts her head. What she sees nearly makes her drop the other bullet. Daevas is sitting on a raptor carcass, holding what looks like a giant raw drumstick in his hands, his face and torso splattered with blood and feathers. The other raptors are head butting him playfully, as though he is one of their own—because he now smells like one of their own, she realizes.

Fluttering his wings, Daevas blinks his lashless eyelids at her. “These birds are much dumber than turkeys, but not as tasty.”

Swallowing her surprise, Amy says, “Get over to Asgard, and be ready to set them free!”

Squeezing the new bullet, she pictures the dais in Asgard, pushes through the empty air, and emerges inches away from Bohdi’s head. She wants to cry at the sight of his open eyes, parted lips, and the dull color that has crept into his skin but she doesn’t—instead she picks it up, and runs to his body, chanting, “Hold on, Bohdi, I’m coming!”

x x x x

Bohdi is slipping up above the city again. He’s not sure why he heard Amy. Maybe it was just the desire to see her? He feels his consciousness begin to spread outward again. In the orchard, Odin is defending a woman dressed in the garb of Asgardian servant, a child in her arms. Slicing through the bodies of Fire Giants, Odin orders his Einherjar to defend the city … but it’s too late. The city is in flames, and the golden spires are flickering like a television with reception problems. In an alley off one of the main streets, Valli is leading a mob against a flock of Valkyries. Elsewhere, Fire Giants are roaming in gangs and alone, setting houses and homes alight. Here and there, pockets of Einherjar are trying to drive back the chaos, but the only place they’re having any success is at the entrance to Odin’s palace.

Chaos and destruction are everywhere. That happened the last time he left his body—the heart of Chicago was nearly destroyed. Is it because Chaos isn’t confined? That can’t be right; there has been plenty of Chaos without him changing form. But this Chaos is on all the realms, he’d seen that with Heimdall. Maybe when Chaos is restrained it explodes? Bohdi is exploding. He’s not really Bohdi anymore; he’s Loki, Luthor, Tiamat, Yuki Onna, Lopt, and so many others. He’s moving out and up, the stars are calling, and he wants to go.

But then he hears Amy’s voice. “Hold on, Bohdi, I’m coming, I’m coming!”

And he’s crashing back down through the stratosphere. Asgard rushes toward him, he passes through a cloud and finds himself several hundred meters above the Center. The city is filled with smoke, and he sees what looks like a regiment of warriors from the city about to flood through the Center’s gate onto the great plain where his body is. Before they can enter, though, velociraptors pour out into the city from beneath the Center’s wall. Heedless of the plasma blasts, the beasts race from beneath the Center’s grace wall, more and more piling through. They fling themselves on the Einherjar. Grasping the warriors with their hind feet like birds of prey, the raptors use their forelimbs to rip off their helmets—and sometimes their heads. It’s a horrific, grisly, impossible scene … it must be the madness of death.

He’s sucked farther down, until he’s directly above his body, an invisible ghost in the rain. Claire is sitting atop Sleipnir, Thor’s hammer in her hand. Fenrir is dancing around Rush, and the SEAL team is stalking toward the platform Bohdi’s on. There are some Fire Giants with them, picking up the clothing and weapons of slain Einherjar on the plain as they go.

Amy is setting Bohdi’s head next to his body. “I’m still so mad at you,” she says, and he loves it and hates it. She’s mad at him because she still loves him and that makes his heart leap so much he thinks he could leap back into the universe … but he can’t because somehow he has to convince her to run, not to stay and cradle his useless body.

“Hurry, Amy!” Beatrice shouts, and Bohdi can feel the anxiety of Amy’s grandmother.

Steve strides up the platform. “Dr. Lewis, we need to—”

Slipping out a roll of sparkly blue twine and a very big needle, Amy interjects, “I am the incarnation of Creation, and I’m going to save him, and I have to do it here because his body is cooling.”

The incarnation of Creation?

“Alright,” Steve says, sounding oddly non-plussed. Raising his voice to the team at large, Steve says, “We’re staying here!” Then he mutters inexplicably to himself, “I hate magic.”

Bohdi would gasp if he could. Not at the revelation, but at Steve’s lack of surprise … and his own. Bohdi had known that too, hadn’t he?

“Sir,” Larson says. “This position isn’t very defensible.”

Sleipnir bugles, and on his back Claire shakes Thor’s hammer, sending lightning sparks flying. “I’m not leaving Bohdi!”

“I know, Honey,” Steve says, his eyes sliding to Claire, and Bohdi can feel Steve’s heart constrict, wishing he could order her home, and knowing he can’t. Bohdi wishes he could disappear again; feeling his friend’s feelings is too much. There is protectiveness and loyalty but Bohdi also feels a cunning and calculus that is chilling. Steve is loyal, determined, and brave. But part of the reason he won’t back down is because he knows that this is the last stand—if he runs, the lives of Claire, Bohdi, Amy, Sigyn, and all those he’s commanding are forfeit. Steve might not make the decision to stay if that wasn’t the answer to the equation.

It’s so different from what Amy’s feeling. From her Bohdi only feels burning determination and love. She isn’t like Claire, unaware of the full danger and filled with rage and determination. Amy is aware of the dangers, she just doesn’t care; she’d do this no matter what the outcome.

He watches as she slips a thick needle through the skin of the side of his neck and then to the skin of his body, and it’s odd because there is no physical sensation, but the emotional sensation is intense. Maybe it is her fingers so pale and clean against his bloodied neck and body, maybe it is the bright blue of the twine, or his face—ashen, eyes cloudy, blood on his lips. His corpse looks monstrous.

His consciousness lowers beside her. She’s broken off the twine and is putting another stitch on the other side of his neck, his dried blood staining her clothing as she leans over him. Her brow is furrowed, and he hears her whispering, “The bones are in the right place, everything else must be in the right place.” She bites her lip. “Has to be in the right place.”

“Lewis! Hurry!” Rush shouts.

Amy begins putting stitches in between the ones on either side of his neck.

He silently wills her to leave him, to go, to run, to save herself. Doesn’t she remember that he’ll find her again? He promised, and he will, somehow; she should leave this shattered shell behind.

Tears fall from Amy’s eyes as she ties another knot. “I don’t want another Chaos, Bohdi, I want you. Please stay with me, please stay with me.” Bohdi feels like the knots she’s tied have connected to his heart. He can’t wish her to leave anymore, he wants more than anything to live.

In contrast to her gentle words, she attacks his neck with the twine, not stopping until his corpse looks like it is wearing a bright blue choker, and then she rolls his body over quickly, and makes quick neat stitches in the back of his neck. Rolling his body back around she cries, “I’m almost done!” Leaning her lips close, she gently kisses his corpse, and he think he feels heat. “I’m sorry, Bohdi, I hope it didn’t hurt.” She takes some bullets out of her pockets and Bohdi can feel them pulsing with magic. “I had to do something to hold your head in place while I do this.”

He watches from above as she lays a hand on his forehead and slips another under his shirt over his heart. He feels a pain that isn’t physical; he has a sensation like he’s a string that is being ripped from an enormous fabric, the feelings of everyone around him fade away, and he wants to scream and he can’t.

x x x x

Pain. Bohdi is in horrible, unrelenting pain. He feels like every single cell in his body is screaming for oxygen; and his back, triceps, and calves feel heavy and thick—pooled blood perhaps? He feels too cold. Oddly, the only part of him that doesn’t hurt is his neck. Someone is yelling above him. He hears a long wheezy breath and it is like someone is stabbing his lungs with tiny knives. It takes a moment to realize that the wheezy breath is his own. There is warmth above his heart—which is pounding too slowly—and in his forehead. It takes him another moment to realize his eyes are closed. He smells blood … the world reeks of it, and it dimly connects that the blood is probably his, too.

He opens his eyes, and for a moment everything is blurry, but then Amy comes into view. He can’t feel her love anymore, and it fills him with a horrible deep loneliness. He reeks, and he must look like a monster, but she leans forward and kisses him again. Heat pulses from her lips to his, and then spreads out from his lips to his body. He swears he can feel his blood begin to move and hear his heart beating faster. He aches to make his lips respond to hers, but somehow he can’t, the signal from his brain to his body is being jumbled. Amy pulls away, so her lips are just centimeters above his own. He breathes in her breath, and it is sweet. All the neurons in his brain alight. She is the Creator, and that sweetness is the breath of life—literally. She’s saved him again. He wants to say something, but his tongue is a dead, dry weight in his mouth. She leans back, and he sees down her shirt to the tops of her breasts … and maybe a tiny part of his soul is distressed to be separated from the universe, but the body he is in is glad to be alive again.

Somewhere far off Steve says, “Will he be alright?”

“He may have some brain damage for a while,” Amy whispers, pulling away. Something warm and wet falls on Bohdi’s cheeks, but he can’t look away from Amy’s chest.

Loki had a fondness for curves, too … Bohdi doesn’t know how he knows it. He wonders if it has something to do with being drawn to his opposite. He is Destruction, and he is drawn to signs of fertility and creation. It’s a profound realization, and he has to tell Amy right away. He opens his mouth. “Boobies …” he croaks out and then scowls. That isn’t what he wanted to say at all.

“If he was suffering brain damage, how could you tell?” Beatrice quips.

Amy doesn’t respond. She slips something from her pocket and presses it into his hand. He makes a gurgling noise, feeling not one but two cold magic metal somethings. They clink together in his palm and send magic thrumming deep into his core. “This will help you get better,” she whispers.

There’s thunder far off in the distance. But he’s more interested in the magic object in his hand. He opens his fingers and sees the blunt, coppery-colored shapes of two .357 SIG pistol cartridges, standard for Glocks. What isn’t standard is the magic in them. They hum with power. What he could do with this! “Boom, boom,” he says, and then wants to wince at his words.

Steve’s voice rings above the thunder. “We have to get out of here! We can’t hold them off much longer.”

Bohdi looks up. Over the wall that surrounds the football-sized stadium they’re in, Valkyries are rising. Claire is felling them with lightning, the SEALs are clipping their vulnerable wings—but there are too many of them.

Out of his line of vision, Rush shouts, “I’m out of magical ammo!”

And Beatrice, very close, says, “I’m down to one round!”

“I’m opening a World Gate right below Bohdi!” Amy cries.

“Fall back!” Steve shouts, and Bohdi sees legs—humans’ and Fenrir’s—around him. He feels magic fizzling below him and also, strangely, right behind Amy. A familiar voice roars, “Stop!”

Bohdi’s hand clasps the bullets tighter. Amy flies up and backward, and he’s staring into the single eye of Odin, and no one is doing anything.

Chapter 37

Amy hears Odin’s voice and then is yanked up by the back of her apron. She squeezes her bullets tighter. The raptor hide apron is too big for her, and she’s able to twist in its confines. Odin yanks her back sharply, spinning her around, and his hand snaps beneath her chin and squeezes.

