Loki: Hold Fast and Fear Not
(A Loki Short Story)
Lady Sparrow
"But Hold Me Fast and Fear Me Not and I'll do to You No Harm"
- The Ballad of Tam Lin
Part One:
The dream had haunted her for as long as she could remember. Sigourney rubbed the sleep from her eyes and rolled onto her back. The ceiling of her bedroom stared back at her as the all too familiar images of the dream wafted through her mind. The gilded chamber, the circular door opening out into a vortex of colour, the raging old man with a voice like the sea crashing against the cliff-face, the heart piercing scream and then, as always, the explosion of colour and light that swallowed everything until only thick blackness remained. That was when she would wake up. And no matter what the dream started out as, it would always end with the scene in the gilded chamber. Sigourney couldn't riddle it out no matter how she tried. She'd done everything she could think of, sleep therapy, sleep medication, regular therapy, cutting out all caffeine, yoga before bed, jogging around the block when she woke up in the night. But nothing explained the dream and nothing made it go away.
She turned over to look at the digital clock on her bedside table. 5:07am. Somewhere outside songbirds were already beginning their morning concert. Sigourney sat up, her barefeet settling onto the laminate flooring of her bedroom as she tossed her blankets aside. There was no point in trying to sleep for another few hours. She might as well get an early start. She quickly pulled on the jeans she had worn the previous day and her favorite David Bowie tee-shirt. Then she wrangled her long dark-flaxen hair into a high ponytail. Her still bare feet padded softly against the cool floor as she made her way into her small kitchen. Opening the window over the sink let in the brisk autumn air as well as the birdsongs. She filled the kettle, popped it onto the stove and leaned against the counter, waiting for it to boil.
'Watched pots and all that…' She thought as she stared at the sky blue enamel of the kettle.
Sigourney turned her attention to the stack of mail cluttering the counter beside her. She had just picked up the first envelope when the unmistakable sound of pawing and whining came from the fire escape. She smiled to herself and tossed the envelope back onto the stack of others and ducked back around the wall that separated her kitchen/dining area from her bedroom/living area. Sigourney pulled back the drapes from the window that lead out to the fire escape and smiled. Fiske, her downstairs neighbor and landlady's ginger cat, gazed up at her through the glass. She knelt down and heaved the window open from where it latched against the floor. Fiske lazily slipped into the apartment as though he owned the place.
"You didn't get caught in the storm last night, did you?" Sigourney asked.
Fiske rubbed up against her leg in reply before walking past her into the kitchen. She followed and found her feline friend already sitting on the counter above the drawer where the can-opener was kept. By the time the kettle whistled Fiske had been set up with a small dish of canned tuna and was eating it happily as Sigourney fixed herself some tea.
"Don't tell your Mama." She warned playfully as she stirred sugar into her cup, "She says I spoil you too much."
Fiske only continued munching away at his snack. When their mutual breakfasts were finished, Sigourney put the dishes in the sink and pulled on her boots and baggy wine-coloured sweater. Fiske wound his way between her feet impatiently as she rummaged through her bag, hunting for her keys. When she found them the two left the apartment together. Fiske meowed loudly in parting as he scampered down the hall towards the stairs, not even glancing over his shoulder. Sigourney smiled to herself and locked her door. Shoving her keys back into her bag, condemning them to undoubtedly be unfindable for at least three solid minutes the next time she needed them, she too reached the staircase.
It was only a single flight down to the foyer. The building had been, at one time, a old style house meant for a single family. The property had been modified into a kind of apartment building sometime ago, it's rooms being renovated into full living spaces for the tenants. What was once the attic now belonged to Ms Greenwell, an eccentric English teacher who could be heard ranting to herself about the papers she was grading well into the wee hours. Sigourney's apartment had been one of the three second story bedrooms. Across the hall from her was Albert Wright, a musician and bartender. The main floor had been segmented into three portions. The first was where Mrs Hult lived, the second was her office and the third was the communal laundry room. Sigourney willed her boots to be quiet against the creaky floor as she passed Mrs Hult's front door, hoping not to wake her. Fiske must have already gone in through the cat flap.
The main door to the house creaked comfortingly when Sigourney eased it open and she was once again greeted by the crisp autumn air. The smell of late September, a mix of decaying leaves and rain, filled her up to the brim. The sidewalk was still stained dark gray from the previous night's storm. The thunder had shaken the house and the the sheet lightning had illuminated the whole sky. Electricity had been palpable in the air. But all that had quieted down into a still and silent morning. Now it was almost as though it had never happened. Sigourney jumped a particularly large puddle as she crossed the leaf and branch strewn street. The park on the other side of the road from the house had really had a number done on it by the storm. The trees, who had already been in the process of shedding their amber and crimson leaves, were all but bare now. A few had managed to hold on for dear life, but they would likely join the others in the next few weeks.
