XLI
Five thousand four hundred and thirty seventh cycle of Odin Borsson's reign - soon to be thirty eighth, if we remain on Midgard much longer
It is night, the days do not last long anymore, but the windows have been boarded shut, so I know not the precise time
The village is being attacked. A raiding party. Jötunns, Thor said. He and I were not allowed to join in combat. We were locked in the human's temple, of all the indignities, with Father's ugly statue looking down on us.
Worst of all, the Tesseract is here with us. Hidden under the base of Father's statue, but I can still feel it. Like - like a buzzing noise in the back of my head. It feels enormous, even though it is but a tiny cube. It's strong with seidr. And Father plans to just - leave it here! It's unthinkable and foolish. It should remain in the Vault with the other treasures. Not stuffed away in a box on Midgard.
Father has given the Tesseract to the humans.
I don't understand - he bestowed upon them the very means by which the Frost Giants travelled to Midgard in force. Master Alfarr told me it contains the song of the Void, the empty dark spaces between the stars, between the realms. That it can be a doorway, open to all forms of influence, connecting that which should not be connected. Why would he give up such a powerful artifact to some humans living in wooden huts?
Father says the humans can't sense the boundaries the way we do. He says they wouldn't dare to even try, and that he will be sealing the last route that the rogue jötunns used to enter Midgard as soon as they are defeated.
Thor says I worry too much. I say he worries too little! If someone had given me such an artifact, I wouldn't rest until I understood its power.
The jötunns must want it back. Why else would they have come? They know they cannot kill Father, he is too powerful. They must want the Tesseract. Or to kill the humans who defied them with the help of the Third Division and the Company of the Raven.
The war is over. Coming here was a mistake on their part. Father is a mighty warrior. He's killed hundreds of jötunns, and he'll kill them all too.
I think I can hear shouting outside the temple. It sounds like cheering. The raiders have surely been dispatched. I must wake Thor!
Loki Odinsson, Prince of Asgard
XLII
Lukas hovers outside the healing room. The amulet is a solid weight in his palm, a chunk of ljósvaldr, humming in tune with the frequency of seidr that pulses through it. Even Midgard has deposits of ljósvaldr, that stone which makes up the Bridge, though that particular slab of crystal has been threaded through with uru to give it the strength it needs to withstand the power of the Bifröst. The striated crystal he holds alternates bands of lavender, pale blue, rose red and more, refracting a galaxy's worth of colors when touched by a ray of light, even as the perfection of the surface is marred by runic etchings.
It has been many years since Lukas has had to rely on runes to direct his magic. They are useful conduits. Able to steer energy along familiar pathways, enabling a working to remain consistent and reliable with time and repeated use.
Runes are also a crutch. A concession to the fact that the mage is not able to ensure the flawless operation of their working in their absence, without them to direct the currents of energy. Nearly an admission of incompetence.
He frowns down at the ljósvaldr crystal, strung on an unbreakable silver chain. Healing magic has always been the province of others. Not one of his own prodigious gifts. It had taken him hours to plan the pattern, choose the appropriate runes, and to painstakingly etch them. There is no backchannel to avoid completing the labor by hand. With seidr, it is the intent that matters, not the arbitrary lines and strokes that form the symbols. Those are only given power by focusing intently on the meaning while imbuing the crystal with energy - a process that had eaten up most of the day since his conversation with Jeremiah and put him in a particularly foul mood.
"This had better be worth it," he mutters, dodging the door to sidle into the room. If this does not end with Raina in custody, her Tesseract weapons confiscated and their magic out of her grasp… well, he could think of a few choice curses to be levied against his human spy. Boils never fell out of fashion. Or perhaps he should recycle one of his old favorites. Fandral hadn't spoken to him for weeks after that banquet. He'd given a charm to one of his paramours, enchanted it to turn her into a facsimile of the warrior's mother mid-coitus. The fond memory eases his tetchiness just slightly.
Upon a white cot in the center of the room, Lillian Adams sleeps. He considers the bedside table, and leaving the amulet there, with a note. But if he is to hold up his end of the bargain, the crystal must be in contact with her at all times. He cannot ensure that with a note.
Stepping forward, unsure what exactly he will do, Lillian solves his dilemma for him. The old woman opens her eyes a sliver. "Is that you? Jer?"
Lukas freezes. "No," he finally says. "I'm not Jeremiah. But he sent me. With a gift."
