Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

        Loki opened his eyes, which somehow ached. Every part of his body ached, as a matter of fact.

        He also couldn’t move. At first, he found himself panicking, and then the survival instincts he had managed to develop since the fall kicked in, and he stilled himself while he waited for his senses to agree with each other.

        Start with the simple things. Where was he? He remembered his return to Asgard, his trial pending – he remembered it all, too well in fact, and quickly shut it out even as he felt his stomach begin to turn over; swiftly, like snuffing out a taper-

         And then…that night. He swallowed and kept his breathing steady, heart thundering in his ears.

        And then Thor and his band of fools – the Asgardian band of fools; he’d have two sets now, wouldn’t he – hustling him out of the palace in secret as the guards and gates beat back the affront, and bringing him…somewhere. How had Heimdall or Odin or…no, no, now he remembered; it was Frigga. Frigga had seen this place; could not tell them exactly what about it she had seen of course, but she had insisted it would be safe. Her and Loki’s (restored) power had been just enough to get them here.

         Wherever “here” was. He couldn’t remember the words Frigga had used.

        His vision swam, and now it was focusing slowly. The place in which he was lying – some indoor space; he could make out a ceiling above his head – was dimly lit.

        But someone was standing over him.

        He observed her, still silent and willing himself motionless, as his eyes adjusted slowly. She had a slight flush to her round cheeks, and a nest of thick, bushy, voluminous black hair that had been styled but was now coming undone. Light blue eyes staring at him (but not into his eyes) under heavy, dark lashes and long, arching brows. Pink-red lips, painted-looking. An expression that could be described as…intense.

        She was…petite, but…not thin. Were he not trying to keep himself from panicking completely or going into a rage, Loki's mind would have likely found the details of the girl's form more interesting.

        More importantly at this moment, though, she was armed.

        It appeared to be…he couldn’t stop the frown of confusion.

        It was a sword. A saber.

        Made of light.

        Loki Laufeyson? He jerked as he heard the unfamiliar voice in his mind. It was almost sound – almost. Was it her?

        Yes, this is me. Hi. I mean, hello. Funny, I thought you might look more like Tom Hiddleston. She looked momentarily distracted. A strange thing happened to her body; for a moment it moved loosely, slowly, like a bedsheet hung out to dry, twisting in a nonexistent breeze. Then, she seemed to check herself, and it passed. But that’s all right. The important thing – the thing I want you to do right now – is just not panic. All right, Loki? Just don’t panic.     

       The strange, telepathic Midgardian’s fiery blade sliced, like a hot knife through butter, through the ropes binding Loki’s wrists and ankles to what appeared to be a heavy wooden table. His limbs felt stiff and numb from the lack of movement and blood circulation, but he managed to stumble off the table and onto the creaking floor, spitting out the rag that had been stuffed in his mouth. “Where am I? What’s happened to me?”

        A group of teenage devil-worshippers had you. They were going to make you a human sacrifice – well, a sacrifice, anyway. The girl raised her blade cautiously, scanning the room. Loki could see that she wore touches of jewelry and the kind of impractical clothes, made of fine cloth and now somewhat roughed-up, that no sensible person wore into battle. I wonder where she was originally headed? What would have happened to me if she hadn’t stopped?

       Were you out walking in the woods? she asked him now.

        “Yes. It’s where I arrived in this realm. Shouldn’t I have been?” Thor and his warriors had ultimately had to turn back in order to help quell the violence back in Asgard; Loki was fully capable of finding a Midgardian town on his own. He didn’t need to be escorted through a forest, like a frightened child.

       Or so he had thought.

        That probably did it. If you’re a stranger here, walking through the woods alone is…well, it’s generally a bad idea. Even if they hadn’t ambushed you, someone would have attacked you.

        “Why did those…whatever you called them, the worshippers of some sort – why were they trying to ‘sacrifice’ me?”

       They’re devil-worshippers. They’re a trope here. It’s what they do. The girl knelt slowly, achingly, and picked a small, clear bottle up off the floor. Except…huh.

        “What?” Loki demanded.         

       Nothing. No offense, but you wouldn’t understand. She rose slowly and turned toward the room’s double doors. Freddy?

       She and Loki both flinched as the doors burst open. A man crashed through them, dragging in one hand what looked like a hysterical young Midgardian in a cheap-looking black robe.

       Loki stared unabashedly at him. The man was wiry and dressed in some strange garb, even for a human, including a ragged-looking striped knit shirt and a hat. On the surface of it, he was almost comical, especially considering he stood several inches – at least – shorter than Loki. The only things that detracted from the comedy were the man’s face – Loki didn’t like to look at it for too long; the man appeared to have some kind of burn scarring, which covered his face completely and was frankly disturbing – and his weapon. It appeared to be some kind of glove with a metal blade attached to each finger. It was currently blood-covered. Part of Loki admired the ingenuity of it as an invention; the other part of him was suddenly filled with disgust and the urge to run away.

        The man noticed him staring and stood back. “See anything you like, Snow White?”

       Loki drew himself up. “I am Loki of Asgard, and”-

        “That’s nice.” He turned to the girl. “Is this seriously the reason we stopped?”

        The girl shrugged expressively. The Force said it was important!

       “The Force? It’s some kind of mystical energy-thing, isn’t it? How the fuck does it fucking talk”-

        It just does. Freddy, look at this. The girl held up the bottle. The man paused to peer down at it with sudden, surprising focus.

        “That label, though…” he remarked finally.

        The girl nodded. Exactly.

       “But they’re a – what are devil-worshippers doing with”- The man paused again. Then, he hauled the still-whimpering teenager in the robe up by his lapels until they were eye-to-eye. “What the fuck do a bunch of Satanists need holy water for, anyway?”

        The boy gulped. “I keep – I keep trying to tell you…um, sir. We’re – we’re not S-Satanists.”

        “But I know you little bastards, you’re always getting together and pulling shit like”- The man’s would-be brow knit. “Then what the hell were you doing with him?” He indicated Loki.

        “W-we were told to be on the l-lookout for s-strange p-people. P-pale p-people. P-pale, n-not-h-human people. T-they’re demons from Hell. W-we were going to send him back.”

        Who told you to be on the lookout for ‘pale demons from Hell’? the girl asked him. Who gave you this? She held up the bottle.

        The boy glanced up at the man, Freddy, and Loki saw him swallow hard. “The – they call themselves, um… ‘S-slayers’”-

        The Vampire Slayers’ Guild? asked the girl sharply.

       The boy frowned. “N-n-no, they just said they were s-slayers, they didn’t tell us they were after the vampires – we’d never – I mean, I went to school with – we’d never do that”-

       “Well, what the hell did you think ‘pale nonhuman people’ meant”- began Freddy.

        Are they here?  the girl asked the still-sniveling boy. The Slayers? Do you know if they’re still in the Dead Zone?

        He shook his head. “We don’t know. We haven’t seen them since they gave us our supplies. About a week ago, I think.”

         The girl nodded. Loki saw her slip the bottle into the small, beaded black handbag slung across her chest. Okay. We should go before someone discovers the mess. Come on, Loki.

        Loki drew himself up. “First I intend to avenge myself upon these mortal filth who dared lay hands upon my person”-

        No, you’re coming with us right now. The girl walked to the door and then turned back to look at them. You both know I’m right. If the Slayers are around, we have to get somewhere safer.

        “’Somewhere safer.’ Used to be this whole place was ‘somewhere safer,’” Freddy muttered angrily, throwing the unfortunate Midgardian to the floor. “That’s its whole point. Sweet dreams, kid,” he growled down at the boy before following the girl through the remains of the doors.

        Loki sneered at him. “I took you for a warrior, at least of sorts,” said his mouth, not entirely at his bidding, somewhat more harshly than he had intended. “You let a mere maiden turn you from victory?”

        Freddy turned and glared at him. “Just temporarily,” he replied at last. “And I don’t like your tone.”

        And excuse you, added the girl. I'm no ‘maiden.’ Not anymore.

       “And I’m supposed to simply trust you?” Loki snapped at her. “I was forced to flee my home to this strange world, and then I was attacked and overpowered, I know not how, and now you expect me to accompany you to some unknown location and I don’t even know your name”-

       Aoife. The girl retracted her blade back into its hilt and folded her arms. I’m Aoife Palpatine. Or Darth Sarysis, if you’d prefer. This is Fred Krueger. Now, if you’re done being such a neurotypical about it, can we go, please?

They staggered out the double doors and down some creaking stairs; the girl, Aoife, supporting Loki, who found himself oddly…surprised at the amount of blood and gore splattered on the cracked walls. He realized he had never seen ordinary humans fight before – he’d obviously seen Thor’s new band of freaks in action in that other city, but they had been obviously superhuman, and frankly much…neater.

        “Did you do this?” he demanded of Aoife, turning his head and catching an accidental whiff of the scent she was wearing. It smelled like some strange combination of sandalwood and something floral, and was actually quite pleasant. “Or was it him?” He indicated Freddy.

        She took a few moments to respond, concentrating on foot placement and on navigating them both around the less-sturdy looking parts of each rather narrow step. Not really. My lightsaber cauterizes as it cuts, so there’s no blood.

        “A kind weapon,” he sneered.

        Well, I don’t know. I mean, it’s still a flaming-hot blade that’s cutting off a part of your body, said the girl coolly, pulling Loki down onto what was apparently the ground floor and walking them out the door. Nonchalantly, as if she did this sort of thing all the time.

        Another unconscious shiver went down Loki’s spine.

        Loki was somewhat familiar with Midgardian transport, able to recall easily the “truck” from last time. This transport was in a similar vein – four wheels, and expelling the same fumes – but it was smaller, and more brightly-colored, even garish; red, with what looked like a red-and-brown-green-striped roof. It also looked far rustier. Loki eyed it suspiciously.

        The man, Freddy, caught him at it. “Well, sorry, but the limo was at the shop.” He opened one of the doors with a sneer. “Come on. In the back.”

        The back seat was cramped, low-ceilinged, and Loki scowled as he watched the shorter Aoife climbing into one of the two more generous front seats. Loki, she asked him without turning around, in the back seat next to you is-

        -And an image came to his mind, of what looked like a black staff with silver embellishments, the top portion or head of which appeared to be missing. Looking to his right, Loki could see it leaning against the seat-

        -Could you pass it up to me, please?

        “Why not sit with your own possessions?” Loki grumbled, partly to distract himself from the rapidly germinating anxiety in the pit of his stomach, as the initial adrenaline of his rescue wore off and he began to consider his situation. He was lost in an unfamiliar realm, alone, and in the clutches of two unknown, bizarre, dangerous individuals. He knew he was speaking too freely – dangerously – but suddenly he felt too exhausted to care.

        His back hit the seat-back hard, head grazing the ceiling, as Freddy reached back from the front seat, shoving him back and pinning him down. Loki looked down and saw the blades of the man’s glove in front of his face, the point of one just inches from his eye. “Why don’t you shut the hell up?”

        Freddy, I don’t care, Aoife sighed. He didn’t know. Let’s just get out of here.

        Dealing Loki a death glare, Freddy snatched the walking stick and turned back around, handing the staff to Aoife, who fastened the hilt of her “lightsaber” onto it with strangely trembling, halting fingers, until Loki could not tell that they had ever been separate objects. Continuing to glower at Loki through the small mirror at the front of the vehicle, the man started the car.

         Freddy was anything but slow and cautious when it came to driving his vehicle, and they drove with the panes of glass that covered the windows lowered. For a while Loki simply sat, enjoying the sensation of the night air blowing over him. Up front, Aoife fiddled with some knobs and dials on the console, and the vehicle’s cabin filled with music. It was faster and wilder, even harsher, than the music of Asgard, a cacophony of instruments he couldn’t even name, and Loki felt it running through his blood, working together with their speed and the wind to excite him, even to allow him to forget his current circumstances. The tempo and volume of the song was such that he could not decipher most of the lyrics, but he did catch one phrase that was repeated throughout, like a mantra: “A burning house of love…”

        The song ended, and Aoife turned a knob that seemed to decrease the music-player’s volume. What were you wondering?

        “What? Didn’t know I said anything.”

       You didn’t, but you wanted to ask me something. You were waiting for the song to end because you like that song.

        “So do you.”

       Well…yes, I do. She sounded slightly surprised.

        “You know, it’s kind of creepy when you do that. In my head.”

        Oh, when I do it?

        He laughed raspingly. “Well, yeah. ‘Cause you’re not me.”

        So?

       “Only I’m allowed to look into people’s heads.”

        Oh, is that how it works?

        “Yep.”

        Well, anyway, you were going to ask me something.

        “Yeah – where’d you get the idea for your walking stick? Been wondering that since I first saw you take the lightsaber out of it.”

        The samurai swords from Kill Bill. I wanted the casing to look like one of those hilts. Although looking back on it, that might be cultural appropriation, which isn’t good. But I suppose it’s too late now. Maybe I’ll get it altered to look different now. And I’ve got an actual, metal blade in it, too... Also, those canes you read about sometimes that have swords inside them. I just always thought those were cool.

        “Wait, so it’s always had sword blades in it?”

       That’s right. It’s actually got three – there’s a very skinny dagger blade in the lightsaber hilt, and the lightsaber hilt screws into the hilt of the metal sword. The rest of it is just the scabbard.

       “So those times you were using it as a crutch back when you and Crys were in school, it still had swords in it.”

       Well…yes.

       “So you were carrying around concealed weapons. On a daily basis. Including when you were getting messed with in the halls. And when you went to your one class period in the reta- in the resource room.”

       Maybe.

       That laugh again. It was like fingernails on the chalkboard of Loki’s ears. “Hell, yeah.”

       I mean, I know you never had the knife-glove too far away while you were working there-

       “Did I say I had a problem with it? I think that’s great.”

       There was a long, yet not uncomfortable silence. Then, So what do we do now?

        “I was gonna ask you. This little side-trip was your idea.”

        Well, we could still go up to the Lonely. He looks hungry…I can pay for him.

        “I’ve got money.”

        I never said you didn’t. I just thought maybe you didn’t want to also take him out. Besides, I was going to pay for myself tonight anyway.

        “Feminists.” Freddy shifted. “No, you’re right, we can head up there. After all, you did get all...dressed up.”

        Oh, shut up, my clothes are bloody and my skirt got torn when I stepped on it and my hair is-

       “Yeah, but it’s ‘cause you were fighting and killing people and stuff. That makes it…cool.”

       I wish it worked like that. For women, anyway.

       “That’s how it works for anyone who’s not an idiot. And yeah, don't say it, I know, that word is ‘ableist’… So after we eat, what do we do with him?” Loki felt himself tense up. His ears strained over the vehicle, music, and wind to hear.

       I thought maybe Arianrod and the McAshtons. They always have an extra bed. If we bring him to Annie’s, he’ll have to sleep on the couch and he’d probably be insulted if we asked him to do that.

        “You're really asking me to go there? That house?”

        What? I thought Arianrod was a friend of yours.

        “What?…Well, actually, yeah, I guess she is. That’s…weird. Huh…well, yeah, it’s not because of Arianrod.”

       Why, then?

       “Ranulf. Ranulf McAshton.”

       What do you mean?

       “Eh, he doesn’t like me and I don’t like him.”

       But you usually don’t care about that. I mean, it normally doesn’t stop you from going where you want to go.

        “Look…I’ll explain later. In fact, just look inside my head and you’ll find it. I just don’t feel like telling the story right now, okay?”

       But I also want to show Arianrod the vial. She needs to know, and she’ll let Bob and everyone else know, too. Which they should. After all, aren’t the Slayers no longer officially limiting themselves to vampires anymore? Everyone could be in danger.

       “Okay,” he growled. “Maybe you’re right. Fine. We’ll go there.”

       Freddy?

      “What?”

       I also had another idea.

       “What?”

       Maybe the next time you’re dreamstalking, you know, outside the Dead Zone, you could sort of…check people’s minds? Their memories? Just to see if they’ve seen or heard anything about the Slayers?

       “I might choose to take a glance at that.”

       It wouldn’t be anything scientific, just a general check.

       “I think that is very doable.” A pause. “I might need a little convincing, though.”

       Yes, I thought you might say that…We can talk more about it later.

       Freddy glanced back at Loki, the light from the vehicle’s glowing front-lamps glistening (to Loki, grotesquely) on his raw, uneven features. “Yeah. Later.”

        It appeared to be a tavern of some sort. Inside it was dark, the windows being small and spaced far between, set with panes of red, green, blue, and amber-colored glass. The walls and mismatched furniture were made of a drab, dark brown wood, and everything showed a certain amount of wear and tear, as if it had been knocked around many times and had simply stopped making an effort at looking anything other than beaten up. Loki also saw, almost immediately, the layer of grime over just about everything.

        A man stood behind the large, wooden, circular counter that sat at the center of the tavern’s main room. He was fairly large and muscular, a bit woodsman-like in a flannel shirt and canvas trousers, but with strangely pale skin that seemed discordant with his “outdoorsman” persona. The sort of rather jolly man who did not actively seek out trouble, but wouldn’t hesitate to deal with it when it came looking for him. Perhaps a calmer, more mature version of Thor. As they drew up to the counter, Loki was faintly surprised at the man’s eyes – red; that was an unusual color for humans, wasn’t it? – and ears, which were faintly pointy, elflike.

        Beside him, Aoife had slowed. He knew she was growing physically exhausted; she had had some difficulty climbing the steps up to the front door, going slowly and hanging onto both railings, allowing both him and Freddy up ahead of her. I’m tired, she had told him brusquely, after reaching the top of the steps, and Loki already knew better than to press her.

        For a moment, she simply stood near them, eyes flicking around the room, still bright with interest despite her allegedly depleted energy level. Then, she seemed to come back to the moment. Oh, sorry, Mr. Svensen. Mr. Svensen, this is Loki. He’s a…visitor up here, from another world.