Sigourney loved everything about autumn. It had been her favourite season for as long as she could remember. There was something about the change lingering in the air all around her that made life feel exciting and full. With the sun just barely creeping over the trees, setting their remaining leaves in a glow like fire, anyone would say that there was magic in the air. Sigourney shoved her hands in her pockets and breathed deep as she passed under the boughs of the tall park trees. Above the birds were coming to the end of their morning recital. Looking up, they could be seen flitting between the branches. Today would be a good day. Sigourney was certain of it.
By the time she reached the far side of the park it was nearly six-thirty. The sun was fully up. There was activity on the main road that separated the park from the strip of small businesses on the other side. A few cars drove up and down the street and a jogger in a loose Captain America tee-shirt was just passing by the still closed cafe. It wouldn't be open until at least eight-thirty. Sigourney looked both ways, found a gap in the mild traffic, and crossed the street to where the bookshop sat nestled between the second hand clothing shop and the florist's. As always, it was about three or so minutes before she found her keys again in the vacuum of her bag. She shifted through the mess until her fingers closed around them and then shifted through the mess of her keychain until she found the right key. The lock clicked open with a satisfying sound. Sigourney shoved her keys back into her bag and shut the door behind her, flipping the latch of the deadbolt closed now that she was inside.
Normally, she didn't open the bookshop until ten-o'clock. And it would be eleven before Lavender, her highschool part-timer and only employee, showed up for her Sunday morning shift. Sigourney flicked on the overhead lights which hummed to life slowly. They illuminated the shelves and books in a soft glow. As Sigourney tossed her bag onto the counter she spotted the boxes still crowding the small space behind it. She sighed. At least pricing and shelving all the new material would fill the time until opening. She pushed up the sleeves of her sweater and set to work.
Halfway through the first big box of new books and a roll of pricing stickers later, Sigourney was singing along with the upbeat playlist her phone was playing through the speaker sitting on the windowsill behind the counter. She changed the sticker roll in the price gun and dug out the next arm load of paperbacks. They landed on to the top of the counter with a satisfying thud. She'd only just picked up the first volume, a dog eared and slightly scuffed copy of The Tempest, when the unmistakable jingle of the bell over the door rang through the little shop. Sigourney turned with a frown.
Shutting the door behind himself was a very tall man dressed in a fine black suit. The dark material contrasted against his pale skin but complemented the raven hair that fell to his shoulders in loose waves. His face was handsome and angular, with a high brow and cheekbones, thin lips and a sharp jaw. He looked around the shop, almost anxiously, taking in the overcrowded shelves stuffed with second hand books. Then his eyes fell on Sigourney and she could see that they were a chilly shade of green. He smiled at her broadly when she met his gaze, deep lines creasing his face.
"I'm sorry, but we're closed." She told him in the voice she used for customers, "We don't open for…"
She glanced at the clock on the wall behind the counter.
"Another hour." She said, it was only just coming up on nine, "The cafe down the street should be open. You could get a coffee or tea and come back?"
He raised his eyebrows, the smile fading slowly. For an instant emotion flashed in his eyes. He looked gutted. As though he didn't know that David Bowie had died and Sigourney had just told him in a crass kind of way. Then it was gone. A forced pleasant exterior rose so quickly that anyone else wouldn't have noticed. But the joy in his eyes when he'd first entered the shop had vanished.
"Forgive my intrusion." His voice was smooth and he spoke with an accent that sounded very English.
"It's no problem." Sigourney smiled at him, shrugging a little, "I could have sworn I locked that door. Must have forgotten."
He studied her for a long moment, then said, "Might I offer to buy you a cup of tea? To make up for not noticing the closed sign on the door."
"That's not necessary." She smiled reassuringly, "No harm done. Really."
"Is… is this your shop?" He asked tentatively as he looked around again.
Sigourney smiled again, "Yup. I've been here for about a year and a half."
"I see." He nodded slowly, "Well, I shan't take up any more of your time."
He turned to go but stopped just before he reached the door, one long-fingered hand paused halfway to the handle. Sigourney watched him turn on his heel to face her again. He furrowed his brow a little at her.
"Are you… quite certain I can't tempt you with a cup of peppermint tea?" He asked slowly.
"Well," Sigourney gave in, "I suppose that would be alright. But only because you managed to guess my favourite by accident."
