Part Seven: In Which there is a Significant Lack of Loki

The next three days passed painfully slowly. Sigourney kept her mind busy by reorganizing all the shelves in the shop. She moved the romance section to the far back corner and the historical fiction closer to the counter. Then she reshuffled all the books so that they were shelved chromatically as well as alphabetically. When that was done, she changed her mind about the historical fiction and swapt it for classical literature.

On the fourth day, she paced up and down the open space of the shop as Lavender watcher her, silently concerned, from the counter. Outside rain pounded down over the sidewalk and street. It turned the windows a blurry grey that seemed to darken the entire shop. It also deterred any costumers that might have proved a useful distraction.

"Did he say anything before he left?" Lavender asked, finally breaking the silence.

"No." Sigourney replied, arms folded tight over the middle of her dark blue sweater, "No, he didn't."

"And," Lavender ventured carefully, "he didn't leave you some way of contacting him? No phone number?"

"He doesn't have one. A phone." Sigourney replied, her boots making the old wooden floor under them creak.

Now who was going to wear a trench through the middle of the shop?

"I'm sure he's fine, you know." Lavender offered kindly, "He's a grown man. He can take care of himself."

Sigourney could only nod as an image of a very battered and bloodied Loki lying across her bed filled her mind's eye. She tightened the cross of her arms, pressing them into her stomach to keep it from doing nervous gymnastics. She was becoming cross at herself for being so deeply affected by his absence. And she was also cross at Loki for putting her through emotional torment. She was certain he had a good reason for vanishing without a single word. But still... she did wonder. More time passed. A few more days, then a week, then two. October drew on and still there was no sign of Loki.

Sigourney was occupying herself by clearing out the broom cubourd that served as the shop's only real storage space. She sat on the floor of it, sorting through far more cleaning supplies than such a small shop probably needed. As she worked, her mind was an paranoid internet browser with too many tabs open, three of which were playing music and adverts at the same time.

What if Loki had simply gotten board of her? He was, after all, a Norse deity who's track record of interacting with the human race was less than stellar. She could, Sigourney decided, understand if he had to run off to deal with his 'friends' or some other supernatural issue. That wasn't really any of her business, after all. But if he had just gotten board with her, well, she didn't think she could handle that at all.

Not after he had told her that he loved her.

Sigourney shoved the mop-pail out of her way far more roughly than she had meant to. It gave a metallic clatter against the floor, then a solid thud as it was stopped by the side of a cardboard box. Sigourney swiped her face impatiently with the back of her hand, angry at herself for letting a few tears escape. She opened the box and found that it was full to the brim with some of her Hallowe'en decorations. The other box was, she knew, open on her living room floor, its contents already half put up around the small apartment. Sigourney took a breath to steady herself and decided how she would spend the rest of the day.

By closing, Sigourney and Lavender had tastefully decorated the shop for the impending holiday. Orange, black and white bunting was strung up across the tops of the windows. Ceramic and vinyl pumpkins of varying shapes and sizes were set out in attractive groups around the counter and front table. Black paper bat silhouettes were stuck to the windows along with stars and a crescent moon. And small lights in the shape of ghosts were strung along the front of the counter, winking on and off slowly. It wasn't much, but it was enough to make the shop feel in spirit with the season.

"If you need to talk," Lavender said, a little unsure of herself, as Sigourney locked up the shop, "you can always text me or something. I won't mind."

"Thanks." Sigourney turned to her, dumping her keys into the abyss of her bag, "I'll keep that in mind."

The air in the park was crisp, biting at Sigourney despite the jean-jacket she wore over her sweater. She knew she should have put her mits and toque into her bag that morning, but she had been distracted. At least it wasn't raining any more. She shoved her hands into her pockets and fast-walked along the gravel path through the unsettlingly quiet park. When she passed the thicket of trees that could just barely be considered a woods, she heard the sound of bickering voices cutting through the still air. Sigourney stopped in her tracks, looking for the source of the commotion.

A ways beyond the tree-line a small group of people were huddled together, arguing. If it had been summer, they would have been completely hidden by the thick brush and greenery of the woods. But in the autumn, they stood out starkly against the barren grey shapes of the trees. The sight of them knocked the breath clean out of Sigourney's lungs. She knew them. They were the people Lavender had taken pictures of days ago. And they were all dressed exactly as they had been in the photos. They were Loki's 'friends.'

Sigourney didn't know why she did it. All the while a voice in the back of her head was screaming at her to stop, to turn and run as fast as she could to her apartment. But her feet wouldn't listen. She crept forward, taking slow, carefull steps towards the trees. The closer she got, the more she heard. Lavender had been right, they spoke strangely.

"Do not think that I will relent so easily!" The woman with the long dark hair was saying, "This task was entrusted to me -"

"It was entrusted to all of us." The rotund man with the ginger lion's mane interjected, his voice kind, but firm.

"Is that so?" The woman scoffed, "For it seems to me that you have little interest in anything other than what Midgardian fare you manage to get your hands on."

The blond man in yellow put both his hands on the rotund man's shoulders, an arm across his chest, holding him back, "Easy friends."

He looked pointedly at the woman, "Easy."

Then his gaze fell just above her shoulder and his face quirked with surprise. Without a word, the other three followed his line of sight. They all stared at Sigourney with a combined weight that made her knees go weak.

"Oh, perfect." The rotund man sighed, "That's just what we need. A Midgaurdian."

The third man, the one in purple, said slowly, "Is not that..."

"No. Couldn't be." The blonde replied, then he frowned a little, "Or is it?"

"My word." The rotund man breathed, "I think you're right."

"Silence, all of you." The woman ordered.

Sigourney didn't wait around to hear any more than that. She turned and bolted, her jellied legs suddenly pumping against the gravel path. The wind filled her ears and whipped her hair out behind her. It bit at her cheeks, freezing her lungs as they gasped for air. She didn't stop running until she reached her doorstep.

Shutting the heavy door behind her, Sigourney flipped the deadbolt and pressed both her palms against the smooth wood as if bracing it against an attack. Her lungs felt like they were on fire. She sucked back air and waited. But nothing happened. Tentatively, she lifted her hands away from the door. Sigourney realized then, as she stood there with her trembling hands still in the air, that if Loki's 'friends' had wanted to stop her, they would have done so easily. They had let her go.

She couldn't shake the way they had stared at her, however. Even as she discarded her coat onto a chair and filled the kettle she could feel the way their collective gaze had scorched her. Sigourney rubbed her hands over her arms in rapid movements that scrapped the acrylic of her sweater against her skin. The kettle whistled. She turned off the burner and hoped she would never have to see those people again.