Amy may not be able to die, but it hurts and her lungs scream for air. She frantically wraps her hands around his wrists, just barely managing to keep the magic bullets pinched between her fingers. She finds herself face to face with the Allfather. He’s wearing full armor but no visor. Odin peers at her with his single eye for an instant, and then his gaze slides away. Her eyes are drawn to Laevithin, held aloft in his other hand, and then her gaze sweeps over the plain. Everyone is frozen in place: Claire and Sleipnir, the SEALs, half a dozen Fire Giants, Daevas, Steve, the crumpled form of Sigyn and a strange elf, and her grandmother. Even the Valkyries are suspended in the air. She can’t see him, but at her feet Bohdi isn’t moving. Beyond the portcullis, Einherjar, headed by Ullr, are shouting to be let in.

Odin’s eyes fall to her feet. “If I have you, he will come to me,” he says. Amy’s eyes go to the sword and out over the human statues. Of course, he can’t let go of Laevithin to grab Bohdi, and without the sword’s power he can’t stop time—at least not so effectively.

She follows the Allfather’s eye … he looks down at the strange elf, to Claire, and then back to her. “What have you done?” he whispers, and for an instant she sees a look of horror or sadness. And then his eye comes back to her. “You’ve slain my children.” His eye narrows. “But you can give me more, can’t you?”

Terror makes her forget the pain in her neck. She releases one hand from his and clasps at the pommel of the sword. Laevithin’s magic radiates through her, she wills herself to be stronger, her muscles to not release, her tendons and ligaments not to tear … and strength comes. Odin growls and squeezes her neck tighter, but Amy wills her lungs into overdrive, at the same time imagining magic replacing air at the cellular level ... and it works! Her body hums with power and life without oxygen.

Odin’s single eye goes wide. He snaps his hand from her neck, to her fingers on the pommel and her wrist. Amy can feel her bones wanting to snap, and almost lets go, but then she realizes with his hand on her wrist she’d still be trapped, and she has no magic bullets this time. Amy wills her bones to be strong, and tries to rip his hand away with her free hand. She tries the same trick he’s using, to crush his bones, but she can’t. Her mouth gapes at the realization of her powerlessness, and he smiles.

“You’re weak, you cannot fight me forever,” Odin growls. “Don’t make this harder on yourself.” At that moment, there is the sound of a gunshot. The hand on her wrist slackens, and Amy sees blood bubbling up from his arm. Both Odin and Amy’s eyes slide to the side. Bohdi is standing in front of Beatrice, her Glock in his hand.

“He can kill you,” Amy whispers. But as she says it, she sees that Bohdi is swaying like he’s caught in a gale ... he’s still brain damaged.

Odin snarls, and suddenly she’s surrounded by rainbow light, and they’re falling to a forest floor. Just before their feet touch down, Amy thinks of the dais in Asgard and wills a gate into being. For a moment she hears the sounds of battle. But as Odin and she touch down, it stops again. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Bohdi sprawled on the ground, fumbling to snap a clip out of a Glock. But then she sees rainbow light again, and she and Odin are falling once more.

x x x x

“Where’s Amy?” Beatrice cries beside Bohdi. It’s the first thing she says when time resumes.

Her words cut through Bohdi’s gut like a knife. He’d grabbed Beatrice’s Glock, remembering she said she had a single magic round left, aimed for Odin’s head and missed, because he’s shaking like a goddamned leaf. He failed Amy. Odin’s words to Amy are burning like a brand in his mind, “You’ve slain my children. But you can give me more, can’t you?”

Bohdi failed her. He failed her. And now she’ll be Odin’s slave ...

Beyond the platform Bohdi sees the portcullis explode inward and Einherjar come pouring in, some of them swinging poles mounted with what looks like velociraptor heads. The SEAL teams’ bullets bounce harmlessly off their armor. Claire’s lightning does better, but that means she isn’t focusing anymore on the Valkyries flying over the walls.

Steve looks around. “Lewis?” he says.

“Gone!” Bohdi says, and he wants to die again. Just as the word leaves his lips, everything stops again and Amy is in front of him, wrestling with Odin for control of Laevithin. Bohdi’s jaw drops. They vanish again, and the battle resumes, and then everything stops and they’re back. “Bohdi!” Amy screams, eyes meeting his. “I can’t hurt him. I’m the Creator and I can’t.” She disappears and the battle resumes. Bohdi’s jaw goes slack. He looks down at the rounds in his hands. His fingers fumble with the Glock. He keeps one of the rounds in his hand, but tries to fit the other one into the clip … and fails.

“Fall back to the Earth World Gate!” Steve commands.

“No!” Bohdi cries. He needs someone to help him, someone not just willing to die for Amy, someone who might believe him. He turns to Beatrice. “Amy’s here … magic … bullet! Shoot! Shoot!” He puts the Glock and bullet into her hand. Beatrice meets his eyes. “Okay,” she whispers, and deftly puts the round into the clip, ignoring a blast of plasma fire that strikes just a foot away, turning the rocks beneath to magma.

Steve runs past them to the edge of the dais, Sigyn in his arms. “We have to leave!” he shouts, lowering Sigyn into Cruz’s arms.

Beatrice doesn’t budge, and Bohdi wants to kiss her. Kneeling next to Bohdi, she whispers, “Is it a mirage? I can’t see them.”

“Coming! Wait,” Bohdi says, his body feeling like he’s made of jello. His limbs, let alone his fingers and toes, aren’t working right. Will Beatrice be able to see? She froze last time. Why could he resist Odin’s magic? His jaw gets tight. Because he’s Chaos, the natural enemy of Order, and he’s being charged by a magical bullet. Can he transfer his magic to Beatrice? He lifts his hand up to her neck. “Touch … sorry … magic ...”

She doesn’t flinch. “Just say when,” she says, and Bohdi could cry with joy. She’d rather die than leave Amy with Odin. So would he.

And then a blast of plasma fire hits Beatrice squarely in the heart. The Glock falls from her hand, and she slouches backward. Bohdi screams and falls down next to her. Thunder rumbles, and he smells smoke.

Suddenly, Steve’s face is inches above him, and he’s grabbing Bohdi by the shirt. “We have to leave!”

Bohdi reaches up and tries to grab Steve, but his fingers fumble, he barely holds onto the magic bullet between his fingers. From below the platform Larson shouts, “Captain Rogers, we have to go!” As Steve hauls him across the dais, Bohdi grabs the Glock loaded with the last magic bullet and screams, “Steve, No! Amy! Stay!”

x x x x

Odin is stronger than she is. Amy has two hands on the pommel of the sword now, but she has to focus to keep her strength. Whenever her focus slips, her fingers slip. Odin has twice been close to wrenching her fingers away. It would mean he loses his grip on the sword, but now, in the forest of Alfheim, where they grapple, she doubts if it would matter. He’d pick it up after he …

Snarling, she grips tighter. She will not think about it.

“Tsk, tsk, child,” he says. He swings a foot at her feet, but she hops over it. Odin lunges forward, Amy loses her balance … if he collapses on her … She concentrates and thinks of somewhere soft to land. She sees rainbow lights, and she’s crashing into an indoor pool near her grandmother’s house in Chicago. She hits water, and the impact is not too great; even with Odin on top of her, her grip doesn’t slacken. Her eyes lock with Odin’s single one as water rushes over them both and they sink like stones. She calls on magic to use it instead of oxygen, glaring at Odin as she does. Her back hits the pool bottom. Lying atop her, he tries to yank the sword away, but she holds on. Odin must not like being in water, because he stands, pulling her with him in slow motion—then there is rainbow light and there is heat all around them. Amy briefly looks down and sees they are falling into lava. Her feet connect with the molten surface, and she hears a sizzle of steam and feels the heat melting the thick soles of her boots.

“My armor will protect me,” he whispers.

He’s trying to terrify her, she knows. But he doesn’t realize that she isn’t just Amy Lewis the Creator—she has Loki’s memories, too. She knows you don’t just sink into lava, you float for a while, and he’ll sink faster than she does. Not wanting to give away that knowledge, she pants, “Oh, no, please, Allfather, don’t!”

He scowls, and she sees that he is sinking faster. For a moment her heart leaps—she can trap him! But then there is the flash of rainbow light, and they’re back in a deserted forest of Alfheim again. She’s breathless; Odin’s breathing is regular and even. “I’m stronger than you, Amy,” he whispers, “I am the Preserver.”

Amy’s lip curls, but her breath is rattling out of her in huge gasps. She knows he’s not lying. She has to get him back to Asgard and the dais and Bohdi … Amy concentrates, and it’s hard … it’s like the end of the branch exploding from her core can’t connect … her imagination slips to a place a few steps from the place they were last, but she feels the branch connect and sees rainbow light, and she takes them back to Asgard and the dais. She looks around in dismay—Einherjar are now frozen on the dais steps—they’re closing in on the team. Her eyes widen. Except for Bohdi and Steve, the team is on the opposite side of the dais, her grandmother looks unconscious and is being dragged away by Larson, and Steve looks like he’s been frozen in the process of pulling Bohdi in that direction.

Odin uses that distraction to open another World Gate. She sees rainbow light and they’re in a bedroom. “Your friends have deserted you,” Odin says, “and you can’t keep opening branches of the World Tree to the Center … you’re ruining the fabric in that place, dear.”

He almost knocks her onto the bed, but Amy wills strength to flow through her body—but she’s at the end, she knows it—and Odin does, too. He slips one hand from the pommel down her wrist, and he pulls …

Amy concentrates; she imagines a branch of the World Tree spilling from her and connecting to the dais and can’t make the connection. “You can’t open a gate where a gate already exists.” Odin shouts. “And your team has left you, give up!”

She feels like her fingers are being torn from her hands, like her arms will come out of their sockets. Her feet are burning, and she smells melted rubber. Bohdi won’t give up on her; she knows it. She just has to get back one more time. She doesn’t think of the dais … she thinks of him, her other half … her hands slip …. but not before she sees rainbow light.

She hears a gunshot before she sees anything but light, and she finds herself on the dais, facing Odin. Amy’s fingers slip completely from the pommel and she falls backward, onto the stones, pain shooting from her palms to her wrist as she catches herself.

Odin doesn’t move. He just stares at her, sinking to his knees. For a moment, Amy thinks he’s going to reach for her, but Laevithin wavers in his grip, and he falls backward instead, the sword slipping completely from his hands and clattering to the ground. Amy stares at him, uncomprehending. Eyes open, his lips part, and from his mouth rises what looks like a wisp of black smoke. Before Amy’s eyes a cloud begins to emerge, not just from his mouth, but from his skin. It rises from his body and spreads out over the dais, in a darkening mist … Amy wants to run, but as the mist slinks around her, she finds her muscles relaxing, as though fear itself is seeping away.

Her jaw falls, and her mind tumbles into a memory.

Loki was running through the gardens at night. His breathing rasped in his ears, and his bony boy knees were being cut by plants, his palms already split from one rough tumble on the ground. The words of the boys in the training grounds echoed in his mind—

“Argr weakling.”

