“Loki?” Frigga called after rapping her knuckles against the cottage’s front door, “May I come in?”

Receiving no reply, Frigga stood before the door listening. Hearing no indication of activity inside, she opened it, sticking her head in before entering, peering around the room, “Loki...” .

“Mother…what can I do for you?” she heard Loki’s voice say as he stepped through the doorway from the dining room, facing her, the tenseness in her body relaxing at the sight of him.

“I’ve been worried over you,” asked Frigga.

“I’m quite alright. I now know why you come here. I’m enjoying the solitude. That being the case…I don’t wish to be rude…”

“I understand. I'm glad to see you’re well,” Frigga stepped toward her son, intending to embrace Loki before departing, her foot falling on an object lying on the floor.

Looking down, Frigga eyes came to rest on a book she hadn’t noticed a few moments earlier as if it had materialized out of thin air.

Frigga waved her hand, the illusion cast over the room dissipating, Loki’s image along with it, revealing the true state of the room. Almost every book that had been on the shelves lay strewn about, the chaise, table, and armchair overturned. Frigga swiftly spun on her heels, exiting the cottage.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Smoke swirled upward to the round opening in the high ceiling of the cave that had once served as Loki and Thor’s hideout during visits to their grandparents as children, a fire burning below, though the blaze being larger than what it was designed to draw, it was insufficient for all the acrid pollution to escape.

The flames licked at the edges of canvas frames, the fabric that had been stretched over them already consumed and rendered ash. Music filled the chamber from a portable cassette and radio combination, a substantial collection of batteries piled next to it along with a cardboard box of cassette tapes.

“There’s a blue whale beached by a spring tide’s ebb, that’s my soul up there, there’s a butterfly trapped in a spider’s web, that’s my soul up there…” Sting’s voice, backed up by those of the rest of the band, The Police, echoed off the stone walls.

Loki sat not far from the fire, a blanket from the cottage wrapped around him, his eyes red and watery from the smoke, his face appearing pale in the combination of the sunlight that streamed through the hole in the ceiling and the firelight. Empty liquor bottles from the tavern lay strewn about behind him where he had tossed them over his shoulder, a few broken. Three more, full or almost full, sat in a line beside him on his left. He grasped the neck of another bottle in his hand as he focused his eyes on the flames, one last canvas he had yet to place into the them lying flat at his side.

“I have stood here before inside the pouring rain, with the world turning circles running ’round my brain, I guess I’m always hoping that you’ll end this reign, but it’s my destiny to be the king of pain…” the song went on.

Loki took a swig from the bottle in his hand, glancing over at the painting of himself that Vanar had dubbed “Gold Helmet Man” turning his gaze to the fire.

“My son…” Frigga said mournfully, Loki turning his head in her direction.

“Leave me, Mother.”

“Do you think me such a fool?”

“I could ask you the same,” Loki retorted, his voice slurred, setting the bottle down beside him before standing, the blanket falling from his shoulders.

Picking up the last unburned painting, Loki took two staggering steps toward the fire.

“You’re not going to burn that...” Frigga said, moving closer to Loki.

“Would you like it?”

“I would,” Frigga said, Loki holding it out to her.

“She said it wasn’t finished,” Loki informed her as Frigga took it from him, examining it more closely.

“I can’t see what more it requires. She was quite talented,” Frigga said, pausing, “What is it you’re listening to?” Frigga inquired as Loki sat, wrapping the blanket around himself once more, picking up the bottle and drinking from it.

“Boda’s music,” Loki replied, turning it off, “I returned to Midgard to collect her effects…anything she may have left behind that might have been a clue to her origin.”

“She was allowed nothing of that nature when she was exiled.”

“She painted…Asgard,” Loki said between drinks from the bottle.

“Mortals would believe it to be only fantasy,” Frigga paused, “Did you find what you were actually searching for?”

“No...It was what I didn’t find...here,” Loki answered, “Wolfie. He didn’t bring him to the palace. He’s not here,” Loki said before standing once again, the blanket once more falling from him as he took drunken, unsteady steps toward Frigga, his expression bordering on madness made even more so by his sickly pallor, sunken cheeks, and irritated bloodshot eyes, “Mother...tell me...where are they?”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Switching on the light as she entered the kitchen of the Victorian gingerbread style house, somewhat larger than a cottage, the young woman clad in a pastel blue robe over a long, modest, flannel nightdress, her honey blond hair damp, walked to the stove. Removing the teapot from one of the back burners, she carried it over to the sink, filling it with water as she looked out of the window, watching flakes of snow lazily falling outside in the darkness. Once filled, she returned the teapot to the stove, switching the burner below it on to heat.

