It was a few weeks later and Loki decided he was bored. He needed a new idea, so he wandered down into his underground, magic-shock-wave-proof bunker under his house, and looked around speculatively. He went over to the worktable and began tinkering with things. There were a few odds and ends left over from his last experiment. It seemed to have been evolving while he was away. There was a mixture of leftover sleeping draught which looked to have melded with a potion for encouraging inspiration (he called it "The Inspiration Elixir"—or he would, if he ever got it to work) glowing faintly luminescent and hovering a few inches off the table. He pushed it back down, and began prodding it with a fork.

He got so caught up that he didn't notice the hours flying past as he perfected his design for cement potatoes. They would look, feel and smell just like ordinary potatoes, but they were in no way food

By the time dawn came in the crack of the half-opened door he was deep into his project, not even noticing the light until it crawled over to his workspace. All at once he realized how late it was, and that he was completely exhausted. He set down his work, thinking about taking a nap, but then realized in a sudden panic that he had somewhere to be, and he'd completely forgotten. His job at the hair salon! They would be missing him, and he made a point to never be late.

Loki rushed out of the room, only bothering to padlock the iron door behind him, dashing out the house as he summoned a glamour to hide his disheveled appearance. He skidded into the salon right on the dot and straightened up, entering leisurely and haughtily.

The first few hours passed well enough, but as the time wore on, his hunger and exhaustion began to show in his shaking hands. He glared down at them, annoyed. His stamina had never been the same after he'd recovered from his should-have-been-mortal wound, and it grated on him that he now had to eat and sleep almost as regularly as a mortal. He was above them in every way. But it was becoming more and more obvious that styling hair wasn't going to go very well. Matilda, with her sharp eyes, noticed this, and when lunch break came, she ushered him into the staff room.

"Here," she said, "there's a half a sandwich—oh now, don't complain! After that you are free to take a nap. I'll wake you when you're needed."

Loki glared at her but complied sulkily.

.

.

.