XXXVII

The mid-afternoon light poured in through the tall glass windows. Loki avoided the glare and the brightness, sitting in the shadow to its left, staring dully at the outside world. Midgard, in all its provincial glory.

That the sun had risen was a small mercy. Come nightfall, his dreams unsettled him. Dreams of the dark, of crawling things. He could not hear, he could not move, he could not see.

Last night, it had been different. He stood upon an icy plain and faced a monster. It had towered over him, blue-skinned and dripping with ichor. Repulsed, and with a wild anger, he had struck at it. Drove his blade into its chest, over and over, until the beast collapsed to its knees at his feet. At his feet, where it belonged.

Loki had paused. His blade hovered in the air. The beast looked up at him. No longer blue-skinned, but blue-eyed. Blond hair matted with blood. With its last breath, lips forming the word, brother-

He had shivered awake into a cold predawn light. It's you. You're the monster.

That he had momentarily forgotten was a travesty - he should have been swallowed by the Void, irrevocably swallowed, vanished into eternity, he should go back, fling himself-

Roseanne had come before his howling thoughts devoured him. Fetched him to the sitting room, where he now cloaked himself in shadow.

She returned, bearing a cup of mild tea. Setting it down on a table, she clucked her tongue at Loki - Lukas. Her hands grasped the arms of his chair. Without a word, and despite his sound of protest, she dragged the chair into the bar of sunlight that illuminated the wooden floor.

"Some sun oughta be good for you, Lukas," she said.

It had been so long. He thought it would burn, that he would collapse into a cursed puddle. Instead, it felt warm, just barely discernible on his skin, like a whisper of a kiss. Something sparked in his mind, tingled down his spine. He blinked, wondering. Seidr?

His seidr was still alive. It hadn't abandoned him completely in the Void.

He managed to smile faintly at the old woman. "There we are," she replied, with a smile of her own. "Maybe you'd like to help me out in the garden today. If we plant the pansies now, they'll be the first to bloom."

A verbal response seemed too much effort. As did a denial. It was Lukas, not Loki, who nodded. She beamed at him, her blue eyes shining. He looked away, suddenly uneasy.

Roseanne puttered around, gathering equipment and seeds. He followed aimlessly. She directed him to a plot, half-shaded by the long, wandering branches of an enormous tree. They swayed, a curtain of greenery in a sweet breeze.

"Here we go." Roseanne pulled on a pair of bright pink gloves and a spade. Rooting around in the dirt, she dug a series of shallow holes. "You next."

She tried to hand him the spade. "Your turn," she repeated. Her eyes were so blue, blue as the sky, blue as a man in a dream.

"It's my turn, Loki, Mother says it's my-"

He shook his head fiercely, hoping the errant voice would rattle out of his ears. Roseanne pulled the spade away. "You don't have to use it," she told him.

Loki stared at the bulb in his palm. The shell was covered in a tangle of old roots and dirt. Roseanne waited patiently, kneeling next to the tilled patch of earth.

He knew what she meant him to do. He wasn't thick-witted. But the motions stirred memories of other gardens, all perfectly manicured and flowering compared to this heap of overturned dirt. Other gentle looks from other women. Another Loki, who was blissfully ignorant of the thorny net of lies woven around him.

Clawing at the earth with sudden fury and nothing but his own fingers, Loki carved a hole in the soil. He threw the bulb in.

Roseanne blinked. "Well. I suppose that'll work as well as anything." His strangled breath came a bit easier when she didn't comment.

She seemed to know to let him alone that night, and the next. He had trouble determining just how much time was passing. It didn't seem important. The flowers in the garden grew, he knew that. He helped Roseanne water the shy green sprouts, then the strong stems and leaves. The buds would bloom soon.

He still found it difficult to look into her eyes. But she tried to make a point of it every time they spoke, which was too damnably often in Loki's - Lukas's opinion. She confronted him at dinner one evening.

