Marvel, page 20
Jane’s brain snagged on contingency. She leaned against the counter, her knees nearly buckling. “Contingency. What do you mean, contingency?”
“I think…there’s…there’s no good way to say this, Jane, there’s a will. He arranged for a will. Did you know about any of this? Did he tell you?”
“No,” Jane gasped. “No, I didn’t know. I would’ve said something, Jen. You’re my lawyer.”
I thought we told each other everything. Then she looked at Quinn, playing sword fight with her uncle, the uncle who hadn’t known about her until now. Rūna had joined in, lecturing them both on proper form. Everyone kept secrets, she told herself, it only hurt more in death because he wasn’t there to explain himself, to make it all feel understandable and benign. There was no defense, just the thousand bitter questions that sprang to mind.
“I’m sorry, Jane. My assistant said a bird tapped on her window for an hour until she tried to shoo it away, but it had the envelope. A raven, maybe, or a crow? What’s the difference? Anyway, there was a scroll inside, sealed with wax. Do you want me to read it?” Jen asked. She could hear a car door open and shut on Jen’s end, and then the sound of a car turning on before idling.
That just reminded her of Kevin. Oh God, Kevin. What was she thinking, macing him and tying him up like that? She had even shoved a rolled-up sock in his mouth to keep him quiet.
I’m going to hell and jail.
“Sure,” said Jane. “Go ahead.”
Softly, Jen cleared her throat. Her voice shifted down, solemn, then, and serious. “I, Thor Odinson, rightful wielder of Mjolnir, proud son of Asgard, do pass on my title and godly inheritance of power and responsibility to my only living child, my daughter, Frigga Quinn Foster-Thorsdóttir. And so, Mjolnir goes to her, and it is hers to do with as she pleases. May she bear it with the strength of her father, the wisdom of her mother, and the judgment of her own keen mind.”
Jane’s eyes slid across the floor to the hammer buried in the ground. Resplendent. Waiting.
“It’s heavy, Jane. I’m sorry. And obviously there’s the issue of the hammer itself—I have no idea where it is. He didn’t leave instructions with the scroll or anything.”
“Oh. That’s okay,” Jane said. Her mouth felt like it was filling with ashes. “I have an inkling.”
* * *
“YOU WANT TO BE Darth Vader?” Loki asked, chuckling. “Is he not the villain of that story?”
Not to be dissuaded, Quinn shrugged. Whenever a dog barked outside, she glanced in that direction hopefully. “Only because Lord Ovaltine corrupted him and there’s nobody nice left in his life. He doesn’t have any friends, so he’s miserable until the end, when he has Luke.”
Loki grinned. “I see. That’s a wise observation for one your age.”
“Mom says I’m precocious.”
“You’re that, too.” Loki pretended to test the weight of his pretend sword. Quinn was assigning them roles for their sword fight. Rūna had already been designated as Warrior Princess, which, Loki had to explain, was basically who she was already just in an even shorter leather skirt and with a plucky blond sidekick.
“And what role am I to play?” asked Loki, genuinely intrigued.
Sitting back on her heels, Quinn frowned and tapped her chin. “Hmm. I dunno. Who do you want to be?”
“Aye, Loki, do tell us,” Rūna added. He knew what Rūna wanted: for him to spontaneously become his brother, take up Mjolnir, and solve their problems. Loki glowered at her before turning a decidedly sunnier expression toward Quinn. He didn’t know if he liked children, but so far, he was discovering he didn’t loathe them. Or at least this one. This girl had an artless savvy about her, honest without being unkind. And in that same way, he understood that his answer to her question was important. Her blue eyes followed him intensely. This was a test, a test for evil Uncle Loki.
What must she think of me?
Loki remembered the tender way she had wiped the pepper gel off his face, and decided he could never think a harsh word about her, even if her father was a bully and a dope. That wasn’t her fault. Nobody chose their parents, and only some people, the luckiest, chose their own fate.
“You could be the God of Thunder,” Quinn finally suggested. “Like Daddy!”
Loki tried not to let her see the frost crackling across his face at the mere suggestion. His hesitation was boring her, and Quinn began slashing randomly at nothing with her sword. She scrunched up her nose and gazed up at Rūna. “What’s it like being a god? Dad said it was hard, because you can do anything, but you’re supposed to do the right thing.” Then she turned her attention to Loki. “It must be easier when you only gotta do bad stuff.”
He laughed. “It’s more fun, perhaps, but not easier. Imagine…imagine you start at a new school, and as soon as you arrive, everyone despises you. They expect you to lie to them, to trick them, and the problem is that you almost certainly will. But you can’t help it. It’s how you were made. Are they wrong? Are you? Should they trust you implicitly or are they right to guard themselves?”
Rūna made a soft grunting sound of disapproval. But Quinn’s mouth swished to one side, bunching up her cheek like a chipmunk’s. “Everyone would be wrong and right at the same time, is that possible?”
“Very much so.” Loki sighed. “The God of Thunder, the God of Mischief…I’ve heard it put thusly: A hero will sacrifice the one he loves to save the world; a villain will burn the whole world down if it saves the person they love.”
