5.
When Sophie awoke it was as much as she could do to contain herself until after she had breakfasted with her aunt. It felt like the most important thing in the world that she should get to the address she had overheard before Thor did. It would be sensible to do so. She could watch him arrive and thus double-check on his whereabouts. If she were in good time she would also be able to tailor her battle-plan to the geography of the area; first-hand information was much better for that than a map. But Sophie knew there was more to her sense of urgency than any of this. She could no more have kept away than she could have rid herself of her own mutant powers.
These seemed to be increasing; or perhaps she was merely becoming adept at their use at last. Before she set out she had the idea of creating for herself the gestalts of several small blood vessels to bypass the atheroma which had blocked so many of her coronary arteries and led to her heart attack. This temporary addition doubled the blood supply to the affected muscle. There would be no attacks from the daemon angina that day; it was essential that there should be no such attacks.
Moondragon had spend two nights on the London streets, preserving herself both from cold and from assorted physical dangers by the judicious use of her mental powers. It was not difficult to convince would-be muggers, or policemen, or the randomly curious, that they had not really seen a shaven-headed woman in a green monastic habit - or that even if they had done, it didn't really matter. Nor was it difficult to convince the occasional alcoholic tramp that she was something more akin to a pink elephant than to a human being. She called this power her Someone-Else's-Problem effect, after something in a science fiction story, and it was a trick childishly easy to play on most human beings. She could even leave it running, so to speak, when she was asleep; as she could the molecular-level telekinesis which kept a layer of warm air around her at all times.
The trouble was that her target was moving around so much. Presumably she was just using the public transport system, but her movements were so frequent and appeared so random that it was difficult to imagine what she might be doing. She was shielded as well, though in a manner Moondragon could not determine for certain; though she suspected it might be magical. In fact the shields were so odd that they had their own 'signature' and were therefore traceable, but they were enough to confuse even a psychic adept for a limited time. Moondragon, though, was both persistent and, had she admitted it to herself, almost desperate. This might be her only chance and she was not going to blow it. Her doggedness was paying off. She felt now that she was very close to her target, who was, for some reason, 'brighter' in her mind each day and therefore increasingly easy to track.
Moondragon approached the front entrance of a Westminster mansion block just after midday on Monday, heading in the direction of her last strong 'contact'. For some reason, half the London press corps seemed to be camped out on the steps. In normal circumstances the priestess might have surrendered to curiosity and used her powers to discover what was going on, since her lifestyle over the past few days had not allowed her to catch up on the news; but the circumstances were not normal. She had no wish to become tangled up with a bunch of reporters. Apart from anything else, the delay would be unacceptable. She turned aside and headed down a narrow street which would take her around the back of the block.
As soon as she turned the corner Moondragon saw a man leave the building by a basement entrance which seemed to be intended for the use of garbage collectors. He headed away from her down the road. He seemed oddly familiar. He was a distinctive figure altogether: tall, blond and exceedingly muscular, almost of body-builder proportions. He had long yellow hair tied back in a pony-tail; in one hand he carried an old leather briefcase which seemed to contain something heavy. He was wearing a black T-shirt and black leather trousers. There were one or two people around. Some of them seemed to find the man curiously interesting. They were staring at him.
It was risky, but Moondragon could not resist the temptation to reach out with her mind. She did so cautiously, shielding herself, and for less than a second; but that was enough to stop her in her tracks. A man bumped in to her and was astonished by what he saw; it took a few moments to drive her image from his mind and in that short time the man ahead had turned a corner and was gone. Moondragon said nothing. Curses would have been far too weak to express her astonishment at discovering that the blond giant was no 'man' at all. She knew the thunder god well; in fact far too well. His mind was intimately familiar to her. To find him here, now, was completely unbelievable. The worst part of it was that it might indicate that he knew what she knew.
Moondragon pulled herself together. She had to follow her own target, not some long-ago and painful memory. The Asgardian was no psychic. How could he possibly know? She did not see Thor again, since in order to avoid the risk of becoming lost he had decided to travel by public transport and was, even as Moondragon moved on, crossing Victoria Street toward the entrance of St. James's Park underground station; and she was too afraid of being noticed to attempt to keep track of him mentally. So she did not know, as she followed the still-elusive mental spoor of her quarry, that she and Thor were heading more or less toward the same place.