        Loki expected the Midgardian man – human, or whatever he was – to act skeptical, or at least surprised by this, but Svensen was nodding as if this was a story he heard every night of the week. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Loki.” Loki found he had neither the energy nor the inclination to do more than nod guardedly. The barman added, “Nice to see you again, Aoife. You too, Fred. And Aoife, I’ve told you a million times, you can call me Sven. Everyone else does.”

       Loki, this is Mr. Svensen – well, this is Sven, continued Aoife, fumbling momentarily over the sudden change in formality. Sven Svensen. He runs the Lonely Heart – that’s this cantina here. Mr. Svensen? I mean-

        Sven waved it away. “It’s fine either way, Aoife.”

       Oh. Thanks. I’m sorry. Thank you. Aoife shook her head. Anyway, could we please have a table for three?

       “Coming right up.”

       As was to be expected on Midgard, this tavern – the “Lonely Heart” – did not have mead, but Loki was secretly glad of this; any amount of alcohol and he’d probably start snoring where he sat. Now, sipping the non-alcoholic beverage Aoife had haphazardly ordered for him because she claimed he needed the sugar – apparently it was called “Pepsi,” – he looked across the booth at the two of them. “Where am I?” he demanded.

        Freddy had been sitting back slightly diagonally in the booth, watching Loki from under the brim of his hat. He took a sip of his beer. “You’re welcome for saving your life.”

       “Please. Their Midgardian weapons could not have harmed me.”

       “I wouldn’t bet on that. We got some pretty dangerous weapons, out here.” Curiosity piqued, Loki waited to see if he would elaborate. But instead the repulsive man grinned and added rather quickly, “I mean, on Earth. Like the Incredible Hulk, for instance.” Beside him, Aoife could not contain a snort of laughter, which turned into a small coughing fit, as she had been drinking from her water-glass at the time. Krueger had to slap her on the back several times.

        Loki felt his face and ears growing hot and pink, even as he tried not to smirk at how Aoife was repaid for her merriment at his expense. But how could they know? About…that? What manner of strange and evil realm was this? Perhaps the Allfather had sent him here on purpose, for greater punishment. Or perhaps this was all some illusion of the Allfather’s magic, for the purposes of Loki’s torment and humiliation before the Aesir. “I am afraid I know not which being - I presume it is a being - you are referring to. What is this ‘hulk’?”

        “A big angry green guy in magically expanding shorts,” Freddy sniggered. “Who pounded the living shit out of you about a half-dozen times in a row. You know, the entire audience laughed when that happened? Especially that little noise you were making afterward. That was my favorite part of the whole damn movie. That and when Bob Junior or whatever his name was”-

         Robert Downey Jr., Aoife piped up helpfully, having recovered somewhat.

        “Yeah, Robert Downey Jr. – when he flew through the portal and nuked the hell out of the aliens, that wasn’t bad either.”

        The odious man knew of the defeat of the Chitauri, as well. Somehow.

        Loki stared at him.

        Aoife leaned forward. I think I’d better ‘explain you a thing,’ she told Loki. As we say on Tumblr. Beside her, Krueger groaned at the word “Tumblr,” and Loki wondered what a fearsome place this ‘Tumblr’ must be to elicit such a reaction.

        Now, Loki stared at her. At both of them. He no longer ached. He felt more tired than ever, but somehow the anxiety was feeding him a sort of energy. “You are telling me this world is not real.”

        Well no, not exactly-

        “And my world – my world is not real either.”

        No. Both these worlds are real. Or at least, as real as each other. All the worlds have about the same level of objective realness, Aoife explained. But they’re a bit like…well, you don’t know what Russian dolls are, but these worlds are sort of…layered inside each other, in terms of how real we perceive them to be. Except the layers aren’t really layers, exactly – they’re not so linear in terms of how they’re layered. So to speak. She rubbed her temples hard, frustrated at her own inability to articulate the concept.

        And…and in each of our worlds, we see other worlds, but we see them as…stories. Books, plays, legends, even mythology. Our minds are more perceptive than our five senses, so we perceive these other realities as ideas, for creative projects, for worldbuilding, which then leads us to create art that describes the world to others. Then they begin to believe it, too. The more people believe – the more they think about the story, the more they care about it and interact with it – the more of their energy is focused on that world – that reality. So the connection between the realities gets stronger. And if you can see the connection, and you have power, then sometimes you can cross over from one to another. That’s what you did tonight. You came out of your home reality and into ours – I mean, this one. She paused. That’s what most people think, anyway. The other theory is that as a person creates the story, the reality is actually born – but most experts don’t think that one is very likely.

        Loki fought the urge to rest his head on the table. “And in this realm – this ‘reality’ – mine is the ‘story.’ And you all know it.”

        Some of us more than others. And some parts more than others. But yes.

        “What would happen if I were to…view this story, as well?”

        There isn’t an actual rule against it. But it’s not considered a good idea in most cases. It won’t help you escape your fate, anyway. Trying to avoid something happening can even cause it to happen, in some cases. We call that the ‘Vader effect,’ after my uncle. The universe will sort of…snap back, regardless of what you do.

       “And who makes these ‘rules’?” Loki demanded.

        Witches, Aoife explained. Probably not the kind you have in stories on Asgard. They just seem to crop up in all the stories – all the worlds – in some form. People who have special power and just seem to know what’s going on. They discovered most of this, originally.

        “Has he seen his story?” Loki asked rather petulantly, indicating Krueger.

        Krueger nodded. “Yep. But it’s nothing that special. Pretty normal slasher stuff. I die a lot.”

        “You what?”

        “Like…six times so far, I think. Maybe more. And I kill people. Mostly obnoxious teenagers. Of course, I could’ve told you all that about my story anyway, even before I knew all this magical-physics crap about the universe. After a while, you just start seeing stuff about your life - so to speak, you know - repeating itself, and soon you know what’s coming next. It’s why I came up here, instead of staying where I was.” He grinned. “I was always good at noticing the weird shit people always miss.”

        Loki sagged, his glimmer of hope gone. Who knew what valuable knowledge could have come from a Norn’s-eye view of his own life? “I don’t suppose I’ll ever be able to return to my… ‘home reality?’”

        Oh, of course you can. Aoife frowned. It’s not too hard to learn how to do. Why wouldn’t you be able to?

        “I just assumed that…the ‘connection’ must have closed.”

         No, it’s a very strong connection, and it's constant. I don’t think it’ll ever close. They don’t close much, anyway. It’s very rare.

         “And which reality are we in now?”

        This place exists within a reality that someone named Stephen King writes a lot about. But it combines several similar realities. It is partly in that reality, but also…partly not. It contains bridges between them, places where accessing the connections are easier. So that people from those realities can come here, to the Dead Zone. Or some people call it Reality X.

       “And why would they want to do that?”

       So that they can…start over. Loki found the answer surprising, for some reason. He supposed he had expected something…grander. More complex, perhaps.

         Krueger cleared his throat. “I’m gonna go ask Sven about the food. Let me out, Aoife.”

          We should switch seats. You get up more than I do. He agreed as she slid out of the booth to let him out, and then slid back in.

         Loki leaned toward her. “Who are you?” he hissed. “Both of you?”

        You should ask Freddy so he can tell you himself. She leaned back. It’s hard to explain. Well…I guess it isn’t. He’s an undead custodian who kills people in their dreams. Simple. She looked as if she wanted to say more, but didn’t.

        “Actually, no. There is nothing ‘simple’ about that at all.”

        Well, that’s who he is, she snapped, suddenly testy. Well…yeah. She looked down at her hands, which were tense and trembling faintly, like falcons eager to escape the perch and hood, and clasped them tightly on the table.

        Loki felt a momentary stab of pity. “Is he…” he lowered his voice, not entirely certain how to proceed here. “Is he hurting you?”

       She looked back up at him (at the bridge of his nose, anyway), eyes flashing. No! It’s not like that at all!

       “Sorry.” He shifted. “Who are you?”

       She fidgeted for a moment, sipping her water. At last, she replied, Aoife Palpatine. Or Darth Sarysis. Did I already say that? Yes, I did. Damn… I’m not from this reality, either. I came here two years ago to attend the school for my last two years before university, to become more independent and because I had to leave my old school. But that's all right; I hated it there. I’m nineteen standard years old. I like to read and write and dance and listen to music and watch television and use the ‘internet’ and have sex. And think, too, I suppose, although not right now. I might be inheriting a throne from my mother back home, although that’s very uncertain at the moment. I’m a Sith in terms of my religion, I don’t know what my political affiliation is right now, and I’m female, disabled, autistic, and fat.

        Loki supposed he should say something. “Oh, you aren’t really”-

       Fat? Yes, I am. I usually weigh around eighty-one kilograms, and very few people in this media or the one back home look like me; most commercially sold, mass-produced clothing doesn’t fit me, and when I’m on Earth, people come up to me sometimes and give me tips on how to ‘slim down,’ or see me training or doing my PT exercises and mention how wonderful it is that I’m ‘getting active,’ when in fact I’ve been ‘active’ my entire life. I've had no choice; if I don't practice my skills and exercise my muscle tone, I lose them. It’s easier for me than for people who are very large, of course, but I am a fat person.

       “Oh.” Loki wasn't sure how to respond. “And…have you ever learned your own story?”

       I don’t have one. Aoife took another sip. I’m an OC. An ‘original character.’ Or something like. I think it’s a similar situation, anyway. I’m not in my reality’s story as it’s written; neither is my mother, or my sister, or my grandmother. She pursed her lips in a mirthless half-smile. For all I know, I might be a Mary Sue.

       “What is a ‘Mary Sue’?”

       Never mind. You don’t want to know. The stigma around them is a bit misogynistic, anyway. She shook her head. I’m sorry. I get morose as I get more tired and overloaded.

        Loki nodded. He’d already decided to puzzle through it all later. He was in no immediate danger – they had saved him and they were feeding him, after all - as long as he was able to keep his temper in check. He wasn’t sure why he had indulged himself and snapped at Krueger before; it was an extremely poor decision, in hindsight.

        But he might as well ask one more question. “So…he and you. Someone like you…someone like him…there must be something of a story there.”

        That’s personal.

        Loki could feel his mouth slipping from his control again. “Is he very romantic in private, then? Aside from the matter of ‘killing people in their sleep,’ of course”-

        Her face was stoic, if downturned toward her hands again. We’re not…romantic. We’re…do you know what ‘friends with benefits’ means? It means we just…get together. For sex. Because we want to. We’re not ‘in love’ or anything like that. She paused. Incidentally, if you ever tell anyone about us, Freddy will kill you. If I don’t do it first. I mean it. It’s not just about our egos. It’s important.

        Loki nodded as Krueger returned to the booth. “Very well. I understand.” And despite himself, he did. Some affairs, when revealed, were only a scandal. Others…others could be far worse than that. He shivered semi-consciously as the memory began to resurface, before he pushed it away.   

      The house, coming into view as they drove down the winding path through the trees, had probably looked large, grand, and beautiful when it was built. Now…at least it still looked large, Loki thought. It was the sort of building (“gothic,” he would later learn, was the word) that must have initially been “tall,” with a tapering pointed roof, high narrow windows, and a turret on its left side. But it looked as if it had been built out, even in the light of the car’s front lamps – on either side, additions had been tacked on, looking very slightly off-kilter and homemade. “Why have they done all that to it?” Loki blurted out.

        It’s a big family, Aoife explained. And they’ve pretty much all lived on this land since their ancestors came here. They can’t all fit in the one house anymore; some of them live in cabins and mobile homes in the yard. But a lot of them live in the house. They had to make it bigger.

        “You take him and the holy water in," Freddy told her. “I’ll just wait out here. Arianrod wants to see me, tell her to come out.”

        The girl who opened the door couldn’t have been much older than Aoife. Despite the lateness of the hour, she looked chipper, if nervous, and was dressed primly in a flowered blouse buttoned up all the way, her long, dark hair braided down her back. Like Sven, her eyes (which reminded Loki of Hogun's) were red and her ears looked faintly pointed. She started as she saw who it was; Loki got the impression she was expecting someone else. “Oh – um – hi, Aoife. Come on in.” She paused, looking down at the hints of blood on Aoife’s dress. “Are you okay? Oh. Good.”

       For some reason, Loki had been expecting a stately, gloomy, cavernous interior from the McAshton house – a great deal of emptiness and silence, populated by ornate, antique furniture and wall hangings of some somber brocade; perhaps candles and a few well-cultivated cobwebs.

        He felt an odd but keen sense of narrative disappointment as he followed Aoife into the relatively bright, warm light. Watch your step, Aoife told him, and indeed, Loki nearly tripped twice over a number of small figurines. He took a moment to study one. It appeared to be a kind of turtle or tortoise, anthropomorphized somewhat and, inexplicably, armed to the teeth. Its coloring and rubbery, rigid yet light material designated it as a probable child’s toy. Loki wondered why Midgardian children might find turtle warriors exciting, and resigned himself to incomprehension.

        The house and its occupants did not match up. The house was as one might imagine – stately and high-ceilinged, its only discordant notes the frilly white curtains, and some brightly-colored, patterned paper plastered over some of its walls. But the furniture was simply a disgrace, in Loki’s opinion – it looked functional, comfortable, and much-used.

        They stopped and sat in the parlor, the sounds of small beings running on the floors above their heads filling the silence. “Would you guys like anything to drink?” the red-eyed girl asked. “Or eat, or anything?”

        No thanks, Orla, Aoife told her. We ate before we came. And…my ride’s waiting for me out on the driveway, so I shouldn’t stay too long.

       “It’s Fred Krueger, isn’t it?” Orla asked quietly. “Your ride?”

       Well…yes.

       “Wait a moment,” Loki demanded. “You told me I must tell no one about you and…him.”

        So?

       “This girl knows the alleged ‘secret’! How many others do, too?”

       Aoife sighed. Around here, plenty of people. But not my family back home. And they may come here to visit me, so if you could just refrain from talking about it to anyone, Loki, that would be welcome. She turned back to Orla. I’m sorry.

       “I don’t really mind. It was awhile ago. I was just…thinking about you. Both of you.” Orla shifted. “I wish you could stay longer, Aoife, honestly. I mean…I just have some…questions.”

       Loki barely stifled his snort at Aoife’s bewildered face. Well…that’s a bit…personal, Orla…

       “Not about you two…together. I mean, just about…how do you do it?”

       What?

       Orla blushed pink. “Well…date someone. Or see someone, I mean. Just…decide to. Without anyone else having to know. Even…even if it’s someone sort of…like…not the usual kind of person you’re supposed to like.” Her fingers played with a little, glittering pendant about her neck, which was shaped like a sort of top-heavy cross, with two smaller beams intersecting its main post at its top and bottom.

       A long silence, and then Aoife shrugged rather awkwardly. Well…I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it. And it’s late…at least for me.

       “Oh, right. Sorry.”

       It’s all right, but I need to see Arianrod. And Ranulf, if possible. I have…news, and someone who needs a place to stay. She rummaged in her handbag a moment, and out of the corner of his eye, Loki saw her slip Orla something that fit in the palm of the girl’s hand. Orla put it away quickly, as if afraid of being seen with it.

        “Arianrod” turned out to be Arianrod Tasini, a harried-looking young human woman with dark skin, sharp features, catlike green eyes, and deep brown hair. She was easily one of the largest people Loki had ever seen, possibly larger than Volstagg. He looked down, flushing pink briefly, embarrassed at how his eyes lingered on her figure. Arianrod didn’t seem to notice. “Hey, Aoife. Orla said you needed to see me?”

        That’s right. Loki here needs a place to stay. And there’s this. Aoife pulled out the small bottle and handed it to Arianrod. The people who had Loki captive – the teen coven down in Derry – had it. They claim the Slayers gave it to them when they deputized them.

        Arianrod blanched. “The Slayers are back? Fuck, just in time for the”-

        Yes, the talks. Do you think that’s intentional? On the Slayers’ part, I mean?

       “I wouldn’t be surprised. Which means they’re either nabbing people and torturing them, or they have informers within the inner circles of at least one of the camps. If not both. Shit.”

       It is…convenient, Aoife remarked thoughtfully. Dangerous and bad, of course, but convenient. For these talks. I mean, it provides a possible unifier for both sides.

       “True, but I don’t think it’s intentional.” She lowered her voice. “Ranulf or Zaleska might consider it – that’s not likely, but it’s just about possible – but they’re both too invested in the safety of their people to run the risk.”

       But Aro-

       “Nah; he’s not invested enough in actually achieving peace,” Arianrod headed her off cynically. “Besides, he’d never have the stones to risk his own neck like that.”

       Loki felt rather forgotten; he cleared his throat. “Excuse me – what ‘talks’ would these be?” The information could be useful later; one side might reveal itself as amenable to an alliance with him.

       Arianrod blinked. “Oh. Yeah. Hi, Loki, nice to meet you,” she intoned belatedly. “I’m Arianrod Tasini. I’m the local witch and my husband is the McAshton heir. Sorry, yeah, the ‘talks’ are these peace negotiations that are going to be happening up here between Countess Zaleska Drakulya of the Szekely tribe and Aro Volturi, who isn’t officially ‘of’ any tribe, but who leads the ‘Neofeudal’ movement. It’s a vampire thing – the vampires are a species we have here, everyone here but me is a vampire in fact – and it’s political and stuff. I’ll explain it to you if you ask me tomorrow afternoon when I’m more awake. Anyway, my father-in-law Ranulf is mediating the talks, so they’re happening here.” She stopped, presumably for breath. “Anyway, Loki, Orla said you ate already, right? Why don’t you come up and meet him, and we can figure out where there’s a spare bed. And I can take a look at that head wound. In fact, we should probably get you an appointment with our doctor or our nurse in town for tomorrow, although you seem okay.” She paused. “Speaking of Annie, are you okay getting home, Aoife? Or…wherever you want to go?”

        Yes, Freddy’s out waiting for me in the car. He…didn’t want to freak anyone out. Aoife turned toward the door. Goodnight, Arianrod. Goodnight, Loki. I’ll probably see you around.

