“Odin has removed the curse,” Boda informed the red headed chambermaid at the side of Vanar’s bed as she stood inside the doorway to his bedchambers, “You wanted to talk…so talk.”
“If it isn’t Blondie…” Dario said, remaining in the chambermaid’s guise as he turned to face her, the idol in his hand.
“Blondie is the name of the band.”
“Anne…”
“My name is Angrboda Vanargandottir.”
“You must have difficulty finding personalized souvenirs in gift shops. Where’s Ziggy Stardust? You are aware he’s...how should I put it...a double agent?” Dario asked, Boda rolling her eyes and sighing in exasperation.
“For some time now.”
“Mommy?” Vanar said groggily, sitting up, not recognizing Dario in his female guise.
“Everything’s all right,” Boda reassured him as he looked in confusion at the strange woman at his bedside.
“You said you’d kill me,” Dario sneered.
“What is it he’s offered you?”
“My life back...my wife…my son…we'd just learned he was a boy. We hadn’t decided on a name. I’d bought the villa a few months before. I was told there had once been an oracle on the site so I went in search of it. I had almost given up when I stumbled upon it...into it, actually. I told no one. If the government learned of it they would have taken possession of it. When I returned to excavate it I found little of value, a few fragments of pottery. I thought it had been looted, but then…the stone casket I unearthed held an idol, I had never seen anything like it, as well as an amphora containing a substance resembling salt."
“Eitr.”
“Having a knack for languages, I recognized the word ‘pharmakon’...evil, poison or madness. I left them intending to return the next day. I had made a rare bad deal, I owed money...quite a bit of money. I had contacts who sold antiquities on the black market. If I could sell the idol, anything else I would find, I thought I could buy time. My parents were joining us for dinner...when I returned they executed them right in front of me before turning their guns on me. I hid in the oracle but they tracked me…my blood…I hadn’t realized I was wounded. I’d never believed in gods but I begged any that existed to help me. I heard a voice in my head...it told to take the idol from the casket. That’s all I remember...until I found myself standing over their corpses.…what was left of them,” Dario recited his tale, Boda silent for a moment.
“If I get you into the vault...would he bring someone back for me?”
Before he could answer, Dario, still in the form of the chambermaid, suddenly dropped the idol to the floor, gripping his head, his mouth opening in a silent scream as a black shadow stepped out of his body from behind him as he collapsed face down, unconscious or dead, Boda wasn’t certain. Vanar, gasping, wide eyed in fright, slid swiftly to the far side of the bed, cowering and trembling at the sight of Erebus as terror stole his ability to cry out.
“Whatever you wissshhh…” Erebus hissed, “But firsssst…I must have assssurancesss…” Erebus continued in his reptilian voice.
“What sort of assurances?” asked Boda.
Erebus turned to Vanar, the boy anxiously clutching a blanket, shrinking back. Erebus’s form glided toward him, reaching out, vanishing as he merged with Vanar, as if he had been absorbed into the child’s body.
Vanar, no longer fearful, left the bed, retrieving the idol from the floor near Dario’s body that had returned to its original male form, the chambermaid’s dress busted at the seams. Picking up the idol, Vanar approached a disconcerted Boda, reaching out and taking her hand, Boda leading him from the bedchamber.
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The violet sky was darkening to a deeper purple as daylight began to fade. Loki, in full battle dress, obviously fatigued from the fight in which he had just engaged, weaved his way around the bodies of the slain, friend and foe, littering the grassy plain, large rock formations jutting up from the ground in places. Loki peered grimly down at their still forms as Asgardian warriors tended to wounded comrades. At the foot of a rock that resembled a large tablet Loki came to a halt, staring down at the corpse of a warrior sporting a golden beard streaked with gray who vaguely resembled his father. Kneeling beside the body, the corpse's glassy eyes staring up at the sky, Loki closed them before placing his palm on the dead Asgardian’s cold forehead.