Quinn flicked her sword a few more times and then sat down hard on a stack of books beside the TV stand. “I dunno. I would do that, trade everyone to have my daddy back.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” Rūna said flatly.
“Yes, I would,” Quinn shot back. She tossed her shard of flooring down and sighed. “I wish we could go outside.”
Loki had always been an indoorsy child, fonder perhaps of reading books than climbing trees, and for a while he lived unbothered by the distinction, diagnosed early as vaguely frail and diminished, with the candle-waxed, unfreckled complexion of a peeled turnip. Later, when he learned of his adopted nature, he wondered if perhaps the Asgardian healers simply did not know what a Frost Giant youth was meant to look like and deemed him unfit for rowdy play out of sheer guesswork. A few skinned knees and tumbles probably wouldn’t have killed him after all. Frigga had listened to the healers and sequestered him accordingly, but that meant separating him from Thor, who was ever splashing in a creek or rolling down a berm. Frigga chased after Thor, sun-inclined and nature loving since her own youth, and Loki spent most of his time with the tutors Svela and Arnul, who did their best but weren’t prepared to deal with a precocious mind brimming with harmless yet diabolical pranks.
There were only so many ways to hide a frog in a shoe, but Loki discovered them all, much to Arnul’s dismay. The child had once tucked a smelt behind a loose plank in the royal library’s ichthyology section. The subsequent swarm of cats and flies that collected as the fish rotted sent Svela spiraling. Nobody could locate the source of the stench, but the cats kept on coming.
Loki laughed softly to himself.
“What’s so funny?” asked Quinn, brightening.
“Have you ever hidden a frog in someone’s shoe?”
Her mother, Jane Foster, had heard that, joining them, looming like a ghost behind Rūna, her face white as a sheet. She was so distracted that she didn’t even mention the frog thing. Instead, Jane kept glancing at her phone. On the third time, she winced.
“Stark wants me to report in,” she said. That wasn’t all of it, Loki knew; she was hiding something. “And we need to do something about Kevin.”
Loki, God of Mischief, smiled. “I have a suggestion.”
21
ONCE JANE HAD RECOVERED all her items out of the black van, Loki leaned against the open driver’s door, observing the man called Kevin. He was middle-aged, with wispy black hair combed over a speckled bald spot. His eyes were red and sweating from the pepper spray, though Jane had mixed up a milk concoction and sponged most of it off his face. The sock taped around his mouth stayed in place until Loki, smiling, reached for it, holding Kevin’s bleary gaze.
Heat traveled through Loki’s chest to his arms, gathering strength before diverting back to his throat and up into his mouth. Pale-green smoke curled from his nostrils, and Kevin’s leery attention changed into something more alert. Loki’s magic enthralled him, and he began nodding along as he spoke.
“Kevin, my good friend Kevin, I believe the hour has come for you to take a long, long vacation. In fact, isn’t it time you stopped working for Tony Stark altogether?” Loki asked. When Kevin nodded his agreement, Loki continued sweetly, “Unshackle yourself from this vile Midas, renounce fealty, Kevin, be free.”
He carefully tugged the sock out of Kevin’s mouth.
“Tell me, what did you long to be when you were a child?” Loki asked. “Of what did you dream?”
Sheepishly, Kevin ducked his head, then placed his hands on the wheel. “A race car driver. Formula One. Man, those guys really cook on the track.”
“I do not know, Kevin, but I believe you.” He placed his hand reassuringly on the driver’s left shoulder. “You are free now. Free from the arbitrary restrictions that tied down your soul to the unreasonable demands of a bourgeois overlord. You are not a drop in a bucket, Kevin, you are an entire ocean. Expand. Go. Race. Cook on the track.”
Tears sparkled on Kevin’s cheeks. He nodded vehemently, gripping the steering wheel. Crying the elated cry of the unburdened, Kevin let Loki close the driver’s-side door, then revved the engine of the black van and slammed his foot on the gas.
Rūna sniffed, watching the car disappear down the road. “I do not like that your powers seem to be returning.”
“And yet you want me to wield Mjolnir,” he said, sighing. “Make up your mind.”
“Aye, wield it as a changed man, not as a dark Thor.”
Loki rolled his eyes, waving at the vanishing van before turning to go back inside. The old Loki would have convinced Kevin of a far less optimistic future. In fact, he wouldn’t have let him go. Such an obedient sort of man would make a useful servant. Ahead of him, Jane was going into the trailer, carrying a small nylon bag under one arm. It was then that Donna chose to return, her jaunt into town for dog food complete, her truck now pulled up slowly alongside the property.
“Looks like you haven’t moved an inch or packed a thing,” Donna shouted, leaping out of her truck. She went to the back and hauled a massive bag of kibble onto her shoulder. “You know I hate cops, but I will get them over here if you force my hand.”