       “Wait!” Loki demanded, trying to sound commanding rather than panicky. “You intend simply to leave me here?”

        These are good people. They have people stay with them a lot, when they have nowhere else to go. You’ll be okay, Aoife said rather shortly, and stepped carefully down onto the porch. Goodnight.

        “Everything go okay with whatever-his-name-was?” asked Freddy when she got back to the car.

        He seems all right. And I think staying with the McAshtons will do him good. I feel like it’ll…open his mind a little, you know?

        “I think I see what you’re getting at, sure.” She slid onto the seat and Freddy started the car. “Damn, the internet was right, though.”

        What do you mean?

        “Well, he was a pretty little God of Evil or whatever it is, wasn’t he?”

       I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.

        Loki didn’t know what he was expecting Ranulf to be like, but this was not it.

        The man was enormous; not fat but muscular, especially for someone of what seemed to be somewhat advanced years – his hair was white and his fair skin was somewhat wrinkled, if still dignified. He is…good-looking, Loki realized with something of a jolt as the man regarded Loki over his shoulder. In an…old, severe way. The man’s face was well-shaped, with high cheekbones, a noble chin, and expressive lips. His hair grew in a widow’s peak, and something in Loki’s mind insisted that he ought to be wearing rich robes, or an elegant, crisp suit.

        The fact that he was in fact dressed in a hardy-looking shirt of some Midgardian pattern of garishly multicolored, crisscrossing lines, and rough, blue canvas trousers, merely aggravated Loki’s sense of irrational disappointment further. As did the fact that he had found Ranulf McAshton sitting cross-legged on the floor beside a small vampire girl, apparently deeply engaged in some game. In his hand he held a small Midgardian figurine of a woman – likely a doll. He had been holding her up and talking while manipulating her arms up and down, presumably to suggest speech.

        “Dad?” Arianrod had announced them, and Loki had detected even in her irrepressible manner a note of deference. “Sorry to interrupt,” she continued, flashing a charmed grin at the two of them. “But this is Loki, and he needs a place to stay. We’re not sure for how long. Is it okay if he stays here?”

        Ranulf stood up slowly, and Loki was struck by his full height. The man’s head seemed to nearly scrape the ceiling. “I’m sorry, iubita mica,” he told the girl. “But we have a guest. Why don’t you see if one of your sisters can play with you, all right?” The girl nodded, but glowered and pouted in the terribly intense way of small children as she stomped off down the hall with her dolls.

        Ranulf smiled indulgently after her. For the first time, Loki noticed his unusually pointy, predatory incisors. He wondered if all “vampires” had them. “I hope you’ll excuse my granddaughter. You know how children can be. My name is Ranulf McAshton.” His voice was deep and steady, even if it lacked the accent Loki found he was expecting. “I am the…well, we call it the ‘clanfather’ here. I am…well, the head of the family. Officially, I mean. It sounds very strange to say, doesn’t it? And it is a bit patriarchal – literally, I suppose. And yes, of course you can stay with us.” He peered at Loki. Loki noticed he was wearing a pendant similar to Orla’s. “My boy, is your head all right?”

        “I am Loki of Asgard…er…yes, I think so.” Loki found that all attitude had utterly deserted him. “I was...well, I was told I…hit it rather badly before, but I feel well now.”

       Ranulf held up one finger. “Do you mind?”

       “Uh…I suppose not?”

        He winced as Ranulf brushed his finger against the wound, catching a small drop of blood from the thin trickle that had dripped down Loki’s ear. He realized he hadn’t felt so attracted to a male since…well, best not to remember that. Too late. He heard his breathing hitch and felt a shiver go down his spine; his stomach churned, and suddenly his attraction felt filthy; shameful; and he wanted to be as far away from Ranulf McAshton as possible.

        Ranulf pulled back, and, perhaps sensing this, took a step further backward. He tasted the finger with a scientific air. “I don’t believe there’s infection. Arianrod, will you help him wash it tonight? Tomorrow I’ll see that Annie has a look at him. Could you find him a bed?”

        “Sure, Dad.” Arianrod gestured to Loki. “Come on. I think one of the bedrooms down this hall is free.”

        “Good night, Loki,” Ranulf called after him. Loki wished he could respond, but he felt already the invisible fist clenching his throat, rendering further speech impossible.

        After they washed his wound, Arianrod took him to a darkened room, and Loki fell gratefully onto the bed, too tired to be apprehensive.

Chapter Text

        Loki opened his eyes slowly as he became aware of the brightness, burning red through his eyelids, and warmth on his skin. His body still ached, and now, under the layers of leather and wool (even fine Asgardian wool), he felt slippery and sticky already with sweat. The air was stifling, and smelled of newly-cut wood, a strong odor that Thor enjoyed greatly, but which had always given Loki a stomachache. His mouth felt unwashed, and he could still taste last night’s meal at the back of his throat.

        Water. I must have water. He cast about desperately for a glass, a pitcher, a spout, or a pump, but the room – soft cream-white walls, slate-blue carpeting, light blue curtains, a few more articles of simple, hardy furniture, a multicolored coverlet over the bed he was lying on, and a paper wall hanging with an illustration of an anthropomorphized gray-skinned beast of some kind, and Midgardian “English” text reading “BABAR” – was dry as a bone. Moreover, the sudden movement sent something shifting in his gut, and before he knew it, he was bent over the side of the bed, gagging the contents of his stomach onto the floor.

        He felt a bit better when he was done, but now the physical nausea was replaced by anxiety. Where was he? Some strange realm, he recalled, populated by young women with swords made of red fire, and hideous men with knife-gloves, and “vampires,” and covens of young Midgardians who tried to sacrifice people, and…and what would they do to someone who had attempted to subjugate them? Did they know what he had tried to do on Midgard? Yes – they had a Norn-like knowledge of his life, everything he had done, said…perhaps even thought.

        What would they do when they found his mess on their carpet?

        Loki swallowed as a precaution against vomiting again. The thing to do…he tried to think. His head felt heavy, despite his rest and the clear lateness of the hour – judging by the sun, it was at least noon.

        He had to leave this place. Better to rely on his own devices for survival until someone came for him, once the danger on Asgard had passed, than to risk depending on the mercy of strangers.

        After all, that strategy had not worked in the past.

        He found a staircase (the one from last night?) and followed it down, walking as softly as he could, staying close to the wall. The large house was full of the warm, crowded silence of many sleeping people, the almost-sound of rooms and rooms of hushed, slow breaths. Still, someone might yet wake.

        He stepped on one stair; he knew that particular spot on the step was wrong as soon as his boot touched it, but it was too late; the impact made a sound like one of the Midgardians’ gunshots. The anxiety bubbled up and drenched him anew in a cold sweat. He scrambled and fell down the rest of the stairs.

        Loki was not hungry, but there was no telling when he would find food again; upon finding the bright, tiled room that seemed to be a kitchen, he unpinned his cloak and began to fill it with anything in the cabinets and pantry that he even vaguely recognized. On one shelf, he found an empty bottle made of some cheap but sturdy material; he found the water-spout and began filling it. He stopped when the sight of the water became too irresistible, and drained the bottle before it was full. Then he drank from the tap, lost in the sensation of the water – its silvery sound as it flowed from the tap, the way it poured forth in millions of tiny crystal drops; its cool, clean smell; its sweetness, and the feeling as he gulped it down his parched throat.

        “What’s”- The voice froze Loki’s heart. He spat out the water, dropping the now-empty canteen and his makeshift sack of food, and whirled around. It was one of the women from last night, the big one, he couldn’t remember her name.

        “It’s okay,” she told him, rubbing her eyes sleepily. “L-Loki. Yeah. Loki. Calm down. Just for a second. It’s okay. You don’t look good. Why don’t you sit down and”-

        There was a glass door beside him; he struggled with the bolt until he felt the lock pop open under his fingers. “S-s-silence, mortal”-

        “Okay. Okay. Just calm down for a minute, okay? Come sit down. I’m going to make you something that’ll make you feel better, okay? And I’ll find you some – um - fresh clothes, okay”-

        “Keep away!” He wrenched the door open and stumbled down the stairs, streaking out into the yard, and from there, into the woods.

        Loki was not sure how far he had gone from the house. He knew only two things: that he had not yet found the other side of the forest, and that he had needed to stop running twice to be sick. His head felt filled with cotton, yet heavy as stone. His clothes were soaked.

       He looked around at the clearing where he had stopped. Its shade was a mercy, and the forest floor was covered with moss and fallen leaves. Near him trickled a tiny brook, which emptied out of a large pipe built into an outcropping of earth. Loki hesitated, knowing the water was likely filthy. He compromised with himself by bathing his head, arms, and chest in it. It smelled impure, but it was cool and caused the mental fog to thin slightly.

        This pipe led to a waterworks system, yes? For a settlement of some kind. Perhaps somewhere with normal people, proper mortals. He was weakened, but he could still bend them to his will, couldn’t he?

        The pipe was quite large.

        The air in the pipe was close, and at first the smell made Loki nauseous anew, but over time it opened up into a tunnel, which was large enough for him to stop crawling and walk upright. With luck, he could simply walk straight through, and then it was simply a matter of finding his way out and upward into the town.

        His footsteps echoed in the tunnel, louder than the flowing water.

        The tunnel was growing darker.

        Something glowed up ahead in the gloom; Loki angled his steps toward it.

        He reached it sooner than expected, and stood for a few minutes, looking it up and down, trying to figure out what exactly it might be.

         It looked like hair.

        It hung from the ceiling in a great, sloping curtain, draping the tunnel elegantly, catching the dim light and shining like spun silver. It was frankly lovely, but the incongruity of its location bothered Loki. He reached out a hand, and stroked it tentatively.

        It was surprisingly sticky. Sticky to the touch.

        It was a familiar texture. But from where?

        It came to him slowly, and he disentangled his hand carefully, and stepped back as calmly as he could.

        Then, casting a glance around at the deep shadows, he turned.

        And ran until it was time to crawl, trying not to listen for skittering footsteps in the tunnel behind him, and then crawled until he was clear of the pipe, until he couldn’t even see it anymore.

        The forest floor had changed. It was dark gray, almost black, and unusually hard and packed beneath his boots. He barely noticed.

        A part of him did grasp that this was a road, and that if he walked down it, he would come to some form of civilization at some point. So he would walk.

        Even if he had heard the car coming around the bend, it likely would have made no difference. He could barely keep walking; he certainly could not dodge traffic.

        He barely felt the impact; it was as if someone had simply flipped a switch, plunging the world into darkness.

I DON’T SLEEP MOTHERFUCKER OFF THAT ‘GNAC AND THAT BOURBON

DOIN’ 120 GETTING’ HEAD WHILE I’M SWERVIN’

(damn Natalie you a crazy chick)…

         Eyes closed almost prayerfully, Aoife was aware of her lips silently framing the lyrics that followed (she knew them by heart, after all) as Natalie Portman snarled them onscreen: Yo, shut the fuck up and suck my dick…

         The song was probably a bit racist for its appropriation, by white musicians and actors, of the African-American vernacular English that was so common in the Earth musical genre known as “rap.” Its ubiquity made sense, considering that African-American musical artists had, she knew, invented rap in the first place. Racial inequality was something Aoife had discovered relatively late in her life, or so it seemed to her. She’d spent most of her childhood in a world where speciesism was the major problem. No one had ever disrespected her during her childhood visits to Earth either, although she had always been with her mother, Wallis, or her grandmother when she went out back then. As progressive, opinionated, and well-informed as her mother had been about ableism and the politics of disability, especially autism, Tara had never seemed to take much of an interest in race relations as a social justice cause, as far as Aoife could tell. She couldn't help but wonder why sometimes, given Kanos' skin tone and the way it affected some here, especially on the very rare occasions during Aoife's childhood when the four of them had attempted to travel by airplane. And Wallis had once recalled that Aoife's father, though not strictly human, had appeared in a darker-skinned form when he chose to look like a human for her mother. It was topics like this that tested Aoife's patience with her mother. 

         Still, she listened to this song. She found herself listening most often after a fight with her mother or her grandfather, or before she had to do something like accompany her mother to the Senate. Sometimes she had to stop herself mouthing the lyrics while in the actual Senate arena, in case she appeared to be talking to herself. It tended to be either this song or a song by Jenna Marbles on the website “YouTube” entitled “Bounce that Dick.” Aoife justified that one to herself by claiming it as satire of some of the misogynistic, objectifying language you got in a lot of modern, mainstream rap; of course, it had its problematic elements, too. But then, most things did.

         The anti-sjw anons are right about you. You really do just see “-isms” in everything. You really do need to relax and give yourself a break.

        That’s because there are “-isms” in almost everything! And it’s all very well saying I should just “take a break” from it when I’m able to take breaks from things like racism, when I don’t live with its effects every day!

        Besides, I don’t want people to “just take a break” from examining things that are ableist, sexist, and fatphobic, do I? No, I do not. Because that was what it came down to, at the end of the day. You couldn’t demand your own rights without worrying about anyone else’s. Why should people stand up for you, if you weren’t willing to try to help them?

        The song was making her feel better, though. It helped that the actress rapping it greatly resembled Senator Amidala. Aoife sometimes liked to imagine the Senator singing the song in her own music video. Possibly on the Senate floor, or to some ageist, condescending HoloNet reporter or pundit, or even at her grandfather back when he was Supreme Chancellor. Watching her address Nute Gunray or one of her other nemeses as “motherfucker” would probably be one of the best things ever to happen, in Aoife’s opinion.

        Muffled by the closed door and the music, the phone rang, and Aoife paused the video, removed the thick headphones that she preferred to intrusive earbuds, and lifted her console carefully off her knees. She also took care to click out of the other tab she’d left open in case Freddy got a look at it.

         Aoife never ceased to be amazed how much Nightmare on Elm Street fanfiction there was.

         There was even yaoi (well, sort of – she had looked up the definition of “yaoi” and those fics likely wouldn’t technically count, because they didn’t conform to the traditional yaoi lovers’ dynamics of defined seme and uke roles). She’d somehow even stumbled upon Freddy/Jason Voorhees yaoi, which she had already decided she was probably never going to tell Freddy about. Ever.

         Her rubber-sole-slippered-feet hit the carpeted floor somewhat shakily, clumsy after being inactive and held in the same position for so long, and, body still stiff, she pulled herself along the wall, slipping out the door of the Quiet Room and into the main “casual area” of the boiler room proper, to the dusty-looking phone, still ringing loudly.

         Yes? She wasn’t sure how her telepathy was compatible with something as audio-based as using a telephone; it truly made no logical sense. Another mystery of the Dead Zone, perhaps.

         The voice on the other end was hard to place for a moment, but then Aoife got it, and sagged in relief. So she's still all right, then. “I don’t have a lot of time, Aoife. I could only get away for a few minutes, and I really don’t want him finding this cell phone”-

         Aoife felt her relief and her good mood evaporate; despite the warm, humid air, she shivered. Understood.

        “Something’s come up here that you should know about. We found someone. He says he knows you. I want him far away from...you know, from him, as soon as possible. We’re at the boardinghouse in town. You need to get down here. You might bring Annie, too, since this…I don’t know who he really is, but I think he needs medical attention”-

        What kind?

        “Um…I may have hit him with one of the cars.”

        What?

        “He was in the middle of the road, it was daylight, I didn’t see him in time…look, he was delirious and he mentioned you, so I thought I’d call, can you please just”-

        Yes, I’m coming. But the line was already dead. Aoife pursed her lips as she went to go and ready herself, trying not to think about what that might mean.

         Where am I? Loki wondered dimly, opening his eyes tentatively. And then – oh, bloody damn, this is the second time in less than twenty-four of Midgard’s hours that this has happened to me!

         Once again, he had no idea where he was. And once again, every bone in his body ached. He felt as if he’d been “Hulk-smashed” all over again.

          At least he didn’t seem to be bound this time. He was lying on a slightly stiff brocade bedspread on a rather hard double bed, in a cool, dim room. The relative darkness of the room, despite the daylight pouring in through the windows, was due to what appeared to be deep blue-gray tinted window glass; the windows were also hung with dark, heavy curtains of the same brocade as the coverlet.

          The only serious shock came as it occurred to him that he was naked.

         Well, not “naked” per se, not completely. He still retained his underclothes, but everything else – even his boots! – was placed fastidiously on a chair, covered in the familiar brocade, in the corner of the room.

         Aside from the bruises he could feel blossoming all over his body, it occurred to Loki that he actually felt relatively good. He had been overheated, extremely so, and now he felt cooler; he was barely even sweating. His nausea had gone; he was still thirsty, but not desperately so. In fact, his greatest urge at the moment was to relieve himself. His head ached, but less than it had. He allowed himself a small sigh of relief, and cautiously turned over onto his side, facing the doorway which presumably led into this bedroom from an outer chamber.

         The sound of his movements must have carried into the room beyond this bedchamber. Loki froze as he heard footsteps approaching.

         He looked up guardedly at the man who entered – another vampire; how many of them were there up here, anyway? – but the man simply smiled, warmly, with his lips closed. He was smaller than Loki, but probably about average-height for Midgard. With long, jet-black hair and pale skin, the man might have resembled Loki in a bad light.

         “You look better.” His voice was warm, too. Loki felt himself un-knotting slightly.

         “I feel better,” he replied. “I assume that’s thanks to you.”

         “Well, it is and it isn’t. One of my children caused your injuries – some of them, anyway – in the first place, so it was the least I could do.”

         Loki was mollified, despite himself. “Well…I know how children can be.”

         “Oh, yes? Do you have any of your own?” The man glanced up at Loki’s face. “I’m sorry. That’s very personal, isn’t it?”

         “No, I…it’s all right. You weren’t to know.” Loki raised himself up onto his elbows. “I am Loki. Of Asgard.”

         The man held out a hand for Loki to shake. “Aro of the Volturi. It is truly my pleasure, Loki.”