Sloane Square has its own Underground station, just a couple of stops along the District Line from St. James's Park. It took Thor less than twenty minutes to get there. The Square itself was open and pleasant with a small railed-off piece of parkland at its centre, surrounded by quiet roads. The open space contained a formal garden and trees. Three or four young women sat on benches talking while babies slept in perambulators and children played nearby. Thor gathered, from the uniforms which they wore and from the age range of the girls involved, that these were not mothers but nurses or nannies; the servants of the local gentry. The few cars parked in the street were Jaguars, Bentleys, even a Rolls Royce, reflecting anything from moderate to unlimited wealth.
It was scarcely believable that Jane Foster might have an apartment here. Thor looked around him. It was all very quiet; exceedingly well-kept. The large houses were mostly in single occupation, to judge from the door-bells; only one or two blocks, evidently purpose-built as apartments, gave evidence of more than one owner. It was not difficult to find the address Jane had given.
There was no entry-phone, but there was a concierge or porter in a booth just within the spacious lobby. This elderly gentleman wore a discreet uniform and had the automatically suspicious demeanour of one accustomed to protecting the wealthy from the tiresome world outside. His manner indicated that he did not like the look of this body-builder, weight-lifter or whatever he was; not that there was anything in the way he spoke or the way he acted which could have been called less than polite.
Thor kept his face determinedly straight as he read the name on the badge which the man wore above his military medal ribbons: Parker.
When Thor asked for Jane's apartment (remembering, as Jane had told him, to ask for Miss St. Clair), Parker's' approach changed visibly. Having lived for so long in the United States Thor knew that he spoke English with an American accent; this connected him immediately with the déclassé person who now occupied Lady de Betancourt's penthouse.
"Ah, the American, ah, lady. Of course. Your name, please, sir."
Thor took a certain amount of satisfaction from telling the man that his name was Doctor Donald Blake.
Parker pressed a switch on his intercom board. Thor heard a woman's voice, not recognisable over the communication system as Jane's, ask who it was. The porter told the woman that a Dr. Blake was in the lobby. There was a momentary silence; then the voice over the intercom told Parker to allow the visitor to come up.
"Flat five, sir. The penthouse. I'll show you to the private lift."
The door to the lift had to be unlocked with a key which Parker produced from a drawer in his booth. Thor was thankful on the journey upward that the little man did not felt impelled to accompany him. It took just a few seconds. The penthouse lift bypassed all other floors. Smoothly it drew to a halt and then the doors opened, giving Thor his first sight of the flat now occupied by she who had been Jane Foster.
Below, in the square, a young woman in a private nurse's uniform gently rocked a perambulator in which a young baby slept. Both the baby-carriage and the child itself were gestalten, as was the uniform; a gestalt of a nurse's cap hid the woman's white-blonde hair. Sophie Douglas was wearing her costume, this time hidden only by the construct clothing she had made for herself. Refraining from speaking to any of the genuine nannies, she had been at her post in Sloane Square for over an hour, waiting and watching.
She recognised Thor immediately he arrived. He entered the apartment building and did not reappear. Well, she knew that he had some personal business to attend to in there. She could afford to be merciful. She would allow a little time; then the next stage of her plan would begin.
The corridor stretched away from the lift toward a lighted doorway. It was decorated in outdated minimalist chic, with stark white walls and a black and white pattern of ceramic tiles upon the floor. The only decoration was a framed photograph, also in black and white, of a lonely North Sea beach with, in the distance, a single stunted tree. It did not look like the kind of place where the Jane Foster Thor had known would have chosen to live. Thor recalled the New York apartment Jane had inherited from her aunt. It had been cluttered in comparison, with Art Deco furniture, thick pile carpets and Tiffany glass in several windows. Jane had loved it so much that she had never altered it, despite the legacy which would have allowed her to indulge any whim.
He walked along the corridor. As he stepped forward the lift door closed with an audible sigh. As if this were a signal, a woman appeared in the doorway ten yards away, silhouetted against the light.
This time her voice was perfectly recognisable. "Come in, Thor," Jane said. Then she turned away.
The sitting room was in keeping with the corridor. Thor entered through a doorless arch to be confronted by a further expanse of black and white. The room was at least fifty feet square. There were white walls upon which were mounted a few more black and white photographs; white carpet on the floor; black leather Bauhaus chairs grouped about a white tiled coffee table; dark greenish-grey Lakeland slate fireplace. There was no fire, of course; instead a screen with a black and white Beardsley print hid the chimney from sight.
It was one of Beardsley's Lysistrata illustrations: brilliant sexual satire or sophisticated pornography, according to taste. Again, this hardly reflected the taste of the Jane Foster Thor had once known; the Jane who had been so strait-laced, who had absolutely refused to do more than kiss him before they were married. Even if none of the furniture were hers she could presumably have chosen to place this item out of sight had she so wished. Evidently she too had changed.