“Why does Odin keep you?”

“Pretty little girl.”

A tall stand of grasses, higher than his head, loomed before Loki. Squeezing his eyes shut, he plunged through them. He ran on, batting his arms from side to side with greater and greater fury to keep the grasses, some up to his waist, some higher than his head, from closing in on him. He wanted to roar—but it came out a plaintive child’s cry. His foot caught a rock, and he fell to the ground, teeth catching his tongue as his jaw slammed shut, eyes shutting in pain. Behind his eyelids he saw orange, and he felt heat against his feet and on his face.

Opening his eyes, he saw a wall of flame in front of him. Rolling over onto his back, he looked around and realized he was surrounded by flame in every direction. His jaw fell open. Had he done this? He’d never lit more than a candle before … surely there is some other explanation … Perhaps a magic trap? That must be it. He scrunched his eyes shut and tried to focus on extinguishing the blaze. Nothing happened—he was even worse at extinguishing a candle than causing it to flame. Not knowing what to do, he pulled his knees up to his chin and wrapped his arms around his legs.

He felt the heat of the blaze closing in. And then over the roar of the fire and his own sniffles, he heard a voice. “Loki? Loki?”

He felt himself calming. He lifted his eyes and saw black—but not the black of smoke. It was more velvety, like the darkness between the stars. It was the magic of … “Odin!” he cried.

“I’m coming, lad.”

The flames around Loki shrank and then winked out, and the Allfather strode through the charred grasses. Loki struggled to get up. But Odin put a hand on his shoulder and sat down beside him instead. “Stay, you need to calm yourself.”

Loki did as he was ordered. He felt tears prickling at his eyes. After a long silence, Odin said, “Frigga told me the boys have been teasing you.”

Loki looked at his knees, imagining the feast Odin had left behind to save him from this current jam, and the whispers that would arise among the courtiers. All because … “I am weak, I am trouble, why do you even keep me?” He was a worthless Frost Giant foundling—not even a bastard child of the Allfather.

He felt, rather than saw, the Allfather turn his head. “It behooves the strong to watch over the weak, so someday they may be strong.” Looking to the sky, Odin chuckled. “As for you being trouble, well, it’s a luxury for a peasant to attend a feast. It is a luxury for a king to sit in the grass and look at the stars. Were it not for you, and the mischief of your magic, I wouldn’t be here. It is a beautiful night.”

Loki wrapped his arms around his twig-like legs. Odin wasn’t lying. Odin had said on numerous occasions that Loki made him laugh. He thought it might be his job, so he struggled for something witty to say. At last, he said, “I guess it was helpful of me to discover the fire trap.”

Odin looked down at Loki. “Loki, the trap was your own. You created the fire.”

Loki blinked up at him, jaw going slack.

Dropping a hand to Loki’s shoulders, Odin whispered, “You have the magic of the stars within you, boy.” Odin took a deep breath. “It is a privilege to raise you.”

And once more Loki was overcome by truth. Not knowing what to say, he lifted his head to the heavens. He looked up at the billions of stars, blazing in the black. Mimir and Hoenir had been telling him that his magic was like flame since … well, since he can remember. But then something occured to him. “Your magic is like the space between the stars—and all the magic in the black that holds the universe together.” He looked over at Odin.

The Allfather was still surveying the sky, starlight twinkling on his single eye.

“It’s because you hold everything together, isn’t it?” Loki whispered.

Pulling Loki closer to him, Odin looked down and winked at him. “I try.”

Amy’s breath catches. She looks around at the mist continuing to sweep out over the dais and onto the plain. Where it hovers, everyone still remains stuck in time, even Valkyries hovering in the air. Where warriors lay wounded they do not moan, they do not bleed, and they do not die … and she is not afraid. It strikes her that blackness and its association with evil is a cultural phenomenon. Odin’s magic, without his body, is not evil or good; it is, like Loki said, the stuff that holds the universe together.

But if Odin’s magic is leaving his body, that must mean … she crawls forward on her knees. Odin’s eye is open, blood is pooling beneath his head. For the first time, she notices that the front of his helmet is dented, as though it has been punched from the inside. Amy gasps. For the first time, it sinks in—Odin is dead.

She falls back on her heels. She feels relief, and tears well in the corners of her eyes. For all he had done that was terrible, the dead man in front of her had also been Loki’s friend, his mentor— for all intents and purposes, his father. And every word Odin spoke about the strong protecting the weak, he believed. Odin wanted to be good. She swallows, thinking of Rind, the Frost Giantess he’d raped after Baldur died so that he could have a new, powerful son … she thinks of herself, and his plans for her. She feels like throwing up and like crying at the same time.

In the silence of the magical stillness she hears a footstep. Wiping her eyes, she looks up, expecting to see Bohdi. Instead, her eyes meet one of Steve’s; the eye on his left side is swollen shut, crusted, and weeping. Bohdi is leaning against him, the stitches in his neck bright blue against his blood-stained skin. One of his arms is wrapped around Steve’s shoulder as though he is drunk; where his hand touches Steve, Steve’s shirt is ripped. Amy’s mind connects the pieces of the picture. Bohdi was still too injured to save her, so he’d used Steve to fire the weapon that killed the Allfather. Amy’s eyes go back to Steve. She can see his Devil Dog tattoo that looks like a wolf. She gulps, remembering in the myths that Fenrir killed Odin … but it didn’t happen that way … the myths got the wrong wolf.

“Dr. Lewis,” says Steve.

“Amy,” Bohdi says, stumbling toward her, his eyes not quite meeting hers. Jumping to her feet, she catches him and presses her lips to his. His lips are like lead, unmoving, and still a little too cool. She wills him to be better, wills the nerves in his lips to send a cascade of magic through his traumatized body and mind. For a moment he doesn’t respond, but then she feels his hands flutter up to her cheeks. He pulls away, but then he puts his lips to her forehead, just the way he had when he’d kissed her in the tent, after she’d told him about the magic virus. She feels heat where his lips and fingers touch her skin. When he draws away, it’s too quick. “Beatrice is hurt,” he says. “She tried to save you.”

“It will be okay, time still hasn’t sped up,” she whispers. The wounded and the dead are all in stasis, they’ll be safe, but she remembers Steve’s painfully swollen eye. “Maybe I should help Steve …”

They both turn to Steve. He’s staring at them, slack-jawed. For a moment, Amy thinks he’s frozen in time, too. But then she sees his chest, rising and falling too quickly.

“Steve?” Bohdi says, and they both step toward him as one.

Before they reach him, he falls to his knees. The mist slinks past Amy and Bohdi and swirls slowly around Steve, as though he is a dark star. Putting his hands to his head, Steve screams.

x x x x

Bohdi stands above Steve in shock. Amy sinks beside his friend—and Bohdi would, too—but he’s afraid he might make whatever it is worse.

Sweat is glistening on Steve’s brow, and he’s shivering. Around them the mist is shrinking inward, condensing around Steve. In its wake the Einherjar and Valkyrie begin to move. Not knowing what to do, Bohdi picks up Laevithin. As he does, magic leaps through his body. He feels like he could fly, like he could slip through the bonds of time and space, or set the world on fire … he takes a breath, smells soot in the air, and realizes the world is already burning. Instead of testing Laevithin’s magic, he stands guard over Steve and Amy, glaring out at the human statues on the plain.

Amy reaches a hand tentatively toward Steve, and Bohdi’s friend stares down at it, brow furrowed and lips parted in a look of pure horror.

“I remember, Lewis … what he saw … what he wanted. I am … so … sorry,” He clutches his stomach like he might throw up. Bohdi shivers, not because Steve is lying, but because he’s telling the truth, and it’s frightening. Steve doesn’t do horrified or nervous. Steve is calm and collected … cunning.

Bohdi hears the clink of armor; he looks up in alarm. Around the dais Einherjar and Valkyries are all falling to one knee, placing hands over their hearts and bowing their heads. Bohdi spins and sees Rush, standing next to a felled Fenrir; the dog is on her side and he can’t tell if she is breathing. Her fur is stained red; Mr. Squeakers is mournfully cheeping on one of her ears. Rush is pointing his M4 at an adze. Bohdi would lunge off the dais and hew the creature in half, but he’s not sure he’s seeing right because the adze is wearing clothing.

“I don’t like the way you’re looking at the dog,” Rush says to the winged man.

Buzzing his wings, the adze replies, “I know better than to eat pets.” Licking his lips and giving Fenrir one last glance, he turns toward the dais. His eyes fall on Laevithin, and then to Amy, but he doesn’t fly forward.

Bohdi decides he’ll get that story later. A few steps away from Fenrir, Park is spread out on the ground next to Thomas. Both of their eyes are open to the sky. Lying next to them are Sigyn and the elf from Bohdi’s visions while he was dead. Farther off, Cruz and Gerðr are standing over Larson’s body. Gerðr’s bracelets and cap are off, but at this distance the Frost Giantess doesn’t make Bohdi weak-kneed with desire. Although her eyes are red with tears, and her face is stained with dirt and grime, she still looks beautiful. Berry is standing over Redman. He meets Bohdi’s eyes, and Bohdi sees confusion there. “Hold your fire,” Bohdi says, and the stoic warrant officer nods. Closer to the dais are a few Fire Giants, in bits of stolen armor, still frozen in the black mist, and Claire and Sleipnir.

As soon as the black cloud shrinks away from her, Claire jumps off Sleipnir, runs to the dais, and leaps up without bothering to take the stairs. Sleipnir whinnies at Bohdi and tosses his head.

“Dad,” Claire cries, running to her father. She falls to her knees and tries to hug him, but he doesn’t respond; the dark mist continues to flow into his body. Beyond the platform, Sleipnir dances sideways, and to Bohdi’s untrained eye, he looks very nervous.

“I am the Preserver …” Steve says, “but I’m not ...” He puts his face in his hands.

Bohdi smells smoke, burnt wood, and burnt hair. Above the walls of the Center he sees smoke rising in every direction. He looks down at Steve, still on his knees, his shirt ripped so Bohdi could touch his skin and keep him moving while Odin stopped the world. The black mist still flows, and Steve is trembling and sweating. On the plain no one moves or makes a sound.

Somewhere beyond the Center, someone screams in terror, and Bohdi hears the sound of plasma fire, and more cries of panic. He remembers his vision of the Fire Giants flooding the streets while he was out of his body. Bohdi’s chest tightens, and he swallows, looking at the smoke rising from the city. He fulfilled Loki’s oath to have Asgard burn while Odin kneeled before him … and it’s terrible.

“I’m not Odin,” Steve says, his voice cracking.

And Bohdi remembers his horror on first realizing he was the embodiment of the man who destroyed so much of Chicago, who killed so many good people, and he understands. He holds out a hand to Steve. “I know,” Bohdi says.

Steve looks up at him with a look that is so full of gratitude it hurts.

“I know, too,” Amy whispers, putting a hand to her mouth.