Exiting the kitchen into the sitting room, a Christmas tree decked with glowing multicolored lights and ornaments topped with a star standing in one corner, she made her way to the stereo resting on a shelf of the entertainment center decorated with garland along the wall. Pressing the power button, she adjusted the volume low enough to be heard in the room but not enough to carry throughout the house, notes of a pop song nearing its end coming through the speakers on either side of it. Turning from it, the woman crossed to the couch, seating herself in front of a coffee table that held a stack of textbooks, a notebook and pen sitting on top, a few envelopes beside it.

“You’ll find all of today’s hits right here on 98.9, WLKZ!” a recorded announcement exclaimed with exaggerated exuberance through the stereo, another song beginning with a catchy rhythm provided by drums, a tambourine, and piano.

“I won’t let you down, I will not give you up, gotta have some faith in the sound, it’s the one good thing that I’ve got. I won’t let you down, so please don’t give me up, ’cause I would really, really love to stick around...” George Michael smoothly sang in a sultry voice.

Picking up the envelopes, she sat them in her lap, picking up the one on top addressed to Rhiannon Henrikson with her left hand adorned with a golden ring set with a small, heart shaped diamond. Opening it with her right, she removed and unfolded the paper inside, looking over it before returning it to the envelope and setting it back on the table before opening the next.

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Finishing with the mail, she took hold of the notebook and pen, setting it beside her on the couch and picking up the textbook on top of the stack, flipping through its pages. Finding the page she sought, she sat it on one side of her lap, retrieving the notebook, resting it on the other side and picking up the pen, reading from the textbook as she jotted notes.

“All we have to do now, is take these lies and make them true somehow. All we have to see is that I don’t belong to you and you don’t belong to me…Freedom!...Freedom!...Freedom! You gotta give for what you take…” Michaels belted out.

As she continued her studies, the sound of the teapot beginning a shrill whistle cut through the music, the woman setting the textbook, notebook, and pen back onto the coffee table, rising and returning to the kitchen.

Turning the burner off she opened a cabinet, retrieving a teacup and saucer and placing them on the counter. Opening another cabinet, she removed a box of chamomile tea bags, taking one from it, putting it into the teacup, pouring steaming water from the pot into it.

Taking a step to her right, she grasped a small wooden cutting board and opened a drawer, removing a knife before freezing in place, realizing the music from the sitting room had ceased. Puzzled, she turned her head in the direction of the doorway. After a moment the music began again, though something about it struck her as odd.

“Hello, it’s me. I’ve thought about us for a long, long time,” Todd Rungren’s voice sang, almost conversationally, “Maybe I think too much but something’s wrong. There’s something here, doesn’t last too long. Maybe I shouldn’t think of you as mine…”

Returning her attention to the task at hand, picking up a lemon out of a basket nearby, she sliced it in half, cutting off two small slices from one half and dropping them into the tea.

“Seeing you, or seeing anything as much as I do you, I take for granted that you’re always there, I take for granted that you just don’t care…” Rundgren went on.

Taking a ziplock bag from a drawer, she sealed the rest of the lemon inside, carrying it to the fridge and placing it into a drawer, returning to the teacup and saucer. Picking them up from the counter, holding the edge of the saucer in one hand, the handle of the teacup in the other, she made her way to the doorway to the sitting room, slowing as she realized the reason for the odd feeling that had come over her…the song playing was far older than those the station to which the radio was tuned played.

“Think of me, you know that I’d be with you if I could, I’ll come around to see you once in a while…” the song continued as the woman reached the doorway, Boda freezing wide eyed in shock as she viewed Loki standing in front of the stereo, gazing at her from across the room, “or if I ever need a reason to smile and spend the night if you think I should…” Rundgren crooned as the teacup and saucer fell from Boda’s hands, shattering on the hardwood floor, leaving a mess of porcelain shards, tea and lemon slices at her feet.

“You’re supposed to drink it first,” Loki quipped.

“How…?” Boda managed to gasp.

“How did I know you hadn’t been incinerated? A bold and brilliant ruse. Anyone aside from myself would have been thoroughly duped.”

Stepping over the mess on the floor, Boda swiftly crossed the room, reaching past Loki and turning off the tape playing in the stereo before staring once again in stunned silence at her visitor. Loki, noticing her damp hair, reached out, touching her shoulder, a green glow tracing over her hair, starting at the crown of her head, rendering it dry.

“What are you doing here? What if Will was to see you?”

“Will?” Loki questioned.

“Vanar…his name is William now. William Thomas Henrikson, Jr., son of William and Rhiannon Henrikson, born January 6th, 1985 at 3:32 a.m. Would you like to see his birth certificate?”

“You’re referring to the forged document my father arranged. Rhiannon?” Loki questioned Boda’s new moniker.

“I still go by Anne for short. It’s from–”

“A song,” Loki finished for her, “Does he remember any of it? My mother said you wouldn’t allow my father to alter his memory…the reason.”

“Your father enchanted him to remain unconscious until he brought us here. I told him there had been a fire at the apartment. That’s why we’re living in a new house with new things.”