Thor stood just inside the entrance, uncertain what he should do next. Jane sat in one of the chairs. For long moments she just stared, as if she did not quite believe that he existed. Then she got to her feet again and slowly crossed the room toward him.
"Hello," she said.
"Hello, Jane." Thor saw the lines on her face; the grey streaks in the auburn hair. She seemed to have aged a great deal more than thirteen years since he had seen her last. The hair was long, unstyled and loose down her back; she wore no makeup; she was dressed in an oversized white shirt and black leggings. She had lost fifteen or twenty pounds in weight off a frame that had never been large. It was, Thor realised, the first time he had ever seen her like this. During the long-gone days of their relationship she had always appeared impeccably groomed; she removed her makeup and let down her hair only in the inviolable privacy of her bedroom. Every time he had seen her she had been conservatively well-dressed and carefully shielded from the world by her foundation and her eye-shadow and her lipstick. Now she looked her age; she looked like a woman who had seen the world's pain and had ceased to think she could deny it. There were even dark circles beneath her eyes. The 'old' Jane would have died before she would have shown herself in public with such faults visible for all to see.
Thor thought he had never seen her looking more human; nor more beautiful. He dropped the bag containing his hammer on the floor. "I'm here, then," he said.
"Come and sit down. I've made coffee. Would you like some? Then we can eat." Jane smiled distractedly at him, not meeting his eyes. She walked on past without waiting for an answer. Thor, seeing no alternative, took one of the uncomfortable-looking chairs and sat down.
There was a small kitchen just off the main room. Thor could see chromed fittings and more black and white tiles. There was a black-enamelled Aga cooker in one corner, across from the doorless entrance. Again, Thor wondered what on earth Jane was doing in a place like this. He waited. Eventually she reappeared with a tray which held two glass cups and a cafetière: more passé yuppie chic. Thor got to his feet as if to help, but she brushed past with a whisper which might have been it's all right. The tray went on the coffee table. Jane took a chair not next to his but opposite.
"Thanks for coming," she said. It was as though she were talking to a financial advisor.
"Ah..yes. Well...How are you, Jane?"
She did not reply immediately. Instead she poured coffee, made an elaborate performance of adding cream and sugar. Her hands shook slightly, Thor observed; a little sugar landed on the table. "Well enough," she said in the end. "Just off nights. Tired. You know how it is, don't you?"
"I guess. I spent three weeks on night duty before coming here."
"Don never could cope with nights."
"Not 'Don Blake', Jane. I don't do that any more. There's just me."
"Ah. I see..." Jane appeared to lose interest. "Well, then...What have you been up to, Thor? I was...frankly astonished, to hear you had come back. You haven't even been heard from for more than ten years." She leaned back in her chair. She clasped her hands together and gave another brittle smile. Then she stared directly at Thor for the first time since his arrival. Her smiling distant manner, he observed, was nothing but a front. She tried bravely to hide it, but Jane St. Clair was terrified.
As afraid as I am, Thor thought. He could not now recall why he had been so sure Jane would be in control of this situation. It was obvious that she had no more idea than he did of what the outcome might be; of what they might find to say to each other after all this time.
For several minutes the conversation proceeded awkwardly enough. Thor described his recent career in a few sentences, provoking only a brief lift of the eyebrows from his companion as he told her who his employers had been. In reply Jane told him about the three or four nursing jobs she had held prior to her decision to do some travelling before, as she put it, it was too late.
Jane did not even mention Keith Kincaid, nor her son James. She wore no wedding ring. A hideous suspicion took possession of Thor's mind; but he had no idea how to raise the subject, what questions she might regard as acceptable from him. In the end he simply could not ask.
They drank their coffee. As soon as the cafetière was empty Jane disappeared to obtain a refill, as if she were reluctant to be left in Thor's presence without some kind of distraction. He heard her crashing around in the kitchen, making what seemed to be an unnecessary amount of noise. Once, he had known her so well. He would have known precisely what she was thinking; what she needed him to do or say. Now she was a stranger and he could only guess. He felt that all this was his own fault. Once he had come to understand the full implications of Odin's death he could have - should have - sought her out. He could only imagine what she might have had to bear, alone. While he waited Thor prayed to he did not know whom for the courage to speak and for the wisdom to find the right words.