"I know you don't wanna talk about where you came from," Roseanne said softly. "But - is there anyone you want me to call? Anyone you wanna talk to? Surely there must be someone out there missing you."

His hand clenched on the fork. The metal warped under his grip. "No."

"You sure? Really, Lukas, your family must be worried-"

The familiar black fury surged in his chest. "No!"

The elderly mortal blinked up at him. Her eyes were so blue that he wanted to scream. He can't get away from them. Always looking.

He must have stood - must have made some violent motion, for he upset the table. The meal she made splattered across the floor. The fork crushed beyond repair in his fist. Loki dropped it and took an uncertain step away. The useless metal utensil clinked upon the tile.

"Lukas-"

He whirled around and rushed out of the room. The back door crashed into the wall, but he only heard his heart pounding. Stumbling down the creaking wooden stairs, he lost his footing and crashed onto his knees, his palms smacking into the dirt.

A helpless sob caught in his chest, he was reduced to crawling away, until he could no longer do even that. Head bowed, Loki trembled.

I have no family.

Lukas had no family. Loki did not either, that miserable wretch. His family was a lie. His entire life was a lie, some great jape of the Allfather's. A passing amusement. How they must have laughed, when the little monster clutched at their hands and named them Mother and Father.

Seidr sparked around his hands, wisps of emerald flame that threatened to devour the entire garden. Loki fought it down, though the urge lingered in his mind. To destroy. To run, and leave behind only ashes.

His vision was blurry with furious tears. When he glanced down, it took him a moment to recognize the cheery purple pansies. They poked up from the tentative spring grass, all alone in the corner of the yard Roseanne had marked off for him in case he wanted to expand.

The sight of the tiny blooms quieted something that howled in his chest. He had coaxed these life-forms into existence. He might not have done anything else worthwhile. He might not ever again. But this was something he had done with his hands, one thing that hadn't been tainted by his touch.

They needed the kind warmth of the sun, not the heat of flames. He owed them that, these helpless little flowers.

Lukas owed them that.


XXXVIII

"You will not allow me to come?"

Lukas stares at Coulson. The agent smiles, mild and pleasant. "Nope. I told you. Your role will be to assist in the interrogation when we bring Raina in."

He taps his fingers on the table, thinking for a moment. "I have already travelled from Virginia at your behest. I am here and I am willing. It seems a simple waste of resources to bar me from your investigation."

"I'm not barring you. Your willingness is appreciated, but I don't need you for this operation. You're here on the subject of Raina, once we've got her in custody." Coulson shrugs. "You're a consultant. You're here to consult, not to engage."

He does not trust you. Of course he doesn't. And this time you cannot blame his reluctance on an unfair bias or concealed disdain. Coulson remains ignorant of the kennings given to him in a past life. He only knows Lukas - and what Lukas has done. Including the deception he perpetrated with Raina and Centipede.

Coulson had seemed to believe Lukas's account of escaping from the room Raina "held" him in, taking advantage of the disturbance caused by S.H.I.E.L.D.'s entry. And Roberts had neatly provided him an explanation for the destruction of the scrying device attached to his jacket. They believed the Ring had revealed him as a spy, and he'd crushed the device to prevent any S.H.I.E.L.D. technology from being discovered on his person. He hadn't seen fit to correct them.

All the dangling threads tied up. Perfectly reasonable. Or so he had thought.

An echo of Raina's words, from that dank warehouse basement, ring in his head. You have no one, now. You've burned all your bridges.

He holds a curse in, pressing his tongue hard against his teeth. Accepting Raina's deal had been an ill-fated charade, worthy of his past life. But if it had worked… they might have both Raina and the Ring even now.

S.H.I.E.L.D. is not trustworthy. He had gleaned that from the first - they have their own agenda, and they will do what is necessary to guide it forward, despite what the pieces they are moving about think of that particular direction. Raina had seemed a fair alternative to get near the Cube.

Now, given his exposure, he understands that while the agency might not be esteemed for its honor, there are individuals within it that are committed to such principles. For a human value of honor, in any case.

