Marvel, page 17
“Someone called us out here,” the officer replied, one hand resting on the radio clipped to his jacket. The cruiser lights bathed them alternately in red and blue. Only one car had responded, and the officer’s short, female partner was ambling around the trailer, trying to peer inside. “It would help us out a lot if you could just let us take a look in your trailer.”
“No,” Loki and Rūna declared in unison.
“I mean…” Loki laughed lightly, trying to keep the panic from showing in his eyes. The dogs boarded at Donna’s Doggies were going wild, barking from the crash and the noise of the sirens. He could hear the chain-link fence jangling as they jumped against it. “It’s just a hunk of rock. An asteroid maybe, or like Donna said, blown in by a freak storm.”
“Sure.” The officer gave his own dry laugh. His skin had a gluey texture, his eyes drooping with fatigue. Even so, those eyes had no trouble studying Rūna. From his expression, he found her clothing suspicious. “A freak storm. You live here with him?”
Rūna bristled. “Absolutely not. That’s an absurd accusation.”
“Then why am I talking to you?”
“I do not have to cohabitate with this man to speak for him,” Rūna growled.
The officer didn’t like that. His hand near the radio brushed the name tag pinned to his jacket, which read SGT Fanning. “Ma’am, if you could step aside, it would be helpful for me to identify the homeowner and get their permission to clear the premises.”
“You have been denied permission, no more needs to be said on the subject,” Rūna continued, refusing to step away.
Donna had found a storm sixty miles away and proudly showed the evidence of it to the officer, who ignored her. His attention was on Rūna now, who admittedly maintained a hostile posture. Loki knew who he would bet on if this came to blows, but he had lived in America long enough to understand that any hostilities here could end in bullets flying in every direction. But a Valkyrie knew war, and this man had drawn her fury. Her right hand flexed, and Jarnbjorn leapt to her grasp. The policeman swore under his breath and stumbled backward.
The glimmer of heat that had run across Loki’s chest returned. He frowned, puzzled, but chalked it up to the steady diet of wine and frozen pizza he had been maintaining. Quickly, deftly, he nudged Rūna out of the way with his hip, planting himself squarely in front of the officer, who was already going for his service weapon. But Loki smiled, bemusedly, rakishly, holding up Brian for Sergeant Fanning to see. The pistol came up, aimed at Brian. Donna dropped to the ground, covering her head with both hands.
“Your concern is appreciated, Sergeant, truly. We understand it’s inconvenient for you to come out this way so late at night. But I’m afraid this situation is just that, an inconvenience. There’s little to be found here but a man in his underpants with his lizard. A very charming and handsome lizard, I would add, but nothing sinister, and surely nothing warranting your vast set of skills.” The strange warmth in his chest traveled up to his throat, then coated his mouth. The scent of rose water filled his nostrils, and the taste of honey lingered on his lips. The officer’s eyes glittered, faintly, but glittered all the same, suddenly glowing with green energy.
My powers…How is it possible?
The gun was lowered. Sergeant Fanning blinked, hard, reeling as if suddenly drunk. Loki thrust Rūna’s hand back behind her, hiding the axe.
“He is impudent and—”
“It’s under control,” Loki told her in a whisper, jaw clenched. “We just need them gone.” Then, cheerfully, he addressed the policeman. “It’s under control. You’re clever enough to see that. Surely you and your partner have more pressing matters to attend to?”
Sergeant Fanning nodded, stumbling away, getting on his radio, and summoning his partner back to the car. “It’s under control. We have more pressing matters to attend to.”
Loki waited until the police car was pulling away before reaching down to help Donna to her feet. He held her at arm’s length. “Are you all right?”
“Mother of pearl, what is going on around here?” she muttered, a haunted gleam in her big blue eyes. “And why does she have an axe?” Donna gestured with her phone toward Rūna. “You’re…what? His girlfriend? Ex-wife? You gonna help him pay me back for that hotel charge?” Then she spun back to face the trailer and laughed maniacally. Truly, the night had been a shock for her. “Does…Does insurance even cover hammers falling out of the sky?” Back to him and Rūna. “Or maybe I should ask you two, since it seems like you’re from outer freaking space!”
