IV.
Odile expertly dodged and blocked Stephen's staff time and again.
After a week of mystic recuperation—during which she never missed a meal, show or yoga session—Dr. Strange decided to resume her training. But first, he had to see how far she'd gotten.
She bent backwards as his staff drew an arc an inch above her nose. Soon as the coast was clear, she did the full flip and poised herself on the offense. Dr. Strange avoided her attacks with ease.
There was a dancer's grace to her movements, an ease that stemmed not from combat experience, like Stephen's, but from a high degree of flexibility. Light on her feet and more resilient than her slim build appeared, it was no wonder she'd made remarkable progress in the space of a month.
Their staffs clashed and Odile made a fine job of pushing back. But her strength couldn't rival Stephen's. He felt her falter, briefly withdrew and delivered a surprise blow that toppled her to the floor.
"I'll admit it," he said, "I'm impressed. You can take a hit and you can take a fall. Both things more important than a lot of people think." He helped her up and held onto her wrist to check her pulse.
"You forget I'm a dancer, Doc," she chuckled. "Taking hits, and especially falls, is part of the job description."
Both her heartbeats seemed to be on track. "How's your astral projection?"
"It works now that I actually have the energy for it."
Stephen frowned. "What do you mean, it works?"
"I mean…I can do it."
He was incredulous. "You learned how to project your astral form in a month?"
"Well, I re-learned it. My mum first taught me when I was five—"
"Show me."
"What—now?"
"Yes," he growled, "right now."
"Alright, boss man." She sat down on the mat and crossed her legs, with her arms relaxed in her lap.
Her breathing steadied into a slow, inaudible pace and her astral form began to rise from her body.
"See? Woo-hoo!" She did a pirouette and leapt in a half-hearted grand jeté through the air.
Stephen had to swallow his disbelief. Was he bitter that Odile had easily mastered something that had taken him months to figure out? Only a little. He sought revenge, however—a practical revenge: the one thing Odile never concerned herself with at the Kamar-Taj were books and he determined to change that.
As if sussing out his plot, Odile flew off through the wall—through several walls, in fact—slalomed between the display cases in the Chamber of Relics and came to a halt in the library. It was empty, save for a black-clad man reclined in a chair. He looked up at the ghost hovering above his table.
"You're…"
"Loki." He closed his book and let the chair fall on its front legs. "You may have heard of me."
"Odile Proctor," she introduced herself, "nice to meet you, love."
Confused, Loki tried to shake the hand she extended but his went right through.
"Whoops. Sorry!" She put her hands away and folded her legs Indian style. "Love what you did with Manhattan, by the way."
"Thank you—"
"Although, I do have to say, I'd rather you and your alien army had waited a couple of days. My show got canceled on premiere night."
"Oh. Well, I'm sorry about that."
"Yeah, me too." Odile shrugged. "Everybody died."
"What show was it?" Loki asked, out of a strange sense of politeness.
"Swan Lake."
"Let me guess," Dr. Strange unexpectedly interrupted, "you were the black swan."
She grinned. "I was both Odile and Odette. Well, I was going to be. It never happened. Though funnily enough…," she trailed off, thoughtful. "I did become both afterwards—"
"Yes, fascinating!" the doctor cut her off. "Now back in your body. And you," he pointed his menacing forefinger at Loki, "you'd better stay put unless you want to spend the rest of your time here restrained and locked up."
"Don't worry, doctor, I'm not going to smite any of your disciples." He stood up, tapping the hardcover of his book. "This should contain the boredom."
Odile watched the exchange, intrigued, keeping her eye on Loki until he was out of sight. Then she returned to her body and teleported into the library. "So, Doc…what's the god of mischief doing in your precious NY Sanctum?"
Dr. Strange picked out book after book and stacked them on the table. "I'm nannying him while his brother is off on some Earth-saving errand or other."
"Since the Avengers are…going through a tough time?"
"Something like that."
"I see…" Odile flipped through the book on top of the pile. "Do I, uh…" She scrunched up her nose. "Do I have to read all of this?"
A smug smirk braced the doctor's lips. Sweet, petty payback. "Yeah. All of it. Pro tip: your astral projection can read in your sleep." He patted the top of the stack. "Have fun."
Odile groaned. Fun was the last thing she had. That evening, Loki returned to the library and found her having a nap.
"I take it you don't like reading."
She snapped awake and nearly fell out of her chair. "No," she yawned, "not a big fan."
"Then what are you a big fan of?"
Odile narrowed her eyes at him. "Are you trying to make conversation with me?"
Loki nodded once. "Since you seem to be the only person in this enormous building who wouldn't rather kill me than look me in the eye. Even though you probably have more reasons than most."
"I never was one to cling onto the past."
"Wise decision."
She smiled.
He browsed through the book she'd dozed off on. "Interesting."
Odile yawned again. "You think?"
Loki took up the book and began to read aloud. His voice enthralled her, although she didn't understand a word. But when he chanced a glimpse at her numb expression, he stopped mid-sentence and she didn't even notice.
"Yeah," she drawled, eyes half-closed, "you probably shouldn't be doing that."
Loki chuckled. "What should I be doing, then?"
"Hmm…" She drummed her fingers on the table, pensive. "You know…" The drumming ceased. "You should come watch my show one day." She winked at him. "I think you'd like it."
"Oh? What sort of a…show is that?"
"A dance show. Here." A ticket manifested itself in her open palm and she handed it to him.
Loki examined it with interest.
"It's what I'm a big fan of," she said.
"Oh?"
"Dancing. It's, literally, the only reason I'm alive."
"How come?"
Odile hesitated. "That's…a story for another time." She got up, with the stack of books in her arms. "But if you do decide to come round to one of my shows—you should probably wear a tux. It's…sort of a black-tie affair."
"Oh, I think I have just the thing. Thank you, Odile Proctor."
"Let's just stick to Odile, shall we!" she called over her shoulder.
Loki smirked at his Salomé ticket. "If you insist…"