Lukas has not earned Coulson's trust. He knows this, but he is having difficulty determining just how to go about gaining it. The agent is a man of action, not words. He knows well the shifting tides of speech, with that nebulous quality which can be truth and lie all at once.

He must prove to Coulson that he acts in the interests of the mortals with respect to Raina and her machinations.

"Very well. I shall remain here."

Coulson lets out a tiny breath of relief. "Good. That's good. Maybe you can get that report on the Ring done."

Lukas sighs and flicks a finger in acknowledgement. Coulson eyes him. "Raina still has a pretty solid motivation to want to put you out of commission - since you're one of the reasons she's on the run in the first place. I don't want her seeing you and getting any ideas. Especially now that I've got word she might be bringing several metahumans along."

"Metahumans?" Lukas asks, tasting the curious word.

"Someone with abnormal abilities, beyond the standard human baseline," Coulson explains. "One of her guys, Chan, can conjure fire."

Lukas sits forward in his chair. "A sorcerer?"

"No. Just a pyrokinetic." He frowns, not quite understanding the distinction but not wishing to ask. Humans have little knowledge of the variation in seidr, Lukas has found.

Coulson stands up, sorting several papers into his beige folder. "S.H.I.E.L.D. tries to keep track of them. Get to them before Raina can."

"To recruit them?" Lukas wonders at the agents he has met. If there is no visual indication of this meta blood, perhaps they can hide in plain sight.

Hide under a false skin, hide under a veneer of dull mortality, never letting on that there is a monster beneath...

Lukas shakes his head sharply. Coulson gives him an odd look, but answers. "Better that we recruit them than Centipede. I've been trying to get some on my team for a while now, but it's tough."

Now that has possibilities.

Lukas asks one more question, his voice soft, almost searching. "Can you blame them? They must be - frightened. Of themselves. Their difference. After all, they must have once believed they were no different than their peers. To find out otherwise..." He swallows, suddenly wishing he hadn't started speaking. "Must have been jarring," he finishes quickly.

Coulson peers at him with clear blue eyes, silent and thoughtful. He nods. "Yeah, I suppose it must have been," he says slowly. "I can't blame them. Most of them are scared, mistrustful. They've been exploited before - sometimes by our own government. So they don't trust S.H.I.E.L.D. I can't blame them, but it's frustrating."

The agent dips his head a little to meet Lukas's eyes. "But I hope, in time, they realize I want to help. And I think Fury's got metahuman recruitment as a serious objective for the future. I think they can have a place here in S.H.I.E.L.D."

Lukas nods mutely, and lets Coulson study him for a beat longer. He can nearly hear his mind calculating, tracing theories and reevaluating memories.

That should provide a wealth of material for your speculation, Agent Coulson. Enjoy the diversion.

A knock sounds on the door. "Coulson?" Agent Roberts peeks her head in. "Can I talk to you for a sec?"

Coulson rests his briefcase on the now unoccupied chair. "Sure." He nods to Lukas. "Be right back." He steps into the hall with Roberts.

Lukas looks from the briefcase to the closed door. In the blink of an eye he has the case laid upon the desk. The locked latch pops with a touch and a whispered word. He flicks through the assembled papers, turning his mind to the American - no, English, he knows that - script, trying to recall the shapes that denote Raina's name.

With half an ear to the conversation taking place between Roberts and Coulson in the hall, indiscernible to mortals, it takes him longer than he hopes to locate the information he wants. It's a map, he realizes, staring at the paper in his hand, a thrill of triumph singing along his spine. Raina's hidden stash. The warehouse S.H.I.E.L.D. must plan to raid, after they capture her.

The Midgardian map markings are familiar to him, and it is the work of a moment to memorize it. He slips the papers back into their folders, replaces them in the briefcase. The lock tumbles into position with another tap of his finger.

"-at the actual site. We need to send a team," Roberts says. Lukas blinks at the strain in her voice. He begins to listen closely, but the conversation is nearing its end.