“Vanargand, son of Einar, I bid you to take your place in the halls of Valhalla, where the brave–” Loki said breaking off, his face expressing grief and guilt, taking a moment to gather himself before continuing, “where the brave live forever. Nor shall we mourn but rejoice for those who have died the glorious death,” Loki finished the blessing, removing his hand from Vanargand, “I will tell her myself–” Loki spoke to the deceased Asgardian general, swallowing the rest of what he had intended to say as the corpse raised his arm, his clammy hand gripping Loki’s wrist like a vice, his head lolling to the side to lock eyes with the God of Mischief, Loki in fright attempting to wrench himself free from the dead man’s grasp.
“You won’t tell her the truth,” Vanargand said in an otherworldly raspy voice, “Your hubris will be the death of you. You will be the death of her. She has borne more than her share of sorrow. Stay away!”
Vanargand, taking hold of the hilt of the sword lying beside him, rolled onto his side, thrusting the blade through Loki’s abdomen before returning to his previous position, his body lifeless once again, Loki collapsing onto his back as well, both men staring unblinking at the purple sky.
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Loki’s eyes flew open, gasping as if he had just surfaced from under water in desperate need of air. He moved his hands quickly to his abdomen, looking down, examining himself for wounds. He relaxed, exhaling in relief before he recalled how he came to be in the common room of the palace.
“Boda…” he gasped, rushing to the door, throwing it open and racing through it…only to find himself not in the corridor as he expected but the club where Boda had once tended the bar in Midgard, the lighting dim, a large disco ball hanging from the ceiling over the crowded dance floor throwing fragmented reflections of silvery light on those dancing below.
“Ooh, how do you like your love?...” Andrea True’s voice sang the question as Loki visually searched the room, confused, as patrons walked past him to exit, a familiar waitress in gold carrying a tray almost colliding with him as he stepped forward.
“Pardon me,” Loki said to Lisa.
“No harm, no foul, sugar,” Lisa said with a smile before appearing to recognize him, “Richie? No…John, like Travolta. You never called.”
“I had a prior engagement.”
“What can I get you? I have a break coming up in a few minutes. We can pick up where we--” Lisa began, Loki ignoring her as he stepped around her, heading in the direction of the bar, Anthony behind it mixing a drink, as he caught sight of the back of a blond woman stepping through the door to Anthony's right, disappearing into the back room.
“More, more, more. How do you like it? How do you like it? More, more, more. How do you like it? How do you like your love?” the song continued, its rhythmic beat like a pulse.
Reaching the bar, Loki stepped behind it striding to the door, Anthony spotting him out of the corner of his eye, looking up from the drink he was pouring.
“Hey! Where do you think you’re going?” Anthony called out, setting the bottle on the bar, Loki ignoring him as he passed through the door into the back room.
“Boda!” Loki called out as he saw the employee exit door closing on the opposite side of the large room full of kegs, bottles of various liquors, and other supplies just as a heavy hand gripped his shoulder.
“Employees only! Get the hell out–” Anthony commanded before Loki threw him over his shoulder, stepping over the stunned bartender as he raced to the back door, pushing it open and running through it.
“Boda, wait!” Loki cried out.
Instead of finding himself outside at the back of the club facing the parking lot, Loki discovered himself running in the dark of night down the sidewalk of a familiar street on the outskirts of Boston lit by streetlights, a couple burnt out or flickering in need of being replaced. Old, somewhat run down brick two story commercial buildings lined both sides of the street, a few vacant, for sale signs with realtor logos and phone numbers in the dirty windows.
Slowing to a walk, looking around discombobulated, he realized he held something in his hand. Looking down he viewed a chocolate bar in his grip as he came to a halt, staring down at it for a moment before turning his attention ahead of him, spying the entrance to an alley only a few yards away. The light from the neon signs in the tavern windows colored the sidewalk a block away in the distance. Slipping the chocolate bar into the pocket of the coat he found himself wearing, one he recognized from the earlier replay of Boda’s memories, he unsuccessfully attempted to produce his daggers. Finding that he no longer possessed weapons or his magic, he steeled himself for the confrontation he knew was to come as he continued on his way, whistling the chorus of the tune Boda had informed him had been Will’s favorite.