Her smile crinkles the corners of her eyes. The well-worn laugh lines around her mouth stretch into place. It seems a natural expression for Jeremiah's mother.
"Of course he did. My boy. He's kind. I always told him so. He acts tough, but he's gotta heart too big for his chest." Lillian Adams reaches out a hand to him. Lukas turns just slightly to avoid it, fumbling with the box in which the amulet rests.
Lillian settles her hands on the bedcovers without comment. "He's been here near every night, you know, when he can get off work." She nods to the vase of shoddy, wilting pink carnations. "He knows I love the smell."
Lukas doesn't look up at her. He still fiddles with the clasp of the amulet. Damn thing is stubborn.
Lillian is insistent. "That's kind, isn't it? He's such a sweet boy. Don't you think?" She peers up at him with soft dark eyes. "You brought your mother flowers now, didn't you?"
His hands slip on the chain. He nearly drops the amulet. "I - yes," he says shortly.
"I thought so. You seem sweet, like Jer."
Some poisons taste sweet when first ingested, he wants to say. Bloodbane flowers taste like honey. It's after they're swallowed, when the bleeding begins, slow and silent from the inside, that the victim realizes they have been betrayed by their pleasant appearance.
He'd even heard tales of poor ignorant Ljósálfar, bringing the blooms into their homes, fawning over their pure white petals, their sweet smell, the warm flavor they imparted to the tea. Come morn, the whole family would be dead, bled out upon the floor. And the flowers would sit, innocuous and deadly, waiting for the next fool to pick them up and take them.
Every bouquet I handed my mother might as well have been bloodbane, for all the good it did her.
Lukas realizes he's staring at Lillian when she laughs. "Take a compliment, dear. It's not the end of the world."
That much, he knows. His world had already ended, with a sharp answer and a sudden drop. And in this new one, you are Lukas. Lukas does not have a mother.
But he does have responsibilities. He hands over the amulet. Lillian gasps softly, fingering the brilliant crystal. She picks up the delicate chain, suspending it in the air. Light winks off every facet. "It's beautiful," she whispers. "Where'd he get it?"
"Your son did me a favor," Lukas says. "I asked him what he desired as payment. His only thought was of you."
She puts the back of her hand to her mouth. Tears sparkle on her lashes. "He's a good boy," Lillian breathes. "My boy."
Lukas swallows and nods shortly. "Jeremiah is very proud of it," he adds. "Insistent that you might never remove the necklace."
"Not even to -"
"He said it was a symbol of his love," Lukas invents. "That he hoped it would help you recover more quickly."
Lillian Adams smiles. "Of course," she says softly. "I will." Her body is frail and thin under the bedsheets, but her eyes are bright as she studies the amulet, brings it around her neck.
"I shall tell him his gift was delivered." Lukas turns to go.
"Thank you," she calls after him. "Thank you, young man - what was your name?"
But Lukas is already gone. This task is done. No more than a stepping stone to his true goal. There is no more time to waste on mothers and their sentiment.
Metro General Hospital looms behind him as Lukas steps onto the sidewalk. Pulling out his phone, he taps a quick message, intending to inform Jeremiah of the completion of their bargain.
wut up?
Lukas considers, then adds the peace sign pictogram that Caroline uses as part of her standard greeting in this form of communication. He goes to slip his phone in his pocket, but it lights up immediately. Jeremiah has already responded.
where tf have u been man? i been trying to call
He frowns at the screen. The ringing tone the device emitted had annoyed him to no end whilst carving the most delicate of the runes into the amulet, so he'd banished the sound in a fit of pique. The working must have lingered longer than he realized. Lukas carefully peels back the layer of silence surrounding the cell. It buzzes in his hand.
your girls here
Bell changed the meet to the warehouse
remember the one u ambushed me in dickhead
if ur gonna come do it now!
also not my damn fault ur phone was on silent dont even think about goin back on our deal im pretty sure theres laws n shit against that
?
i could take u to court
wait
are u even human man
can i still sue a fairy godmother
they dont teach this shit to kids! our public school system fkn useless
Lukas snarls at the phone as it buzzes incessantly. He snaps out a response. just shut up! im on my way come outside when i get there
Jeremiah sends a slew of text messages, increasingly alarmed, but Lukas doesn't reply. The boy will meet him outside if he wants their deal to stand.