"Even in a quinjet, Southeast Asia is too far. We need to bring Raina in first. The ship will hold until we're done."

"But Coulson -"

"I'm sure Fitz and Simmons are chomping at the bit to see an unsinkable ship, but they're gonna have to wait. Clear?"

"Clear," Roberts mumbles.

When Coulson opens the door, Eld is idly playing a game on his cell. The little colored bubbles pop quite satisfyingly when he lines them up in sequence. He has achieved a higher score than Caroline, a fact which infuriates her, given that Lukas "doesn't even know what an app is, oh my god, ugh."

"Hard at work, I see." Coulson fetches his briefcase and his coffee. He doesn't even flick a suspicious glance between Lukas and his personal effects. He suspects that is likely due to the presence of a lock rather than any faith in Lukas's moral compass.

Lukas already knows Coulson does not trust him. Should not, given what Lukas plans to do next. But that is only a passing thought, with all the weight of an easily swatted gnat. It is only an ill-fated charade if you are caught.

"With any luck," Coulson says, "I'll be able to give you a call by tomorrow morning. To ask you to come in and prepare for Raina's interrogation."

He lets some irritation prickle through his voice. "With any luck. I'll be waiting."

Sweeping out of his chair, he leaves Coulson and marches out of the S.H.I.E.L.D. outpost, into the grey grid of streets that line the isle of Manhattan in the city of New York. Between one block and the next, in the midst of a crowd of thousands, Lukas disappears.

The warehouse waits for him, a looming shape across a pier and an expanse of murky river water. Lukas is careful to remain unnoticed, casting magicks of concealment, of silence. Now that he is aware of electronic eyes, he can compensate for those as well. He studies the warehouse, wondering how Coulson uncovered such valuable information as Raina's location.

He does not trust the sudden windfall of intelligence, nor Coulson's newfound confidence in Raina's capture. The tip could have been from a loyal servant of Raina's, a trap, meant to deceive or confuse her opposition - even to ambush them during their assault. It could be from a lackey, dissatisfied with his position, looking to gather a monetary prize and not caring a whit for loyalty or honor. Or it could simply be wrong, and Raina will once again slip through their fingers.

Previously, he would have hoped for just that outcome. But those weapons, the ones from the liquor vendor's murder... they hum with a subtle seidr, and the core of their power echoes, vast and cold and endless, mesmerizing in its very infinity. The weapons could only have come from one source.

The Tesseract.

Raina knows too much, from her cursed Ring and her own cunning, to be allowed near any form of the Tesseract's power. And he is not convinced Coulson will be able to corner the woman successfully, not if she is in the company of these metahumans. Not to mention the thorny fact of the Tesseract being in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s possession. By simple logic, the one who has access to the Tesseract must also be the one to have created the weapons themselves. If Raina can get at their well-hidden secrets, if she knows their strategies and their goals… what hope do they have of predicting her actions, of apprehending her?

No matter. Lukas will simply have to investigate on his own. Verify this suspicious information. Level the playing field, as the mortals would say. Raina knows some of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s secrets, but not all of them. Not even Coulson knew what he was getting when he added Lukas Eld to the payroll.

The instinct is familiar. It has always fallen to him to balance others' more reckless tendencies. Coulson is too eager to capture Raina, after his team's last failure, and the pressure from his commander.

Lukas is not certain if the man took on the title Fury as a kenning, to communicate his lust for battle and to warn off potential enemies that might otherwise seek to cross him, or if the Fates intervened on the occasion of his birth - but Nicholas Fury is suited to his name. Though Lukas has only glimpsed him once, the man seems formidable. For a human.

He studies the outside of the building. Yet another warehouse. Are all of these constructions dens of human immorality? Their bland grey façades are becoming an unwelcome sight.

There is a spot, shaded by an overhang, tucked away around the side of a smaller outbuilding. Lukas focuses intently on it, fixes the location in his mind, and slips through the ether.

