Loki and Darcy had booked a flight to England at four thirty in the afternoon. Darcy wasn't looking forward to the jet-lag, but she did like London. They'd been there before, but that time of course it had been a much more relaxing trip. She spread out her yoga mat on the floor and started her typical routine of poses, wincing at how tense her muscles were. There hadn't been much opportunity to practice when they were on the assignment and now she was feeling it. As her body shifted fluidly from one pose to the next she breathed in and out and tried to settle all of the thoughts bouncing around in her brain. ''Anna-Lily, Cloud, Penelope, Ethan, Retnick, Jason,'' Darcy chanted the names in her head, picturing all of their faces, wondering how they all somehow fit into the greater puzzle. Breathe in and out. ''Joe Haven, Helen, Jane,'' she thought, and then sank down wearily into another position on the mat. 'Remember to breathe', she reminded herself. There's a strange tree, far off in the field. There's something out in the woods. There's something in this land that makes you want. Makes you crave. Breathe. What was there? Darcy was reminded of her discussions with Retnick and Loki about the past, when she was still pretending to be a pagan anthropologist. What makes you think that there were answers at the beginning?Were there answers anywhere? Or were they running halfway around the world to be left with nothing, only more questions?

Darcy realized that her eyes were closed. Opening them, she looked up to see Loki staring down at her. ''Hi,'' she said.

''I like that one too,'' he noted with a grin, clearly enjoying the way her body was posed at the moment, her chest pushed forward. From his vantage point, he had a great view of her breasts, barely contained by the sports bra she was wearing. ''Haha,'' she replied.

''Are you ready for all of this?'' he asked, meaning their impromptu trip to England, and possibly more. She sighed, twisting around so that she could slowly get to her feet. ''I hope so,'' Darcy replied. ''I really do.''


Before they left, while Darcy was distracted with packing, Loki slipped out. There was something that he needed to do. He arrived at SHIELD headquarters unnoticed, accessing the back stairwell so as to travel more discreetly. Not that it mattered, everyone seemed to be busy with their own assignments. Still, he didn't want to take the chance that he would bump into anyone who might feel the need to ask a thousand questions. They didn't have any time to waste on that, not at the moment. The god felt more and more like there was an hourglass all around them with sand slipping through, a clock counting down to something. It was a feeling of urgency and he didn't like it.

Once he'd reached the lower levels of the building where the Astrophysics department was located, Loki navigated his way down the hall and to the lab, still unseen. Jane was back at work that day, her talk with Darcy seemed to have gotten her motivated to do at least that much. This was part of what worried him. Based on what Darcy had told him, the scientist wanted to try to use their blood to synthesize some kind of immortality serum. It simply couldn't be done, but Jane was still going to try, he knew that much about her to be sure—she was stubborn and tenacious. And she would probably wind up killing herself in the process, once her body rejected it. Loki knew what happened when people became obsessed, when they wanted something so badly that all reason went flying out the door. And he couldn't allow it.

Darcy was going to be angry at him for what he was about to do, probably for a while. But eventually she would come to understand that it was for the best. The lab door was locked but Loki had actually been granted a relatively high security clearance—something that he knew would be taken away from him very soon, given what he was about to do—and with a swipe of the key card it opened. He stormed into the room like an unstoppable hurricane. Seated at a work station, Jane Foster trembled a little at the sight, had the good sense to shrink back a bit at first. Then she jumped up. ''Hey! What are you...''

''I'm getting rather tired of this,'' Loki said, like a manic child hell-bent on smashing something to bits. If he had to play the scenery-chewing villain then so be it. It was a role that he was quite used to. ''Time for an intervention.'' He pushed right past her, going straight for the refrigerator where all the vials of blood were kept. ''No!'' Jane cried out sharply, sensing his plan. She paled. ''Stop!''

''Funny,'' he snapped, rounding on her. ''I was going to say the same thing to you.'' He reached into the refrigerator, snatching up all three vials. ''Please,'' she begged. The scientist's eyes were so wide and frantic that Loki couldn't help but feel a pang in his chest. He had gone just a little soft, it seemed, after all. ''You don't underst—-'' Her protestations were interrupted by the sound of glass shattering on the floor. One, then two, then three, he threw each vial down, leaving behind a horrifically macabre scene. The white tile now resembled a hellish Pollock painting. Jane crumpled to the floor crying, and Loki carefully stepped around the shattered glass and blood, walking away without another word.