As she waited for the kettle to boil Jane wiped the back of a hand viciously across her eyes. It came away damp. She sniffed. It was all going wrong. If they went on like this they would end up by eating lunch and then politely bidding one another goodbye, just because she was too much of a coward to prevent it. She stifled a groan. Not again. She recalled her old cowardice in the face of Odin. Something within her was still convinced that had she appeared stronger at the time, had she stood up to him, he never would have found it necessary to put her to the test; that she had brought it all upon herself.
Eventually she gathered up the coffee and the cups and left the kitchen. Thor was sitting where she had left him. He looked up and caught her eye; and simultaneously they began to speak.
"Thor, I..."
"Jane, do you...?"
They stared at each other. "Oh Lord," Jane murmured. "What am I doing..."
"I'm sorry, Jane. I just don't know what you want me to..."
"I don't..."
"Look, shall we start over?"
Jane walked slowly across the room and put the tray down on the table. She stared at it for a second, then she said, "Sounds like a great idea to me...Say, do you actually want more coffee? I think I could do with something a bit stronger. Join me, Thor, please, or I'll feel like an old alkie."
"Okay. We'll have the coffee later."
"Wine?"
"Sure."
Jane went back to the kitchen and returned with a bottle of white wine, a corkscrew and two glasses. She tried, but in the end she had to hand the bottle to Thor. Her hands were shaking so much that she could not open it. Thor poured two glasses and handed one of them to her. She drained it in one draught.
"Better?" Thor sipped at his glass. "That's very good."
"Better. Katrina gave me some tips. She's a friend. I'll tell you later..."
Jane refilled her glass and then sat back in her chair. She dipped a finger in the glass, licked wine from it absently. It could almost have been a seductive gesture, but she was looking not at Thor but into the depths of the wine, as if she could divine the future from it. Thor made a decision. It seemed as though all weekend people had been getting drunk at him. Either he would be direct, or he would have to give up. After all, she had invited him to visit.
The worst thing she can do, he thought, is throw me out. "You asked me what I had been doing," he said. "I will tell you everything, if you really want me to. But I would...I also need to know. Jane? What in the world has become of you? How is it that you wish to...renew this...acquaintance? For we parted on such dishonest terms. I treated you very ill; and it seems a pathetic excuse even as I say it when I tell you that as ever, my mind was not entirely my own."
At last Jane looked straight at him. Her eyes shone with unshed tears. She took a deep breath. "I know all that," she said. "I could work that out for myself...He was ever the schemer, wasn't he?" She leaned forward. "...And I will answer your question. But first, tell me, Thor; I have to know...What has he done to you since then? And how is it that you are here, a free man, after all this time? Or are you...?"
The brittle facade was cracking. A tear spilled over and ran down Jane's face as Thor looked on. "Aye, a free man. You do not know, do you, Jane. But...Be sure you really want me to tell you..."
"Please, Thor. I have to know. I thought...I hoped...Oh, Thor, this sounds dreadful...I hoped that maybe you would need to know as well, about me. That's so...presumptuous. But it's the honest truth. It's how my mind was working when I decided to contact you. That's why I...If I'm all wrong, if...I mean, the thing is...Oh, I don't even know that you haven't left a wife and children behind in South America." Her voice rose a tone or two; she giggled, a little shrilly. "After all, you were only working for the Jays, you hadn't joined them! I knew you and Sif...Did you ever, I mean...Oh, Thor. I've said too much, haven't I? I just don't know when to shut up. Why don't you tell me to shut up?" She covered her face with her hands.
"Jane, it's all right. Please. It's all right..." There was no response. Thor moved into the seat next to Jane's. Hesitantly, and only because he could think of nothing else to do, he reached out and drew her right hand away from her face. "I'm not about to tell you to do anything."
Jane dropped her other hand and looked down. She glanced up at Thor and back again. He realised that he had not let go. She was staring at their clasped hands. He felt her fingers stiffen, perhaps involuntarily. Gently, he placed her hand down upon her knee and moved back.
"You haven't said too much," he added, after a moment. "And as for Sif and the rest...Perhaps it would be better if both of us said a little more."
"Yes. Yes, we must." Jane smiled at him wanly. "Let's make...a deal, eh? You tell me yours and I'll tell you mine. I think we both want to, don't we?"
"I think we do."
"It's difficult, though, Thor. God knows it's difficult...Last time I saw you was at my wedding. When I married...Keith."
"I remember. I was there as Don Blake; and it was almost his last public appearance, as well. But I do remember."
"Whatever became of him, Thor? It's strange to think of you working as a doctor without him."
"I thought so myself to start with. It was after the first war with Surtur. You must remember that. The legions of Asgard encamped in Central Park..."