         Loki took it after a moment’s hesitation. It was cool to the touch, comfortably so. “I’m sorry, did you say Aro Volturi?” Something about the man’s courtliness made him want to be polite, too. Also, the man’s scent. To Loki, he smelled of wine and the pages of old books, even from a distance.

         “Yes, have you heard of me?”

         “I did hear some humans and some of the other ‘vampires’ of this realm mention you, yes,” Loki admitted.

         “Oh dear. Favorably, I hope.”

        “Well…” Loki looked up at Aro’s face again, and felt truly sorry for opening his mouth in the first place. “I’m sorry.”

        “No, it’s all right. I’m afraid I’m rather unpopular around these parts.” Aro perched himself on the bed comfortably next to Loki, holding the demigod’s eye contact. “Loki…am I correct in my belief that you are…not human?”

         “Certainly not. I am no ‘human,’ I mean,” Loki clarified. He almost told Aro the truth…almost. But explaining the significance of his true parentage, and what it meant, to someone like Aro (the sort of ruler that Loki, if he was honest with himself, dreamed of being)…he couldn’t do it. “I am…an Asgardian.” It was technically not a lie.

         “Well, then, Loki, you understand what many humans, with their overblown pride – a pride which, unfortunately, far outstrips their ability as a race – refuse to. It’s the truth I and mine preach, the dismal and yet the noble truth of the universe.” Aro’s gaze grew even more intense; fiery, passionate. “And that truth is: we are what we are. So simple, isn’t it? And yet so difficult to accept. But history proves it, does it not? My race – our races – beings like you and I, Loki – we were born to rule. And it is for the lesser races – and there is no shame in being of those races, of course – to serve us, to submit to us, to sacrifice for us…because in that sacrifice, they find their purpose. They find their peace. Isn’t that so, Loki?”

         Loki felt a small smile curve his mouth. He didn’t think to wonder, at the time, how much of it was due to Aro’s closeness; the two men were nearly shoulder-to-shoulder, sitting on the foot of the bed. “That is so, Lord Volturi.”

         Aro laughed. “’Aro’ will do perfectly well, Loki. After all – though I realize we just met, and I apologize for the presumption – I feel we are becoming friends. Don’t you?”

         Loki hadn’t realized how uncommonly dry his throat was. “Oh yes.”

         “Unfortunately, we live in liberal times, and views like mine are…controversial. Though hopefully, over time, that will change.” They both listened as the sound of a vehicle pulling up outside the building interrupted Aro.

         The man shifted. “That will no doubt be the witches. Presumptuous and impertinent, for humans, but they mean well, of course. They mean to take you into ‘protective custody.’” He returned his gaze to Loki. “Now, Loki, if you wish to remain here, of course you may. But if you wish to aid me – and I would welcome you as my ally – you will go with them. I’ll need eyes and ears on their end, as they most surely have them on mine. I will contact you periodically. I will not abandon you behind their lines, I swear it.”

         Loki swallowed. For a moment, he wanted to stay here with Aro (wherever ‘here’ was), but he realized that actually helping the man was likely the best way to regain power (certainly the best option currently), and besides…the idea of staying with someone he was so attracted to was…complicated. It reminded him of…never mind. “I…will try.”

        Aro beamed. “I truly appreciate it, Loki.” His cool hand brushed Loki’s still-flushed cheek. “Now, rest until they come for you. I will come and fetch you when it’s time for you to depart.”

         About a half-hour later, Loki descended the stairs slowly, behind Aro and a petite, fair vampire girl who looked younger even than Aoife had been. She wore an elaborate-looking black dress that appeared curiously cut for a child, in her size, and carried a small bag in one hand. She walked downstairs in front of Loki, eyes on the floor, Aro’s hand on her arm, steering her.

         To his surprise, Loki saw Aoife at the foot of the stairs, dressed more simply today in a blouse and skirt, hair neatly coiffed, her walking stick strapped across her back. She was accompanied by another Midgardian woman – taller than Aoife (though similarly not-thin), and slightly older, it appeared, with brown hair, neatly pulled back, and rather plain features; dressed in blue.

         “Ah, Princess,” Aro’s greeting boomed through the boardinghouse’s lobby. “And Ms. Wilkes. I understand you were recently elected to represent this reality in Heaven; please accept my congratulations.”

         The taller woman, Ms. Wilkes, spoke. “That’s very kind of you, I’m sure, Mr. Volturi.” Her tone was attentively blank with just a touch of stony coolness. “Now, I’m here to escort Loki – if he’s willing – to our health care services office in town, where my colleague and I will examine the injuries he sustained upon arriving in the Dead Zone.” She folded her arms.

        We’re also here for Jane, Aoife added. She told me she wanted to come back to town with us. We’ll provide her with everything she needs. There’s nothing we require from you. Nothing she requires from you.

        Loki barely heard the pause in Aro’s voice. “Of course. I have never forced anyone to remain by my side against his or her will, and I certainly don’t intend to start now. Go with all my blessings, my dear little Jane.” He nudged the girl forward. “And farewell, Loki of Asgard. I hope we’ll meet again while I’m in town.” He turned back to Aoife and Wilkes. “I trust you two ladies know the way out…after all, you both know your Dead Zone so well.”

         Despite the warm, already-humid air and the sun filtering through the windows of Wilkes’ truck, Loki shivered. He felt chilled, and sweat-soaked; he curled up in the narrow back seat, attempting to warm himself.

         He flinched as he felt a touch on his shoulder. “Excuse me?” Loki turned blearily in the direction of the girl, Jane, presumably the one who had just tapped him.

        “Would you like my shawl?” She had pulled it from her bag. It was black, elegantly fringed, and made of some soft, velvety-looking fabric. She held it out to him. “You look a little cold.”

        Despite himself, Loki nodded. He suspected he would become overheated again a few minutes after putting it on, but the chill was getting to him.

        “By the way…” Jane looked apologetic. “I…well, I’m the one who ran into you. With the car. I didn’t mean to. But I’m sorry.” Loki nodded again, guardedly. Jane seemed to take it as an adequate response, and turned in her own seat to look out her window.

        So what even happened with the car? Aoife asked Jane from up front.

        “I thought I could see over the steering wheel better than I turned out to be able to. And I was…in a hurry.”

         Why?

         “Because, frankly, I was planning on leaving Aro today anyway. I was hoping to get to either the McAshtons or Countess Zaleska, if she’d arrived yet. I wasn’t sure if she had. He tells me less now. I think he was starting to suspect. He's definitely not been happy about the aging stuff, or Crys and I.” She massaged one of her temples. Loki noticed she looked especially pale, even for one of her species. There were dark circles under her eyes. “But, you know, I wasn’t being careful, and I accidentally hit…what’s your name again, sorry?” she asked Loki.

        “Loki. Of Asgard.”

        “Pleased to meet you, Loki of Asgard. I’m Jane.” She shifted. “Anyway, I was being an idiot and I hit poor Loki, so I had to turn back. That’s when I called you, Aoife.”

        Wilkes spoke. “There’s some Tru-Blood up here in my cupholder, Jane. It’s fairly new – I opened it a few hours ago. If you don’t mind my and Crys’ germs, you’re welcome to it. I mean, I’ll understand if you want to wait until we get home”-

        “No, that actually sounds good. Thank you, Ms. Wilkes.” Loki gasped as the transparent bottle half-full of red liquid apparently levitated itself into the back seat and Jane’s waiting hand. “Thanks, Aoife.” Loki blinked. Was Aoife the one who had performed such a trick? He watched as Jane drained the bottle in just a few gulps.

        “Not at all. And there’s more where that comes from when we get home, obviously.” Loki saw Wilkes glance at the girl, in the mirror suspended over the vehicle’s console. He thought there might be concern in her steely eyes. “And you know you can just call me Annie.”

        “Yes, Ms. Wilkes.”

        So…Crys should be home from doing Sunday school when we get there, Aoife told Jane, changing the subject.

        “Really?” Jane managed to perk up while simultaneously looking mildly terrified. “I...didn’t know she was back from her college yet.”

        She’s been back for a little over a week now. Since just a few days before I got here.

        Jane groaned, but good-naturedly. “Ugh, but I look like death warmed over, and he made me color-strip my hair, and he took most of my makeup and threw it away, and I haven’t had estrogen in months so I’m sure I don’t even…ugh. I just wish I had more time to get pretty.”

        Crys isn’t going to care about any of that, dude. I mean, not that it’s not important to her. But it’s only important to her because it’s important to you.

        “Oh, I know. She’s too much of a goody-goody to care about things like that.” Jane leaned back, the breeze from the cracked-open window blowing across her brow and ruffling her hair, a faint smile on her lips. “I’ll just be happy if I can change out of this dress. He chose it. There’s godsdamn crinoline in the skirt, can you believe that?”

        Ugh. Crinoline. That’s the awful, stiff, itchy netting-stuff, right?

        “Yes, that’s it.”

        Oh, gods. There’s a vogue for that stuff in the Core right now. It’s everywhere. Or at least it was when I left.

        Loki tried idly to think if he’d ever experienced “crinoline.” It sounded like a kind of fabric. He wasn’t sure if they had it on Asgard; probably not. If it was stiff and uncomfortable, though, Lady Sigyn had probably worn it at some point. The girl had always been under the impression that, being a petite and skinny little slip of a thing, she could wear whatever outlandish fads she wanted; in actuality, she often ended up looking like a scrawny young sapling hung heavy with too many Winter solstice decorations, almost comical. He allowed himself to remember the getup she had worn the night he had been informed of their betrothal (he was just one or two months along with the twins at the time; hadn't even known about him yet); it had been hard to keep a straight face every time he looked at her.

         By the time they pulled up to the rather small, humble yellow house with the sparse but well-cared-for garden in front of it, Jane had fallen asleep completely, her head eventually lolling un-self-consciously onto Loki’s shoulder. At first Loki had stiffened at the unexpected physical contact, and he suspected the girl would wake up with the studded trimming on his collar imprinted into her cheek, but he hadn’t the heart to wake her or move her. She had looked quite tired, anyway.

         As the truck stopped, and he lifted her off him as gently as he could, the house’s front door opened and a girl who looked to be about Aoife’s age ran out. At first, Loki couldn’t help but question that she was, in fact, a girl – her chestnut-brown hair was cut very short, and she wore a loose, multicolored shirt with short sleeves and baggy short-pants made of the same blue canvas material as Ranulf McAshton’s trousers; hers came down to about knee-length. Around her neck was a small golden pendant of a cross, similar to the Wilkes woman’s. The girl bounded irrepressibly to the truck to help Aoife out of her seat, and then turned on Loki, who had climbed forth from the vehicle himself. “Oh my God! Are you really him?”

         Loki briefly thought of making a quip over the “oh my god,” but he simply felt too worn out. “What?”

         “Loki Laufeyson! Like in The Avengers! Well, I guess you wouldn’t know about that, but…dude, are you him? That’s so cool!”

          Loki couldn’t help but glower briefly at being referred to as “Laufey-son,” but he had to admit, the girl’s enthusiasm was infectious. He found that she reminded him of Thor, but in a good way. Less…stuffy, perhaps. “Yes, I am he. And who might you be?”

         She stuck out her hand, but didn’t seem perturbed when he didn’t take it. In fact, Loki knew of the Midgardian custom of greeting, but he was not yet brought so low as to take the hand of a mere mortal – at least, not a human. “Crysilda Amanda Wilkes-Krueger. Well, it only says ‘Wilkes’ on my birth certificate, but I like using both names. It’s fine either way. You can just call me ‘Crys.’ And female pronouns are fine, even though I’m genderqueer, because I didn’t know what nonbinary gender was until my senior year of high school, and I didn’t know you could be it, so everyone is used to calling me a ‘she.’ Speaking of which, you use male pronouns, right, Loki?” Seeing his confusion, she clarified, “You like it when people say ‘he’ or ‘him’ when they talk about you, right?”

          “Well…yes.” Loki raised an eyebrow. “I have…the body of a male.” The lie – well, it was half-true, technically – slid naturally off his lips at this point.

          “Well, I ‘have the body of’ a female, dude, at least conventionally. That doesn’t mean much. But it’s okay, I know it’s a new concept, I can explain it for you better later, if you want.” She held out her arm. “Are you feeling better? Mom said you might have heatstroke and a head injury, so you can lean on me if you’re feeling dizzy. You can just come in and lay down, and Mom and Dr. Lecter from town will examine you a little bit. It’s okay, they’re both professionals. Mom is a retired nurse and Dr. Lecter is technically a psychiatrist, but he went to medical school and everything. They’re both perfectly good at medical stuff, they just do more therapy now because that’s what people out here need more often.”

          Loki nodded dimly. “I…I can manage. I am not dizzy.” He paused, remembering Jane, still in the truck. “But there is a girl still in the seat there, and she might require assistance. She…seemed weakened.” Beside him, too late, he noticed Wilkes and Aoife freezing in their tracks, looking over at Crys.

         Crys apparently hadn’t seen Jane before, but now that Loki had pointed her out, the girl – or whatever Crys purported to be – seemed not to be able to take her eyes off her. Loki watched as she approached the back seat door on Jane’s side, and opened it slowly.

          Jane awoke blearily, but her face cleared quickly, eyes widening, as she looked up at Crys. She didn’t seem able to speak. Crys appeared similarly stricken.

          For a full minute or so, everyone was silent. Then, Crys took a deep breath and smiled nervously. “Um, hi, Jane.”

         “Hi…good morning, Crys.” Jane spoke so softly Loki could barely hear her. “How…um…how are you?”

         “I’m…good. I’m good.” Crys shook her head, still grinning. “Um…Loki over there said you might be kind of…dizzy…are you okay?”

         “Oh, no, I’m fine,” Jane reassured her, smiling widely. She allowed Crys to take her arm and help her out of the truck anyway, and the two walked into the house together, neither sparing so much as a backward glance.

          Aoife was grinning after them, apparently lost in thought. “Come on, Mr. Laufeyson,” Wilkes told Loki now, coming up behind him. “Let’s get you inside and off your feet.” Her tone was maternal, but left no room for argument.

        Dr. Lecter is a smaller, soft-spoken mortal man, with an accent Loki cannot immediately place. He’s dressed nicely but – according to a whisper from Crys – casually (for him, at least), in a lightly-patterned shirt with a collar and short sleeves, and trousers of light brown canvas cloth. He is charming, even attractive – but Loki can sense something about him; can almost smell it on him. Somehow, Dr. Lecter is dangerous.

         Just like everyone else in this realm.

         Loki tries to cooperate as the Wilkes woman – “you can call me Annie” – gently but insistently strips off the layers of his garments, leaving him quivering slightly in his underclothes, and lays him on the couch. He tries to lie still as she and Lecter bend over him, as they touch the bump and small cut on his head.

         But he’s so…exposed. He feels helpless, and he can’t see anyone else, only Annie and Lecter, and he wants them to stop touching him, and he can feel bile rise in his stomach. “I’m…I am sorry, I cannot – I need to”-

         He pukes, nothing but stomach acid, into the pot that Annie grabs and holds out just in time. “Maybe we should sedate him,” he hears her suggest. He does not perceive Lecter’s response; he is already struggling. He cannot lose control. He cannot go to sleep. Not now.

         He hears Lecter call out tersely, “Aoife, could you come over here for a few moments, please?”

         Loki shrinks back from the girl; she’s looking down at him with a mixture of contempt and pity that he can’t stand. He knows he is bruised and shaking and sweating, and too hot, too hot, which means that-

         “No,” Loki whispers, looking down at his skin.

         When he was young, the enchantment held constant, at least as far as skin tone was concerned. That changed after Jotunheim; since then, it is increasingly unstable, even given the Allfather’s magic. Loki has privately theorized that the concealing spell fed partly off its bearer’s ignorance; he expected to resemble an Aesir before, and so he did.

          But no longer; a single wrong thought, planted in his mind thanks to a single freak occurrence, has ended all of that.

         Now, he can’t stop the bitter tears of humiliation as they all see it, the blue tinge spreading over him. “Please,” he rasps, and he can’t even finish aloud: please stop this. Please just let me be.

         He feels a new hand on his face, stroking his cheek awkwardly. Through his tears, he looks up at Aoife. Loki? Can you hear me? He nods. Loki, I want to transmit calming energies to you, through something called the Force. It’s not sedation. You’ll be fully awake. It’s just to lessen your anxiety. Will you let me? I won’t do it unless you give me permission.

         He nods again, slowly. “Don’t go,” he whispers. He has no idea which language he is speaking, but she seems to grasp his meaning. I won’t.

          Already, he feels his breathing slowing, as the insidious calm fills his chest.

          Perhaps the human princess had lied about the effects of her “calming energies,” or perhaps Loki’s fatigue had simply won out, because he slept again. When he awoke, he was dressed in only a thin, long cotton shirt with short sleeves, and a pair of loose, fine, cloth men’s pants that were quite a bit too short in the legs. A mechanized fan on the ceiling rotated at a moderate speed, the breeze it caused blowing lightly over Loki’s forehead, which was bandaged carefully. Despite the fact that a thin linen bedsheet was his only covering, Loki found that he was quite comfortable. He glanced out one of the windows; the sunlight was orange and growing dimmer.

         He heard voices in the next room, and smelled food. He was hungry. It felt good.

         He walked slowly into the kitchen, doing his best to hide his faint dizziness. Aoife, Jane, Crys, and Annie sat at the table, place settings before them and a cardboard box between them. Within the box there appeared to be some kind of flatbread, sliced. Some of the slices were missing. It smelled greasy, but also of spices Loki couldn’t name. The smell both turned his stomach and made his mouth water so hard it hurt; those two things should not be possible simultaneously.

         “Here, Loki.” Annie stood and pulled out the chair next to her. “You’re looking better,” she told him as he sat down. “Are you hungry?”

         Loki was slightly disappointed when she put the bowl of soup in front of him, but he did his best to hide it. “It’s all right, Loki,” Jane told him from across the table. “I’m having soup, too. My body’s out of practice with eating solid human food.”