And then Claire cries, “We all know!” Her voice is filled with all the assurance and blind faith of a child.

Steve doesn’t say anything; he just pulls Claire to him and drops his head into her hair. And then he finally takes Bohdi’s hand, and Claire, Amy, and Bohdi help him to his feet. Steve’s lips part, and he frowns as he takes in the decimated SEAL team, and then he looks in the other direction at the Asgardian warriors and gapes.

Bohdi clears his throat. “I think that’s for you.”

“It is,” says Steve. The barest, tiniest bit of a smile flits across Steve’s lips—and then it’s gone. “Let’s clean this mess up,” Steve says. There is such power and command behind his words that Bohdi expects to see his single eye glowing purple, but Steve’s eye remains black.

Chapter 38

Amy hovers over her grandmother. In one hand she holds Laevithin, the other she presses to Beatrice’s chest. Beatrice isn’t dead, only unconscious; because she wasn’t dead or in pain, Amy saved her for last. She can feel the damage caused by the plasma fire: beneath her hand is melted skin and muscle, and a fractured bone. Even though she’s not touching Beatrice’s forehead, she can feel the magic matter in Beatrice’s mind working to restore an area of her brain where a tiny piece of errant bone, detached from her rib cage, has caused a stroke.

At Beatrice’s head, Fenrir whines. On the dog’s ear, Squeakers cheeps. Bohdi stands behind Amy, a silent sentry.

Amy wills the bones, muscle, and skin beneath her hands to mend and feeds the power of Laevithin to Beatrice’s magic matter. It is only a few minutes before Beatrice’s eyes flutter open, and Amy isn’t even breathless. With the sword in her hands, and without Odin sharing its power, she thinks she could raise an army from the dead or open a World Gate as large as the Center beneath the army’s feet.

“Amy,” Beatrice whispers.

Amy bites her lip. “Hi, Grandma,” she says, glad to have Beatrice back from another stroke. She wonders if it is a bit of age that hadn’t quite been fixed the first time. A thought occurs to her. “Grandma … I just made you better.” She looks down at the sword. “I could make you young, too.”

The creases in Beatrice’s brow deepen. She pats Amy’s hand. “Let me think on that one. Looking old and helpless has been damn convenient.” And then she frowns. “But keep that ability a secret, child. It’s dangerous.” She smiles at Amy again, beatific and grandmotherly.

Amy feels a lump in her throat. She reaches into her pocket, and feels the prick of the Star of David on her fingers. She pulls it out. “I could have saved Brill … Ruger, Mills, Beckman, Licht, and Harrison, too.” Her face crumples—people she hardly knew, and now she’ll never know. If only she’d broken Hoenir’s spell sooner … She opens her palm and looks down at the star.

Bohdi puts his hand on her shoulder. “It’s not your fault, it’s Odin’s.”

Reaching up, Beatrice closes Amy’s fingers around the star. “You might have been captured—Tucker might have told Odin who you were—and he might have attempted to get you first.” Her grandmother sighs. “And thinking back on it; I think Brill at least knew that you couldn’t be allowed to fall into Odin’s hands.” Beatrice’s eyes flit up to Bohdi. “I think Brill knew what you both were; he wanted to die so he wouldn’t put your lives at risk.”

Amy remembers Brill yanking his hand away from her and reaching to Bohdi. She bows her head and feels Bohdi’s hand tighten on her shoulder. She’s not sure if Beatrice’s words make her feel better or worse.

“You got my girl back,” Amy’s grandmother says. Amy lifts her gaze to see Beatrice giving Bohdi the same beatific look she just gave her.

Amy turns to look up at him. His face is backlit and dark, but the twine she used to sew up his neck is a shimmery blue. It looks like he’s wearing a lacey blue choker. “I did have help,” he says, rubbing her shoulder.

Beatrice sits up. “What’s happened while I was out?”

Standing, and extending a hand, Amy says, “Bohdi helped Steve kill Odin, and now Steve is the incarnation of Order, or the Preserver, or … well …”

“The new Odin,” says Beatrice as they turn to toward the dais. On the dais, Steve stands surveying a map of the city, surrounded by the team from Earth, commanders from the Einherjar and Valkyries, the lone elf, and the Fire Giants. They stand in a sunbeam streaming through a break in storm clouds overhead. A gentle rain is falling outside of the Center, courtesy of Claire. At her father’s request she’d left the Center with Sleipnir to try and put out the fires raging in the city.

“He’s not Odin,” Amy says quickly.

At that moment, Sleipnir rematerializes near the dais, Claire at his side. Steve nods at his daughter and at the horse. There are a few covert glances among the Valkyries and the Einherjar. Their obedience may be absolute, but apparently their minds can question the Preserver’s judgment.

Beside Amy, Bohdi says, “He already declared that Sleipnir is a free horse, with all the rights of a full citizen.”

Amy’s mouth tightens to a thin line. Some of the Asgardian commanders had advised strenuously against it.

“It’s very tactical to be aligned with one of the most powerful beings in the Nine Realms,” says Beatrice. Amy opens her mouth, but before she can get a word out, Beatrice says, “But also the right thing—they are not mutually exclusive.”

Amy’s hands tighten on Laevithin. But what will happen when the right thing and the tactical thing aren’t in alignment?

As they climb the stairs of the dais, Amy’s eyes sweep to Steve. The one side of his face is no longer swollen, but his eye is still injured and covered by a bandage. When she’d suggested creating a new one for him, he’d said that other people’s injuries were more important. The revived Sigyn is at his side, next to the lone elf. She remembers the elf from her time in Asgard. He was the steward that led Loki to the queen. When she’d revived him, he’d looked directly at Steve and said, “You have his magic.” The elf had swallowed and said, “Do you know who I am?”

Steve had replied enigmatically. “Yes, I know, and you are not my enemy.”

And that had been that. Far off in the city, she hears plasma fire. Valkyries are scouting for intelligence; some troops have already been sent off to quell known skirmishes. She hears one of the Valkyrie commanders say, “The most difficult uprising to put down will be the one led by Valli Lokison.”

“We need Nari,” Steve says. He lifts his eyes from the map and looks to Amy.

She is about to say he is in Jotunheim, when from the direction of the palace comes the staccato clips of gunfire. Berry lifts his head. “M4 rounds,” he says.

They hear rawking sounds above their heads, and Huginn and Muninn drop from the sky. “Master, master,” croaks one of the birds, landing on the ground at Steve’s feet. “There are Frost Giants in the palace! And humans! The queen is in danger!”

The other bird rawks, “In the throne room! In the throne room!”

“We’ll leave at once!” say the Valkyries.

“No!” Steve says, “You will save the city, we will save the Queen.” He turns to Bohdi. “You’ve been to the throne room?”

Bohdi puts a hand through his bangs. “Yes.”

“Lewis,” Steve commands. “Give Bohdi Laevithin. He is the master of the In Between—he can take us there.”

Amy hands the sword to Bohdi. He takes it with one hand and runs his fingers nervously through his bangs again with the other. “I don’t know if I can …” and then he disappears with a soft ‘pop’ and a rush of air.

“What the …?” says Berry.

The elf shakes his head. “Chaos thinks only of —”

There is another pop, and Bohdi is back. He points the blade at the ground and uses his free hand to take Amy’s. “We have to hurry! Everyone grab on … ”

And then as many of the team as will fit put their hands atop the pommel.

Claire says, “Maybe Sleipnir and I will walk.”

“I’ll fly,” says Daevas, narrowing his eyes at Amy, and then he takes off. She still hasn’t helped him with his “problem.”

Bohdi says, “No one hold your nose, you’ll explode in the vacuum.”

Someone says, “Wha—”

But they’re already in the cold blackness of the In Between, faces alight with only Laevithin’s cold glow. Amy feels Bohdi’s hand warm in her own, squeezes, and then her ears are popping, and they’re there.

Amy smells dust, blood, and sweat. She blinks rapidly, her eyes adjusting to the light. All she sees is the backs of a group of Frost Giants. She blinks again, and the Frost Giants spin toward them: Magi, Modi, Queen Jarnsaxa, Ragnar, and Ralf are among the crowd.

“Rogers! Tell your warriors to back down!”commands Modi.

“Back down from what?” Steve asks, his voice the perfect facsimile of surprised curiosity.

The crowd of Frost Giants part, and Amy gasps. Queen Frigga is backed against a far wall, Nari is shielding her body with his own, and Harding is standing in front of them both, her M4 raised to the Frost Giants that surround them.

“No one comes closer,” the tiny Marine says.

“She is Grandfather’s wife!” Magi roars. “And his servant Jörmungandr slayed my father.”

“How did you get here?” Rush asks.

Not lowering her M4, Harding says, “Found Thor dead, couldn’t find Claire, went back to Heiðr’s Keep, walked through the World Gate Odin created, and found ourselves here.”

Amy looks to Steve. For the briefest of seconds, she sees a look of sorrow pass over his features. But then he steps toward Magi and says, “Odin is dead, I killed him. Queen Frigga has lost a husband as you have lost a father. You are even.”

Murmurs rise through the Frost Giants. Jarnsaxa raises an eyebrow. Magi and Modi look at each other.

Steve puts a hand to his chest. “And, since I killed Odin, she is part of our tribe, and we are honor-bound to protect her.”

Ragnar scratches his shaggy blonde head. “Don’t you mean she’s your wife?”

A flicker of surprise passes over Steve’s face, but he schools it quickly. And then his brow furrows, and Amy can see all the gerbil wheels in his brain spinning. By Steve’s side, Sigyn says, “By tradition, you are Asgard’s king, and Queen Frigga—”

“Is yours,” the Queen says quietly.

“Uh-oh,” whispers Bohdi. All the humans look to Steve with mouths open and eyes wide.

Something flashes in Steve’s eyes, too much for Amy to decipher. But then he says, “Queen Frigga, you are both beautiful and wise, and it would be an honor for any man to be your husband. However, I do not wish to be king.”

The murmurs that rise up in the room are loud enough to cover up the sound of Bohdi’s sneeze to everyone but Amy. Amy’s limbs suddenly feel cold and heavy. All of the humans are looking approvingly at Steve. Sigyn’s eyes are sparkling; and Nari has straightened from his defensive crouch, his chin is high, and he’s smiling.

Steve continues, “Asgard needs change, not a new king. Her people are crying for it. Nari and Valli can help that change come to pass. In the meantime, Asgard would be better served by the gentle but firm hand of a queen. Queen Frigga, I know you are up to that task.”

The Queen’s shoulders relax. “Asgard’s new ruler—however temporary—has also shown great wisdom. Although such a man would be a prize for any woman, I accept his proposal—”

Amy doesn’t hear the rest, because Bohdi is dragging her from the throne room out onto a balcony that overlooks the city. Odin’s illusions have fallen from Asgard’s spires. Now instead of gleaming golden towers, the buildings are gray and imposing—they look like Soviet block architecture. A gentle rain is still falling, intensifying the gray gloom. She can’t see any fire, but she can hear plasma blasts from different places in the city, the roar of Fire Giants and … “I hear screaming and sobbing,” she says. She puts her free hand to her mouth. She had wished for her hearing to be sharper, and now she wishes she hadn’t.