In a blink, he is across the river. A metal door is affixed to the south side of the building. Lukas, concealment magicks still intact, simply walks up and leans next to it. He has only to wait for someone to open the door and he can follow them in.

An hour passes. So inconsiderate of the criminal element not to be in place when he needs them. He begins reciting epic sagas in his head to stave off the boredom. Tapping his fingers on his arms, he hums, "In Niflheim, his mother's soul, forevermore shall be. And wherefore Fálki e'er roamed, none shall know but he. Lost to shadows, that great land, the birds and beasts and trees. What dark intents seiðkona has, none but her shades shall see."

The bard had performed that song at a feast, at his request, after he had discovered the old blade in the archives. The shadow beast's fang had been filed to a sharp point, attached to a gilt handle. Hung, nameless, on some wall until his curiosity had rekindled interest in the story. And now, there is another set of black fangs, this time on Midgard, tucked away in some heavily guarded laboratory, its keepers ignorant of just where the remarkable skeleton hails from.

That is the only reason the memory comes to him now, of course. A useful bit of knowledge. He shall never attend a feast in Asgard again, and he does not care to relive the splendor and excess and the endless epics of other's glory.

The door creaks open. Lukas abruptly straightens from his slouch. A young man babbles on his cell phone, heading away from the pier, back to the city streets. He does not notice that the door takes a moment too long to slam shut behind him.

He wanders the first floor of the warehouse. Ideally, he should like to run directly into Raina. Follow her until S.H.I.E.L.D.'s attempt to apprehend her, and perhaps lend an unseen hand. She is in custody, Coulson considers himself a success, and Lukas benefits from the goodwill and gratitude.

But it seems no one is here, save for two men he passes in the hall. Both carry guns at the small of their backs. Lukas turns the corner and hears the distinct blare of a television. There is a partially open door to his right.

Briefly, he considers his options. He could skulk about, and hope for Raina to appear. Or he could persuade one of her compatriots to divulge her location. Sidling through the door jamb, he sees only one person in the room. Here is your chance.

Lukas watches the man as he watches the television. A program blares at full volume, two older women screaming at each other about seating arrangements and flowers. His skin is brown and smooth, his features handsome enough, a strong brow and a generous mouth. Long legs sprawl before him, draped across the sofa. His hands stretch behind, supporting his head on a thin pillow. Young, lanky, and obviously untested. He has not glanced up from the screen once, though he must be charged with keeping guard. An easy target, if Lukas were so inclined.

He is not. The young man's death will do nothing for him - no, Lukas is interested in something else.

Pushing the door closed, his fingers form a sigil. Shield. The television flickers to black. The sound cuts off abruptly. The fluorescent lights die.

"What the -" Lukas hears the man spring to his feet. "Goddammit. That fucking breaker." His face appears, washed in the blue light from a cell phone in his grip. He jabs at the device and holds it to his ear, foot tapping nervously on the concrete.

"Danny? Hello?" He pulls back and raises his cell high in the air. "I just had service. This is bullshit," he mutters. "I'm 'sposed to have coverage everywhere."

Lukas's footfalls are silent as he approaches the young man from behind. A sense of dramatic timing has never served him ill. Well - perhaps once or twice. He thinks of a guardian on a bridge, a glorious statue of ice, frozen a moment before the killing blow. His mouth twitches. There'd barely been a noticeable difference between the guardian awake and aware and the one in a cold sleep.

But isn't he allowed a brief moment of levity now and then?

"They do not hear you calling," Lukas says softly.

The young man utters a scream, hands flying up to his face, inadvertently flinging his cell away. Lukas watches him drop to his hands and knees, scrabbling for it underneath the ratty sofa.

He lights his hand afire, emerald green blazing painfully bright against the dark. "As I said, they cannot hear you. Your superior network coverage has failed you. I have shielded this room from the outside."

As long as the young man doesn't open the door and disrupt the temporary wards. But he doesn't know that, and he appears to be too terrified to even twitch a muscle in that direction.