         “Want to try a bite of my slice, Loki?” Crys offered. Noticing Annie looking at her, she rolled her eyes, but good-naturedly. Loki wondered if Crys Wilkes-Krueger ever did anything bad-naturedly. “Come on, Mom, I know you’re worried he’ll get sick from the grease, but one bite would be okay, I’m sure.”

          Loki tried to smile, and he also tried to ignore the scrutinizing stare Aoife was giving him over her slice and her glass of what smelled like Pepsi. “That’s kind, but no thank you.” The soup wasn’t bad, he had to admit. It tasted like a broth, fowl possibly.

          “Aoife, I’m going to need your help tomorrow,” Annie told the girl, taking a sip from her glass, which appeared to hold only water. “Countess Zaleska’s flight is getting in.”

         Are we the ones picking her up at the airport?

         “Yes, we’re going, but so are Owain and Arianrod, and they’re bringing the van. That should be enough; at first I thought we might need Fred to take some of the bags or something, but it looks like we won’t need to bother him. And then – just warning you – Ranulf is probably going to host something for her and Aro that night. I’ll try and get you home from that as early as I can, but…”

         Ugh. Long day. Lots of social interaction.

         “Looks like it, yes.”

         “Are you going to be okay, Mom?” asked Crys.

         “Is there any way I can help?” asked Jane anxiously.

         Annie smiled at them, looking fatigued. “Yes, Crys, I’m going to be just fine. And that’s kind of you, Jane, but since Aro’s likely going to be there, it might be best if you kept a low profile.” She rubbed her temple. “Will you all be all right if I go up to my room for a bit? I’m just going to write for a little while, I think, and then probably go to bed. If you need anything, feel free to come and get me”-

         “Go on up, Mom,” Crys reassured her. “We can handle cleanup and everything.”

         There was an electronic console called a ‘television,’ and some storyline was playing out upon its screen. Characters that appeared to be crudely-animated figurines, not unlike the one Loki had stepped on last night at the McAshtons’ house, pantomimed some ludicrous storyline. Loki barely paid them any mind.

         When it had come time to clear up after the meal, everyone including Jane had seemed to know what needed doing. They had splintered off into their own tasks, and joined together at the end of the process to dry and put away the dishes. Crys had also touched up the layer of red varnish that now covered Jane’s nails. Since Loki had awakened, Jane had taken her hair down from its tight bun, and someone had cut it short; it just brushed her shoulders. She had apparently changed into a too-long shirt, which fit her like a dress. She also wore a tremendous amount of some kohl-like material around her eyes, paint on her lips, and the colored polish on her nails. It was an incongruous appearance, but Loki had neither the energy nor the inclination to question it aloud.

         Now, the three of them crowded together on the couch; Loki curled himself in an armchair to watch them. Aoife was typing away on a small electronic console on her lap, looking up to grin, laugh, or flap her hands (or, occasionally, purse her lips in disapproval) in response to some joke or other onscreen.

         Crys and Jane seemed to be trying to occupy the same couch cushion. Jane was curled up, halfway on Crys’ lap, and their hands were entwined. Crys kept leaning in to whisper in her ear, and the girl kept giggling.

         Loki realized he was staring at them. He took care to avert his eyes.

         He wondered what Aoife was writing, and tried shifting as subtly as he could in order to get a look at her console screen.

         Aoife darted him a look. Loki, stop that.

         “I don’t know what you mean.”

         I mean it. I don’t like it when people read what I write without my permission. Especially when it isn’t finished. Besides, you wouldn’t understand this.

        Loki snorted derisively, partly to hide his mortification. “Oh yes, I’m certain it’s very complex.”

        No, you wouldn’t understand because you’re a fascist.

        Even the television seemed to go quiet. Crys and Jane had ceased their activities and were both giving Aoife sidelong looks.

        Loki had no idea what Aoife had just called him. He suspected it was unflattering. There was only one response, he decided. “So? What of it?”

        He could have survived a tongue-lashing, but not the withering look Aoife gave him before packing up her console. Sorry, Crys. Sorry, Jane. Have fun down here. I’ll see you both tomorrow. I’m tired; I’m going up to bed. The reddening of her cheeks as she turned away from them suggested she was embarrassed, as well – or it would have if Loki had still been looking at her, rather than focusing completely on the television screen as she left the room.

        When she had left, Crys piped up, “Loki? Do you know what a ‘fascist’ is?”

        “Of course I do, mortal!”

        Crys and Jane exchanged a look, and then Jane said, “It’s all right, Loki. Well…we’ll handle it tomorrow. I’ll explain it in the morning.”

       Loki nodded, as nonchalantly as he could, and folded himself back into his chair, pretending he had already forgotten the unnameable sin he had apparently just committed.

        It wouldn’t be the first time, after all.

        “Good night, Aoife.” Annie poked her head out of her bedroom doorway. Her bright smile – her ‘writing’ smile – dimmed as she saw the girl’s face. “Aoife? What’s wrong?”

        Oh…nothing. I was just acting stupid and oversensitive, that’s all. Aoife tried not to look eager to get to her bedroom here; with any luck, Freddy might already be there. Waiting for her.

        Annie raised an eyebrow slightly. “Well…if you need to talk about it, you can.”

         Thanks, Annie.

        “That’s okay. Try to get some sleep.”

         Aoife paused a moment after shutting the bedroom door. She actually did enjoy the room she stayed in at Annie’s; the furniture was simple, yet elegant; cream-colored, with lacy curtains and old-looking but pretty wallpaper that had blue flowers on it.

         It was even more beautiful right now: dark, filled with blue-tinted shadows, luminous white flurries of snow falling slowly all around her, making all the room’s surfaces glitter faintly.

         You got this idea from the remake, she remarked, apparently speaking to thin air.

         “Maybe.”

         You said it was a stupid movie. Too “emotional,” you said.

          “Don’t get all ‘lawyer’ on me. I know what I said. You’re the one who thought this sequence was so damn pretty when we watched it. Besides, the special effects weren’t bad.”

         True. She smiled apologetically, reaching down to her console briefly to ‘save’ the document she’d been working on. But…I’m sorry…I think I’m going to need the Quiet Room tonight.

         He materialized out of a shadow. “What happened? You all looked like you were having a regular fucking blast. Even considering Crys’ PDA.”

         I actually always find that kind of sweet. When it’s those two, at least.

         “Gross.”

         Anyway, it’s nothing…Loki puts me on edge, and I was a bitch for no reason.

         “Doubt it. You usually have pretty good reasons for being a bitch.”

        Aoife wasn’t sure how to take that; something about it made her smile wider. Well, anyway, as I said…

        “Yeah. And when you say ‘the Quiet Room’…”

        She nodded as they watched the wallpaper’s pattern dissolve into gray duracrete, and the furniture either disappear or become suddenly bolted down, and much more institutional-looking. Yes, please. That Quiet Room.

         Loki awoke with wetness at the corners of his eyes. He was breathing hard, drenched in sweat, shivering; cold, for once. Annie had left a blanket out for him; now, he wrapped himself in it, not even bothering to try to spread it neatly over his makeshift bed.

         Around him was almost complete darkness. As his eyes adjusted, the shapes of the furniture loomed out from the shadows; he clenched his eyes shut so that he wouldn’t see them, fighting the urge to cower under the bedclothes like a child.

         He tried not to think of Frigga. He tried not to think of Thor. He tried not to think of the nightmare he had woken up from, which was thankfully fading quickly from memory.

          It had been about either Thanos, or his children. He could not recall which. The former dream was commonplace. The latter sort, he hadn’t had in years.

         There was one person who had always been able to comfort him when he had dreams like those. Especially when he dreamed about his children. He wished she was here.

         She probably didn’t even know that he still lived.

         He was too cold and afraid to move, so there was nothing to do but attempt to sleep again. He curled up as tightly as he could under the blanket, and wondered vaguely once again what “fascist” meant. Perhaps it was like “ergi.” The thought made him burrow down even lower into the cushions. He wished for morning.

Chapter Text

         Loki?

         Loki jerked himself out of his reverie. He had been watching Aoife type on her small lap console – that is, his eyes had been focused on her at first, and now they still happened to be pointed in her direction even as he let them un-focus.

         It was not, he knew, that he felt anything other than perhaps an intellectual sort of fascination for the mortal, but he couldn’t – wouldn’t – deny that he did find himself watching her when she was in his presence. Well, I suppose she is not an ugly girl. No great beauty, of course, but certainly soft on the eyes, for a mortal (especially a somewhat crippled mortal, as he understood). Were they in Asgard and he still a prince, he’d probably make a play for her. He’d never been considered conventionally handsome, especially not next to Thor, but he didn’t repulse potential lovers either, and he was certainly more attractive than Krueger.

         He was finally, he thought, beginning to unwind while in the custody of these people. He tried – as he always did – not to think of his time in the Dark Worlds, but he did have to admit that this was far preferable. They fed him regularly and treated his injuries and whatever malady he seemed to have contracted due to this beastly heat, and they seemed to want nothing from him for the moment, although Loki suspected this would change. Though he was weakened, he possessed his full powers again for the first time in months. And sooner or later, they would discover that.

          Hopefully, by then, Aro would be able to rescue him. Of course, Loki wasn’t naïve enough to hinge his entire future on that. He needed a contingency plan. It was preying on his mind that he still did not yet have one.

          Yes, he was beginning to grow comfortable. As comfortable as he could be, relaxing upon the blade of a knife.

         “Yes?” he replied to Aoife now.

         I just noticed it’s almost two-thirty.

         “What?”

          I mean, it’s getting late in the afternoon. I’m hungry. Have you eaten lunch yet?

          Loki realized the thought of food hadn’t even crossed his mind. He had sometimes put off or missed meals while studying his seiðr for hours on end back in Asgard, and he’d certainly gotten out of the habit of regular meals before his first arrival on Earth.

        “No,” he said, now, carefully. “I have not.”

         Aoife insisted on cooking for them both – one egg for him (Loki knew two would be too many), and two eggs for her, all of the eggs scrambled with cheese and pieces of ham; she also fried up tiny, rather thin strips of crispy, almost-burnt bacon, and dug out some leftover mashed potatoes that she diced slivers of onion into, before reheating them in the oven.

         Loki had to admit that the smell wafting from his plate was mouth-watering. The eggs were the perfect texture, not slimy or congealed in the least; aside from the apparent puniness of Midgardian bacon, he had no complaints.

        “It’s delicious,” he told Aoife, offering the compliment more tentatively than he liked to admit, remembering the previous night. He supposed he ought to assume that Aoife didn’t like him; even in the brief time since they had met, she seemed to be constantly trying to push him away. But then, she had also rescued him, and now cooked for him. Such signals left Loki rather uncertain.

        “So…” he took her lack of overt hostility as permission to go on. “There are realms where members of the royal families consider labors such as cooking to be beneath them. I take it your realm feels differently?”

       She shrugged unhelpfully. What about your realm? Asgard?

         “I asked you first.”

         I made lunch. Was she truly adamant that he answer the question, or merely being deadpan? Loki decided to err on the side of caution.

         “On Asgard, highborn ladies learn the same feminine duties as their common counterparts, yes. Cooking, healing, weaving, sewing, and so on. Of course our men don’t learn such things.” Loki paused. “Although m- although Thor has a great skill for baking. I do not know how he managed to achieve it, or why Odin permitted him to.”

         Aoife had seemed troubled since inviting him to lunch. Now, she gave a small but genuine smile, for the first time. That’s…marvelous.

         Loki couldn’t help but sneer. “It was not so ‘marvelous’ when I mastered seiðr and was taunted for being ‘womanly’ and ‘argr’ by all his admirers, I assure you.”

         He expected anger from Aoife, but instead, she looked thoughtful. I’m sorry, Loki. You’re right. That’s always the way, isn’t it? When a popular, privileged, ‘red-blooded’ manly man does something nonconformist, everyone sees it as ‘progressive,’ and gives him points just for trying it. When someone less privileged does something similarly transgressive, it…bothers people.

         Loki nodded, doing his best to put the anger at the memory from his mind. “So…your realm?”

        Aoife nodded. Most people of my social class there don’t cook. Well, maybe some do, as more of a hobby, like me, but it’s not something we’re taught. We don’t have to cook in order to eat.

         “What prompted you to learn, then?”

         At first, it was…things I do with Freddy. The…games. We do these…power-play things, where I act the role of the submissive and he acts dominant. With sexual activities, but some nonsexual ones, too. I thought cooking for him might be a nonsexual submissive thing I could do. I mean, I suppose being undead he doesn’t really need to eat, but he says it’s still enjoyable. She took a sip from her glass of a sweet, cool, tangy orange liquid (she had given Loki a cup of the same); as with her water from the night of their introduction, as well as at all the meals since, she used a small, colorful thin tube to suck up the liquid, rather than angling the glass as most beings did when they drank from a cup. It’s a straw, she explained shortly when she noticed him looking at the tube. It’s harder to drink if I don’t use one. More of a choking hazard.

         As I say, at first, it was to do with Freddy, and with BDSM, but another part of it was…it’s more independent, I think. To prepare your own food. I like to feel independent.

        Loki felt a smile curving his lips. “So do I.”

        She hadn’t looked into his eyes once except very briefly since they’d met, but now her gaze was even more downcast than usual. Loki, I wanted to do this for you – the cooking, I mean – to apologize for calling you a fascist before. It was uncalled for.

        “Oh”- Loki hadn’t expected an apology; not from her. “I had forgotten about it, to be honest.” Did the lie sound convincing? Yes, he thought so. “It’s all right, in any case. But do explain the term to me sometime; now I’m curious, you see.”

        All right. Some other time, though. It’s a bit of a long story and it’s not…good table conversation.

        “Of course.” He paused. “So…I have met two of the leaders among the ‘vampires,’ but I have not yet been acquainted with…the Countess, whose name escapes me”-

        Zaleska Drakulya.

        “Yes, the Countess Zaleska. You’ve met her, correct? What manner of being is she?”

        Aoife took another thoughtful bite. Well, I can tell you the story of how Jane met her for the first time. It’s not a bad story, it sums up the conflict with the Neofeudal vampires fairly well, and I tend to think…it says quite a bit about her. More than I can really articulate otherwise. People are very difficult to describe in words. Many things are very difficult to describe in words.

        “I thought you were a writer?”

       I’m a thinker. And a storyteller. Not a good one, necessarily, but it’s what I am. I adopted words in order to do those things and communicate better. More effectively, to people who don’t share my neurology. Words are a second language to me; a language I’m extremely fluent in, but a second language all the same.

        She sat back. So, Countess Zaleska. It began when I made the mistake of watching a certain film on television – I’ll explain more about that in a minute – while Jane was watching with me, soon after we met, after she came here for the first time, almost two years ago.

The two girls – one, the fat one, in her older teens, fair and stumpy and dark-haired and human – and the other young-looking, willowy, light-haired, still a child, and one of their kind – made an odd pair as they entered the theater. Both clothed in black – fine, lacy, shimmering black, but black all the same – and walking purposefully, as most people in Paris, especially most women, did not do, without stopping to mill and socialize before the show. A few of the regular actors and more informed patrons watched them from behind the curtains as they went, but…such couples were not as unusual as the coven liked to pretend, after all.

        They bought high balcony seats, and the regular actors and crewmembers who watched them remembered this well because the human one had a slow, painstaking time of it on the stairs. Perhaps it was her girth, or her long gown. It wasn’t exactly that she was awkward, more that one got the sense, from watching her, that she would become so if she climbed the staircase to the balcony any faster.

        They settled themselves in their seats, still not talking, until the little one said, “Aoife…I see her.”

        Where?

        “Down there, on the right.” She pointed.

        Oh, okay. I see them.

        “Aoife?”

        Yes, Jane?

        “You’re really going to le- to help me do this?”

        Yes.

        “Why?”

        Because I agree with you. I think it’s important.

        “And what if Annie is right? What if we…what if we change this and it ruins everything?”

        It can’t. That isn’t…I don’t think that’s how it works. It’s not a matter of adhering rigidly to “how things should go.” Whatever happens…however it is, is how it should go. She shifted. “Always in motion, is the future.”

        “What?”

        A Jedi said that once. But it’s still true. She bent down to check the positioning of her garter – or so it would appear to anyone watching. It’s why things like the Vader Effect exist. So…what’s your plan? What do you intend to do when we meet her?

         “I’ll warn them. And then stick around in case they need protection. Until they leave this city, or the danger seems past. Whichever comes first.” The younger girl turned to Aoife. “I’m not asking you to stay with me.”

         But I probably will anyway. If you’ll let me. No time will have passed in the Dead Zone – or at least not much. I can survive at least a few more days without an internet connection.

        A long pause, and then, as the orchestra began warming up and the lights dimmed, Jane said, “Okay.”

        Jane couldn’t help but smile as the actor onstage concluded the humorous rhyme; some little skit about a miser becoming trapped and suffocating in his bank vault. Below them, the audience roared. It was the third such sketch of tonight’s performance. Beside her, she sensed Aoife stiffening, the way she did when someone on Robot Chicken or some such television program said the “r-word.” She supposed it made sense that a human would be a bit sensitive about nonhumans mocking the brief, mad scramble of their lives.

        “Aoife,” she began in an undertone. “Look, I’m sorry”-

        Aoife held up a silencing hand. Her eyes were screwed shut, her body rigid. Concentrating. There’s something going on backstage. People are nervous…they’re afraid. Something unexpected…something’s going wrong. Someone is there who shouldn’t be…

         Jane shifted forward in her seat. “Should we go to them? Now? Do you think whoever it is could be after them? Her?”

         I…I don’t know. I don’t think it’s him. You know, the…the one she killed. I can’t remember his name; I think it was an L name, a French one. But it’s not him. This mind is wrong for him…it’s like…like metal.

         “It doesn’t matter. Things have changed. I’m going down there.”

         I’ll be right behind you.