“She knows?” asked Rūna, taut, arching a brow.
“No,” Loki groaned.
“Know what?” Donna asked, yanking on Loki’s sleeve.
“It’s…complicated. I know I say that too much. Come on, both of you, let’s go back inside where we can discuss this without a live audience.” He plastered on a smile and waved to Stella and the others stationed on the porch across the street. They returned the gesture. Then he marched back into the trailer, where the crater in his kitchen continued to smolder. The house, which had already been crooked, was beginning to cave in on itself, each end dipping toward the middle. It was unclear if the bathroom still existed, though no water was spraying, so that was a bolstering sign. The couch remained upright, though the coffee table had tipped over, spilling books and empty soda cans across the steeply tented floor. The television had slid off the stand and was now lying upside down, feet up, cables draped and spooling on the rug. Bits of ceiling debris and insulation cluttered what was left of the path from door to kitchen. The sharp edges of the crater curved inward. He walked around it, leaving Brian on the broken countertop while he fished out three mugs from the cupboard. The range hadn’t been destroyed, at least, so he put the kettle on.
Rūna came into the kitchen, crowding him. “Whatever you did to that horrible man, do it to her.”
“What?” Loki sighed and dropped a Sleepytime tea bag into each of the mugs. “I won’t do that. She’s done nothing to deserve it.”
“She must not learn of the hammer’s true import,” Rūna hissed.
“And why not?” Loki swiveled and faced her nose-to-nose. A searing flush crept up his neck. “Why not? Thor can have an entire family here and do as he pleases, and la-di-da and never tell me or my parents or anyone else, but Donna, who has done nothing but prop me up from the moment I landed here, deserves ignorance? No, Rūna, I refuse. I will not tamper with her mind. I have…I have put her through enough.”
Donna sat quietly on the couch, quite plainly pretending not to listen.
Rūna craned her head back. “How did you ensorcell that man? His eyes filled with the strangest light.”
“I don’t know,” said Loki, genuinely baffled. “But if we’re starting the interrogation, Mjolnir just fell through my bloody roof. Would you happen to know anything about that?”
The kettle whistled. Loki filled the teacups and delivered Donna’s mug to her, then returned to the kitchenette. His eyes strayed to the crater and the hammer; he couldn’t help himself. How were they going to get that thing out of the ground?
Rūna sniffed the tea and scrunched her nose, disgusted. There was a distinct whiff of guilt about her, a shiftiness in her eyes, eyes that grew briefly far away as she considered his question. “The queen decided to send Mjolnir to Midgard, believing, I suppose, that you might not be utterly beyond redemption.”
Loki looked beyond her, silently regarding the hammer. “She thinks me…”
No, he wouldn’t say the word. Rūna sighed.
“You disagree.”
“It hardly matters,” she replied. “I did not go to the king and queen for your sake only. Mjolnir must pass to its next wielder, and whether she knows it or not, that wielder should be Thor’s child. She will need guidance. She will need us.”
Loki’s stomach lurched in disbelief. “You told my insane parents about their golden boy’s secret family? Their hidden grandchild? Have you taken complete leave of your senses? You know Odin. He will invade this realm to retrieve his heir if he must!”
He glanced at Donna, who had not touched her tea but sat bolt upright, ear toward them for an easier time listening.
Rūna slammed the mug down on the counter. “You misjudge your parents, as you always have. Odin was…Odin, but Frigga sued for reason and patience, championing you, of all things.”
He left her and carried his tea to the hole in the floor. Mjolnir’s heavy, silent presence only mocked him.
“She sent it for the girl child,” Loki muttered darkly.
“No, fool, she sent it for you.”
It was a sad, sick, twisted joke. There was no going back. What was a fish without fins, a bird without wings, a Loki without magic?
What was a Loki without Thor?
What am I?
“Don’t stop on my account,” Donna said, chuckling, happily slurping from her mug. “This is like Game of Thrones in my living room.”