He didn't let on about anything once he arrived back at the apartment, Darcy was still so distracted with their impending trip that she'd barely noticed that he was gone. Loki knew that someone from SHIELD would be trying to call one or both of them soon, furious, so he was grateful that they would be spending a good deal of time in the air with their phones off. Darcy didn't say much during the flight, mostly tried to nap a little, but that was never easy for her to do on airplanes, so she ordered a vodka and tonic and stared down at her notebook, trying to make sense of the convoluted web that had been woven all around them.

The afternoon was cool and misty when they landed and took a cab to the destination that had been provided for them by some unknown source, clouds inching across the sky while a breeze whipped the trees in the park when they arrived. Then Loki and Darcy walked along until they reached a collection of buildings situated there. Darcy tapped at the screen of her phone as she brought up information about the particular spot that they were looking for in Berkeley Square, number 50.

''It's a bookstore.'' There was an almost disappointed tone to her voice. Then she clicked on another link and her expression changed. ''But it wasn't always. This building was once supposedly the most haunted place in London.''

''Lovely,'' Loki whispered, a smirk ghosting across his lips. ''That's fitting, isn't it?''

They walked inside the bookstore, not even really knowing where to start. There were obviously many shelves of books, and a middle aged, neatly dressed and put-together shopkeeper behind the counter. He smiled at them when they entered, gave them a little wave.

''Three down, row eight,'' Darcy read the directions off of the page from Loki's sketchbook, the words that followed the coordinates. They seemed slightly less perplexing now that they had a better understanding of the context. She followed the stacks down to the eighth row until she reached, of all things, a large book on ancient Sumeria. It was very dated, both the pages and binding showed that. Frowning, Darcy pulled it off of the shelf and opened it, flipping through the pages. Then something caught her eye. Tucked inside the book, there was an old, yellowed piece of paper, probably long-forgotten. It was an invitation, she realized with surprise, to a party in 1946, held at the residence of a Lord Stanwell Walters.

After a quick bit of googling, Darcy learned that the Walters Estate wasn't too far, less than twenty minutes away if the traffic was fine. Her phone buzzed again. Natasha. She almost wanted to answer it, though she knew she'd be getting an earful. Loki looked at her and shook his head. Not yet, he spoke firmly into her mind. She cringed a little and declined the call. ''She's going to kill us,'' Darcy muttered, sliding the phone back into her pocket, trying not to think of all the different ways that the Black Widow could maim them if she really wanted to.

''That's a first edition that you have there,'' the shopkeeper noted, looking at the heavy volume in Darcy's hands. ''Very old.''

Sliding the invitation back between the pages of the book, Darcy nodded and said, ''I'll take it.''


Lord Stanwell Walters had been, among other things, an incredibly wealthy man. The estate was enormous—larger than Retnick's house—and it had been turned into a museum of sorts. Tours were available by request, and thankfully when Darcy called she found that there was one more appointment left that day. When they arrived, their tour guide greeted them. She was a tall, dour woman in her mid-thirties, her hair pulled back into a severe twist. The guide seemed almost physically incapable of smiling, but at least her voice was animated as she led them along through the house and explained its features to them.

''Lord Walters was a dealer of antiquities, specifically maps and rare books,'' the woman explained. Darcy's ears perked up at this. ''What kinds of books?'' The guide hesitated for just a moment. ''Well, you see-''

''Did he collect occult books? Like...grimoires, maybe?''

The woman gave a slow nod, frowning a little at this questioning. ''Yes, he did. He had quite an extensive collection of books...of that particular nature.''

''Are any of them still here?''

The guide visibly stiffened. ''Who did you say that you were again?''

''I'm a researcher,'' explained Darcy, thinking on the fly. ''I'm writing a book on the history of the occult in England.''

''It's just a bit of nonsense,'' the woman said with clear derision. ''Lord Walters was fascinated by anything mysterious. He'd been all over the world—Egypt, Tibet...he was an adventurer at heart and had a keen mind. Of course he would be interested. And so were many others. Many, many people came here to see his collection, to ask his advice on...certain matters. But I assure you, his interests were purely of the academic variety.''

Darcy nodded calmly. ''Of course they were. And so are mine. If any of those books are still here, I'd love to have a look at them.''

The guide pursed her lips and stared at her for a moment of contemplation. ''Right this way, then,'' she said in a chilly tone.

As they walked down a long corridor that led to another wing of the house, Darcy's eyes caught on a picture hanging on the wall in a small room off to the right.