         They were halfway down the stairs when the troops in black took the theater.

         “Let us go!” The crowd of terrified humans and vampires – clustered together in mutual fear and confusion – parted in the direction of the girl’s shouts, alternately threatening and near-pleading. “Please, you don’t understand, someone’s going to die soon if”-

        The two girls were half-dragged forward. The fair one was flushed and a bit winded from shouting; the dark-haired human one was remarkably serene, aside from her clear discomfort at being touched by strangers.

        Jane looked up at the person before her. A woman, and a vampire, although this was not immediately obvious. She was dressed presentably, but functionally, with no ornamentation or jewels except for the large ruby pendant hanging around her neck; thick-bodied and curvaceous, the kind of figure in vogue a few centuries ago. Her thick hair was a shade of dark brown that could be called “sienna” by someone wishing to make it sound more interesting than it was, and her skin, while a bit chalky, was generally olive-toned, a contrast to the marble tones around her. Her features were aquiline, but might be considered beautiful in a severe sort of way, in a good light at least.

        “Who are you?” she demanded of Jane now, in a voice that was used to giving orders, and which also had no time for bullshit. Her English was accented.

        When Jane fell silent, slightly intimidated, the woman looked to the other girl. “Aoife? What are you doing here?”

        Good evening, my lady, Aoife replied a bit wearily. This is Jane, of the Volturi. But we’re not here for anything political. We have people we’re searching for. We’re…saving someone’s life.

         The woman nodded soberly. “My people have taken this theater. We allowed no one to leave. I will help you to find those you seek soon enough, but first, I have business of my own.” She turned to one of her people. “Did you find them all?”

         “Yes, voivoda.” Jane gasped as the woman’s soldiers dragged forward a protesting man in rich, bold red robes. He was a youthful vampire, only a little older than Jane appeared to be – but with that timeless quality she’d become familiar with. The men forced him to his knees at the woman’s feet. “The first.”

         The woman smiled mirthlessly down at him. “Your reputation precedes you. You are a leader among the coven here, are you not?” She bent down toward him. “And I hear you are a great patron of this theater company.”

          The man sneered up at her. “As your reputation does you. A lover of the weak, Countess, a cherisher of comforting illusion…and a traitor to your kind.”

         The woman – the Countess – gave a barely-audible half-snort. “I can assure you, sir, that you are not one of my kind.”

         “I have lived a hundred lifetimes – I remember when even the ancestors of your house were still waist-deep in muck”-

         “I have no shame that my clan’s strength arose from the work of our hands – if what you say is true. And your many long years were wasted if you never learned what around you – and who around you – was truly precious.” She straightened up. “Hold him.” Jane felt a shiver go down her spine; her body knew what was about to happen even if her mind didn’t immediately grasp it.

        The Countess seized the man’s head, palms clasping it on either side, and Jane couldn’t quite stifle the cry in her throat as the Countess twisted and tore the man’s head from his shoulders without hesitation. She’d seen Aro do the same, but somehow…it felt different this time.

         Beside her, Aoife was gazing intently at the scene, as if trying to memorize it all.

          The Countess nodded to herself, tossing away the man’s head as if it was trash. She looked up. “Bring forward the next one.”

         She’s one of my grandmother’s oldest friends, Aoife introduced the woman as they stood, watching her deal out what she clearly believed to be justice. She is the most progressive leader of the Drakulean vampires ever to exist. She’s the only known inheritor of the Count Drakulya title to subsist on animal blood and Tru-Blood, instead of hunting people.

         “She just ripped ten people’s heads off!”

         Don’t the Volturi do that, too?

        “It isn’t usually this many in one sitting! You talk about her regard for human life – what about her love for her own people?”

         I don’t know, Jane. But if you want to know, maybe you can start by asking all the innocent humans who aren’t dead because of her. Jane couldn’t help but shiver at the edge in Aoife’s voice. For myself, I hope that when – if – I take the throne back home, I have the guts to be half the leader that she is. She doesn’t care if people hate her. She doesn’t care who or what she has to defy or even destroy. She does the right thing, even if she’s the only one who will. And stopping one group of people from enslaving another – from reducing them to objects – that’s the right thing to do.

        “You’re just jealous of us!” the words burst from Jane’s mouth before she could stop them. “We’re fast and strong and beautiful, and you just wish you were.”

        Aoife’s voice remained steady, even as silent tears began to flow down her cheeks. I already am all those things. In my way, not yours. And that doesn’t mean that either of our ways is better, or worse. We can be different, Jane, without being enemies. And no, I do not want to become like you. Not because I hate your kind, but because I want to be me. I choose to be me. And I shouldn’t have to fear for my life, or be dismissed as someone’s plaything – or their potential meal – because of that choice.

         “Now that that is finished with,” the woman said at last. “Who are the two of you looking for?”

        Steeling herself, Jane spoke the name, and the woman nodded. “You there, private,” she called to one of her men. “Go and find the young lady and her companion. Her friend here must speak with her.”

        “Of what did you warn her?” the Countess asked Jane. There was a gilded throne backstage, as well as several other chairs to be used as props, but the woman had elected to perch on the stage’s edge, alongside some of her men as they smoked briefly or took quick gulps from flasks, canteens, or thermoses. Jane found the whole scene grating; these people were intruders into a sophisticated place; a temple of Art.

        She leaned against the stage, and felt something wet on her hand. She looked down at it; it was stained red.

        Blood. Human blood.

        How many humans would have died tonight if this woman – this Countess Zaleska – had not stopped the show?

        How many humans die every night in this ‘temple of Art’?

        If they had the chance, do you think these vampires would hesitate to kill Aoife on this stage? Would you also find that artistic and compelling, Jane? Aoife screaming in pain and terror – her life’s blood pooling on the floor – for the sake of some nebulous philosophical musing on the futility of life?

        Jane shook her head, willing herself back to the present conversation. “I warned her that the coven here would kill her when they found out what she did to get free of the one who raised her as a vampire. And I told her that he still lived.”

        “And why would you do that?”

         “Because what happens to her – what would have happened to her – was wrong. She was right to hate him, and she was right to try to escape – by any means that she could.” Jane struggled to keep her voice calm. “He chained her to him. He never treated her like a person…just some kind of accessory. A living doll.”

        The Countess nodded, regarding Jane with a strangely knowing look on her face. “Yes, well, our people have objectified the humans for centuries. It would be truly surprising if it did not contaminate the way we treat each other.”

        “That’s not how it works”-

        “No? Oppression twists the oppressors as well as the oppressed. Not to a comparable extent, but still…”

        Jane stared up at the woman. “I see why Aoife likes you,” she said at last. “You think the way she does.”

        “I shall choose to take that as a compliment.” The Countess smiled. Her smile was mournful, at the crinkles of her eyes and the corners of her mouth. “And if you ever wish to discuss it further – or anything else, for that matter…” she reached into her pocket and drew out a small paper card. “This is my personal contact information. My door – so to speak – is always open.”

          Jane’s appearance seemed to change daily, Loki reflected, watching her come down to breakfast the next morning wearing her now-customary heavy makeup, but also a patterned dress that looked quite a few years too old for her, as well as a size too tight in several places. Hot as the summer weather did tend to be, Loki still did not see the need for such a negligible amount of clothing, especially for one so young.

         “Why don’t you dress more like you did the day we met?” he asked as casually as he could, while they read together in the den. “It was lovely.”

         “I think I look lovely now.”

         “Of course you do,” Loki lied. “But you do not need such…adornments to be so.”

         Jane set her book down on the table hard, and whirled to face Loki. She was staring at him – regarding him with a white-faced, nostrils-flared, eyes-flashing look that sent a cold shiver through him. Her body was faintly trembling – not of weakness, but rather of an explosive force barely contained.

        For a few moments he was certain that any second she would leap across the room, over the coffee table, at him and somehow – despite her small stature – manage to throttle him. But she merely gazed at him for a few moments – slowly regaining control of herself, he realized.

        Finally, he saw her sink back against the chair cushions slightly. After a few more seconds, she spoke. “Aro forced me to dress that way.” Her tone was blank, hollow – controlled, he realized. “Ever since he changed me. I was nearly a young woman when he did that. When you change a human into one of us, there’s a physical age we have to be – if we’re under it and you change us…we don’t grow anymore. Our minds keep going…but our bodies are stuck. That’s why most of us reproduce sexually, despite the humans’ myths.” She looked down. “And why there are – at least why there are supposed to be – such strict laws against changing children.

         “When I came here with Aro for the first time…everything I knew about being one of us, I learned from him. He…he said I was perfect just as I was. He said he had never wanted me to grow up. He…he values innocence.” She sniffed, hard. “He has all these ideas about what we are…he doesn’t really believe in sex. Or so he says. I know he’s a hypocrite there. He says our people don’t truly need to sleep, that we’ll never die unless we’re killed, and that no human can kill us, that each of us has a special power…none of those things are true. But it’s what people back home want to hear. They’ve spent generations hiding because it’s what people like the Volturi told them to do to keep safe, instead of just going after people like the Slayers.” She lowered her voice. “I think they need the Slayers. To keep us scared, so we keep looking to them.”

          Loki remembered Aoife’s tale. “Is the Countess like that?”

         “The Countess Drakulya is…she’s not like anyone else. Like Ranulf McAshton, maybe. She…she was the first one of us I’d ever seen who had human blood in her family. I mean, human relatives who stayed human. It makes her…different. Just in every way. She doesn’t care about tradition, or what men think of her. She treats our people like we’re…like we’re real people. Real people with needs, and problems. She doesn’t let the lords under her just ignore those things and glory in our past, which is why they hate her. And she doesn’t let them mistreat their humans – I mean, the humans who live on their land and work for them – anymore. Ranulf is like that, too. They say it’s thanks to him that everyone in Salem’s Lot who got changed – the whole town, I suppose – didn’t become human-hating Neofeudalists, like the man who changed them all is.” She fidgeted. “But I’ve digressed. The Countess was the one who told me about the others like me. Others who were changed before their time. She and Crys – and Aoife – helped me get a prescription for birth control pills from Dr. Lecter in town. The chemicals in them – the hormones – make me grow. Not much, but it’s better than nothing.”

          Loki was surprised when she looked back up at him. “I know I look like a child, Loki. But I’m not one. Even by our people’s age standards, I’m a young woman. A young adult. This body doesn’t seem like an adult’s body, and it doesn’t feel like one, so I’m doing what I can to fix it, so that I can feel better inside it. And part of that is dressing this way, and looking the way I look. Maybe I did look prettier in Aro’s clothes, without my makeup. But I’m not doing this in order to look pretty. I’m doing it in order to look like myself.”

         Loki knew better than to challenge the girl on any of it; the denizens of this realm apparently lived outside a number of social norms; Loki also considered that they were, in some fashion, all mad. The sooner Aro came for him, the better. Or the sooner he was able to return to Asgard – though what was left for him there, other than his cell? He’d seen what kind of welcome he’d likely receive, the night he’d had to run.

         He lay back on the couch, trying to ignore the feeling of being boxed in.

Chapter Text

       “I know what we should do tonight,” Crys announced. “With Loki here, and Jane and Aoife, you guys back now”-

         Youtube video? asked Aoife, draining her screwdriver. It might be a subconscious reaction against the “who to kill first” tropes they were running from, but most of the Dead Zone, including the SKS, had a fairly lax attitude toward the idea of a legal drinking age. Maybe it just made teens easier to catch on the rare occasion that the SKS member in question fell off the wagon.

        “Yep. Playthrough. I rented the Amnesia game sequel, and we can try it out.”

        “An amnesia game?” Loki sneered. “I tired of those when I was a thousand. And besides, I do not have the components for an amnesia potion, and anyway who would we”-

        “No, Loki, that’s not what she means,” Jane laughed. “It’s okay. I’m pretty new to video games, too. Aro was convinced they rot your brain.”

        “In that one particular instance, he was absolutely right,” Crys agreed.

         “So we’re to play this simulation and record it, along with our conversation?” Loki frowned. It sounded deceptively simple, and it also sounded…boring. The screen, hooked up to the contraption that would play the interactive recording, didn’t even seem that big.

         You’ll see, Aoife told him as Crys set her computer up. Just watch the game, and…react to it.

         “If you need to, have another drink,” Crys advised as the game began to load. Loki frowned again. From what he could see of the preliminary images onscreen, the game didn’t even seem realistic. He privately doubted that it would hold his attention very long.

        Crys loved the Amnesia franchise, and this was one of the reasons. “Fuck you, chair,” she proclaimed as she threw it.

         “Crys, let’s just play the game,” Jane said as nicely as she could.

         “Aw, but baby, I like throwing the things around – here, do you want to try”-

        “If we are attempting to retrieve this man’s children while escaping detection, throwing furniture about seems unhelpful”- Loki began.

        It’s okay, the furniture doesn’t really make a sound or anything in the game. She does this a lot, Aoife told him.

        “Yeah,” agreed Crys. “Because it’s super fun.”

        Wait, is that-

        “That’s the chair I threw earlier,” Crys murmured.

        “What’s it doing up here with us on this floor?” asked Jane.

        “I dunno. Here, I’m gonna throw it away again.”

        “Is that”-

        There it is again.

        “The chair is following us.”

         “Is that ominous or indicative of anything…bad?” Despite himself, Loki felt a chill go down his spine at the thought. It’s only a game, he reminded himself.

        “Crys, are you sure it’s the same one?”

        It’s the same chair.

        “Yeah. It’s haunting us.”

       “Check again for tinder, in case we missed it,” Jane advised.

        “Okay, but I’m not seeing it, just these bottles everywhere”-

        How likely is it that his children could reach these bottles?

         “Oh, nine in ten, for sure. I mean, they’re right there.”

         This house is a terrible place to raise children!

         “What are you even attempting to search for?” Loki tried to keep the nervousness out of his voice. The game was a laughable simulation – but it did keep one on edge.

         Tinder, I think. And oil. It’s always tinder with this game.

         You know, Daniel needs to stop pulling this shit, Aoife remarked. As I understand it, this is someone who goes and does some evil science experiment or other, takes the amnesia potion, and then every game has to go back and figure out what he did and try to fix it. It’s just a neverending cycle with him.

         “Aoife, it’s not Daniel this time.”

         It’s not?

        “No, it’s some other guy. ‘Oswald’ I think.”

        So there won’t be any Daniel and Alexander action in this, then.

         “’Fraid not.”

         “I was disappointed about that too,” Jane piped up.

         “Aoife, no offense, but how have we been playing this game for like half an hour now and you didn’t even know what the premise was?” Crys asked her friend.

         I don’t know. You only need to know so much of the plot to follow the actual game.

         “I still do not understand any of this.”

         I think some person is turning people into pigs, possibly including his children. I don’t know why he wouldn’t just breed more pigs, or clone pigs, but there you go. That’s my theory.

         “That…” Crys shook her head. “That doesn’t sound right, but I don’t know enough game spoilers to refute it.”

       “AHHH!”

       Crys reared back with the rest of them. “What was that?!” They fell into desperate silence, processing the object that had just darted across the lower part of the screen.

        Oh, it’s the lantern, Aoife remarked, catching her breath. Loki tried to ignore the fact that in her surprise, she had lost her balance and fallen backward against him. She felt exceedingly warm on his chest, and he could smell the faintly minty herb scent of whatever soap she used to wash her hair.

        “Oh, the lantern. That’s right. Duh.”

        Hello Lantern my old Amnesia friend… Aoife laughed more or less to herself, before processing that she was invading Loki’s personal space and getting off him.

       “What is this lantern?” asked Loki. “I mean…what is its significance”-

        “It’s from the first game,” Jane explained. “It’s why we kept needing to look for the tinder and oil and things. He carries a lantern and it keeps almost going out”-

        “I’m not sure why we need it,” Crys remarked. “Most of this game has gas lights and stuff all through it, it doesn’t really get that dark, and I’m not seeing any tinder to pick up, really.”

        “Ah, so it says that because there’s no lantern fuel system, we get to use it as much as we like,” Jane reported, reading the manual in the dark, ruby irises glowing faintly.

        “Cool.”

        So that’s why there haven’t been any tinderboxes in this one.

         “Another bathroom?”

        “What is it with your Midgardian games and…water closets?”

        Ye gods, this house is full of toilets.

         Crys snorted. “Aoife, seriously, are you high”-

         No, I had a really long day back home before I came back here and there was the Senate and I’ve just been so serious all day and then we had drinks, so-

         “Dude, you had one!”

         I’m tired and this is what happens to my verbal filter when I get tired and relaxed! You’ve known me for two years now, Crys, how did you not know this?

        “I don’t know”-

        “A lever!”

        Pull the lever, Kronk!

        Loki actually turned on the light as Crys dropped the controls so that she could sag against the couch, helpless with laughter.

       “And there’s a bar with more alcohol.”

        “How much alcohol does one person need?”

        Oswald is doing drunk science!

        “Aoife, I’m going to piss”-

        “I have a theory,” Loki announced during their break.

        “What is it?” Jane encouraged.

        “This man – this Oswald – he shut down this contraption himself, didn’t he? It was doing something – something horrible.” Loki wasn’t sure why the thought made him shiver. It was only a game, after all.

        “I don’t know, Loki,” Crys admitted. “I’ve never played this before.”

        A lot of these sorts of games are like that, said Aoife thoughtfully. Especially Amnesia. I wouldn’t be surprised. After all, it wouldn’t be in his house if he didn’t have something to do with it, would it?

        “Oh my God”-

        “Minn faðir Odin”-

        “I didn’t realize there would be so much blood”-

        “Oh, shit, that’s right – are you okay, babe?”

        Does that seem like…a person-sized amount of blood to you?

        “Oh, yes. It is,” said Loki’s mouth before he could stop it.

        “Yep – let’s see what’s down here – oh shit, is that a conveyor belt?”

        It’s a roller coaster ride, Aoife quipped, but her tone had grown somber.