"Oh, yes! I remember all right. It was in all the papers. On the television for days. I thought it was all very interesting, though it didn't seem to have much to do with me..."
"In the end, after many misadventures, everything in Asgard was restored to how it had been. Odin was on his throne and for a while, I was at his side, as he wished me to be. But he did not know how deeply I resented something he had done. One day I could stand it no longer. I went to him and asked - no, demanded - that he restore to me the Don Blake identity, which he had seen fit to destroy."
"What? He did that? I should have guessed, shouldn't I?"
"It was just at the beginning of the war. I had a fight with an alien called Beta Ray Bill. It was all a misunderstanding. He was really on our side. But afterwards, Odin altered my hammer's magic so that it would no longer allow me turn into Donald Blake. As I am sure he was well aware, with that one act he destroyed my career, half my earthly friendships, my livelihood and - so he hoped! - my reason for returning to Earth."
"Why, that arrogant, manipulative old..!"
"All true. But he had forgotten something. He had quite forgotten that Don Blake was just me in disguise, not some separate being...Anyway, I demanded that he return the enchantment to me. He refused. Then I lost my temper. I told him that whatever his decision I would no longer live in Asgard. That I would return to Earth and pursue whatever career I chose. He grew furious. We almost came to blows. In the end I stormed from the throne-room with his voice ringing in my ears. He called after me that if I left the Realm just once more he would see to it that I never returned. And that is what happened."
"But Thor...He has exiled you so many times! Did he really mean it?"
"Oh yes. You shall hear how much he meant it. I returned to Earth to take up what threads I could of my life."
"I know you went back to the Avengers. That was in the papers too. They also told us that Don Blake had reappeared as team doctor. I assumed that was you in your secret identity, like before. It never occurred to me that this might have changed."
"It was simple in the end. I knew did not need my father's magic. It would have been more convenient, that's all...Even as I raged at my father I prayed that he would remain...forgetful. When I got back to the States I went to SHIELD. Nick Fury and a few others spoke to the AMA on my behalf and I got my medical license back. I lived in New York for three years or more after that, working with the Avengers. I also helped run free clinics in a couple of areas; AIDS, TB, that kind of thing. Looking back, I tried a little too hard to stay busy."
"Now that sounds like the Don Blake I knew. He always was a workaholic...But that isn't the end of the story, is it, Thor? I know you went back to the Avengers; you've told me what you were doing some time after that; but there's a gap. Something happened, didn't it?"
"Something did. But...What about you, Jane? I feel as though I am doing all the talking..."
"That's all right. I want to hear about it. I wasn't doing much at the time. We were living in New Jersey, far from the madding crowd and all that. I had a son. James. Keith was so delighted to have a son...The whole time you were with the Avengers I was being a suburban housewife, proud to keep a nice home and to raise children for my clever doctor husband." She smiled, but the expression did not reach her eyes.
"Jane?" When she said nothing, Thor went on. "There is a gap in your story as well. Just a few years later you were working as a nurse again and it sounded very much as though you were on your own."
"That's right. I...It's no good, Thor. I need a bit more time. Another drink?"
"No, I'm okay." He took another sip from his barely-tasted wine. It was good, as good as the vintners of Asgard could ever have managed; but drunkenness held no attractions at that moment. Thor watched as Jane poured more wine into her glass and swallowed half of it straight off. It was none of his business. "If you're sure?"
"Sure I'm sure." Jane seemed immensely relieved at his agreement. "Please go on..."
"Well, then. I was with the Avengers. Those three years were busy. A lot of major cases. You'll remember the business with Graydon Creed - that alone went on for at least six months..."
"You started off fighting on the wrong side as well, didn't you?! Everyone thought Magneto and the X-men were the enemies. A good thing you worked out what was going on in time..."
"Mm. A short while after that everything was quiet. It was a Tuesday morning. We even had some civilians visiting the mansion. Hank McCoy's parents were there; and Julia Carpenter as well. She's an Avenger, true; but she had her seven-year-old daughter with her...I was in the gym with Wanda and Century. Suddenly the internal communications system came on-line. All any of us could hear were screams...We raced upstairs. The mansion was under attack by demons; Surtur's demons, just like those we fought in the war. As soon as I appeared they concentrated their attack on me, almost overwhelming me where I stood...We fought back, but they were numberless, appearing through some dimensional rift as fast as we could slay them."
"Oh, I think I heard some of this!" Jane said. "That must have been when Hawkeye got killed. There weren't many details in the papers; just that some alien army had invaded the mansion."