"Wh-What d'you want, man?" He looks up at Lukas, on his knees like a supplicant.

This is how you speak to a king. The flames in his palm grow brighter, sparking wildly. The young man cowers.

But you're not a king, are you? He counters that errant thought with harsh logic. No one will ever kneel for you. A son of none, without a realm of your own to claim.

He clenches his fist, digging his nails into his palms, wanting the pain to clear his head. That is all you will ever be. Rootless and wandering, putting on false names like cloaks to hide the truth of your hideous figure.

The flames douse themselves.

"Uh… dude? Are you real? Did Terence spike my Monster?"

Oh. Yes.

Lukas summons a magelight instead, lets it float next to him. "No monster can help you now. You are in my power. And there is something I want from you."

He gapes up at Lukas, features bathed in the now soft golden light. "I don't got any money."

Lukas crosses his arms over his chest. "That doesn't even - why would I go through the trouble of detaining you in such a manner just to liberate whatever meager coin you possess? I could easily have walked into your human treasure vaults if I so desired. Use your powers of reasoning, boy."

"Did... Danny send you? I swear, dude, I didn't know those were his leftovers in the fridge."

"By all the Norns… I see I will have to spell this out for you, preferably in monosyllables. I - want - information."

The young man slumps down from his kneeling position to sit cross-legged on the floor. "Information? Do I look like a goddamned librarian?"

"I must say, I am shocked to discover you are familiar with the concept of the written word," Lukas says acidly.

"Ay, man, that was harsh. Anyone ever told ya you're kind of an asshole?"

"Never in such colorful terms. Perhaps I underestimated your vocabulary." Lukas takes the young man's measure, and decides on a manner of casual menace. Too frightened, and he will make up whatever he thinks Lukas wants to hear. But he does need some rather pointed incentive to speak at all.

Lukas reclines on the sofa, summons a razor sharp bone-handle dagger, and begins to clean his nails with it. "You work for Raina, yes?"

The young man tracks the dagger with dark brown eyes. "Uh - Raina? No. Never heard of her. Sorry."

Lukas flicks him a glance. He tosses the knife in the air, lets it complete two and a half revolutions, and catches it with his other hand and begins cleaning the rest of his nails. "I find that difficult to believe, as she is the one supplying the inventory for this very warehouse that you sit in and guard so ineffectually."

He continues to watch the blade as it flashes in the glow of the magelight, mesmerized. "They don't tell us what's in the boxes. I dunno. Mr. Bell has some kinda deal goin' on. They give us product, we set up a buy." The young man shrugs.

Merchants, of a sort. Contracted by Centipede to store and sell their wares, and no doubt collect a tidy sum of the profit for the convenience of their service. No wonder S.H.I.E.L.D. could not confiscate the entirety of Raina's contraband, if she has stashed it among associates, like a squirrel hiding its cache of acorns for a cold winter.

"This Mr. Bell is your leader?"

"Yeah. I guess."
"And who does he make his deals with?"

The young man's eyes dart away. "I dunno, really. Some lady."

"Can you describe the lady for me?" His tone is polite, but stern enough not to be misinterpreted.

"I wasn't even 'sposed to be here," he mutters sullenly. "She was - she was real pretty, actually. Terence kept staring at her an' I had to tell him to cut it the fuck out before Mr. Bell got mad. Dark hair, curly. Kinda light-skinned. She wore this tight dress with flowers all over it."

Raina's enthusiasm for the delights of the garden is quite reliable. Lukas would fault her for it if he did not appreciate her devotion to maintaining a certain aesthetic. "Do you know when she will return?" Lukas asks.

"We got another buy set up for tonight, across the river. She's 'sposed to come. The business dude won't deal with anyone but her."

He had been sure Coulson's information was incorrect. That she would disappear into the night, off to finish her unsavory work elsewhere, away from S.H.I.E.L.D.'s penetrating gaze. Either he overestimated her caution, or she knows something he does not. Why has she remained so stubbornly close? Perhaps he shouldn't have left her alive during S.H.I.E.L.D.'s raid of her base.