        Oh, the Orb, Aoife remarked. That’s what the egg-thing he’s referring to is. It’s from the first game.

         “It doesn’t matter what was in the first game!” Loki snapped at her, annoyed by the distraction. Beside him, Jane shivered. The room seemed much chillier, and darker now. “How can you even”-

         Because I’m trying to distract myself by thinking about stupid things. Her voice shut him up nicely.

         “I didn’t realize it would get this…sad,” Crys piped up. “Maybe we should pick it up another time”-

         “It’s okay,” Jane told her.

         It probably doesn’t help that we drank before we did this, Aoife mused aloud.

         Jane spoke. “I wonder where we were during World War One. I don’t remember either of them. Perhaps Aro had a bunker or secret fort or something. I wonder if…others of us fought in it.”

         It seems likely, Aoife supplied.

         “Is ‘World War One’ the one that old man was referring to?” Loki inquired. “At that place – Stuttgart, I believe”-

        “No, that was World War Two,” Crys explained. “There were two of them.”

        “Why?”

        “Because of the way we all fucked up with handling the aftermath of the first one.”

        “Why did the first one happen, then?”

        The countries of Earth were tangled in the alliances they made with each other, and they ended up strangling themselves with them, Aoife intoned.

        “That was poetic,” Jane told her.

        Thanks. I might write it down, actually.

         “So he’s committing carnage and unspeakable horror now to prevent carnage and unspeakable horror in the future?” Jane shook her head. “What?”

         “Don’t think about it too hard,” Crys advised her. The laughter was gone from her voice.

        No one was really in a mood to talk or joke more after it ended. Aoife made an excuse and went straight to bed – perhaps overwhelmed – and Crys kissed Jane good night and went up as well. Jane stayed a few moments more as Loki prepared himself for another night on the couch. She was staring at the computer screen, now dark, apparently deep in thought.

         At last, she spoke. “Loki, did you know that some of my kind believe that our race don’t have souls?”

         Loki was unsure how to respond, and it struck him that Jane wasn’t looking for a reply.

         “We repeat what the humans say about us. We invent all this propaganda and bravado – but it’s all because deep down, we think we’re monsters. We think we deserve for the slayers to get us. We think that if they did, the world would be better.

         “Why are we allowed to think such things about our own people? Like the man in the game with his machine. Why is it possible for us to think such things about ourselves? How much better could we be if we didn't hate ourselves so much?"

         Had Loki been less tired, less drunk, and his mood less dampened by the game’s final revelation, he would have made some remark upon the irony of asking him such questions. “I’m afraid I don’t know, Jane,” he murmured instead.

         She smiled sadly – lips closed; teeth not visible – and shook her head. “Good night, Loki. Sorry, usually our playthroughs end on a more fun note than this.”

         “It is all right,” he lied, but she was already halfway up the stairs.

         Loki had no idea what a war machine, or any kind of mechanical thing designed to kill a multitude of people, might look like. So his dreams that night instead turned to the Dark Worlds, and the Other, the Chitauri, and their master; and before that, to the beam of raw energy pouring into Jotunheim, burning its way through the ice planet’s skin.

Chapter Text

         Asgard did not have regular holidays and solar festivals, only celebrations centered around events, like weddings or victories over some foe. Battles like that of Bor against the Dark Elves, or, much later, Odin Allfather against the Frost Giants, were still commemorated ages after the fact, but that was all. Even day of birth celebrations tended to fade for most beings after the first thousand years or so. Solstice festivals had always been seen as the realm of mortals and the more primitive, superstitious races.

        Still, Loki did not think he could abide for hours in the Wilkes house alone.

        And so it was that he found himself sinking awkwardly into a chair at the McAshton house, where the community’s “Beltane” celebration (somewhat belated, Aoife had explained, to allow for the students returning from “college” to attend the festivities) had moved indoors after the gray clouds that had blown in that morning had finally broken.

        The more constrictive space had pressed the revelers in closer together, and so it was that Arianrod, Aoife, Annie, and Orla, overwhelmed, had already made their escape down to one of the house’s cellars, where some of the McAshton men had attempted to set up a sort of den – a “man cave,” Crys had called it – but had run out of funds, or perhaps simply lost interest.

        Loki resolved to find them later on, after he was finished with the slice of chocolate cake that Jane had helped him navigate the crush around the food tables enough for him to get.

         “Oh, my god,” Crys groaned from her seat beside Loki, looking over at the door.

         “Yes?” Loki quipped, despite himself.

         “I see what you did there. No but seriously, dude, look what just walked in.” Loki followed her gaze, and felt his stomach flip.

        Aro had just made his entrance into the house and party. He was followed by some apparent vampires who Loki was unfamiliar with – but then again, thought Loki, aside from Jane, he was unfamiliar with all the “neofeudal” vampires except for Aro himself. The elegant, supremely self-possessed man was out-of-place in the crowd of rather drab-looking (and rain-soaked) partygoers, vampire and human alike, most of whom were from Salem’s Lot or its two neighboring towns within the area. Loki fought with himself silently over whether to try to meet Aro’s gaze or shrink back from it as the man’s ruby stare swept the room.

        “I mean, I guess it’s good that he’s here for diplomatic reasons,” Crys continued, more quietly. “But Jane’s here too, and I don’t want him bothering her.” She gestured toward Jane, who was over by the drinks cooler, calculating her chances of getting away with sneaking a can of what Crys had called “blood brew.”

        “Would he do that?”

        “Of course he would! I remember last year, when they came up here for the first time – the year we met – and I remember how he was with her. He hated to let her go anywhere. Even this year – Zaleska gave her a cell phone so they could communicate, and Aro found it, I think just an hour or two after she brought you back to the boardinghouse with her. She doesn’t think he figured out who gave it to her, but he still took it away from her and broke it.

        “And she told me he flushed all her pills as soon as they were back in Volterra, and had some of these other vampires he’s in charge of try to do this telepathic brainwashing thing to her where they make her content to be where she is. She had to fight that, she told me.” Crys looked pained. “She said…she said it hurt.” Her lip curled in contempt, an emotion that looked out-of-place on Crys’ features. “And apparently, of course, that brainwashing thing is also what he does to his wife – or has done to her, I mean.”

        Loki nearly choked on the sip of iced tea he’d just taken. “His wife?”

         “Yeah, his wife, to keep her from leaving the tower where he keeps her – he has this woman locked in an actual tower. I mean, I say ‘woman’ – she’s not a lot older than Jane, at least in terms of being physically developed, you know. It’s actually really gross. Especially when you think about how he changed Jane when she was so young, and for vampires, biting someone’s neck – which you have to do to change them, you know – can often be, like, a sexual thing. Their necks and eye teeth are, like, really sensitive. And when they start getting…you know…their gums recede so it looks like their teeth are getting longer. So considering all that, it’s like, his wife’s age, and how he treats her…it’s really creepy.”

         Loki found his appetite had fled. It’s just like him, said a voice in his head. You were foolish to think you could escape him. There will always be men like him, and they will always find you. There will be no realm, no barren moon, no crevice where…Stop it. He swallowed, banishing the thought. “But surely those are rumors.”

         “Jane’s no liar, dude. Why is it hard to believe any of this?” Crys stared at him, and Loki felt his throat grow dry at the question. “I mean, look at what he thinks about humans. He thinks we should all be treated like cattle. He’s not a nice person.”

        As the rain continued its patter on the outer paneling of the house’s walls and roof, with the occasional drip signaling the discovery of a fault or chink, Loki walked carefully down the winding stairs that apparently led down to the McAshtons’ cellars, fighting a mild case of vertigo (he was still a bit weak from the heatstroke and his injuries, it seemed). He was secretly glad to be getting away from Aro, not that he was in any way surprised or bothered by the man’s actions. The man had been a potential ally, nothing more. I need no one.

         After their exchange, Crys gets up to go comfort Jane, who’s seen Aro and his detail and is now visibly trying not to panic. Loki knows he should go to her as well, and he actually wants to, but something chokes back his words and keeps him anchored to his chair. They head off into the kitchen and Loki keeps watching Aro move through the crowd. Humans keep back from him – apparently his views are well known to most of them – and so do most of the vampires, although Loki thinks he can see a few of the young ones, males especially, watching him with some curiosity, even cautious admiration. Aro is dressed in fine black clothes and even a cloak, infinitely more regal than anyone here, including Countess Zaleska, who Loki saw earlier. Zaleska is stumpier than Aro, and darker, more like a laborer, and without so much of his grace. She is wearing fine enough clothes, Loki supposes, but she dresses like a human and it’s rather disappointing.

         Aro finds Ranulf and the Countess, and exchanges strained greetings with them both. Ranulf then shifts the conversation, and begins speaking much more quietly, Loki can tell. Surreptitiously, he pulls out the bottle that Aoife and Freddy found on Loki’s first night, and Loki can’t resist his curiosity, rising and drawing closer.

         “How else could this happen?” the Countess hisses. “Look at this label. Look at the seal on the bottle – it’s broken, but still you can see! This is no ordinary church water, anyone can see that. Where else could they have gotten it but from them?” At first, Loki thinks ‘them’ means these “Slayers,” until Ranulf speaks.

         “Heaven cannot afford to ally itself with a group like the Slayers,” he argues. “Besides, we have no reason to believe they would wish to. They have many followers among our people, and they know it. There’s no need for a return to the old trouble. And besides, have you forgotten Lord Yoshua, and now Athena too, and Annie? They would never allow such a move.”

         “Perhaps they don’t know everything that goes on!”

        “The Slayers could have gotten such materials from anywhere, given the right connections,” Aro says almost soothingly. “For humans, they’re quite clever. Frankly, it’s only to be expected that the Slayers would find their way here. So many of our kind living openly, with no lords to protect them properly, and humans walking free and mixing with us, with no means of keeping them under control – it’s their ideal hunting ground.” The Countess and Ranulf don’t reply, but Loki can sense that they are both biting their tongues.

        Loki decides it’s time to try to find the cellar where Aoife is hiding from the crowd. As he moves through the crowd, giving the leaders as wide a berth as he can, his gaze catches Aro’s, and he waits, despite himself, for even the slightest of smiles or even glances. But Aro shows no sign of even recognizing Loki – his self-control is absolute.

         Now Loki tried not to think about Aro as he descended into the bowels of the house. He wondered vaguely if Jane was feeling better.

         THUMP.

        “AHHHH!”

        Loki froze on the steps, ears straining for the direction of the apparent struggle. It sounded like it was one of the doors that branched off the staircase, presumably into closets or basement rooms.

         Just keep moving. Don’t become involved. Surely someone else heard.

         But…it couldn’t hurt just to open a few doors, could it?

         The first door was barred, the second led to a room empty of everything but a few stacks of boxes. The third door Loki tried was also locked, and he had just begun to continue on his way when another cry rang out. It was certainly coming from behind that door, Loki realized.

         He did not know if he had the energy to break it down, physically or by magic. But there’s only one way to find out.

         The door crashed forward, Loki falling into the room atop it. Crouched on the floor now, he looked up at the scene. “Orla?” his mouth asked, the name coming to him by some miracle.

        Orla McAshton looked down at him in wordless terror. Her face, pale normally, had blanched. She was breathing hard, eyes widened, hair and clothes disheveled. “What”- Loki began, and then his gaze followed Orla’s.

         Partly in shadow stood a man. His red eyes, slightly luminous in the gloom, identified him to Loki as a vampire. He wore black clothes that reminded Loki somewhat of Aro’s, but unlike Aro’s wardrobe, this clothing looked as if it had been fine once, but was now worn, frayed, and dirty. He appeared quite significantly older than Orla, with graying hair that was long and unkempt, and hung down over sharp, aquiline features that struck Loki as cruel.

         “Orla,” Loki heard himself say, his voice sounding loud in the overwhelming silence. “Are you well?”

         Orla appeared to have been stricken dumb, but she shook her head, distractedly but vigorously. Loki stood up slowly, ignoring the lingering ache in his body to approach the girl. “Come, Orla. We’ll go upstairs. We’ll find your father…” he had no idea why he was involving himself, but something about Orla’s obvious panic seemed to burn him. “Do you remember me, Orla? It’s Loki, we met only a few nights back”-

         Orla nodded again. “I remember,” she choked out, as if each word was a struggle.

        The girl allowed Loki to take her hand and lead her to the door. Her assailant seemed to have frozen at the shock of being caught in the act, and did not follow or attempt to impede them.

        Outside on the landing of the stairs, Loki heard others climbing up the stairs toward them, and the next second, Annie came into view, followed by Arianrod, and then Aoife. Annie spoke first. “We heard a commotion.”

        Orla seemed to have lapsed back into speechlessness, and so Loki decided to speak. “I was coming down to find you,” he explained, feeling ungainly. “I had heard that it was quieter down here. I heard the noises you did, and found Orla in this room…” he gestured rather weakly. “I apologize for the door; it was locked, and I had heard a scream. I found Orla, and a man…”

        “I want to go up to my room.” Orla spoke as tears began to run down her face, which was still ashen. “Please, Annie – please, everybody – I just want to be alone”-

        “Are you all right?” Annie looked the girl over. “Who was in there with you?”

        “Please”-

        Loki took a deep breath. “I will escort Orla up to her chamber now. Come, Orla.” He hoped he sounded authoritative.

        “His name is Barlow.” Orla’s voice was so soft Loki could barely make it out. They had been allowed to adjourn to her room in peace, as the women no doubt informed everyone in authority downstairs of the attack. Loki felt slightly soothed by the room itself; it was done in shades of blue, green, and touches of lavender, with a great many books stacked on every available surface.

       “He came here when I was little. Over from the Motherland, Dad said. That means eastern Europe, around the Carpathians, for us. The Countess lives near there. Dad always tried to help him because he didn’t know how to live in a new place, far away from where his whole family had lived. Every winter when his pipes would freeze over and his furnace would break because his house – the abandoned one out near Salem’s Lot – was old and falling apart, Dad would let him stay with us until spring.

        “He never did anything like this before,” she added. “It was…it’s because…I was stupid. I did a stupid thing.

        “I was going to marry him.” She shifted. “It was stupid…last fall he went and talked to Mom and Dad. He…he asked for ‘my hand.’ In marriage, you know? I guess that’s how they did it where he comes from. It was weird, but kind of…flattering, and even romantic, at the time. And Mom and Dad said they wouldn’t decide for me, and I…I said yes. Because…because I’m not…I mean, I’m a nerd, you know?” Loki didn’t, but he nodded anyway. “I’m quiet and I don’t know how to talk about normal things, and in school I answer questions and correct guys if they get things wrong. Because I get excited about stuff. And so, you know, boys never really…” she shrugged.

        “But then, I met someone else. And I realized I really want to go to college. And it just…I realized it wasn’t right. So I broke it off. Mom and Dad supported me. But…he wasn’t happy, and I felt bad about that, you know? So he found me today and wanted to talk to me in private, and I said okay and led him down there…” She crumpled, starting to cry again. “It was so stupid. It was my fault.”

        “No!” Loki fought to keep his tone calm. His chest felt tight, and it was difficult to breathe, and he wanted nothing more than to be gone, to be alone, to be home. “It…it was not your fault. It was not. I promise you, it was not.”

         They sat in silence until there came a knock on Orla’s bedroom door. Orla tensed, and Loki opened the door a crack, warily. It was an older vampire woman; petite and almost bony, with very long hair that might have been white, or simply ash-blond; it was difficult to tell. “I’m Svetlana McAshton. Is my daughter in there?”

         “Yes,” Loki said defensively, before deflating slightly under her steely gaze. “Yes, madam. She’s still a bit…upset. I’ll just ask if she wishes to”- he trailed off as he saw Orla nodding out of the corner of his eye. “Never mind. My apologies,” he added, letting the woman in. “I’ll see you later, then, shall I, Orla?” he asked over his shoulder, hoping to make his escape.

         “Wait.” Mrs. McAshton looked over at him from where she had perched on the bed beside her daughter. For a moment, she allowed herself to soften slightly. “Loki, isn’t it?”

         “Yes, that’s right.”

         “Yes, I thought so.” She paused, and then…“thank you, Loki,” she said more quietly. “Are you leaving?”

          I hope so. “I…am not sure. It will depend upon those I came with, I suppose.”

         “You’re welcome back,” she told him. “Any time. When you go, Arianrod will get you a plate to take home with you. Whatever you’d like.”

        The walls of the McAshton home must have been thicker than Loki had thought, because a cacophony of sound hit him as he reached the main floor. Locating the large living room-parlor area where most of the party had been set, he found himself walking into a crowd of people who were all gathered around one corner of the room. At first, even at his height, Loki could not see the source of the commotion.

         He flinched as he felt a hand in his, but it was only Crys, guiding him forward through the queue so that he could see better. As he got closer, he gasped.

         A man was huddled on the floor, curled into the fetal position with his back to the wall. Shards of porcelain, perhaps from some vase or other that had been smashed, littered the floor around him. At first, thanks to his posture and the blood that coated his clothes and hair, it was not possible to make out his identity. He was emitting sounds that were halfway between moans and sobs.

         Above him, his back to the crowd of party guests, stood Ranulf. Loki couldn’t help but shiver to look at him; the man was fearsome. His clothing was disheveled, his hair stuck up at odd angles, and he was even whiter than usual with apparent rage. His clothes and skin were dotted here and there with blood; Loki had the distinct impression it was not his own. He was breathing hard, evidently trying to regain some semblance of self-control.

        “I took you into my home.” Ranulf’s voice was a slow growl. Loki wanted to run right out of the house thanks to that voice alone, but even if he hadn’t been aware of the downpour, as well as the danger the woods of this realm held, dread would have kept him rooted to the spot.

        Loki felt himself wince as it became a roar. “I TOOK YOU INTO MY HOME!”

        “Ranulf,” said Zaleska, in a voice that reminded Loki of a deep, cool cave.