Loki smirked and puzzled over the new riddle before him. It was dim and perhaps only the trick of a villainous heart, but he sensed his brother was close. That hadn’t happened since his death. It sparked something, necromanced a dead longing, a yearning, a hunger, an ambition unfurling in his mind like a new black flower. A little girl who didn’t know him had sat and contentedly cleaned his face, her touch gentle, her demeanor warm, her blue dreamer’s eyes the color of his brother’s.
Could she be the architect of his redemption? Could he really change?
“Jane Foster will never let you or any of our folk near that child. And perhaps she’s right not to.” He turned his back on Mjolnir. “Perhaps she is better without us, and the child, too. Perhaps the only true birthright of Asgard’s royal line is loss.”
What am I? he wondered.
I know, said the hammer.
18
THERE WAS A RULE in the Foster-Thorsdóttir house: There was no such thing as a stupid question, only bad timing. It was important to Jane that Quinn remain, above all, curious, and never feel like she couldn’t go to them—her—for help or advice. But the rule also acknowledged that Mom wasn’t always in the headspace for eighteen million questions and sub-questions and follow-up queries, that adults needed naps and alone time, too, which was why they kept a Question Jar on the kitchen table. It wasn’t anything fancy, just a cleaned, plastic peanut butter jar with a slot cut in the screw-on lid, and faded decorations a five-year-old Quinn had taped to the outside.
It wasn’t easy juggling schedules, particularly when he insisted on keeping up his earthbound job and Jane made the transition from nurse to academic, but after the exhausting days, after Quinn went to sleep, there was someone around. Just having another person there, warm and willing to listen, made it manageable. Mostly. Quinn had been a hurricane almost since minute one. They had to be solution-oriented with her, so if Mommy and Daddy didn’t have the bandwidth for questions that minute, they promised anything put in the jar would get handled. So, Jane wasn’t surprised to find about thirty tiny pieces of paper crammed into the jar when she woke up the next day. Someone had been busy in the night.
The condo was airy, painted in soothing teal-blues and grays, fabricated with black steel columns and exposed concrete. Dramatic ivory telenovela curtains billowed over the floor-to-ceiling windows. A deconstructed polyhedral light fixture presided over the kitchen table in the open-concept, open-everything layout. When she and Quinn had first shown up, Jane had felt a constant low-level panic, intimidated by the museum-white of everything, the pristine sofas that cost more than her doctorate program, the highly breakable vases and chandeliers that practically begged to be shattered by her chaos demon child, the everything-in-its-place of it all.
That went out the window the minute Thor was gone. She couldn’t muster the energy to worry about it. If Quinn left a jam smudge on the leather Chesterfield sofa, the world would keep spinning, a little stickier, maybe, but unimpeded. At 6 a.m. sharp, she woke to the overstuffed Question Jar and as many unanswered text messages on her phone. Dean and Matt were checking in; Quinn’s therapist needed to reschedule; a former student found out she was in town for book promo and wanted to grab dinner; their subletter in New Mexico wanted to know if the Wi-Fi was always this slow.
Jane picked up the Question Jar and collapsed against the kitchen table. Her sobs turned into laughs as she pressed her knees into the plush carpet and let it sink in, again, that This Was Really Happening. Thor wasn’t coming back. His dirtbag brother was trying to weasel his way into their lives. Tony Stark wanted her to help commit war crimes against space Vikings. Nobody was ever going to help with the Question Jar. It was all on her now. Thor wasn’t going to be there for a tag-in. Every bedtime, every school morning, every breakup, sports event, prom, life event, would be for her to manage. The joy and the sorrow, hers, and hers alone.
The ache in her heart felt like it would kill her.
You’re so resilient, the sympathy cards said. This too shall pass.
She didn’t feel resilient. She was drowning. Lost.
Her phone rang, bouncing and skidding across the table. Jane snatched it up, grateful for a distraction, and answered without checking the caller ID. “Hello?” she asked on a sniffling inhale, somehow huffing out a humanish sound.
