Author's Note: Hi guys. Due to the incredible amount of support I received for my previous fic 'The Laughter of Magpies', I have decided to write a sequel. Thank you all for your kind and supportive words. Hope you enjoy.

TheDVirus

Loki felt rain on his face.
This was impossible.

Realising that he was outside, Loki began to sit up carefully.
He felt rough marks beneath his fingers and examined the runes burned into the ground around him.
They were fading quickly, the golden light of the magic that had empowered them dwindling now its task had been completed. Loki was sitting in the remains of a magic circle, green smoke churning around the perimeter. A nearby metal bin seemed to have been cut neatly in half from exposure to the materialization field. Pieces of charred paper swirled around him and a sharp smell of burning filled the air.

So, a teleportation spell had brought him here.
Feeling his hair with his hand, he realised the rain was real enough. He had not expected to ever feel a real breeze again. Never mind the sensation of rain running down his shirt collar.
It was already losing its novelty.
Standing up, he saw he was in a badly lit alley. He could hear strange sounds, almost like rhythmic whistling. It took him a moment to identify the sound. Sirens?
Detecting no injuries, he stood up properly and began to walk towards the light at the end of the alley. Peeking beyond the corner, he saw distinctive yellow cars bustling for position on a busy road. He was in a city, brightly lit skyscrapers towering above him and people jostling for position huddled beneath umbrellas on the busy pavements.
Midgard?
And New York no less?!

Seeing three bystanders looking at his position, he realised his arrival may have attracted undue attention. One of them was dressed in the uniform of a New York lawman and one of the citizens was gesturing towards the alley. The sirens he had first heard were also getting louder. There would be time to figure out how he got there later. Right now, he had to become inconspicuous.
Focusing, he felt feathers grow from his fingers and his body shrink and lighten. A seemingly ordinary magpie took wing and flew out of the alley just as the lawman turned the corner.

Landing a block away in another alley, Loki took a moment to compose himself.
The short flight had been taxing. It had been a while since he had exercised his natural limbs, never mind those he didn't usually have. He cleaned his wing and considered his situation.
He was a lone wanted criminal in enemy territory and he had no idea why he was there or how he had gotten there.

'Alright', Loki thought sardonically, 'So what's the bad news?'

Flitting down to the floor of the alley, Loki paced.
It was unwise to resume his true, humanoid, shape. Midgardians had not forgotten his last visit and were unlikely to forgive it.
But he didn't fancy remaining a magpie either. The waterproof feathers were a benefit right now in the downpour but the diet was unappealing.

He could become a woman. Use their natural… advantages to gain further advantage: money, lodging…
Loki shook his head.
He was not that desperate! At least, not yet.

A disturbing rumbling cut into his musings.
He turned and caught sight of a pair of enormous, hungry green eyes before he was suddenly grasped in a vice like grip. He cried out in surprise and in fear at the monster hovering over him, pinning him to the ground with one lethal paw. He felt claws prick his breast feathers and hot, stinking breath issue from behind icicle like teeth. He pecked upwards and the cat (for that was what it was), yowled in pain as Loki's beak met the soft flesh of its muzzle. Loki stumbled to his clawed feet and chattered angrily at the mean looking tom as it growled at him.
The tom leapt…
And met the teeth of an infuriated, pitch black whippet.
Loki closed his thin yet powerful jaws around the cat's neck and shook it viciously before tossing the limp body aside. He panted, licking a wound on his chest, left over from the cat's grip on him as a magpie. As he licked, he reflected that the wound should have healed when he changed shape.
Had his time in prison weakened him that much?

He stopped licking and watched his wound for a moment. Once he saw it begin to heal, he focused on regaining his true form.

But nothing happened.
Loki closed his eyes and tried to calm his heart rate. He felt the magic there as it tried to reshape him but there just wasn't enough to facilitate the change.
He seemed to be (how did Midgardians put it?) 'out of juice'?
Unable to vocalise his frustrations, he gave a forlorn howl.

'I hear ya, I hear ya', came a voice from behind him.

Leaping to all four feet, Loki saw a man coming down the alley.

He was wearing what looked like a boiler suit with a baseball cap perched on top of his greying hair. In his hands, he was carrying a long metal stick. At the end was a thin hoop made of wire. Looking past the man, Loki could see a vehicle. He didn't understand the Midgardian acronym on the side of the vehicle but recognised the man's purpose well enough from his weapon.

'Now, now, don't get excited', the man was saying, 'Let's make this easy huh?'

Loki had never made anything easy for anybody. Least of all, a jumped up vermin catcher!

Loki lowered his head, feigning submission.

The dog catcher smiled at that and adjusted the noose at the end of the pole.
He was about to slip it around the dog's neck when he caught sight of the dog's eyes.
They were glowing.
Suddenly the dog's jaws snapped open and a plume of vivid green fire shot out. The dog catcher threw himself to the side just in time. The fire consumed a nearby trash can which began to melt.

Loki smirked, sharp teeth glinting at the sweat seeping down the dog catcher's face. Fear or proximity to the heat? Either one was satisfying!
The dog catcher, seemingly deciding whatever he was paid was not enough to deal with what appeared to be a stray hellhound, fled to his truck.
Loki gasped in sudden exhaustion.

The 'breath of fire' spell was always draining. Non verbally, it was even more so.