''Look!'' Darcy whispered wildly, grabbing at Loki's arm and leading him over to where a large black and white photograph hung in an ornate frame. The face staring down at them belonged to a beautiful woman with carefully curled dark hair and sad eyes. She wasn't smiling, in fact she looked as though she would much rather be somewhere else.

''Who is that?'' he asked, looking closer.

''It's her, it's Helen!''

''Are you certain?''

Darcy nodded. ''I'd know her anywhere.''

''Hmmm...so that's who was throwing things at me for almost a year.'' He studied the face in the photograph. ''She wasn't awful-looking.''

''No, definitely not,'' Darcy agreed, her mind reeling once again. ''No wonder Joe Haven wanted to make her immortal.''

The guide, who had been hanging tentatively in the doorway, moved into the room and came to stand behind them. ''That was Lord Walter's daughter, Helen. She passed away many years ago. Stanwell took it very hard.'' She turned then, indicating with her movements that they should move on. They did so, Darcy dizzily casting another glance behind her at the face in the photograph. This Lord Walters was Helen's father? What the hell was going on?

They continued on down a corridor until they came to a small, dim room at the end. While the guide was looking for the key, Darcy's eyes drifted upward towards the door frame and saw with surprise that it also contained a carving of the moon transitioning through its phases, just like the door to their room in Retnick's house. The door opened with a creak. ''This is what they used to jokingly call 'The Library of the Damned,' '' said the guide, who didn't seem to see anything funny about the name. ''It was where Lord Walters kept all of his occult manuscripts. Some are very old, and are preserved under glass. The paper is extremely fragile.''

Loki looked around, then turned to the tour guide. ''Has there ever been any sort of a...theft, or a robbery?''

She shook her head. ''Not for more than nearly seventy years. After Stanwell died, the Estate became the property of one of his cousins, who had no patience for what he called 'that nonsense' and demanded that the room be sealed off. But less than two days later, he had a change of heart and decided to preserve it. Now that the building is owned by the Walters Trust, every possible security measure has been put into place for each room and everything of value is insured.''

''Begging your pardon,'' Loki said silkily, ''but you did say that there hasn't been a theft in more than seventy years. The collection dates much farther back than that. Were there any notable thefts very early on, before Lord Walters passed.''

The guide pursed her thin lips as if she had tasted something very sour. She took a moment before answering, ''Yes, as a matter of fact, there was. One very notable theft, in 1946, shortly before Helen Walters was found dead in Paris.''

''What was it?'' asked Darcy. Her voice came very softly, sounded old, like late afternoon sunlight casting over a dusty windowpane. ''What was taken?''

''Part of a particular manuscript that had taken Lord Walters many, many years to piece together. The book was a bit of a feared curiosity, many tales circulated about it. Bit of Lovecraftian horror, a sensationalized faery-story, nothing more. It was said that the book was so powerful and dangerous that back in the Middle Ages, it was split into pieces and carried to distant lands where it was hidden away in various locations. Some remained here in England, some went as far away as the mountains of Tibet.'' Almost against her will now, the guide seemed to be almost enjoying relating this spooky narrative. Perhaps she was just a born storyteller. ''The book was said to contain incantations for the darkest of magicks, among them those to grant immortality, even to raise the dead. Lord Walters was well known because he had actually collected nearly all of the pieces—he wanted the first person in over a thousand years to have the book in its entirety. And he almost did. The last pieces were actually discovered in Dresden, in the rubble of a church after the bombing. And those were the most notorious pages.'' She paused for dramatic emphasis. ''They were among the ones that were stolen, and remain missing to this day.'' The guide folded her hands, energized by her narrative, but even more so when she looked pointedly down at her watch and announced with a small smirk, ''And I'm afraid that's all the time we have left for today. But please, feel free to call again.''


Loki and Darcy now sat in a pub less than a block away from the hotel where they were staying, checked in as Logan and Annabelle St. Lawrence. It was a nice, yet dim little place, with dark wood furnishings and a comfortable scent to the air like lingering cigar smoke. They were the only patrons there, except for a very old man parked in a wheelchair by one of the tables, a glass tumbler of brandy in front of him and a blanket tucked around his legs. The barkeeper was a larger, gentle man in his mid-sixties. When Darcy had dejectedly drained her pint glass of beer, he quietly refilled it without being asked and set it down in front of her with a small smile. ''You two look like you've had quite the day,'' he remarked.