        He rounded on her. “Do you know what he did? After all I did for him, all we forgave him for – the anti-humanism, the turning of Salem’s Lot”-

        “I can place him under arrest,” Zaleska told him, in the same calming voice that brooked no argument. “For his attempt on Orla, for the changing of the town – he should have been punished for that long ago – but this is not a day for bloodshed.”

        A few more moments ticked by, the only sounds the rain and Barlow’s sniveling. At last, seeming more calm, Ranulf spoke. “Get out,” he snarled at Barlow. “Get off my land. If I see you on it again – if you come near my family, or anyone I care about, if you make trouble in town – I will rip your throat out and drain every last drop of your blood from your body. Do you understand me?”

         Barlow nodded silently. “THEN GO!” Ranulf roared so loudly that the house shook on its foundations. Barlow didn’t need to be told twice; he crawled off as fast as he could, stumbling to his feet and then streaking through the crowd and out the front door at breakneck speed.

         By chance, Loki’s gaze found Aro once more; the man was staring off in the direction Barlow had gone, a thoughtful look on his face.

         Loki jerked awake before Crys had even the chance to say his name, let alone touch him. “What is it?”

         “Well, normally our Beltane party continues all night, and we go up to the Shack or the Place with Mom and Dad because that’s where Mikey and Bob and the Sinclairs and everyone hangs out, because Ranulf doesn’t want them in town where there’s all the kids running around”-

         “Crys, I am not acquainted with any of those”-

         -“And we have stuff up there like sometimes drinking games or people will fake-fight each other, and then usually Arianrod makes this giant wicker man and she gets everyone to sort of put their bad thoughts in it on slips of paper, and then she and Bob light that shit on fire, except this year she can’t because of the rain, anyway”-

          Loki groaned. “Crys.”

         “Anyway, because of the rain nobody’s doing anything this year, so we’re going to steal my Dad’s car and go find a club or something outside the Zone. Like down in Bangor or something. We’ve got a few hours left before everything’s closed.”

         “Your father?” Loki grimaced at the memory of Freddy. “You’re going to steal his car?”

          “Yes! Come on! It’s going to be fun!”

           It had been a simple enough trick, convincing the mortals who kept the gate of the establishment that Crys chose (Meaghan’s Irish Pub, was it?) that they were all of age, even Jane; the barkeep had been befuddled with similar ease. Now, sitting at the bar, Loki and Jane watched Aoife and Crys dance.

         “Aren’t you jealous?” he asked her over the music that a small troupe of rugged-looking young Midgardian men were playing rather too loudly on a tiny stage. “They seem quite close, don’t they?”

         “They’re friends,” Jane said a bit too loudly. “I think Aoife mostly just likes men. And they used to be dance partners back in high school. For gym.”

         “But Crys is a bit of a man, isn’t she?”

        “No, that’s not how it works.” Jane turned to the young woman wearing too much eyeliner sitting on her other side and smiled. The flush in her cheeks indicated to Loki that she was starting to become a bit intoxicated. “Hi. Do you like Twilight? I’m a vampire too, you know. Watch.” She held her arm up toward the light fixture. “See? I sparkle.”

         “You can’t just follow people around in bars, baby,” Crys was telling Jane later, after one of the booths had cleared and they’d claimed it. “Especially women. It’s creepy.”

         “But I’m a woman!”

         That doesn’t make it less creepy! Aoife tried to snap, but mildly, from where she was slouched next to Loki.

          “It’s your fault anyway.” Jane rested her chin on the table.

          How is this my fault?

          “You and Crys were all dancing together and Loki asked if I was jealous”-

          Thanks, Loki. Aoife shot him a glare, and Loki bristled. “I am the God of Mischief.”

         You’re also the God of Fire, yet you’re not burning anything down, are you? she snapped. Loki couldn’t actually think of a rebuttal to this.

          I just wanted to dance with someone. I mean…you and Crys both have someone here, and I can’t because then Crys would have to get drunk with her father and that would be creepy-

         “I didn’t even think of that.” Jane actually sniffled.

          “No,” Crys objected. “Don’t give her sympathy for dating my Dad like a weirdo.”

          We’re not dating!

          “’Dating’ is the polite word for what you people are doing!”

           “I could escort you,” Loki blurted out. He cleared his throat and looked down at Aoife. “For tonight. I could be your…your…”

           “Date,” contributed Crys, staring into her glass.

           Aoife shrugged slowly. Okay. She stood up a little shakily, although no more so than usual. Come on, Loki, let’s dance.

           “I’m sorry I made you feel jealous, baby,” Crys was telling Jane as Loki and Aoife passed by the table. Her face looked a lot redder.

          “It’s just,” Jane was explaining almost tearfully. “It’s just…I don’t have a…I don’t have a good body…I don’t even have a normal body, and you probably can’t even touch me without feeling like a pervert, and…and I don’t really know anything about anything and sometimes…sometimes I have really horrible thoughts in my head about humans still, even though I try, I try not to be like Aro and the rest of them, and…and…”

          “But, no,” Crys stopped her. “Look, I want…don’t even worry about it, because I’m going to take you all away from it, and I just want to make you forget about all of it, and your body is fine, and I think you’re, like, really pretty”-

          “You’re so cute,” Jane moaned, running a hand over Crys’ shirt and vest. “I just want to…I just want Aro to die, and then I want to get my brother, and then I want us to go get married and have, like, a ton of babies…or maybe cats…”

          “Oh my God, that’s what I want, too!” Crys punched the air, shakily. “Let’s not rescue him tonight, though, because, like, we’ve been drinking.”

         “I know, right?”

        “Also, I don’t know if, like, I can want people to die. Because of religion. I mean, like, mine. Because of Christianity. Being a Christian and stuff.”

        “I…I want him to die, though. In a fire.”

        “Well, that’s okay, baby.”

        “That’s why…I think I’m an atheist.”

         “Well, okay, there you go.”

         “You two.” Loki looked up from discreetly smelling Aoife’s hair as she began to sag against him, her drinks catching up with her. The mortal behind the bar was glaring at them.

         Loki was beginning to feel a bit shaky on his feet himself, but he still rallied, drawing himself up. “Yes?” he asked haughtily.

         “Your two friends over there. Either get them out of here or make them stop lezzing out.”

         Aoife raised her head, peering over at Crys and Jane. They’re just making out. They’re…they’re both still wearing all their clothes and everything.

         The bartender jerked. “Who said that?”

        Aoife broke apart from Loki. Me.

        “What are you, some kind of fucking…magician, or something?” the barman shook his head. “This isn’t a fucking gay bar anyway. None of you even look old enough.” He gestured at Loki. “And he looks like a queer, too. Get out, all of you.”

         Aoife took a step forward. You’re a homophobic asshole and you should be the one getting out!

         “This is my bar!”

         You don’t deserve to have a bar!

         “Aoife, no,” Crys managed, extricating herself from Jane’s arms. “Loki, grab – grab her. We’re going.”

         “Don’t touch me!” “Arrrghhh!” The half-full bar turned as one in the direction of the cries. They had come from beside Crys and Jane’s booth. A man had fallen to his knees and now lay crumpled on the floor, in the fetal position.

         “Don’t touch me!” Jane screeched down at him once more. “Or I’ll do it again!”

         “She set me on fire!” choked the man. “On the inside! I can feel it!”

         Even Aoife in her clearly deepening fury seemed to register the gathering of the other bar occupants around them. She didn’t resist when Loki took her hand and began steering them toward the door, only to find that the way was blocked by several tall-looking gentlemen.

         “You wanted us to leave, didn’t you?” Loki shot over his shoulder at the bartender. “How are we to do so if these mort – these people bar our path?”

         The bartender snorted. “So you’re a fucking European too. I guess that’s why you look like a sissy.”

         “How are we to leave if”-

        “Excuse me, ladies, gentlemen, and those who find themselves in neither category,” boomed a voice that somehow also grated on Loki’s mind and sent an involuntary shiver down his spine. It was full and dramatic, but there was something…oily about it, as well. “But for my next trick, may I ask you all to direct your attention toward me? Incidentally, may I ask the four lovely young people by the door there to please close your eyes tightly so that the trick can commence?”

         Loki, shut your eyes, and don’t open them until we say so, Aoife ordered, mental voice only slightly blurry-sounding through her alcohol haze.

         “Why?”

         Because it’s about to get very bright in here.

          Loki pressed his eyelids shut a moment before a bright light burned red through them.

         There were…sounds. He tried not to hear them. They sounded too much like…never mind.

         His stomach lurched, and he wondered if he might be sick, or fall down. He had the distinct feeling that he didn’t want to fall into…whatever he might find covering the floor. He was not certain, if his legs did give way, that his eyes would not open on impulse. What would happen then?

         The light died down, but Loki kept his eyes shut until Aoife said, Loki. Loki, you can…it’s okay. She sounded drunker now, or perhaps she was simply fatigued and overwhelmed in addition to what alcohol she had consumed, as she had been at the Lonely on his first night here.

         He opened his eyes tentatively.

         And shut them again as quickly as he could, without needing to think. The floor was covered in…remains, but even worse, out of the corner of his eye he’d seen one enormous, spindly, hairy dark leg.

          It was the sort of appendage one might expect to find on an insect – or arachnid – of some kind.

         “Sorry about the mess,” said the voice. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, you two, I only had the bartender and that one man who tried to grab Jane. The others ran out. Where is the car?”

         “In…in the lot out back,” Crys managed.

          “And speaking of the car, how were you planning on driving it back, exactly?” the voice continued almost parentally. “Which one of you was supposed to be the designated driver? Because not one of you is sober.”

         A pause, and then… “Oh shit,” groaned Crys. “I knew we forgot something.”

         “Are you serious? Even if you don’t think a crash would kill you or Jane or”- the voice trailed off. “Who is this? Who are you?”

         Loki opened his eyes, bracing himself. He trained his gaze on the…well, it…he looked like a human. His face was painted white and what hair he had was bright red. He wore a loose…garment that had once been brightly patterned but was now faded and threadbare. Beneath his facepaint…it was difficult to be certain, but Loki thought his features might be those of a middle-aged man, or perhaps slightly older.

          His eyes were yellow. It was difficult to tell under the lights of the bar, but Loki thought they might be glowing very faintly.

         This being had asked him a question. “I am Loki, of Asgard.”

         “Ah, yes.” The man nodded as if Loki’s arrival was already old news. “Robert Gray. Welcome to Earth. As I was saying, Crys, even if you don’t think you and Jane and Loki here can die that way, Aoife still could have.”

         “I know it was stupid, Bob,” Crys moaned. “But could we talk about it…like…tomorrow? I can’t…it’s, like, hard to…”

         “I very much doubt that you’re going to feel any better tomorrow, but yes, we can go. And before you ask, no, I won’t tell your mother and neither will Freddy. But if you pull this sort of stunt again and force me to come after you like this, I won’t have any choice.”

         Why didn’t Freddy come? asked Aoife. I mean…it’s his car.

         Robert Gray – “Bob,” as Crys had called him – began leading them toward the back of the tavern. “I suppose it didn’t cross any of your minds that we have other things we like to do besides wait around for one of you to need us?”

         Crys snorted. “Well, I mean…what else do you people do? Other than, you know…the obvious one.”

         “I’ll have you know that I’d just gotten some plans together for everyone to meet up at the Shack. The rain’s let up; it’s mostly just muddy or flood-y everywhere. That’s how we discovered the car was gone; I had just managed to convince your father to let me borrow it. Again.”

         Can we go there? Please? I miss it up there, Aoife begged.

         “I suppose we could just tell Annie that’s where you were. She’d probably like that better,” admitted Bob. “Marginally, anyway. All right then.”

         “Huh.” Bob peered around at the tavern’s back room. “Now, what sort of place do you suppose doesn’t have a usable back door? Where do they get their deliveries brought in? For that matter, I’m sure it’s a fire code violation.” There was a back door, but it was locked and clearly never used; boxes filled with bottles of various alcohols were piled up in front of it.

         How did you get in, then? Aoife asked him. If…if not the back door?

          “Well, this place still has bathrooms, doesn’t it?” Bob eyed the door again, putting his hands on what were probably his hips; his baggy clothing made it hard to tell. “It’s all right, we’ll get out through this way, no trouble.” He opened one of the boxes. “Ah, strawberry-flavored vodka. Aoife, I think you like that, don’t you? Or maybe that’s Arianrod. Someone does, I know that.” He took two bottles out and stashed them presumably somewhere in his odd robe. “Right.”

          Loki, Aoife, Jane, and even Crys scrambled back as Bob punched through the boxes and the door. “Sorry. Careful of the broken glass. Now let’s go.”

         Crys and Jane were both practically asleep on their feet when they got to the car, and Aoife was close behind, so now the three of them were slumped together in the back seat, and Loki, for once, was up front. He would have enjoyed the experience more if not for his proximity to Bob Gray, who was driving.

        “Loki, was it?” the man asked now, causing Loki to jump in his seat.

        “Yes, it was.”

        “I could be wrong, but I’m sensing a bit of trepidation from you with regard to me. Am I making you uncomfortable, my boy?”

        “Of course not,” Loki lied, but faltered slightly under the yellow stare. “Although…I don’t wish to offend you, but…”

         “Yes?”

        “Well…when I opened my eyes after…after your trick…”

        “The deadlights. It’s not my term originally, but it’s a good one, I think.”

        “The deadlights, then. I opened my eyes, and I saw…something.”

        “What did you see?”

        Loki swallowed. “It appeared to be…a leg. Such as an unusually large insect might have.”

         “Arachnid, actually. It’s the number of legs. You wouldn’t know that from just seeing one leg, of course.”

         “And…and the arachnid leg, it was…”

         “It was mine, yes.”

         “Well…all right.” Loki tried his best to stare straight ahead, rather than looking at Bob.

         “Afraid of spiders?” the man asked him.

        “Well…yes.” Loki swallowed. He didn’t particularly want to divulge any details of his past to Bob, but sharing this one was perhaps the only way to keep this being from being offended by Loki’s arachnophobia. “You see, I was…for a time, I was a captive of a savage race, and their leader…he wished for my assistance with finding an object that was precious to him. One of his means of…persuading me to help him recover it involved…well, spiders. Live ones.”

         “Ah,” said Bob neutrally. And then, “Well, I can see why that might lead you to be a bit afraid of them, then.”

         “I apologize.”

         “You have nothing to apologize for.”

         To his own surprise, Loki found his mood lifting momentarily. “Of course, my fear is nothing compared to my brother’s. He’s fought enormous bilgesnipe, and ice beasts from Jotunheim, and all manner of foes, but he still cannot rest until he’s certain his chamber is completely devoid of spiders. And if he finds one, he attempts to kill it with his hammer, but he does so without looking at it, and so fails miserably and has to alert me or one of the servants to dispatch it…” he paused, worried again about Bob’s reaction, but when he cast a sidelong glance at the man, Bob was grinning to himself, presumably at the mental image of a grown man desperately trying to kill a spider with a hammer. Loki tried not to look at his teeth, which were long and wickedly pointed – like the eye teeth of the vampires he’d met, except that every tooth in Bob’s mouth appeared to be that way. When he noticed Loki staring, the man closed his lips over them. “In any case, I always tried to trap it in a cup and place it outside instead of harming it. That was before, of course.”

          Bob nodded. “It’s a common human fear. Arachnophobia, I mean. We learned that soon after we came here. It’s why we took these forms. We thought clowns were linked to good feelings among humans. It’s had…mixed results.”

         “There are more of you here?”

         “Not in Reality X, no. But on this planet, yes. And others, of course. The orders when we arrived were to spread out.” Bob’s smile was wilting slowly at the memory. “We didn’t want to encounter each other.”

         “Why is that? Whose orders?”

         “Our planetary executive ruler, the leader of our kind. Relatively young at the time, and frankly an idiot, but in his defense, he was facing a greater challenge than any of his predecessors ever had. He thought that remaining together would only provide a reminder of what we’d lost. We’re a fairly introverted species, anyway. He’d hoped we could assimilate into the races we found if we needed companionship.”

         “What did you lose?” Loki asked, intrigued despite himself. “Why did you need to separate? Did something happen to your realm?”

         Bob winced – the first move Loki had seen him make that did not appear to be on purpose – and shook his head. “We don’t speak of it. Best to let these things be forgotten.”

         Loki obediently fell silent. He tried not to shiver at the cool night air as his mood sank again. As repulsed as he might feel by the idea of Bob’s true form, he couldn’t help but entertain some tentative sympathy for the being and his kind.

         He tried not to think of realms being destroyed.

         “I wonder if the girls – and Crys – are asleep enough that we could put on the radio?” Bob mused aloud. “Better not, I suppose.” He glanced over at Loki. “So, Loki: one ‘alien’ to another – how are you finding Earth so far?”

Chapter Text

(Crys is walking around with her video camera, hoping for some good material for a possible short film or something in the future)

Crys: “And we’re going into the kitchen now, where we see…Loki! Good morning, Loki.”

Loki (guardedly): “Good morning.”

“And tell us, my friend, what are you…what are you doing right now?”

“I am...cooking food for myself.”

“Not using magic.”

“I am capable of doing things without magic.”

“Are you, though?”

“Yes, I am.”

“And so…you’re making yourself…some toast, looks like.”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve got…you rigged up this little apparatus here...it looks like two forks and an oven mitt, and you’re holding the forks through the mitt and it makes a toast rack kind of thing…”

“Yes, I am making toast. I, I am toasting the bread.”

“Over…”

“Over this…small flame. It…doesn’t appear to go any higher than this…”

“Over the burner.”

“Yes.”

“How long is that going to take, do you think?”

“I do not know.”

“You know we have a thing for this. We own an appliance that does this…”

“I know.”

“It’s over there, it’s called a toaster.”

“It - your toaster - does not obey my commands.”

“How long have you lived here on Earth with us?”

"One of your months."

"And Asgardian tech is, like, years ahead of ours?"

"Yes; we are gods -"

“Yet you still can’t figure out the toaster.”

“Shut up. And turn that contraption off.”