“Dr. Foster! Good morning!” It was Pepper Potts. From the quality of her voice, it sounded like she was in another time zone, on another planet, somewhere sleep came easily and persisted. She wanted to know why Jane wasn’t returning Tony’s texts. His texts that he had sent at three ten in the morning.
Gee, I wonder.
It was the lack of coffee speaking, Jane was sure, but for an instant she wondered if these people were real or just human brains hosted in robot bodies. When did they rest?
“We’re sending the car,” said Pepper. “Can you be ready in thirty? Bring your little munchkin! We’re all dying to meet her.”
Jane rested on her knees. I can’t do this, I can’t do this, I can’t do this.
“Sure, yeah,” Jane mumbled. “Her sitter has to get to her other job today.”
“Oh, that’s no problem! Of course, we’ve got daycare at the tower. Wonderful, wonderful. Car’s all set, look for it in thirty, mm?”
Pepper hung up. Slowly, Jane picked herself up off the floor. Grabbing the jar, she twisted open the lid and dumped out all the folded pieces of paper onto the glass kitchen table. One landed partially opened, long and skinny like a fortune from a cookie.
Why can’t I talk to the Warrior Princess?
Jane fetched her purse from the granite kitchen island and scooped the questions into it. Maybe they could grab a slice of pizza for lunch and tackle some of these. She certainly wouldn’t be attempting it on the ride to Stark Tower, since she imagined that car was thoroughly bugged. Even pretending to help Tony Stark felt like a betrayal. They were already sending the car. That was fine. She would take Quinn with her, make it a quick stop, and let Tony know she wasn’t going to stay on with the project. It was too dangerous. If she wasn’t careful, he would find out just how much she really knew about Thor, Asgard, and wormholes. If he had someone watching her, then they definitely saw her chatting it up with Valkyrie and Loki. Being seen with them in Times Square was about as low-profile as Stark’s skyscraper.
And an increasingly distraught part of her insisted he already knew. She had to stop and catch her breath. Her nervous system wasn’t just dysregulated, it was a whacky waving man in a tornado.
“This is your mess,” she muttered to an absent Thor. “And here I am cleaning it up.”
He had never been more gone or more distant.
If Stark knows…No, she had to stay the course. Soon, Stark would just be a weird anecdote for future dinner parties.
Quinn wandered out from the left-most hall in her dinosaur pajamas. It was time to start the day. They both needed breakfast and Jane needed coffee. While they got ready and ate, Jane could feel her daughter holding back, her face stretched like a bubble about to burst. She probably already had six more questions ready to toss in the jar. It became too much to keep in, and Quinn, seated at the kitchen table, kicking her legs freely, folded one of her pancakes like a taco, took a bite, and asked, “Why do you hate Uncle Loki so much?”
Because he’s the literal God of Mischief. Because he killed your father. Because he’s a clown car full of crimes. Because he’s never once extended an ounce of kindness or understanding to his brother.
“Remember how we talked about what it means to be a person in Asgard?” Jane instead replied gently.
“Mmhm.”
“Right. Your dad and his family aren’t like us, and they’re not like your friends and their families. Dom’s family or Noah’s family, not like them. Their parents do regular stuff like being a lawyer or a teacher or a programmer. Daddy’s family isn’t like that. They have…particular things they’re good at. Certain ideas they represent.” Jane had practiced this speech before and thank God she had. It was too early to wing Big Conversations. Eventually, Quinn would need to know the complete truth, but for now she had CliffsNotes of reality. Daddy travels for work. Daddy’s family lives far away, but they love you very much. Et cetera.
“Well, yeah, Daddy is the God of Thunder,” said Quinn, finishing her pancake.
“And your uncle is good at things that aren’t very nice,” Jane finished.
“Oh. Like farting and hitting?” Quinn had gotten up, yelling the question as she disappeared to change out of her pajamas.
Jane smirked into her coffee while she wiped down the counter and put the breakfast ingredients away. When Quinn emerged in a T-shirt and jean shorts, Jane was ready with an answer. “Worse than that, sweetie.”