She set down the price gun and scooped up her bag. A wide smile worked its way across the man's face as she came to meet him at the door. He held it open for her and waited patiently on the sidewalk as she once again hunted for her ever elusive keys. It was odd, but normally Sigourney wouldn't have accepted a spontaneous invitation from a stranger even if he had managed to unknowingly offer up her favourite tea. It was just that there was something in that look of utter disappointment he had given her. Something that tugged at her in a way she didn't understand.
"I'm Sigourney, by the way." She introduced herself as they started down the street towards the cafe.
He frowned a little, "Sigourney?"
"Yeah." She shrugged, "My parents are huge fans so I was named after her."
He looked at her blankly.
"You know... Sigourney Weaver? The film actress?" She pressed.
He only narrowed his eyes a little at her as though he still didn't fully understand what she was on about.
"Anyway, what should I call you?" She changed the subject.
"Locke." He replied, nodding to her.
At the cafe, Sigourney sat at a table for two next to the large picture window that took up most of the front wall. It made the small space feel bright and airy. The sounds of folks chatting amongst themselves filled the air in a pleasant sort of way. Sigourney chewed her lip as she waited for Locke to return with their tea. He had seemed to know her when he came into the shop. Or at least had expected her to know him. That was what the look had been. And the more she thought about it the more it perplexed her. She knew she didn't recognize him from anywhere, beyond noticing that he bore a slight resemblance to that very popular English actor whose name she could never remember. Besides, she knew she hadn't ever known anyone called Locke before. Not even as a child. It was an unusual enough name that she would have had no trouble remembering. So, about thirty seconds after he'd left her to fetch their tea, Sigourney had decided to ask him about it when he came back.
She drummed her fingers against the table, admiring the way the light caught on her silver ring. The band sat around her left index finger and glinted with each tap. Locke returned with a smile and set down two cups of tea. The scent of peppermint washed over the table, setting Sigourney's nerves more at ease than they had been moments ago. She watched Locke sit down across from her, unbuttoning his jacket and smoothing the front of his waistcoat. He certainly was dressed smartly. Perhaps he had just come from an early church service? Or a formal family breakfast?
"You've likely not eaten anything yet so I've also brought you a bit of cardamom tea loaf as well." He indicated the thick slice sitting on the edge of her saucer.
"How… how did you know I hadn't eaten yet?" She asked, glancing quickly between him and the loaf.
He shrugged and took a sip of his tea.
"Well, thank you." She said, settling herself, "I wanted to say that, before in the shop, it seemed as though… as though maybe you thought you recognized me? Or maybe you thought I was someone else for a moment? Have we met before? I'm certain I would remember if we had, but… you seemed…"
She allowed herself to trail off, feeling foolish, and watched him carefully. He set down his cup with calculated precision that resulted in only the slightest clink against its saucer. Then he folded his hands and thought for what felt like a long time. When he finally looked up from the contents of his cup his features were carefully composed. Calculated, just like his movements, so as not to betray anything again.
"What sort of books do you sell at your shop?" He asked in a gentle but deliberate tone, avoiding her question.
She stared at him hard, then replied in the same tone, "Second hand and donated copies of whatever is still in good enough shape to sell."
"And do you enjoy it?" He raised his eyebrows and took another sip of tea.
His voice uncomfortably conversational. Anyone observing them would think they had just run into one another after having gone through the world's messiest breakup not a month before. Sigourney shifted a little in her seat before finally trying her tea.
"Yes. Very much." She said over the rim of her cup, "And what do you do?"
"Political Science student." He replied without hesitation.
"What's that like?" She asked, the comforting warmth of her cup against her hands.
"Surprisingly taxing." He flashed her a charming smile.
"Where do you go to school?" Sigourney asked.
"Overseas." He replied, "Though I did study in New York for a very brief time."
"That must have been exciting." She nibbled at the tea loaf.
"It didn't go," He shifted in his chair a little and cleared his throat, "quite as I planned."
She offered him a sympathetic smile, "That's too bad."
"A matter of perspective, I think." He chuckled and drank from his cup again.
The conversation carried on in that manner until they'd both drained their cups and the tea loaf was gone. Many questions were asked and met with answers that didn't actually say anything about the one giving them. When they'd finished it was nearly ten o'clock. Locke walked her back to the bookshop, but declined going back in. This, Sigourney thought, was somewhat strange, but she didn't press the matter. They said a very brief and somewhat awkward goodbye at the door. Then, as she rummaged around for her keys for the fourth time that morning, Sigourney watched her new acquaintance hurry across the street and into the park.
'What a curious man.' She thought to herself and unlocked the shop.