He has to go. Coulson's intel is now incorrect, with Bell changing the meeting place at the last minute. How can he reveal this information without revealing his source? And the somewhat underhanded method he used to gain the location of the warehouse and access to Jeremiah. If he had more time, Lukas could devise a plan that would not see him under further scrutiny.
But Raina is there now. About to sell more of these Tesseract weapons. If they are sold, there may be no way to track them down without access to the Tesseract itself.
Left with little choice, Lukas decides to leverage his alternate plan. The one he'd nudged into motion just this morning, with a few comments about metahumans in the right ear. Much can be forgiven if there is enough to be gained - and Coulson would not pass up the chance of such an attractive recruit as an expert historian-turned-metahuman. It should be an easy way to sell his uncanny knowledge. And a secret to be shared. Nothing builds trust between comrades like confiding in one another.
He pulls himself to Raina's warehouse, slides into the world - and immediately stumbles sideways. Catching himself with a quick step to the left, Lukas blinks through the sudden bout of dizziness. The feeling that there is no up or down, no right or left, only directionless darkness.
The sensation fades, but Lukas peers around suspiciously. There is a cold, thick taste on the back of his tongue, like rock frost gone to seed, like a chill damp fog. Like the Void.
The boundaries of the realm are thin here. He can typically slip through easily, especially on Midgard, with its lack of crystal-generated shields and the constantly shifting quality of its seidr. But this was an uncharacteristically smooth transition. A natural rift, perhaps. A weak spot not unlike the line upon which a boulder will fracture under pressure.
Or… the Tesseract weapons. He was right to be wary of them being in Raina's possession. How many are stored here? Feeding off each other, gulping energy from Midgardian life forms and their ubiquitous devices, those devices that hum with a symphony's worth of notes, emitted all over what the humans call their electromagnetic spectrum.
He pauses where he arrived, unwilling to take a step further while the idea germinates in his mind, a blooming dread. Interactions of seidr are complex and varied. He's never studied them in any meaningful depth, but it does not seem impossible that a storehouse of such extremely powerful objects could weaken the very boundary of the realm in the localized field around them.
Especially with the source of their power, the Tesseract, so damnably close.
All the more reason to detain Raina, lock away her objects of power, and explain away his methods with a vague allusion to extranormal abilities. Beyond the human baseline, that's how Coulson had referred to it. At this point, Lukas would rather be mistaken for a metahuman than one of the garden variety, those utter imbeciles who thought it was a good idea to trifle with an artifact created before they'd begun crawling in the dirt.
If it wasn't for its often inexplicable charm, Lukas wouldn't even bother lingering on Midgard. And for the coffee. A life-form could coax many favors from a mage of his caliber with such a drink. And - and Lukas supposes he's curious.
He's spent two stellar rotations trying to figure out how the humans had managed to spread across an entire realm, and even prosper, with their ingenuity hampered by a ridiculous lack of self-preservation. Oh, yes, he'd heard of what Steve Rogers got up to. Jumping out of planes and throwing himself at the very monsters trying so handily to murder him. It was no wonder this was the man they held up as the ideal example of modern humanity.
Lukas could tell them the Tesseract is not meant to be meddled with by mortal hands, but he can say, with the sure weight of experience, they would not listen.
Jeremiah, true to his species' form, is standing in the open, glancing around with a clearly anxious air. He does a double-take when he notices Lukas standing there. "What - the hell d'you come from? Ugh, nevermind."
"Raina is here?"
"Yeah. And Mr. Bell is too. They're waiting for our buyer." Jeremiah fidgets. "How's my mom? Did you see her?"
"I delivered a gift. A healing amulet."
He shoots Lukas a skeptical look. "An amulet. And that's gonna work? She's gonna get better?"
"Of course," Lukas says sharply. "There is no mage equal to my power in this realm."
"Okay, dude, okay. So - now we're done, right?"
"You must lead me to Raina and your Mr. Bell. It will be most expedient."
"I can't just walk in with you! They got cameras in the all the hallways!"
"I can take care of that." Lukas grasps Jeremiah's arm. His quickest illusion requires that they maintain physical contact. "Let's go."
"Oh man," he moans. "I am so gonna get wasted for this."
Lukas waits for him to enter a code into the panel set next to the warehouse door. They walk briskly through the halls. No one confronts them. Jeremiah points down to another entrance. "She's in there, with Mr. Bell."