A heavy 'clunking' noise heralded the dog catcher's return.
Loki saw the Midgardian had procured another weapon.
A 'shot-gun' he believed it was called.
The metal glinted in the street lamp light and Loki knew he did not have time to prepare another breath of fire.
Growling, resigned and frustrated in equal measure by his choice, he leapt for the man.
The man pulled the trigger.
Loki landed on his chest, his shoulder burning where the bullet had grazed him. He snarled in the man's face. Saliva dripped from his teeth as he hissed in pain.
The dog catcher closed his eyes and cried out in fear.
Loki felt his shoulder getting worse.
How was it getting worse?! What was wrong with him?!
Deciding the dog catcher was not worth his time, he leapt from the man's body and pelted away, into the crowd beyond the alley.
He didn't know where he was going. How could he?! He didn't even know how he had gotten there!

Steve adjusted his baseball cap, looking up into the night sky.
Rain hammered down, running down his umbrella in thick rivulets. He had hung the bag containing his dinner from the umbrella's upturned hook in a bid to keep it warm and dry. It was working so far and Steve sped up, the smell spurring him on through the wet night.
He turned down the street leading to his apartment block. It was in a quiet neighbourhood, close to where he had been born. Most of the area was protected by various heritage societies meaning Steve found it easy to navigate despite his long absence.
In the quiet night, he became aware of light footsteps approaching behind him. They were too fast to be human.
Turning, he barely saw the dog before it passed him.
It was going so fast its feet barely touched the ground.
So fast it didn't seem to see the…road!
Steve ran forward and despite his enhanced speed, barely managed to grip the dog's scruff.

He yanked it back from the road. A car horn blared angrily and swerved back into its lane.

The dog snapped at his hand and growled angrily. Steve hastily let go and backed off.
He saw the dog's shoulder was bleeding.

'Easy boy. Easy', Steve said gently, lowering himself so he was kneeling at the dog's eye level, 'Be mad at me if you want. Just don't go running into that traffic okay? We got a deal?'

The thunder overhead suddenly startled the dog who whined piteously before barking angrily at the sky, running in a circle. After a couple of minutes of intense barking, the dog seemed to think better of its one-sided argument and chuffed before cocking his head in seeming confusion at Steve's continued presence.

'You're just scared is all', Steve mused.

Hitting on a strategy, he opened the bag he was carrying. The warm smell of the food billowed out in a delicious haze. It was nothing fancy (a chicken sandwich from the deli down the street) but it was warm and welcome on a rainy night.
He reached in and took out a bit of chicken. He showed it to the dog and was rewarded with an enthusiastic wagging of the tail. He held it out and the dog approached warily. It took the chicken from Steve's hand with surprising gentleness and chomped it down with less delicacy.
Steve knew whippets as a breed were skinny but this one had a particularly underfed, wasted look to its frame. Its coat was in good enough condition so it was unlikely to be a stray but there was no collar. The barking at the thunder also told Steve it wasn't used to being outdoors.
He had seen a dog catcher van a couple of blocks back. Maybe he should bring the dog to them. But then again, could they be trusted to find its owner?

Suddenly, he felt a soft pressure on his resting hand.
The whippet was licking the back of his hand, eyes turned upwards imploringly. All signs of aggression had vanished and there was a strange twinkle in its eyes. Steve expected this kind of naked manipulation from cats, not from man's best friend but he found it impossible to resist the dog's literal 'puppy dog eyes'.

'Fine. You win', Steve said with mock frustration, 'Come on boy'.

The dog barked happily and sitting down, offered a paw to Steve.

Steve took it and shook once.

The dog panted cheerily but started to whine when it saw Steve taking off his belt. It pulled back as he tried to reach for it, lips curling back ever so slightly. When Steve persisted, it whined again as it felt Steve tie the leather around its neck and buckle it.

'Sorry buddy', Steve said, 'But we're gonna have to play this right. A dog needs a leash'.

Steve surveyed his work. The dog obviously wasn't happy with the arrangement (what dog ever was?) but in the darkness and rain, he thought it looked legitimate. At least until they could make it back to his apartment.

Steve hung up his dripping umbrella then knelt down and unbuckled the makeshift leash from the dog's neck. He headed into the kitchen, the dog following at his heels.
Steve took down a clean dishrag and running it under some warm water, cleaned out the dog's wound on its shoulder and a smaller one on its chest. The shoulder wound seemed smaller than when Steve had seen it. Had he thought it was larger because it had been bleeding heavier?

Having found some ham in the fridge for the dog, Steve sat down and ate his chicken sandwich. The dog ate hungrily and licked its plate clean before settling down and resting its head on its paws. Steve offered some extra chicken but the dog turned away, apparently full.
Steve finished the rest of his meal and then, noticing the dog's eyes drooping got up and patted the sofa in the living room.
The dog looked uncertain at the invitation.

'Come on. It's okay', Steve said, holding out a hand, 'You're a guest'.

The dog jumped up on the sofa and lay down. Steve grabbed a blanket resting on the back of the sofa and layered it over the dog.
He went to the kitchen and began to load the plates into the dishwasher.

'Hope you're housebroken', Steve called as he closed it but realised the faint dog like snores had stopped.
Walking back to the couch, he noticed the silhouette beneath the blankets had swollen in size, though not by much. Messy, black hair was peeking out above the blanket. As he watched, a pale, long fingered hand fell out from under the material, fingers twitching in slumber.

It didn't surprise Steve in the least though he thought it probably should have.

He'd gone out for a chicken sandwich and come home with a demigod who was a wanted criminal on at least two different planets. Who by all rights should have been locked up a hundred worlds away. Then again, it never paid to underestimate the god of lies.

'Only in Brooklyn…' Steve mumbled before turning out the light, content to let Loki sleep.
For now.