Just before reaching the entrance to the alley, two figures stepped from it to stand side by side, blocking Loki’s path, one man holding a baseball bat, the other a heavy rusted pipe.
“Good evening, gentlemen. Is there something I can I do for you?” Loki asked amiably.
“We’ve had our eyes on you for a while now,” the burly man on the right said with a sneer.
“I’m flattered but I’m afraid I’m spoken for,” Loki replied facetiously.
“Listen to him…thinks he’s Bonnie Prince Charlie or something,” the lankier man on the left chuckled at Loki’s accent.
“I met the man once, actually. He was a drunkard and a fool. He didn’t have a brain in his head,” Loki responded, though he doubted that either of the men actually knew anything about the historic prince.
“Neither will you after we’re done with you. At least the fairies know which side of the fence they're on,” the burly man said menacingly as he and his companion stepped to Loki, each grabbing one of his arms, forcing him into the dark alley.
Once in the alley, Loki stomped hard with his heel on the lanky man’s foot, the man releasing him, Loki sweeping both of the man’s legs out from under him with one of his own before using his now free arm to punch the burly man still gripping his other, blood spurting from the man’s nose as he released Loki, reflexively moving his hands to his face. Loki grabbed hold of the man’s head with both hands, twisting it, snapping his neck, the larger man collapsing to the ground as the lanky man rose to his feet, the baseball bat in his hands, swinging it at Loki who had commandeered the rusty pipe the burly man had wielded, blocking the blow, the sound of the pipe and aluminum bat colliding echoing through the alley followed by the clanging of the bat as Loki used the pipe to knock it from the lanky man’s grip, sending it flying out of reach.
Loki dropped the pipe, taking the man by the throat and squeezing until he heard a snap, the lanky man’s body going limp, Loki tossing his corpse to the ground. Spying a large dumpster, Loki dragged the deceased assailants to it, hefting them up one at a time and dumping them in before replacing the cover and dusting off his hands in a gesture of good riddance as he walked away back to the alley’s entrance, whistling the same tune as previously as he continued on his way to the tavern.
Reaching his destination, Loki opened the door and stepped inside, closing it behind him. Once again Olivia Newton John’s voice greeted him in song.
“Guess mine is not the first heart broken, my eyes are not the first to cry. I’m not the first to know there’s just no getting over you…”
Expecting to see Boda behind the bar, Loki viewed another familiar face drying a mug before he sat it down.
“I know I’m just a fool who’s willing to sit around and wait for you, but baby, can’t you see there’s nothing else for me to do...I’m hopelessly devoted to you…” the song continued.
“Loki! I’ve been expecting you,” Will said with a grin, greeting the Asgardian who had just entered in a voice similar to Loki’s if he were to feign an American accent.
“But now there’s nowhere to hide since you pushed my love aside. I’m out of my head, hopelessly devoted to you…” Newton-John’s emotionally charged voice sang the chorus.
“I have to find Boda,” Loki said, turning and opening the door, stepping back outside…only to discover himself standing in the middle of the dark, dreary, frozen wasteland of Jotunheim, the icy wind cutting through Will’s coat he wore.
Stunned and confused for a moment, Loki took in the scene, realizing where he was. In terror, Loki spun around, relieved to see that the door remained behind him. Throwing it open he stepped hastily back into the tavern.
“Welcome back. What can I get you?” Will asked as Loki strolled slowly to the bar, taking a seat on the stool across from him, studying him.
“Ale…”
“Coming right up,” Will filled a mug with beer from the tap, setting it in front of Loki, “On the house...that's enough of that,” he said, stepping over to the stereo and turning off the tape.
“You know who I am?” Loki asked.
“Of course I know who you are. Do you?”