Frowning, Bohdi steps closer to the railing, drawing her with him. “I could slip through the In Between, crash their parties and …” He drops his head. “I could …” He doesn’t finish, but Amy knows what he means. He could destroy the Fire Giants. He puts a hand through his bangs. “If I just dragged them through the In Between I don’t know a place on Asgard where I could leave them safely.”

Amy hears a child crying and closes her eyes.

A burst of flame sparks in the misty air. “I don’t know what to do, Amy. Should I kill the Fire Giants?”

“No.”

Amy turns and finds Steve at the entrance to the throne room. He is flanked by Nari, Sigyn, Larson, and the Queen.

“Isn’t destruction my job?” Bohdi asks, his jaw tight.

“Sometimes,” Steve says. “But you don’t need to destroy the Fire Giants, and you don’t want to, Bohdi. At this point, they are really just fighting for their lives.”

Amy watches the tension leave Bohdi’s body.

“You aren’t limited to your capabilities, Bohdi,” Steve says, his voice kind, soothing, fatherly. “You have Lewis. Maybe, between the two of you, instead of death, you can think of some prank?” He raises an eyebrow.

Bohdi’s lips part, and then his eyes shift to hers. “If I took you through the In Between, to the heart of the conflict—”

All Amy’s brain gerbils hop on their wheels and start running, and Amy realizes that tension has left her body as well. Had she been afraid that Steve would turn Bohdi into his executioner, like Odin had done to Loki? She grins. “I could open a World Gate about oh, say ten feet above the ground on their home world. They’d fall through the hole and—”

“I can destroy the World Gate,” Bohdi says. “I read about it in Lothur’s journal.”

His eyes shift to Steve. “Of course, we’d need Laevithin to do that.”

Steve smiles, and it actually looks genuine. “You two are the only people in the universe I would trust with that sword. Put on some armor before you go, though.” Steve winks. “Have fun.”

Bohdi’s jaw gets hard as Steve walks away, followed by his retinue, giving some orders to Rush. Only Beatrice remains behind, her pink umbrella open in the misting rain.

“He’s using us,” Bohdi says softly. “I saw inside his head when I was dead, Amy. He may care, but his brain, even before being the Incarnation of Order thing … he’s not like us. He will do what is strategic, what is tactical, and sometimes if that doesn’t coincide with the right thing …” His voice trails off.

Amy bites her lip. She doesn’t disagree. She and Steve have their own history.

Her grandmother clears her throat. “None of us are unflawed,” she says. She looks down at the ground. “The question you have to ask yourself now is if what he is asking you to do is the right thing.”

The sound of more plasma fire echoes from the city. Amy takes Bohdi’s free hand. “We can help and we should.”

x x x x

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” The Asgardian shop owner cries, thumping Bohdi on the back with so much force that if he weren’t wearing armor he’d probably have bruises. “You saved us from those vicious savages!”

Pulling back, Bohdi smiles at the man, his wife, and three daughters. One of the girls winks at him. Bohdi looks quickly to Amy. She’s dressed in Einherjar armor that hides her curves and is a little too big. She takes off her helmet, and her hair is as askew as his probably is. They started their task in the late morning, and now it is late evening. Her face flickers in the light of a torch—Asgard seems to have lost the magical lighting they’d experienced last time. Or maybe the common people never had glowing orbs or magical butterflies?

Pushing a lock behind her ear, he meets her eyes. “That’s the last of them.” He feels his chest puff a little. Saving the ordinary Asgardians from the Fire Giants—being the good guy—has been pretty great, even though he would have liked to have seen more of Musseslpheim, the Fire Giant realm. They dropped off the Fire Giants in the middle of the night, and Fire Giants don’t have electricity, orbs or butterflies.

She puts her hand over his on the pommel of Laevithin. “Let’s go back then.” He glances down at her tiny fingers, still a little awed that such small hands could have struggled with Odin.

“We’ll never forget you!” says the wife, just before Bohdi and Amy pass through the In Between.

He drops them on the balcony they left from … and finds himself face to face with Ruth, Steve’s mother.

“Bohdi!” she cries, throwing up her hands. “It’s so good to see you.” Then he’s caught in a hug before he can get a word out. He hears Henry’s voice. “There he is!” And he feels the old man thumping him on his back.

It’s great to see them, but something nags at Bohdi’s consciousness. From the throne room he hears English … a lot of English.

“Who’s here?” says Amy.

“Oh, just about all the members of the human resistance!” says Ruth, pulling away from Bohdi to give Amy a hug. “Steve got us all out!”

Dark thoughts start to swirl in Bohdi’s brain. “Steve brought the resistance here?”

Ruth nods, smiling kindly. That Steve would bring her and Henry here isn’t surprising—but the whole of the resistance? Bohdi backs away, smiling at Ruth, but feeling a growing sense of unease.

Pulling Amy’s hand, he starts toward the throne room. He’s in such a rush, they nearly bump into the Elf Guy from the prison. Elf Guy doesn’t even notice. He has an arm around the waist of a human woman—and weirdly, Bohdi can instantly feel that she isn’t magical. The woman is very striking—of African descent, tall, athletically built, and dressed to the nines. Elf Guy’s eyes are glued to her.

“I never thought I’d see you again,” the woman says.

Bohdi pulls Amy around them into the throne room and doesn’t catch the rest.

Looking over her shoulder at the couple, Amy taps her lip. “Wow, I wonder how they met.”

“We have to find Steve,” Bohdi says. Gripping Laevithin tighter, he pulls her through a crowd of Dark Elves, Fire Giants, Frost Giants, humans, and Einherjar. Odin’s former warriors are roaming the room, not talking or laughing—they have the air of police officers at a street festival … which is why when an Einherjar Bohdi has never seen before catches his shoulder, he jumps a little.

Bowing deeply, the man says, “Excuse me, His Excellency, Director-Captain Rogers is in the council chambers. We were ordered to take you to him, but his Excellency suggested you might want food first.”

The word ‘food’ makes Bohdi’s stomach growl, but his hunger is overwhelmed by his disgust at the man’s words. “His Excellency?” Bohdi snaps. “You’re calling him His Excellency?”

The Einherjar looks to be perhaps of Middle Eastern descent, but at Bohdi’s words he goes nearly as pale as Amy. “Was that not respectful enough, Your Excellencies?”

Bohdi takes a step back. At his side, Amy says softly, “Did you just call us Your Excellencies?”

The man sinks to one knee, puts his hand over his heart and bows his head. “His Esteemed Excellency said that you were due the same respect as him. I am so sorry and beg forgiveness if I have offended, but we really do not know how to address His Greatness as he has expressly forbidden Your Majesty.”

“Please,” Amy whispers through clenched teeth, “stand up, we’re attracting attention.”

Bohdi glances around the room. Sure enough, a hush has fallen.

The Einherjar climbs to his feet. “Take us to Steve,” Bohdi says.

“Right this way,” says the Einherjar, and the other Einherjar push back the crowd to let them pass—which is weird and unsettling.

Their guide leads them through a long hallway. As he leads, he says, “We are hopeful, of course, that your Excellencies will convince his Excellency that Asgard needs a king.”

Bohdi scowls at him. “Asgard does not need a king.”

The man’s face goes dark, and he looks away.

Here and there a few magical glowing butterflies flutter, and there are glowing orbs set at sparse intervals; but it is still very different from last visit. Instead of marble and white-washed walls there is only concrete—on the floor, the walls, and the ceilings.

Their guide takes them into a huge room with double doors at one end. Einherjar and several members of the SEAL team stand guard. In the middle of the room, Fenrir lays on her side, snoring softly. Claire is leaning against the enormous wolf-dog, fast asleep, one hand on Thor’s hammer. Bohdi gulps—is it hers now?

Their guide tsks. “That is no way for a princess to sleep.” The hairs on Bohdi’s neck prickle. Their guide leads them to the double doors and the SEALs nod. With a bow, their guide opens the door, and Bohdi and Amy enter the room beyond.

Steve is sitting at an enormous round conference table. Across from him is Queen Frigga. Between them on the near side of the table are Larson, Gerðr, Berry, Brett, Bryant, and Laura Stodgill, who is sitting too close to the adze guy. Bohdi can feel the adze’s gaze as it passes over him and goes to Amy. The creature stares at her with hawk-like intensity. “I really have to help him,” Amy murmurs. Bohdi doesn’t ask what about.

Beatrice sits with Mr. Squeakers on her shoulder. Nari, Valli, Sigyn, and a skinny magic guy in jeans and a Schrodinger’s Cat t-shirt are also at the table. “That’s Hoenir,” Amy whispers.

There are also a handful of other Asgardians in simpler clothing much like that of the shopkeepers and common people he and Amy have been seeing all day. “I think those might be members of the Asgardian resistance movement,” Amy whispers.

On the far side of the table is Dale, with Sleipnir leaning over his shoulder. There are also some guys who look youngish, but they have pinched faces that make them look old. They all wear black silk robes. “That’s the Diar, Odin’s council,” Amy whispers.

Steve stands from his chair. As he stands, all the Diar do, too.

“Dr. Lewis, Mr. Patel, please, come have a seat.” Steve gestures toward two empty seats at his right side.

Bohdi tightens his grip on Laevithin and Amy’s hand. “We’d like to speak with you.”

“In private,” Amy says, squeezing Bohdi’s hand.

One of the pinched face guys leans toward Steve. “Your Maj—Your Excellency, you must not go with him! Especially not while he holds the sword!”

Steve’s eyes flick to the guy. “Your concern toward my person is noted.”

Pinched Face guy bows.

“But unnecessary,” Steve finishes. He turns to Amy and Bohdi and gestures toward a small side door with his hand. “There is a library this way. It’s private.”

With that, he turns on his heel to the door in a way that is infuriatingly formal … even at the office Steve would have shown some signs of friendship, at least an eye roll.

And then it occurs to Bohdi that Steve is showing him his back. When he gets to the little side door, Steve opens it for them and nods for them to go through—like an equal. Bohdi glances over his shoulder. The adze—Daevas—is still glaring at Amy, tapping a finger on the table and looking impatient. For their part, the Asgardians are open-mouthed and look scandalized. Bohdi is just confused.

Chapter 39

As soon as the door of the library closes, Bohdi blurts out, “What do you want, Steve?” The wood in the fireplace bursts into flame.

Steve, Bohdi’s maybe-sort-of-possibly-former friend, walks over to a little sitting area with three soft, high-backed chairs arranged around a small table. Sinking into the most worn-looking one, he puts his hands over his eyes.

Bohdi stalks closer. “And don’t tell me you don’t want to be king, I know you lied.”