"That's right. Hank's mother died too. Caught in the cross-fire. We were just beginning to think that this time we really were going to be beaten - as I said, they just kept coming as fast as we could deal with them - when their leader stepped aside from the battle, threw back his head and laughed. He called out to his troops that it was time; that their work on earth was over; that there were greater prizes to be won. Then they just...disappeared."
Thor took a long, deep breath and swallowed some wine. "After that...well. It was chaos. I confirmed the two deaths. Too much time had passed; there was nothing to be done for either of them. I got the injured to the infirmary and started their treatment. And all the time I was wondering...It was not difficult in the end to work out what was going on. They were Surtur's hordes and Surtur has only, ever, had one real target: Asgard. The demons had been sent both to lure me into the Last Battle and to delay me until it was too late for me to make a difference. But neither they nor their Lord knew about Odin's ban. It was not possible for me to enter the Golden Realm. Odin's magics kept me out."
"Surely he could have removed his own wards if he was in desperate straits, Thor?"
"Of course he could. I have wondered almost every day since then why he did not. I tried. I tried many times to breach that magical wall. I did not succeed; but in the end, suddenly, there was no more resistance. The barrier had simply...gone. I knew by then what that had to mean. Sorceries fail when the sorcerer is dead. My father's own command had kept me from my homeland; and when I reached it, it had fallen."
"Odin is dead? So it came, at last..." Jane sat back in shock, staring at her companion. This was one possibility which she had not anticipated.
"Yes. Ragnarok came at last, in a way which no prophet had foretold. And I wasn't there. That's the worst of it, Jane. I was too late."
"Thor, that wasn't your fault!"
"I have told myself that so many times...The Last Battle took place on the plain called Vigrid. For thousands of years the Einherjar, the heroes of Valhalla, had practised the arts of war in that place; and there, finally, they died. They were the lucky ones. They were human; they had sojourned with us for just one purpose. That complete, they were able at last to move on to their destiny. Most of the dead were Asgardian. For us, there is no escape from Hela's grasp until the universe itself reaches an end..."
Jane gasped faintly, her eyes wide. "I suppose I knew that," she said. "But hearing you say it straight out..."
"We of Asgard all know exactly where we are going, Jane. Every one of us...But let me go on. I reached the battlefield long after the fighting was over. There, I found only corpses; and a few grievously wounded survivors. The skills I used in Asgard that day were those of the surgeon, not of the warrior. Skills my father gave me almost...by mistake. Only thus was I able to save the lives of Balder and of Hildegarde the Valkyrie. There were others as well; so few...For my father and for most of my old friends I had come too late. And I was too late for Sif."
"Sif! You mean that she's..."
"Oh yes. We had fallen out, you know; finally fallen out, when I left Asgard the last time. She asked me to stay and when I refused she turned her back on me; and I knew that was the end of it. I guess my father's magics were weakening even then. I felt...relief. Because I knew, somewhere in me, that it had been Odin's manipulation that had brought us together. But that did not make it any easier..." Thor described his discovery of Sif, dying upon Vigrid. "She was beyond my help. I knew that. She was injured so gravely that had I been earlier I could only have prolonged her dying, not saved her life. But she called my name, Jane, as though she felt...it was as though she had willed herself to remain alive until I came to save her; and I could not do it. She walks with Hela now. It's over. But I hear her cry in my dreams every night..."
"I'm so sorry," Jane said. "I only met her once. I liked her, though I don't think she liked me very much. She didn't deserve that. Nobody could."
"I know." Thor was silent for a moment. "And, as I said, it is over. It was written in her fate when she was born."
Thor truly believed that, Jane could tell. That was almost the worst thing of all. She said quietly, "So what did you do then?"
"I was the only survivor of Asgard who was entirely hale. It took me three days and three nights, but I completed the task. I gathered together the corpses of my friends and family and those of the citizenry of Asgard and gave them what funeral I could. For Odin, Loki..."
"Loki?"
"Yes. I found even my brother among the dead, though it is true that I do not know on which side he fought...For my friends and for those who had been among the great of the Realm I built a great pyre. The rest I buried, using Mjolnir's power to dig a pit for them. Surtur, true to his nature, had put Asgard to the torch. There was not enough wood left in all the Realm to burn so many corpses...The pyre burned for a day and a night. When it was over I gathered the bones and placed each man's and each woman's remains beneath a stony howe. I carved runes for their grave-markers and I colored them with my own blood. I nursed the few survivors back to health, alone; the healers had fled or had died in battle with the soldiery. Then I accompanied Balder and his companions as they searched the ruined towns for the few women and their children who had remained behind and whom the demons had not murdered. I went with them as bodyguard to the land of the Norns, where they sought refuge. And then I returned to Earth."