''You have no idea,'' mumbled Darcy, then she added, ''thank you,'' and took a large sip from the glass. He nodded and went back to scrubbing a cloth on the opposite end of the bar. She turned to Loki. ''Ok, so...Helen is the daughter of this Lord Walters, who was the first person to have that book, I guess. And she was also in love with Joe. My guess is that Joe must have been the one who stole the pieces of the book from Walters. Then he must have offered some of them to Lugh Retnick, as part of some kind of a deal.'' Before Loki could even open his mouth to reply, the old codger in the wheelchair behind them seemed to stir to sudden life.

''Did you say 'Lugh Retnick?'' the man spoke up, an interested tone to his voice. The barkeeper paused in wiping down the counter, sighed and shook his head. ''Dad...''

''Did you know him?'' asked Darcy, moving closer to the old man, who laughed, showing his yellow teeth. ''Yes, I knew him. During the war...and after. Strange, strange fellow...'' He seemed to be remembering something. ''He was once a respectable doctor. Had a little girl...sickly thing...it was so sad when she passed. But I do remember...he used to go out to Lord Walters' place for some of his parties. They were very exclusive. I was invited once...come ta think of it...'' he scratched his chin thoughtfully, ''that was the last time I ever saw Lugh. It was to do with some sort of an...an eclipse. Lord Walters liked to watched the skies...this eclipse was somehow important, he was talking to Dr. Retnick about it quite a bit as I recall.''

''You said that was the last time you ever saw Retnick?''

The old man nodded. ''Yes...yes, right before the eclipse. Then the little girl passed away and not long after that Lugh was gone. But he said something...I overheard...at the party. He was talking to Lord Walters and that little man with the eyepatch, what was his...oh yes, Montauk. Ethan Montauk. Nice fellow. And Retnick said something about how he was going to the woods to see someone that he called 'The Reckoner.' And that was the last time.''

''Is there anything else that you remember about that night at the party?''

''Oh, it was nearly seventy years ago...but since you're the best-looking thing I've seen in a long time, I'll try to remember. But I'll need some more brandy, first.'' He looked pointedly over at his son, who sighed again and then ducked beneath the counter and pulled out a very aged and expensive bottle. ''All right, Dad,'' the barkeeper replied wearily. ''This had better be a good one.''


Several hours and pints of beer later, Darcy remained sitting awake by the window, her mind humming and spinning from old stories and alcohol, a cigarette in her hand. She hadn't smoked since college, and that had mostly been limited to parties, the time right before finals, and the few moments when Jane wasn't looking. Once she would have felt just a little guilty about it, but now she couldn't care less. She glanced down at her phone, which showed several missed calls from Natasha. She winced and took a drag on the cigarette, then looked over to the bed where Loki was sprawled out, surprisingly asleep.

Loki was dreaming, yet it was more than a dream. It wasn't at all vague or unreal. Rather, it seemed as though he was an observer of something that had actually happened, long ago. He was in the Paris apartment that he and Darcy had shared, but it looked very different. The wallpaper, the way the furniture was placed. A phonograph sat in the corner, there were no traces of modern technology. Everything was very dim and quiet. A breeze came through the open window, rustling the curtains. He heard footsteps, the telltale click clack of female shoes against the wooden floorboards. Then he saw her. It was Helen, wearing a green dress, her hair still carefully curled, a strand of pearls against her throat. But her gaze was so sad and far-away, almost lifeless. In her hands, she carried a small wooden box. She set it down as she pulled a chair over and stood up on it.

The woman carefully removed a tile from the ceiling. She reached up and set the box inside, then replaced the tile, sealing it away. She stared up at it for a moment, but her eyes were vacant, as if she wasn't really seeing anything. The rest seemed to happen in slow-motion. Helen went to the kitchen, where a long piece of rope was sitting on the table, waiting. In very deliberate motions, she crossed the floor and picked it up, then went into the spare room, where she stood on another chair, reaching up and taking hold of a low-hanging beam in the ceiling near the doorway. Loki recognized it—it was still there. He'd always wondered about the structure of that particular room; it must have been older décor because it didn't quite match the rest of the apartment, yet it had never been changed. Oh yes, he remembered the room well, from the first day that they had moved it. Darcy had shivered when she touched the doorknob; she walked inside for a brief moment and then came out wide-eyed. That was when she first started mentioning that there was a ghost in their home.

Helen tied an almost elegant noose, then slipped it around her pale neck. He turned away, but not before he saw her eyes one last time, that empty, empty look before the chair was kicked away, falling to the floor with a clatter and then there was nothing more.


Loki woke with a start. Darcy, who was still awake, nearly dropped the lit cigarette in her hand. ''Whoa! You ok?''