Steve parts the fingers over the hand with his good eye. He blinks up at Bohdi. Leaning back, he inclines his head to the other chairs. “Why don’t you both sit down?”

Bohdi doesn’t move, and neither does Amy.

Steve sighs. “You know, some people would say everyone wants to be king.”

“Errr … no,” says Amy.

Bohdi gives him a smile with all his teeth. “Sounds like one long staff meeting to me.”

Steve huffs a soft laugh. Putting down his hands, he says softly, “I could marry Frigga, become king—and everything would be easy. Every Asgardian in the realm would jump at my whim. I could restore Asgard to at least a shadow of its former glory and spend the next hundred years here in relative peace.”

“Sounds boring,” says Bohdi.

“I kind of thought you and Sigyn had a thing ...” says Amy, tapping her lower lip.

Steve sighs again, and he sounds more weary than Bohdi ever heard him, even when they were starving in the forests of Jotunheim. Meeting their eyes, he says, “I would lose her. But my daughter, my parents, Sigyn, you two ... everyone you saw in the conference room and the throne room—we could all be safe, and happy, at least for a while.”

“Asgard doesn’t have video games,” Bohdi quips, though what he means is electricity, television, music—culture—for everyone.

“Or new science,” says Amy, “all their science is old.” She says the word old like most people say mold.

Steve looks up at them, and then rubbing the bridge of his nose, he laughs like they have said the funniest thing in the world. When he’s finally done, his black eye is twinkling.

“Sit, please,” he says. “I’m not going to kill you—you’re going to kill me.”

“That’s a little paranoid, Steve,” snaps Bohdi.

“Kind of early in your reign to be feeling that way,” Amy mutters.

Steve’s face gets very serious. “And when you do kill me, I’ll deserve it.”

Somewhere in the room a clock chimes, once—and then again, and once more. Steve sits completely motionless in his seat, his single eye unblinking, but moving between them both. Slipping her hand from his, Amy walks over and plunks herself down in one of the chairs. Bohdi follows suit, carefully laying the flat side of Laevithin across his lap. He’s wearing magical armor, but the blade can slice through it with just a little effort. He tested it earlier in the armory.

Steepling his fingers, Steve says, “It wouldn’t work forever, of course, holing up here in Asgard ... Did you two see Lionel and Tara?”

“The Light Elf and his girlfriend?” says Amy. “Yes.”

“They’re cute, aren’t they?” Steve says. “They’re also proof that genies out of the bottle—she’s a social media diva who has been helping coordinate the human resistance, and he’s a powerful enchanter—magic and human technology have met.” His eyebrow rises. “And they get along. Odin couldn’t stop it, I can’t stop it. Whichever realm can channel it and become the leader of technomagical innovation will be dominant.”

Bohdi taps his fingers on the armrest. Wasn’t that basically what he was telling Odin earlier? Still, he says nothing, suspicion tugging at the back of his mind.

But beside him, Amy says, in a slow, cautious voice, “What are your plans?”

Steve steeples his fingers. “First, get Gennie Santos—also known as Freyja—out of Chicago.”

“Then why are we here?” Bohdi asks, suspicion burning brightly in his mind now, “and why are the leaders of the human resistance here instead of on Earth resisting?”

Coolly meeting his gaze, Steve says, “Because Freyja was planning on arresting the leaders of the resistance movement en masse this evening.”

“Oh,” says Amy, putting a hand to her mouth. Bohdi sinks back in his chair.

Looking toward the flames, Steve says, “The Incarnation of Love and War has always been a thorn in the side of Order. She has Valkyries and Einherjar who are loyal to her ...” He shakes his head. “But as to why we don’t go down there right now and oust her, it’s because if I suddenly revealed who Gennie Santos is—”

“It would look like a magic show,” says Amy. She winces. “Like smoke and mirrors, not like real magic.”

“Exactly,” says Steve. “But I know where Gennie Santos’s body is, and it is rather well preserved. There’s a 5K tomorrow in Grant Park with tens of thousands of people participating. They’re going to see two ravens plucking at the corpse body of the real Gennie Santos.”

Bohdi grimaces at the grisliness of that image. He’d met Gennie Santos—he’d liked her.

Steve’s jaw tightens, and his gaze drifts toward the fire. “As soon as it’s revealed that Illinois’ now far-too-powerful terrorism tsar is a fraud, I’ll go home and run for mayor.”

“Not the presidency?” Amy says, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“Chicago has the greatest density of World Gates in the Nine Realms,” Steve says smoothly. He inclines his head toward the door and the Einherjar guards just outside. “I have an army. Just being mayor will suit me fine.”

Tilting his head, Bohdi whispers, “That isn’t ambitious enough. You want to rule the Nine Realms, don’t you?” He’s not sure if he believes it, or if he is just testing Steve.

Instead of denying it, Steve looks thoughtfully toward the ceiling. “Rule is too strong a word. I’d like to have my thumb on things to … balance them … when they get out of hand,” he says.

Bohdi’s hand tightens on Laevithin’s handle. He’s not sure if he’s relieved Steve is telling the truth, or intimidated by the implications.

“I will get out of hand,” Steve says. “Hopefully not soon. It took nearly a thousand years for Odin to begin to fear change, to forget his power came from it, and that Hoenir and Loki were his equals. At some point, it will happen to me. I will become afraid of change too, and then I will try to seize too much control, and you will have to stop me. The two of you are the only ones who can.” He looks at Amy. “You’ll break down my foundations.” He turns to Bohdi. “And you’ll aim the proverbial bullet.”

Bohdi almost says no, no matter how suspicious of Steve he is, killing him seems unthinkable. But then he sags in his chair. What Steve is describing is exactly what happened. Hoenir began providing humans with Promethean wire to give them some protection from magic. His eyes slide to Amy. She made humans magical, further destroying the magical edge that Asgard had on Earth. And finally, it was Bohdi who killed Odin; Steve was only the weapon.

Steve rests his hands on the armrest of the chair and doesn’t meet their eyes. “Odin knew it. That is why he made a bargain with Hoenir: in exchange for Hoenir’s silence on the matter of Loki’s place in the trinity, Odin agreed to keep Earth free from magical creatures—”

Amy interrupts him. “Is that why Odin made Hoenir the gardener—so no one would suspect how powerful he was?”

Steve’s single eye widens, and then he shakes his head. “No, Hoenir wanted to be perceived as just a gardener. It was safer that way for him.”

Amy sinks back into her chair. Touching his stitches, Bohdi remembers Beatrice’s words to Amy after she raised the dead and offered to make her younger—“keep that ability a secret, child.” If people discover what Amy can do ... His eyes slide to her. She’s biting her lip. She fought Odin, head to head, but she is, and will always be, as vulnerable as she is dangerous.

Steve continues. “Hoenir probably made the bargain knowing he was ensuring the rise of humanity, and ultimately Odin’s ruin. Cera showed up on Earth, and Odin, too busy trying to forestall the collapse of peace at home, stopped fulfilling his end of that bargain. Hoenir didn’t break his oath of silence, but that’s when he started giving humans Promethean wire to protect themselves.”

Amy’s brow furrows. “How do you know that?”

Steve’s eyebrows rise. Looking at his fingers, he says, “Putting the timeline of events on Earth together with Odin’s memories, I remember everything Odin knew, and the incarnation of Order before that.” He waves a hand. “It goes back a long time. I suppose it makes sense that the incarnation of Order and Preservation would remember.” His brow furrows. “It’s not all there at the forefront—”

Scuffing her feet on the floor, Amy says, “It comes to you as you need it. I know, it’s very weird, you have to be careful when you’re driving because flashbacks at the wrong time—lots of trouble at traffic lights.”

“Maybe I’ll get a chauffeur,” Steve says with a smile.

It might be bitterness at not even having his own memories, but Bohdi growls, “What do you want from us?”

Steve straightens in his chair, and his single eye widens. “Your help. Order without Creation and Destruction is fragile and short lived.”

Bohdi wonders if he should break out the Darth Vader impression. “You want our help controlling the galaxy?” he asks. He barely manages to say it in a normal voice.

Steve winces. “Again, control is too strong a word.” His jaw gets hard. “And you’ll like what I do with the place.” He inclines his head to Amy. “The Dark Elf Underground Railroad will continue, and I will extend its scope to aiding other persecuted peoples of the Nine Realms. I cannot end the wars in Alfheim or Svartálfaheim overnight. I will also make Chicago a safe haven for magical humans until magic is the norm among our kind.” His voice gets soft. “I know you worry about them, Dr. Lewis.”

Amy’s shoulders go soft. “I do.”

“And to you, Bohdi,” Steve says, “I can offer—”

Bohdi can guess. “You’ll find my family?” His voice is bitter, but his neurons are firing with hopefulness—even though that would be terribly manipulative on Steve’s part, and Bohdi would probably never forgive him for it.

Steve’s shoulders sag, and he frowns. “I can give you your identity, of course.” There is something cautious in his tone, maybe even sad. “That would come without any obligation.”

For a moment Bohdi’s mind is a blank, tripping over the word can. “Out with it, then,” Bohdi says, lowering his chin, believing it is a trick.

Steve’s eyebrows rise, and he looks at his knees. “Laura told me … Agent Hernandez kept up his quest to find them after we left.” The fire crackles. Steve lets out a long breath. “Your family name is Bhat.”

Bohdi shakes his head. It’s a common name in India among both Hindus and Muslims. “It doesn’t mean anything to me.” His jaw gets tight.

“Do you know his first name?” Amy asks.

“Ahh … well …”

Steve doesn’t stammer. Bohdi’s eyes snap to Steve and find his single eye on him. “I’m probably going to mispronounce it,” Steve says.

“Don’t stall, Steve,” Bohdi whispers.

Steve takes a deep breath. “It’s Triloki … Hernandez was positive, Triloki Bhat.”

Bohdi swallows. He wishes he couldn’t sense lies, because then he could say Steve was just messing with him. As it is, he doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. All this time he’s been saying he wasn’t Loki, but they’ve only been off by a syllable.

“Does it mean anything to you?” Steve asks. His voice is soft, compassionate.

“Not really,” Bohdi says. “It’s Hindu. It means Ruler of the Three Realms.”

“Oh,” says Amy.

“Just a coincidence in its similarity,” Steve says.

Bohdi bows his head and runs a hand over the stitches in his neck. “It’s one of Shiva’s names.” Shiva the Destroyer of the Hindu trinity—a bitter taste comes to his mouth.

In the fireplace, flames leap and crackle. The clock chimes again.

“What would you like to be called?” Amy asks. She holds out her hand, and he remembers her saying, “I don’t want any other Chaos,” her stories of the other Loki, and his own “Loki memories” rattling around in his brain. He isn’t Loki to her, he is himself. Meeting her eyes, he says, “I think I’d rather be Bohdi.” It means enlightenment; and maybe that’s what he is … Chaos that can begin to know itself. Also, it’s the name he stole, fair and square.

