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OoOoOo

That evening, after chaining my bike, I walked straight over to the stables.

"Sig?" Eartha yelled from the kitchen.

"I'm here," I called over my shoulder. "Just want to check in on Coal before dinner."

"All right. We're having chicken tetrazzini."

I waved my hand, knowing she watched me through the kitchen window. As I stepped into the small stables, I breathed in the sour-sweet smell of horse, hay, and manure, and breathed out a long sigh of relief. A black horse stuck his head out over the box stall door and whickered.

"Hi, there, Coal," I said, rubbing his nose. He got his name because of the grey streaks on his nose and stockings. There was even a little grey dappling on his hindquarters. Coal bumped my chest with his nose, searching for any treats.

"Sorry, love," I said, "but I don't have anything. Would a scratch do?" I scratched between his ears. "I'm not working this weekend, so you and I can go for a nice, long ride. Maybe we can even talk Eartha into riding with us, on Scarlett, and have a picnic." At the sound of her name, the big bay mare looked out over her stall door and wuffled.

I laughed and gave Scarlett a rub, too. I checked to make sure they had hay and water aplenty, and then sat on the chair sitting across from them. Scarlett returned to her hay but Coal looked at me with interest. The stallion seemed to know me better than my closest family, and he knew when something troubled me.

"Mr. Fury wants me to befriend him, Coal," I said. "He's not going to get anything out of him, though. And…I feel like something is happening. And I've just been feeling different. Unsettled." I leaned my head back against the wall. "Or maybe I just need a vacation."

Coal snorted, as if saying maybe that was all it was, too, and that a good ride, involving a few good jumps, would sort everything out. Or maybe a fly went up his nose.

Chuckling, I stood, gave my horse one last pat, and then went back up to the house. As I came in, wiping my feet as I went, Eartha was hanging up the phone.

"You'll never guess!" she cried.

"What?" I crossed over to the sink to wash up.

"The twins are coming."

Oh, yay. I sighed, again. Though my twin cousins believed in the old story, like we did, it wasn't always fun, having them visit.

Eartha made a face. "Jane and Joan aren't that bad."

"Not Joan. I don't mind her. But Jane always finds something to say to upset me."

"Then you just need to ignore her better."

"When are they getting here?"

"Next Friday night. They'll be here two weeks. I'll need to buy some extra groceries. And we need to make sure we have enough feed, because they're bringing their horses. Oh, one of my articles sold today, by the way."

"Oh, good. Which one?" I hung up the towel, turning to her.

"The one on Southern Sudan. A small magazine picked it up. The editor said that he may bring me on if I can write another one just as good."

"I'm sure you can."

Eartha gave me a strange look. "Are you all right?"

"What do you mean?" I turned away, going to the fridge for something to drink.

"You only ever go straight to the stables if something is bothering you. Can you talk about it, yet?"

I almost did. I rested my hand on the handle of the refrigerator door and thought about it. She deserved to know, didn't she? Two men who knew our ancestress, who had played an important part of the story, were in an underground bunker not three miles away. But I had promised, and Mr. Fury had emphasized the need for secrecy.

"No," I said. "Not-not yet, at least."

"Well, when you're ready."

"Sure." I tried to smile reassuringly. "When I'm ready."

OoOoOoO

That night, after Eartha had gone to bed, I crept down into the living room. The full moon filled the room with silver and shadows. A large wardrobe made a big black and silver bulk in the corner of the room. Taking a small key from around my neck, I unlocked it and swung the doors open wide.

A little moonlight spilled into the wardrobe at an angle. Red and gold gleamed dully in the light, the swirling symbols etched into the metal almost seeming to move. I reached out and traced a finger over the gold breastplate, feeling the familiar warmth flowing into my skin.

As if an echo from the past, I heard myself say again, "Mama, it's warm!"

"Warm?" laughed my mother. "How can metal be warm?"

"It is. Here, touch it."

In my memory, my mother picked up the breastplate I was supposed to be helping polish. "It just feels like metal to me, Sigrid."

Coming back to the present, I reached into the back corner of the wardrobe and drew out a sheathed sword. The sheath was a bright brassy gold with red enameled chevrons. Grasping the hilt, I unsheathed the blade, the metal singing. Warmth flowed from the hilt up my arm, into my shoulder. I swung the sword, flowing into a few simple forms, before bringing the sword back up so I could look at the long length of blade.

Maybe every now and again, the armor and sword warmed for someone. Maybe it didn't mean anything.

But Loki and Thor were here… And I happened, just happened, to work for SHIELD? And because of Mr. Fury's order, I'm to go see Loki on a regular basis? Me, the descendent of Sigyn? Me, for whom the metal warmed?

I sat, suddenly, on an ottoman, holding the sword loosely and letting the tip dig into the carpet. I wanted so badly to talk to Eartha. She always had a nonsensical approach to things. She would say something incredibly practical, something that would yank everything into perspective.

It is one thing to listen to legends and quite another to find oneself in the making of one.

Sitting up straight, I gripped the hilt with both hands and raised the sword by my wrists. I closed my eyes and took deep breaths, letting the warmth sink deeply into me. It soothed away the incidental aches and pains of the day and settled my anxiety. For the first time in days, I came to feel centered and calm.

What should I do?, I thought. Sigyn, if you can hear me—what should I do?

But no answer came. There was only the warmth singing through me and the weight of sword. Opening my eyes, I lowered my arms, and stared up at the armor gleaming in the half-light.

OoOoOoO

Loki prowled the confines of his prison cell. He knew he would just exhaust himself from the exertion (the damn brace they had collared him with drained away most of his strength), but pacing helped him to think.

That woman, with her red hair and bright, clear blue eyes, had looked familiar. Even the way her eyes flicked to his, and the tilt of her head, were so maddeningly familiar. When she turned from him, he felt the sudden need to know who she was. So he foolishly grabbed her, and learned the sort of kick both the device and that woman could carry. No matter, though. When she came back later, and he had tasted the honey she brought, he knew.

A descendent of Sigyn. The Sigyn he had known, had fought alongside, was dust in a grave somewhere in the land they called Norway. Loki had checked on her over the years of her life and she had seemed happy. How anyone could be happy with a mortal on Midgard was beyond him. That happiness was what drew him back, though, year after year. It was a joy that not even he wanted to meddle with. If anything, he wished fervently that he knew the secret of it.

And now here was her descendent.

Frigga's blessing repeated itself in his mind. If this girl had the necessary gifts, he could escape. Perhaps even steal back the Cube on his way. Mortal such as her, maybe he could bribe her. Or maybe he could promise her something. Not that he could actually deliver on anything, even if he wanted to do so.

Sudden despair rippled through him, followed swiftly by fatigue. He sat on his bed with a sigh. He needed to leave this place. Or did he? He had tried and failed, again, to prove himself. What was the use of anything, anymore?

And what if he really was a monster, after all?