"What about Surtur? Didn't he try to stop you?"
"I believe that demon's only object was the destruction of Asgard and the death of its Lord. He accomplished both these things easily, for he had total surprise. Then, satisfied, he returned to his pits. I saw not a single demon during my sojourn in Asgard and I have seen none since. And before you ask, No; I did not seek to claim my inheritance. That...has passed me by. Odin's godhead should have claimed an heir; and it did not. Lacking that, I was an embarrassment and an object of pity to the remnant of my people once they had re-established themselves. I preferred to let Balder lead them; and he, good friend that he is, understood my reasoning. That is how it has been since. And that is my story, Jane, or the more important part of it. Now, what of you?"
As he spoke, Thor saw his companion's face change. The brittle facade was gone; gone also was the professional listening mode into which his tale had propelled her. There was something beyond pain in her face, like a cry that lacked only his permission to be uttered. "Please, Jane. Tell me about it?"
"I don't know how I dare after hearing your story, Thor. Mine is nothing...special..."
"Oh, Jane. Maybe it does not contain such a proportion of battle and death...But there is much to tell. I can see it in your face. Can you?"
"Yes. I can. I have to, I guess." Jane poured a cup of coffee from the cafetière on the table and tasted it. "Still warm. Want some?"
"Yes please."
As she poured the drink Jane began to speak, as though it were easier if she did not have to look at her companion. "I told you that Keith and I settled down in New Jersey and that we had James. I was really happy then. I didn't know where you were and I wasn't really bothered. I thought of you - of Don - as an old friend and colleague. Keith and Jimmy were the only people in my life."
"I knew you had a baby. I saw you once...just in passing. It was about a year after you got married. You were seven or eight months pregnant at the time. At least I still recognised my old friend Jane..."
"And if I had seen you I would have known my old friend Thor as well...That's just how it was, wasn't it? Well, three years after Jimmy was born I was expecting another baby. It was a normal pregnancy. There was no indication that anything was wrong, no warning..." Jane took another drink.
When Thor said nothing, she continued. "One night I was woken by the child kicking. I suspected nothing. Keith lay beside me in the bed. I leaned over to kiss him. I will always be glad I did that...I knew that I would not be able to get back to sleep immediately, so I got up to make a hot drink. On the way downstairs I looked in on Jimmy. He was sleeping peacefully with a lock of his hair curled on his cheek and his thumb in his mouth..."
Jane paused. She looked up. Thor saw the tears on her cheeks. As he watched more flowed, silently; a few drops fell from her chin on to the front of her shirt. "Jane, you don't have to..."
"Yes I do. I walked on down the hallway toward the stairs. And suddenly I was not in the house any more. It was as though I had been transported to some vast open space. There were stars in the sky and a wind was blowing. I did not recognise the constellations. I knew I had never seen that sky before...It was very cold. I was naked, though I had been wearing my housecoat; and I felt different. It took a few moments for me to realise that this was because I was no longer pregnant. And then he was there, standing right in front of me."
"Ah..."
"Yes. He did not speak, but he gazed into my eyes with that one blue eye of his; and the raven on his shoulder cawed once. At that moment I remembered everything, Thor. I remembered us in Asgard. I remembered Odin setting me a test which he knew I had to fail. I remembered his magic separating us and directing me into the arms of Keith Kincaid; a man who had no existence of his own but who was a mere shell, a creature of Odin's manufactured on the same basis as 'Don Blake', using a mortal template which neither of us will ever know. I knew then that since our separation I had not, at any time, been my own woman. I had simply served your father's purposes. Thor, I nearly went mad then. Can you imagine what it is like to discover that your entire life has been a lie?"
"Jane, you must know the answer to that. I know very well. My life has been little else for years. What happened then?"
"I felt...Odin lifted his right hand, the hand that holds the Sceptre of the Realm. He faded from my sight and the stars too began to fade, leaving me in darkness. And then I felt a strange sensation. It was as though Keith took me in his arms and kissed me, although I could see nothing. Then my son James pulled at my hand and I lifted him up to hold him. And last of all a little baby girl appeared in the air before me and gave me a kiss upon my cheek. Although it was quite dark by then hers was the only face I saw; and I have never forgotten it, although it was a stranger's face...And then the light faded altogether and I grew warm again and I knew I was home."