Amy smiles. “Okay, Bohdi.”

“Bohdi it is,” says Steve.

Bohdi almost smiles, but then he whispers, “My parents?”

Steve frowns, and Bohdi’s eyes drop to Laevithin’s glow. He remembers the mirror in Gullveig’s cavern. He’d seen Steve, Amy, some of the SEAL guys—and Nari too, even though he wasn’t in the room. Because they are his family, but maybe also … He looks up at Steve. “They’re dead, aren’t they? My parents.”

Steve’s frown deepens. “I am sorry.”

Bohdi stares at him mutely, his heart rate increasing. A bit of the carpet catches on fire, and Amy quickly smothers it with a cushion.

Releasing a long breath, Steve says, “Your mother was of Hindi heritage, your father was of Muslim heritage, and they were both atheists. You were born in the province of Kashmir, where your parents were from. But they followed the tech boom and your family relocated to Bangalore when you were a little boy. They worked processing data for an international bank. Your parents realized that money was being siphoned off pensioners’ accounts, pennies at a time. They reported it. They were murdered.”

The words roll through the air, but no pictures form in Bohdi’s mind. His throat constricts. The fire in the hearth spits sparks. The bright glow of the sword on his lap blurs. “They were good people,” he says. He swallows; they were brave, and willing to break with tradition.

“They must have been,” Amy says, her voice soft.

Steve clears his throat. “A few days later, you hopped on a slow boat to the States. Your application for a visa was still in process … you probably chose Chicago because you’d been accepted to the University of Chicago’s statistics program as a doctoral student. You had some familiarity with the city; but you had to change your name because you were still in danger.”

Bohdi hears the fire in the fireplace crackle as though far away. “But I don’t know more about statistics than the average person,” Bohdi says, eyes getting hot. “Logistic regression, Poisson regression, and survival analysis …” He can’t go on.

“Um,” says Amy.

“Ah,” says Steve.

Turning away, Bohdi looks at the flames in the hearth. They dance and wave with mocking cheer. He doesn’t remember the name Triloki Bhat. The memory of the smiling people in the photo of his baby self and his parents—it’s still just a memory of a photo.

Pulling his hand away from Amy’s, he puts his head in his hands. He sucks in a long breath, and realizes that until this point, he had hoped that if he just had a hint of his past life—his name, the names of his parents—that everything else would fall together. He’d have a history, he’d have memories. But there is nothing … his life before waking up on LaSalle Street next to Steve is just a vast gray blur.

“Bohdi,” Amy says softly, “you may have extended family. If we go back to Earth, we could find them.”

He lifts his chin and turns his gaze to her, his mind catching on the word “we.”

Shrugging, she gives him a small smile. “I’d go to India with you.”

She’d sit in a field of plasma fire for him, of course she would. For some reason, he thinks this almost touches him more. He reaches for her hand, but can’t quite bring himself to say a word. His eyes are burning, and he’d probably begin to sob if he tried to speak. He really wants to excuse himself and her, and claim some alone time … his eyes flick to Amy’s … she’s looking at their entwined fingers. He looks quickly away, but wraps her hand more tightly in his.

“I do hope you’ll consider my family your own,” Steve says, shaking Bohdi from his thoughts. There is a surprising note of worry in the offer. It makes the hairs on the back of Bohdi’s neck prickle.

Sighing, Steve rubs his temple. “The only thing I can offer you, Bohdi, is friendship.” Steve’s eyes flick to the sword and back to Bohdi. “You’re capable of finding fortune and fame for yourself.”

Bohdi’s brow furrows. He’s walked the In Between, Amy can create World Gates; no ordinary prison could hold either of them. Amy also has Loki’s memories and can probably lead them to lost treasure. He doesn’t need to work for Steve anymore—he doesn’t need to work for anyone.

Steve looks to Amy and adds, “I offer my friendship, and protection, to both of you.”

Bohdi’s jaw tightens, remembering the glimpse he’s seen inside Steve’s mind. This offer of friendship isn’t just out of the goodness of his heart. Steve wants them because he expects them to sway the fate of the galaxy for him.

“How can we trust you, Steve?” Bohdi says, his voice almost a whisper. “You want to be king—how do we know you won’t try to make yourself one?”

Steve drops his hands to his lap. For the first time, Bohdi notices how much Steve has aged in the past few months. “You can’t trust me,” Steve says.

Amy sucks in an audible breath, and Bohdi pulls her hand closer to his stomach. There is no lie in Steve’s words.

Rubbing his jaw, Steve looks at the floor. “At least not forever—I like to be in control. But I like power even more; and the real power lies with technology and innovation, and those things are not facilitated by authoritarianism. There is a reason that the West won the Cold War. And if you think on it, it’s how we prevailed against Odin.” Steve turns his gaze to the fire. “It is the way to the longest, most stable peace, for everyone … But someday I’ll forget that.”

The fire crackles, and Bohdi feels like a huge weight has fallen on his shoulders. How can Steve be so honest about his eventual betrayal? He swallows—because Steve needs their help, and he’s laying it all on the line because he knows Bohdi can’t be deceived by lies.

He looks down at the glowing blade on his knees—Steve hasn’t asked for it, and he doesn’t fear Bohdi even though he holds it. Maybe Steve is cunning; but he is also loyal, determined, and brave. The offer of friendship and family was real, and maybe it is self-interest on Steve’s part … a little … but the real question is if it is what Bohdi wants.

He thinks of waking up without a shred of memory to his name; of the people who wanted him thrown into Guantanamo; of Beatrice not wanting him near Amy … and also of the vast gray blur that is all the time before he was Chaos ... Steve is a good friend to have.

He looks over to Amy. He knows she’d rather be on Earth, helping magical humans. He looks down at Laevithin, and runs a finger along the glowing blade. And a place where magic and technology meet is bound to be the most exciting place in the galaxy—isn’t that what Bohdi wanted from Odin? Is there any place he’d rather be?

Bohdi takes a deep breath. “You do need someone to keep you in line.”

“Exactly,” says Steve.

Bohdi’s nose doesn’t even tickle. He shrugs. “Sure. It will be fun.” He says it without a smile.

Steve does smile and exhales with such force he seems to deflate. Shaking his head, Steve says, “After the day I had, I really need a drink.” He gets slowly to his feet, looking more exhausted than Bohdi’s ever seen him. He remembers Steve worrying about the team and Claire, his wistfulness when he described being king and the peace and happiness that he could bring to everyone, and it strikes Bohdi that the real weight of everything is on his friend.

Over by the bookshelf, Steve asks, almost tentatively, “Will you drink with me?”

Bohdi raises an eyebrow. He almost asks if it will be poisoned, just to be, well, an antagonist. But instead he says, “Hey, I thought if you were drinking, I was drinking, too?” Which isn’t quite as antagonistic.

Amy sits up straighter in her seat, eyes going wide. “Odin said that to Loki, at least in the myths.”

“Steve’s always saying that to me,” says Bohdi, and Amy’s eyebrows rise.

“Because you always say you’re broke so I’ll buy,” Steve says, taking a few scrolls off of a shelf.

Bohdi smirks. That’s true. It’s cheaper that way. He tilts his head … the jibes they’re trading … Steve is just trying to bring the conversation back to normal, whatever that is now. Maybe Bohdi needs some normal.

Steve pulls on an ancient looking tome and a door opens to a tiny safe where the scrolls were a moment before. “Odin was always hiding the good stuff in here,” Steve says.

He returns to the table with a fat dusty bottle and three little earthenware cups that look ancient. “Oh,” says Amy, “Alfheim fire whiskey.” Steve hands her the bottle, and he puts down the cups. A few moments later they all have a full shot in their hands.

Bohdi tilts his head, inhaling the earthy fragrance of the whiskey. His hands tremble, the impact of everything settling in: the revelation of his name and his parents’ death—and the awful discovery that he might never really remember either. He sets the cup on the table for a moment and just stares at it mutely. And Amy is Creation, and she loves him enough to endure a fate worse than death … And his friend Steve is now the new Order. Bohdi shakes his head—really, that one wasn’t much of a stretch.

“We need a toast,” says Steve, staring into his cup.

Bohdi takes a deep breath. His eyes slide to Amy; she’ll go with him to India when he’s ready. He looks at Steve; he’ll help, because, well, that is what friends do. He remembers all the faces he saw in the mirror in Gullveig’s cavern, and his heart lifts.

Raising his cup, he says, “To the end of an era.” A personal era, when he thought he was alone, but also the end of an era in which Chaos, Creation, and Order were divided.

Amy lifts her own cup to his. “To the end of the beginning.”

Raising his own cup, Steve says, “To Ragnarok.”

~ FIN

Author’s Note & Contact Info:

Thank you for taking a chance on I Bring the Fire and seeing it to the end. Special thanks to everyone who has sent emails encouraging me to continue (and sometimes insisting). For the first few years of writing I made much less than minimum wage—I believe the first year at it I made $60. If it weren’t for all the reviews, emails, and positives responses I’ve received, I would not have been able to keep going.

If you want a little more of Amy, Bohdi, Steve, Loki and Eisa, I have a short story, The Fire Bringers, that I will be releasing on all retailers in April. Be sure to sign up for my mailing list so you won’t miss it. Here’s the link: http://eepurl.com/ZAWXn

After the Fire Bringers I will be leaving the I Bring the Fire universe for a little while, but if you’re on my mailing list you’ll hear from me when I come back.

Because I self-publish, I depend on my readers to help me get the word out. If you enjoyed this story, please let people know on Facebook, Twitter, in your blogs, and when you talk books with your friends and family.

All Stories By C. Gockel

The I Bring the Fire Series:

I Bring the Fire Part I

Monsters: I Bring the Fire Part II

Chaos: I Bring the Fire Part III

In the Balance: I Bring the Fire Part 3.5

Fates: I Bring the Fire Part IV

The Slip: A Short Story (mostly) from Sleipnir’s Point of Smell

Warriors: I Bring the Fire Part V

Ragnarok: I Bring the Fire Part VI

The Fire Bringers: An I Bring the Fire Short Story

Other Works: Murphy’s Star a short story about “first” contact

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Thank you again!

Appendix

The Nine Realms

Alfheim – Realm of the Dark Elves and Light Elves.

Asgard – Realm of the Aesir, “gods.”

Jotunheim – Realm of the Jotunn, or Frost Giants.

Midgard – Earth, realm of humans.

Muspellsheimr – Realm of the Fire Giants.

Niflheim – Realm of mists, location of “Hel” – the place where Loki’s daughter Helen and other plague-ridden Asgardians died.

Nornheim – Realm of the all-seeing Norns.

Svartálfaheim – Realm of the dwarves.

Vanaheim – Realm of the Vanir. Formerly rulers of Asgard, the Vanir retreated to their home world after they were defeated by Odin’s forces.

The Humans & Their Organizations

ADUO – FBI Department of Anomalous Devices of Unknown Origin.

Roger Beckman – Navy SEAL.