“There’s a new wrinkle, Donna,” Loki said, intercepting her. He tried to take the bag off her shoulder, but she dodged out of the way. Letting it slide to the ground, Donna crossed her arms, one hip jutting to the side. If he could just have a little more time, maybe stall now that Jane and Quinn were involved…“Allow me to explain—”
“Allow the God of Mischief to pull the wool over my eyes, you mean.” Donna snorted. She scooped up the bag of food. This time Rūna was quick to offer her aid, and Donna let her. I see how it is. Donna did prefer women, and Rūna was outrageously beautiful and statuesque even by Asgardian standards. And, he noted with interest, happened to be Donna’s type. Maybe they could leverage this to their advantage…
No, no, that’s what you would have done in the past.
Rūna followed Donna back toward her house and the dog yard, Loki hurrying to keep up. “Tales of my antics are hugely exaggerated,” he called after her. “Donna, wait…”
“You have to go,” Donna said, firm.
“There is no exaggeration,” Rūna added. Apparently, she couldn’t help herself. Or she was enjoying Donna’s attention a bit too much. “There was the time you turned Prince Thor into a frog in the royal gardens and a crane almost bit him in half.”
Donna swore under her breath and opened the gate of the dog yard for Rūna. The heavy bag of kibble was no more than a pillow to the Valkyrie. The dogs came running, excited, barking and spinning, excited for the people, overjoyed for the kibble. Behind him, he heard the front door to his trailer bang shut. A moment later, Quinn was at their heels, in a near frenzy to visit the animals.
“Very well,” Loki said with a sigh, stalking along behind Rūna. “I did do that. But we had a laugh about it later, didn’t we? I think we did.”
“Or when you lopped off Sif’s hair because it was too long and beautiful, and you thought she was too proud of it,” said Rūna. She strode confidently toward the pens in the back of the yard, where Donna had indicated.
“Hair grows back,” said Loki.
“And there was also the time you convinced Volstagg that horses lay eggs.”
“Yes! All right! Who would believe such a thing? That one hardly seems like my fault.”
“And Aegir’s feast, do you remember that? You were jealous of his servants getting all the praise, so you leapt onto a table and began hurling insults at everyone in attendance. I remember you called Thor a coward, Odin a heretic, and Fandral a ditz—”
“Point taken, point taken, Rūna,” Loki cut in, sparing Quinn the rest of the story. “Though I do think we’re missing a bit of context with that one, but fine.”
“Doggy pile!” screamed Quinn, lying down in the middle of the grass. The dogs obliged her, gathering up to lick her sticky little kid’s hands and face.
“Who is this child? Where are their parents?” Donna shouted, then whirled to point a finger in Loki’s face. “Is this the wrinkle? A child?”
Loki winced. “And her mother, Jane, who is—”
“Inside, doing electromagnetic and dark-energy readings on the hammer,” Quinn supplied helpfully, before dissolving into a fit of giggles as eight dogs rooted around in her pockets looking for treats.
“I told you about them, remember?” Loki asked, adopting a pleading tone. “My brother’s widow and her daughter. That’s why I went to New York City, that’s why I stole your money. I didn’t know it at the time, but Quinn and Jane were there, and our destinies have become intertwined. They are not safe here and neither are you, not while Mjolnir stays buried in the ground.” He pointed to Rūna, who swung the kibble bag onto the table in the shed with superb ease. “My powers are returning, but slowly, and I’d be all but useless in a fight. Rūna is a Valkyrie, a being of superior strength and speed. That axe on her back was forged by space dwarves on a comet hurtling across the cosmos. She has fought and won battles against foes the size of the planet we stand on. Trust me, Donna, you want her here.”
Donna’s brows slowly rose. “She’s that strong, huh? That mean my trailer is getting fixed?”
“You will have sheltered a future princess of Asgard,” Rūna said, joining them. “For your sacrifice and hospitality, you will be rewarded.”
She believed Rūna, which was fair enough. He had just spent the morning explaining the history of his people, and where he fit in. “Fine. You can stay. For now. But you better believe the three of you are getting put to work.”
“Yes!” Quinn screamed, still flat on her back in the grass. “Dog work!”
“Get them walked, get them fed,” said Donna, throwing up her hands and marching toward the back door of her trailer. “And then get that stupid piece-of-junk hammer off my land!”
Rūna puffed out her lower lip. “She’s forceful. I like it.”
“Come on, lovebird, we’ve won a brief reprieve, time to honor it.”
“Spoken like a man I hardly recognize,” said Rūna.
“Tell that to Mjolnir.” Loki rounded up the leashes, Quinn, and the dogs, who were thrilled to be on their best behavior for the child. They stopped by the guest trailer briefly to let Jane know they were going for a walk, then took the usual route through the neighborhood. Stella came out on her porch, offering lemonade, and Quinn regaled them with a story about her first lemonade stand back in New Mexico. None of the joggers had wanted to stop until her dad came out to sit with her, shirtless in the extreme summer heat, and then plenty of runners wanted to spend fifty cents on lukewarm powdered lemonade.
“I guess they suddenly got thirsty,” Quinn concluded, crushing the paper cup in her hand before offering it to Stella.
“I’ll say,” Loki muttered.
“There is nothing wrong with displaying a hard-won physique,” said Rūna. “Not that you would know.”