The god drew in a few deep breaths. Darcy now hurried over and was sitting on the bed beside him. He reached out and plucked the cigarette from her fingers and put it to his mouth, taking a long inhale before saying one word. ''Helen.'' Smoke drifted out of his mouth and hung in the air, making serpentine shapes before vanishing. He handed the cigarette back to Darcy, then continued,

''I dreamed about her. I...saw what happened. She put a box in the ceiling. Where we used to live, in Paris.''

''What box?'' she asked.

''I don't know but...I think that there's something in there that we need to see.''

Darcy stared down at the comforter on the bed, plucked at a stray strand of thread. ''So...we're going home?''

''Just for a little while.''

She barely was aware of getting on or off the next plane, the next real moment that her mind snapped into vibrant awareness was when they were unlocking the doors to the apartment that Darcy now missed more than ever, that simpler time when they had lain on their bed for hours with the window open, listening to the sound of music drifting up through the air, the carefree bubbles of laughter. Back when their ghost was just a quirky curiosity rather than an integral part of a very dark mystery.

She was waiting for them when they opened the door, waiting by the window. ''You've been gone for a long time,'' the spirt noted in her mournful, ethereal tone. Loki was almost stunned to realise that now she was completely visible to him as well. Though he had always known it, now, now, she was truly real.

''Helen,'' Darcy said, ''Can we ask you something?''

The ghost shook her head. ''It's about that place, those pictures you had.'' She seemed to grow agitated. ''I told you not to go there!''

Unable to handle any weeping from Helen at this moment, Darcy quickly rushed on. ''I know, I know, Helen, and I'm sorry, but we did, and if you care about us at all, you need to help us.'' She paused, swallowed. ''I know that you were going to marry Joe Haven. I know that your father was Lord Stanwell Walters, and I know about the books he used to collect. And now we need to know whatever it is that you may be able to tell us about what happened to those pages that were stolen. Helen, please, I'm begging you, help us. You must know something!'' There was a weary, almost tearful desperation in Darcy's voice.

The spirit was utterly silent. She looked away from them and out the window for a long moment. The curtains rustled again, the breeze shivering through Helen. Then she turned back and began softly. ''They would have these...parties. At my father's house. There would be very strange things going on. My father...he...he wasn't a bad man. He just...was interested in bad things.''

''What happened with Joe?'' Loki asked. It was the first time that he and the ghost had ever spoken face to face. Helen's dead eyes unsettled him more than the god cared to admit, particularly after the dream he'd had.

Her head drooped down. ''He left me. We were going to come here together, to leave all that madness behind and start a new life! Joe was going to be an artist!'' Tears pooled in Helen's eyes, and Loki's stomach churned at the sight of the discarnate spirit beginning to cry. It was one of the worst things he'd ever seen. ''He sent me on ahead of him, told me to wait, that he'd come to me. And I waited! I waited so long...and then...nothing. His letters stopped coming. I sent more and more and they were all returned to me.'' She glared at the floor. ''And then after months of waiting I was delivered a box. There was a letter with it, from Joe. He said he wasn't coming, and that I should forget him. But it also said that I should hide the box away, never revealing it's location to anyone. That this was of the utmost importance, and if I'd ever loved him, I would do this. And so, I did.'' Helen wiped a tear away from her eyes. ''It was my last act. An act of love.'' She said the word with a spat of bile in her voice.

''He didn't leave you!'' Darcy found herself crying out. ''He died! He always loved you, Helen—he wanted you both to be together forever!''

Helen raised her head at this, her watery eyes widened.

''We're both dead,'' she spoke thoughtfully, after letting this sink in. ''But he's not with me.'' Her expression twisted into one of pained confusion. ''I must be cursed, then. Or perhaps death gets you nowhere after all. Nothing but more of the same, endless days prattling on, such a parade of faces and noises.'' She gazed at Loki and Darcy with an abrupt, nearly loving gaze. ''You two looked different than all of the others. Like you were frozen. It was such a relief.''

''Helen,'' Darcy continued frantically, ''You're not cursed! I think...I think that you've always been here for a reason, you just didn't know it. The day that you...died...you hid a box in the ceiling. And then you went into the back room and hanged yourself. What was in the box, Helen?''

Absolute silence throughout the room and through Helen's expression, until it was drained of all color and memory, only, only broken furniture left behind and the smell of forgotten perfume faintly lingering. Hollow sunlight. Her eyes looked upwards. ''Look for yourself. It's still there.''