Warrant Officer Edward Berry – Navy SEAL, specialty tactics.

Amy Lewis – Veterinarian for ADUO. Loki’s former “lover.”

Beatrice Lewis – Amy Lewis’s grandmother. Translator of Ukrainian and Russian, works for ADUO.

Bohdi Patel – Real name unknown. Computer programmer employed by ADUO.

Agents Brett & Bryant McDowell – Twin brothers, ADUO agents. Their specialty is technology.

Claire Rogers – Steve Rogers’s ten-year-old daughter.

Warrant Officer Melinda Harding – Marine, specialty communications.

Agent Hernandez – Agent of ADUO, second in command at the Chicago Branch Office.

Lieutenant Hobbs – Navy SEAL, second in command.

William Keyif – Navy SEAL, MIA after World Gate in Chicago destroyed.

Lieutenant Robert Larson – Navy SEAL platoon leader.

Corporal Karen Mills – Marine.

Corporal Jung Park – Navy SEAL.

Mathew Licht – Navy SEAL.

Ben Cruz – Navy SEAL.

John Redman – Navy SEAL.

Steve Rogers – Director of Chicago’s Branch of ADUO.

Ruth Rogers – Steve Rogers’s mother.

Henry Rogers – Steve Rogers’s father.

Ed Ruger – Navy SEAL, died in Jotunheim.

Sherbert Rush – Navy SEAL.

Gennie Santos – Chairman of the Illinois Terrorism Task Force, murdered and later impersonated by Freyja.

Laura Stodgill – Legal Counsel at ADOU.

Carl Thomas – Navy SEAL.

So-called Gods & Others

Adze – Carnivorous hominids with dragonfly wings. In Ghana legends, the source of malaria.

Aesir – Denizens of Asgard, “gods.”

Allfather – Another name for Odin.

Andvaranaut – Cursed ring in Norse mythology–part of a ransom that an incarnation of Loki paid to a dwarf for Hoenir’s release.

Anganboða/Angrboða – Also known as “Aggie” by Loki. Loki’s Jotunn wife, mother of Helen. In myths, Angrboða means “grief bringer.” In reality, her name was Anganboða, meaning “bringer of joy.” One of the few to see through Baldur’s glamour.

Baldur – Son of Odin and Frigga. Possessed a magical glamour that made him appear beautiful, wise, and kind. Tried to abduct Nanna, the beloved of the human warlord Hothur. Used enchantment to create a magical plague that killed Loki’s daughter Helen.

Bifrost – “Rainbow Bridge” between realms.

Cera – A.K.A., the World Seed. A being of infinite magical power, tricked by Loki into destroying itself in the In Between.

Diar – Odin’s council.

Einherjar – Mortal warriors recruited by Odin or Freyja. They are given access to Idunn’s apples of immortality.

Eisa – In Norse mythology, daughter of one of Loki’s incarnations and Glut.

Fenrir – In Norse mythology, Loki’s wolf son by Angrboða. In actuality, just a wolf Loki and Aggie adopted when they thought they could not have children. Also the name of Amy’s vicious, tailless, rat-like, Chihuahua-poodle mix.

Fire Ettin – Fire Giant.

Freyr – Originally a Vanir, Freyr remains on Asgard. Associated with fertility. Former husband of Gerðr, brother of Freyja, son of Njord.

Freyja – Originally a Vanir, Freyja remains on Asgard. She is associated with love, beauty, and war. A master of magic and illusion, she can alter her appearance to match anyone’s romantic ideal. She is a cunning warrior and leader of the Valkyries. Sister of Freyr, daughter of Njord.

Frigga – Wife of Odin, Queen of Asgard. In Norse mythology, Goddess of Motherhood and Marriage, believed to spin clouds and to see the fates of all beings of the Nine Realms. One of the few to challenge Odin’s authority and get away with it.

Frost Giant – Another name for Jotunn, the natives of the realm of Jotunheim. Not really “giants.” They are tall by modern standards, but nearly giants compared to ancient humans.

Gerðr – Jotunn enchantress, former wife of Freyr. Gerðr led a team of Jotunn from Jotunheim across a World Gate on a hunt for Cera. Realizing the danger of Cera’s power, she grudgingly aided humans in trying to control it.

Gleipnir – Magical, unbreakable rope. In Norse mythology, believed to be used to chain Fenrir, Loki’s wolf son. In reality, used to control Sleipnir, an eight-legged stallion and one of the children by one of Loki’s incarnations.

Glut – “Glow,” the wife of one of Loki’s previous incarnations.

Gullveig – In Norse myths, a Frost Giant witch and leader of the Iron Wood who the Aesir burned at the stake; Loki ate her heart in the stories, and all the monsters in the world were born of the resulting bowel movements. Sometimes believed to be Loki’s wife Angrboða, sometimes believed to be Frejya; in reality, she was a witch, leader of the Iron Wood, and Angrboða’s cousin.

Gungnir – Odin’s magical spear. A gift from Loki to the Allfather. Broken when Loki destroyed Cera.

Heiðr Gullveigssdottir – Gullveig’s daughter, dweller in the Iron Wood.

Heimdall – Servant of Odin. Creator of the classes among men. All seeing and hearing–if he happens to be gazing in your direction.

Hel – In Norse mythology, Hel is Loki’s daughter. It is also a place in Niflheim.

Helen – Loki’s daughter, in Norse mythology known as Hel. Half-blue, Helen had the ability to reveal the lies around her. As such, she was a threat to Baldur’s power. After Baldur killed her, Loki, with Odin’s approval, killed Baldur.

Hisbernia – In Celtic myth, a grower of magical apples. In reality, half-elf daughter of Idunn and a grower of Asgard’s immortality-bestowing apples.

Lieutenant Hobbs – Navy SEAL, second in command.

Hoenir – Gardener of the Asgard and a powerful enchanter. Loki’s friend.

Hothur – Human warlord, slayer of Baldur–with Loki’s help.

Huginn and Muninn – Odin’s raven messengers.

Idunn – A Light Elf, Idunn is a denizen of Asgard and grower of magical apples. Mother of Hisbernia.

In-Between – A place beyond space and time. Magical philosophers suspect it may be a place beyond the universe. Loki can step into the In-Between for inter-realm travel, but not for travel from realm to realm. For that he needs a World Gate (also called the Bifrost).

Jarnsaxa – Frost Giantess queen, lover of Thor, mother of his sons Magi and Modi.

Jotunn – Natives of the realm of Jotunheim, also called Frost Giants – though not really “giants” per se.

Jörmungandr – The “world serpent,” guardian of Asgard’s seas. In Norse mythology, the son of Loki by Angrboða.

William Keyif – Navy SEAL, location unknown.

King Billings – Frost Giant, father of Rind.

King Geirod – Frost Giant, held Loki prisoner for thirty days and thirty nights.

King Sutr – Fire Giant, one of only two beings that pose a serious risk to Odin’s power.

King Utgard – Frost Giant, one of only two beings that pose a serious risk to Odin’s power.

Laevithin (Laevithinn) – Loki’s magical sword. Charged with Cera’s magic.

Laugauz – Loki’s Fire Giant incarnation.

Lopt – Female incarnation of Loki.

Lothur – Incarnation of Loki.

Loki – Frost Giant incarnation of Chaos. God of Mischief, Chaos, and Lies. Friend of Hoenir. Associated with fire and feels when lies have been uttered. In mythology, blood brother of Odin, destroyer of the gods, and bringer of Ragnarok.

Magi – Son of Thor and his lover, the Frost Giantess and queen, Jarnsaxa.

Mimir – The severed head of Jotunn, animated by Odin. Knowledgeable about all things magical.

Mjolnir – Thor’s hammer. A gift for Loki offered in reparation for cutting Sif’s hair.

Modi – Son of Thor and his lover, the Frost Giantess and queen, Jarnsaxa.

Mr. Squeakers – A venomous spidermouse given to Amy by Loki. Hoenir used spidermice to eat cockroaches that invaded his hut.

Nari – One of Loki’s sons by Sigyn. According to Loki, “the incarnation of democracy.”

Njord – Vanir, father of Freyr and Freyja. Associated with the sea. Married for a short time to Skadi. His father was the leader of the Vanir before he was slain by Odin.

Norns – Watchers of fate, compared to the three fates in Greek mythology. Powerful enchantresses.

Odin – King of the Aesir, and leader of the Nine Realms. Also known as the Allfather. His magic lies in preservation. Willing to sacrifice his own son for the benefit of the Nine Realms.

Ord – Husband of Freyja.

Prometheus – In Greek myth, the titan that gave fire to mankind. In modern times, the FBI’s source for information on all things magical and Promethean wire.

Promethean wire – Magic-conducting wire. Any magical being or object placed in an unbroken sphere of Promethean wire will have its magic blocked; it blocks the eyes of Heimdall. A sufficient magical charge to Promethean wire can cause a tear in space time.

Pru – Thor’s daughter by Sif.

Ragnarok – “Twilight of the Gods,” variously interpreted as the end of the world or the end of gods.

Ratatoskr – Gossiping and extremely powerful magical squirrel. Servant of the Norns.

Rind – Jotunn princess and enchantress, daughter of King Billings. Raped by Odin after the death of Baldur.

Sif – Wife of Thor. Associated with fertility and harvest. Her long golden hair was famously snipped off by Loki.

Sigyn – Asgardian, friend of Angrboða. Sigyn became Loki’s wife after Angrboða died.

Skadi – Native of Jotunheim and one of Loki’s former lovers. Her father was the giant that built Asgard’s great wall; he was killed unfairly by the Asgardians. Seeking vengeance for his death, Skadi came to Asgard. She agreed to forgive the Aesir if one of their number could make her laugh, and if she had her choice of Asgardian men for a husband. She chose Njord, father of Freyr and Freyja, and God of the Sea. Loki was able to make her laugh.

Skirnir – A powerful enchanter and servant of Frey. Skirnir blackmailed Gerðr into marrying Frey.

Sleipnir – Odin’s eight-legged steed. Sleipnir is the son of one of Loki’s mare incarnations and Svaðilfari, the stallion that helped the giant build Asgard’s wall.

Thor – Son of Odin and an unknown giantess. Carries the hammer Mjolnir that makes lightning and summons storms. Associated with strength, healing, industry, and fertility.

Ullr – Son of Sif by an unknown father, adopted by Thor. Became Skadi’s second husband.

Valli – Son of Loki and Sigyn, twin of Nari. According to Loki, he would be the “incarnation of armed rebellion.”

Valkyries – Winged women warriors of Asgard.

Vanir – A person from Vanaheim.

World Seed – A being of nearly infinite power. It called itself Cera. Tricked by Loki into destroying itself in the In-Between.

World Gate – Any place where the fabric of space time is weak and allows travel between realms.

World Tree – Also called Yggdrasil. In Norse mythology, the “tree of life” and the connection between the realms. A way of describing the universe, the worlds within it, and the connection between worlds.