“Except for Wolfie.”

“He sleeps with Wolfie every night. If there had actually been a fire it wouldn’t be strange he was saved. Is that what gave us away?” asked Boda.

“One of a few clues.”

“He thinks it was all a dream. I told him that he’d been overcome by the smoke, that he’d been in a coma. I told him about Will, that he died before he was born, that he knew about him before but he’d lost his memory, that his dream and his memory had gotten mixed up.”

“You found it,” Loki said, observing the ring, raising her left hand and examining it.

“Yes.”

“He was right. It isn’t much,” Loki stated.

“Why did you come? To try to convince me, more likely trick me into returning with you?”

“No…however if you’d like–” Loki began, a hint of hope in his voice, before Boda interrupted him.

“What I would like and what’s best for me...for Vanar...are two different things. We’re mortals now…”

“What my father has done he can undo.”

“It was my plan. He only assisted me in carrying it out. After I learned I would likely end my days as my mother did, that it was the only remedy…I didn’t want you to be left to raise Vanar alone like my father. I had to make a choice...for all of us,” Boda explained.

“What are your plans? Obviously my father left you with sufficient funds.”

“Sufficient, for a time at least,” Boda said, leading Loki to the coffee table, picking up a textbook on psychology and handing it to him, “I started classes in August at the university. It was your idea. I want to help children, others like me who’ve lost someone.”

“A noble purpose,” Loki remarked, staring at the textbook for another moment before handing it back to Boda who replaced it on the table.

“Why did you come?”

“I have something for you,” Loki said, magically producing a bag in his hand, handing it to Boda, “Happy Yule.”

Boda opened the bag, revealing fruit resembling pomegranates.

“Soetrfruit…thank you.”

“I have a gift for Vanar as well.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The door to Vanar’s bedroom opened, Boda slipping inside, closing it silently behind her. The room was illuminated dimly by the glow of a nightlight, a painting similar to the one Boda had begun painting in the cottage in Asgard on the wall, a small framed picture of Will sitting atop the dresser as well as others of Vanar and Boda together, a toy chest along the same wall, a shelf of children’s books near the bed.

Moving to stand beside the bed, Boda gazed down at the sleeping boy under the blankets, Wolfie in his arms, before turning away, taking a step towards the door.

“Mommy?” Boda heard Vanar say in a groggy voice.

“I didn’t mean to wake you...I wanted to be sure you were ok,” Boda said turning back to face Vanar.

“I had a dream,” Vanar said, sitting up.

“Good or bad?”

“Good. I was building things with father with blocks…we made a big castle and a bridge.”

“I’m sorry to have woken you from it,” Boda apologized.

“It’s alright,” Vanar replied.

“I have something for you.”

“What is it?” Vanar asked, Boda returning to the bed, seating herself on the edge of it.

Boda removed a necklace from her neck made from small strips of fine black leather braided together with a flat pendant of what appeared to be clear quartz with a rainbow effect, engraved with a rune, Algiz, resembling a capital Y with the stem extended between the two branches.

“It was your father’s,” Boda said, placing it over Vanar’s head, around his neck, “It’s for protection from harm.”

“He must not have been wearing it when the bad men found him,” Vanar said, holding the pendant in his hand, looking down at it.

“No…sleep now,” Boda said, Vanar lying back down, Boda tucking him in, kissing him on the forehead, “Goodnight. Pleasant dreams.”

Boda rose from the bed, crossing to the door and opening it, stepping out as Vanar lifted the pendant from under the blanket, continuing to examine it in wonder in the dim light.

Closing the door, Boda stood with her back against it, bowing her head as she magically morphed into Loki.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Boda had just finished cleaning up the mess in front of the doorway, stepping out of the kitchen into the sitting room as Loki entered.

“Would you like some tea?” asked Boda.

“I should be on my way,” Loki said, turning from her, making his way to the door.

“I think it would be best…for both of us…if we didn’t see each other again,” Boda said, Loki coming to a halt, remaining with his back to her.

“You still have it?” asked Loki.

“Yes,” Boda said, aware of what he was referring to, “but I doubt I’ll–” Boda began.

“You never know what the future may bring,” Loki said, walking to the door and grasping the knob.

“Loki…” Boda said, Loki removing his hand from the doorknob, turning to face her as he struggled to contain the tears welling in his eyes, “No regrets.”

Boda started towards him, having no compulsion to contain her own, Loki stepping away from the door and meeting her halfway, both throwing their arms around each other, their lips meeting one final time. Loki turned once again, crossing the room to the door, magically clothing himself in a black coat and scarf before opening it and exiting, stepping off the porch, snow falling around him, collecting in his hair and on his shoulders as he made his way to the cherry red corvette parked at the curb.

After Loki had entered the car and pulled away, Boda stepped out of the front door onto the porch, watching the taillights until they were out of sight.