"And what of the metahumans?" Lukas prods.

"The who now?"

Not common knowledge, apparently. "Humans with particular abilities." Lukas is not sure what these entail, but he has wagered quite a bit on them being indistinguishable from magic, to mortal eyes. "Conjuring fire. Flying. Cloaking oneself in shadows."

"Flying? You mean - like Iron Man? Tony Stark?"

Lukas knows he has heard that name from the lips of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. He files it away for later. Tony Stark will not be one of Raina's metahumans, that is certain. "You do not know any others?"

"I told you all I know. I swear." The young man raises his hands, palms out.

"You have been an invaluable help - what was your name?"

He gives Lukas a wary look. "Uh… Jeremiah. Why?"

"Well, Jeremiah, I want to give you a gift. For being so eminently helpful." And to ensure you hold your silence. Lukas does not want some errant sense of loyalty to his commander to interfere with his plans. There is a time for veiled threats, and a time for outright bribes.

"What d'you mean?" Jeremiah asks slowly.

Lukas stands, and reaches out a hand. After a beat, Jeremiah accepts, and he pulls the young man to his feet.

"That depends entirely upon you, my friend." Lukas smiles. "Tell me what you desire, and I shall grant it."

Jeremiah goggles at him. "You - you wanna grant me a wish?"
"I suppose that is one way of putting it. I will grant your wish. Within reason. No killing. Too messy, and likely to draw attention. A little light maiming is acceptable. No love spells. I refuse to get tangled in such a mess again. I can summon someone if you are stubbornly inclined upon the romantic, but I do not recommend it." Lorelei would likely scratch my eyes out with her nails were I to prevail upon her for assistance.

"I - man, what are you? Some kinda fucked up fairy godmother?"

"Pardon me?"

"Uh - nevermind." Jeremiah shakes his head dazedly, then narrows dark eyes at him. "And what do I gotta do for you?"

"You have already done it."

Jeremiah does not relent. Lukas sighs. "Only one more small task. I want you to call me, when Raina arrives at this meeting. That is all. Simply a phone call." He points at the young man's cell phone, and motions for it. Reluctantly, Jeremiah holds it out. Lukas taps on the screen. "There. My number is programmed in."

"Under what?"

"You may choose whatever you wish."

"Okay, Fairy Godmother. You said it." Lukas is tempted to ask, but brushes off the reference he does not understand. The ignorance is as familiar as it is annoying.

Jeremiah bites his lip. "I guess… I guess there's one thing."

"And what is that?"

"My mom - she's at Metro General. She's still in chemo, and the docs say it's working, but… could you help? Help her get better?" He looks at Lukas, eyes wide and hopeful.

This is tricky. He has never been particularly adept at healing magic. He has no healing stones in his possession, no spellbooks or tools. He hadn't exactly packed a bag before free-falling through the dark abyss outside of time and space - he aborts his thoughts.

"What is her name?"
"Lillian. Lillian Adams."

"I cannot promise she will be cured overnight. The human body is a complicated system." Jeremiah nods, casting his eyes down. "But I will do my best to heal your mother."

"R-Really? Jesus, I can't believe this is happening," the young man mutters. "I'm gonna wake up in an hour on that damn couch, I jus' know it."

Lukas removes the shield he had cast around the dingy room. The metal fixtures hum and blast a sudden white light. The television blares its screaming program again. Jeremiah's cell phone emits a three-toned melody in his grip.

The young man whirls, looking around wildly. "Jesus Christ," he whispers.

"If this conversation remains between us, your mother will be grateful," Lukas says pointedly. "You will not speak of me to anyone. I will know if you do." He taps his temple and Jeremiah swallows hard.

"Alright, man. I pinky promise."

"Pinky -?" Lukas rolls his eyes. Do not even bother. "I will have completed my side of the bargain by the time you contact me. Farewell." He parts the fabric of the realm and steps again into the ether.