Footsteps echo on the concrete. Lukas draws them out of the way, motions for silence. A group rounds the corner, led by a man in an expensively cut navy blue suit. The buyer, Lukas presumes. A small blonde woman in equally professional attire follows closely behind, busily typing away on her cell phone.
"The account is ready?" the man asks her.
"Yes, Mr. Cavanaugh. We can complete the transaction the moment she confirms the quality of the shipment," she responds.
"Good."
They enter. Now is the time to contact Agent Coulson. His agents should be prepared to raid the other location S.H.I.E.L.D. had been provided. He need only redirect them, while Raina is sequestered with her associates.
Jeremiah looks at him, wide-eyed. "They didn't even see us!" He breaks away from Lukas's grip without warning, stepping out to look down the hallway. Their protective shadow blinks away, the boundary he'd drawn around them shattered.
"Wait!" he hisses, lunging for Jeremiah's arm.
Too late. Metal slides on metal, behind them, the sound of a gun cocking.
"You're not supposed to be here," a voice calls out. "Mr. Cavanaugh doesn't like uninvited guests."
They turn slowly, as one. Jeremiah raises his hands. "Uh…"
Lukas sighs through his nose. It seems their illustrious buyer is either cautious or paranoid. A secondary security force, left to guard the hall while Cavanaugh is in his meeting.
He thinks of Lillian Adams, waiting alone in her hospital room, for a son that never arrives. Wilting, like her carnations. No, he won't allow it. Not after the effort he put into keeping her alive.
I shall have to keep her fool son alive as well. None shall be permitted to say that he doesn't honor his end of a bargain - he always has, even if he's been creative about the interpretation of terms before.
"Would you believe me if I said we were lost?" A gun barrel points in his direction. "That's a no, then," Lukas mutters.
Cavanaugh's guards prod them forward. One of them knocks on the door, and they are ushered through.
The entirety of the group inside turns to look at them. The blue-suited man leaps to his feet. "What's the meaning of this? Reyes?" His blonde assistant raises a brow, finally looking up from the screen of her cell.
Raina stands as well, her gaze fixed unerringly on Lukas. "If it were anyone else, I'd think I had an admirer. Back again so soon?"
Lukas folds his arms over his chest. "Oh, can you blame me? I suppose I'm just curious exactly what kind of feeble-minded twit doesn't even bother to use a disguise while being actively hunted by a federal organization."
"Feds?" A tall, broad man joins Cavanaugh on his feet, glaring daggers at Raina. Mr. Bell, Lukas thinks. "You never told me this shipment was hot." He rounds on Jeremiah. "The fuck you bringing Feds here for, Jeremiah?"
"I find most people are convinced to act against their interest by a little persuasion of the lethal variety," Lukas drawls, a deliberately menacing edge in his tone. Jeremiah nods jerkily.
"Dude's batshit," he says. "I didn't have a choice!"
"We're out." Bell flicks a gesture at the crates stacked to the side of a metal table. Several of his men step forward and grasp the handles. One black case is laid out on the surface, open, filled with slim silver rods. Lukas can feel the cold, distant hum of seidr contained in their bases.
Cavanaugh is eyeing Lukas and Jeremiah. "Wait. Since you didn't see fit to inform me that the Feds were tracking this product, I believe I'm entitled to a discount." He smirks at Raina.
"Not a chance," she snaps. "You have no idea what these weapons are capable of. They're priceless, to the right buyer."
"Going to be difficult to offload them when I let everyone in New York City know you're under surveillance," Cavanaugh observes.
"He's not a Fed," Raina argues. "Lukas Eld is nothing more than a liar and a two-bit conman. The weapons are clean."
Lukas interjects. "I'm certain you believe that. And you'll go on believing so up until S.H.I.E.L.D. bursts into your operation, just like they did last time." He tilts his head at Bell with a smug lift to his eyebrows.
"S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't trust you," Raina spits at him. "Which is the one and only thing Coulson has seen clearly about this whole situation."
"Are you very well acquainted with the Supervisory Special Agent that commands S.H.I.E.L.D. operations?" Lukas asks pointedly.
Cavanaugh turns a wary eye on her. Bell scoots back, like the attention of S.H.I.E.L.D. is contagious. Raina grits her teeth, before she smoothes her expression. "Perhaps you're right. Perhaps he knows me better than his self-professed consultant. Wouldn't that be odd?"
The implication hits him like a splash of ice water. No one has ever known you. They've always known the deception - first the Allfather's, then your own.
"I've certainly lied to him less. He knows the truth of me."
Lukas's gut clenches. "And what a pathetic truth it is," he hisses. "A selfish, cruel woman, greedy for power she does not deserve and cannot hope to comprehend. Truly the lowest of humans, destined only to grasp for the greatness of others and always, always miss."
Raina sneers. "I understand more than you think! I know the power within these weapons is greater than any other on this realm, I have seen it, I have been shown it!" A thrill of satisfaction curls up his spine, to have provoked her into such a display of emotion, only to be halted in its tracks as Bell speaks.
"Another step closer and you're a pile of meat."
He realizes he's stalked forward, intent on one enemy, and thus ignorant of the next. The barrel of the Tesseract weapon prods into his chest. Will it harm him? Dissolve him like the liquor merchant? Banish him to another realm? He doesn't know.
He feels Raina's intense gaze, hears Jeremiah's frantic heartbeat, sees the myriad humans arrayed behind their leader's back. Cool metal slips into his palms. The reassuring weight of his blades steadies him, centers him, reminds him that behind this frail façade he has the pulsing green core of seidr, coiled around his heart. The truth of Lukas falters, cracks, as words of power rise on his tongue.
And then Bell jerks, his right eyeball popping grotesquely, spewing blood and tissue. He gags, wordless, and dies in the span of a moment.
Lukas blinks at his body as it collapses and keels over on its side, knife protruding from the back of his skull. Cavanaugh's assistant stands behind him. She wipes a spot of blood off her pale cheek. He and Jeremiah are frozen with surprise. Lukas recovers quickly, while the rest of the room gapes. The daggers are now firmly in his palm.
In a fluid movement, the assistant pulls out a gun and shoots Cavanaugh between the eyes. Blue residue trickles down his forehead. She's stunned him, Lukas realizes.
The lackeys scramble for their own weapons, but the woman is quick as she is deadly. She pulls an arm behind one man's back and twists sharply. A crack splinters the air, as does the man's screech of pain. The assistant drops him, unceremoniously. His head bounces off the concrete.
She goes after the other two, her limbs cutting and slicing through the air with an economy of motion that leaves Lukas stunned. Her style is the antithesis of an Æsir. More like - more like his own.
A flash of movement from the corner of his eye has Lukas spinning. Raina bolts to the door. Evidently, she finds the amusement has soured. Releasing the daggers, he lets them fade back into their state of perpetual half-existence between this realm and the next. Lukas lunges, catching her shoulders, twisting so that her body is underneath his as they fall. He pins her with hands and knees. She blinks dark eyes up at him, dazed.
Did you truly believe you might evade me? If she thinks herself a slippery fox, he is a wolf. He could kill her now. A wolf has claws, and he has daggers. He can feel the shadow of their sharp presence still, hovering between reality as his magic calls them and his mind refuses them.
With effort, Lukas represses a hateful snarl. This is no battlefield. Nor the Void. And he is no mindless beast, never mind the traitorous blood in his veins. Gripping his human identity close, he breathes, and reminds himself. Consultant. You are Lukas Eld, consultant for S.H.I.E.L.D.
The thought is a summons. S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, in their thick black uniforms, with their peculiar sleep-inducing guns, just like the assistant's, bust through the wooden door.
The tiny blonde assistant rises to her feet, straightening an errant cuff of her tailored blue suit. Red spatters her collar and the bridge of her nose. Three dead men lie at her feet. The others moan from their positions, slumped on the floor. Jeremiah huddles in a corner, hands still up in a show of submission.
She picks her way around the bodies, stepping purposefully on Cavanaugh's hand. "Grabby asshole," she mutters.
Phillip Coulson marches to the forefront and takes the room in with a shrewd eye. He flicks a glance over Lukas and Raina, and raises an eyebrow, though his mouth is a hard line. "Turning up like a bad penny, once again," he comments.
Lukas smiles genially. "A misunderstanding," he says.
The S.H.I.E.L.D. supervisor rubs a hand across his brow. The blonde assistant gives Coulson a red smile. "Phil."
He's not entirely shocked to see Coulson returns it. "Agent Romanova. Good work."