"I am...quite afraid of the end of this story."
"Yes. The house was empty, Thor. Keith was gone and his side of the bed had not been slept in. James too had vanished as though he had never been. The room which had been the nursery was empty, unfurnished and unused. And my belly was as flat in reality as it had been in my vision. I was no longer pregnant. My unborn child, like my son and my husband, had disappeared as though she had never existed, leaving me alone."
Thor could only shake his head in horror. It was worse than he could have imagined; but it all made a perverse kind of sense. Softly he asked Jane, "What did you do then?"
"I was in shock for several months. I functioned automatically, dealing with life as it occurred. I even went to see a gynecologist. I concocted some story about thinking I had miscarried. He confirmed that which I had already guessed: that I had never been pregnant and had never given birth. None of it had ever happened. I think he thought I was crazy."
Thor shook his head again. There was nothing appropriate to be said.
"Gradually I discovered that every trace of Keith's and Jimmy's existence had been eradicated. My neighbours all called me 'Miss Foster'; they were sure the house had always been occupied by a single woman of independent means. The house turned out to belong to me alone, bought with my aunt's legacy years before. There was no trace of Keith's belongings nor of Jimmy's toys. The AMA had never heard of a Keith Kincaid. Yet at the same time I remembered my marriage and my children. I think I did go a little mad. I sold the house and gave most of the proceeds to the ASPCC. I rented a tiny flat in Brooklyn, near where I lived when we were last together. I saw a counsellor, but in the end I had to give up, because I had to deceive her, telling her my family had died. I changed my name; St. Clair was my mother's maiden name...In the end I decided to get in touch with you, just because you were the only person I could think of to whom I could tell the whole story. But when I contacted the Avengers they told me you had left three months before without giving a forwarding address."
"Yes. That confirms it. Jane, I am sure I know what happened. It was cruel; but he could not prevent that. It was beyond his power. He had to bring his own misdeeds to their...conclusion."
"What do you mean, Thor?"
"You said it was three years after James was born. It was at about that time that Surtur's assault came. I think that Odin remembered about you and decided to release you, knowing that he was about to die. If he had done nothing your family would have vanished from your side without warning. Would that have been preferable?"
"No. Not at all. But he took my daughter, Thor. I can never forgive him that."
"I would not expect it. But consider that he has gone down to Hel with all this on his conscience and with your hatred to pursue him. He will have much time to reflect upon it..."
"Good! I'm glad. I hope it hurts..."
Jane had shrunk in her seat, as if to escape from a nightmare. There was silence for several minutes. Although Thor knew that none of this was his fault, he felt a sense of guilt which silenced him. He shook his head again. For all the things his father had done he had still credited the old man with knowledge and wisdom and power. That might have been true as far as his own people were concerned, for all he had encouraged them to believe untrue things of themselves. But Odin had evidently been most unwise to tangle directly with human beings; let alone to think he could get away with passing off his son as one of them.
It always was a tasteless parody, wasn't it? Thor thought with a tinge of hysteria. Perhaps we are all being punished.
Then Jane spoke again. "That was all ten years ago, Thor. Since then...Well, as I said, I have been working. Doing nothing much. But how did you come to work for the Jesuits, of all people?"
"You can still be concerned about my story after all that? You amaze me, Jane."
"Of course I'm...concerned. About you..."
"Briefly, then. By the time I returned to earth I had decided what I was going to do. I went to my oldest friend, Tony Stark. He was the only one I told and I swore him to secrecy. That is why the Avengers could give you no information. I wrapped the Hammer in a silken cloth, as a form of magical protection. Then I stowed it in an old medical bag and forgot about it. I was in shock; it was madness, a subtle kind of madness...I went to the New York docks and hung around the bars until I found a sea-captain looking for a ship's doctor. I worked my way around the world on various ships, for more than two years; but after that I decided to strike out for something more worth while. I went to Genosha with the idea - vague enough, I admit - of being of some help in the care of their mutates. You remember, most of them got that virus...As it turned out, certain persons over there did not...appreciate my endeavours. I left, along with several other foreign aid workers, in...a hurry. But it was there that I came into contact with the Order and decided to work for them."
"That must have been...strange, for you..."
"At first. It was one of those turns of fate. Once one has established contacts within an institution of that kind, one will never be short of work, if one wants it. The pay is miserable, but the work is satisfying. So I stayed, and stayed..."
"And recently you left. Or you would not be here. Unless the Society of Jesus has opened a mission in London..."
"They have several, as a matter of fact. But that is not why I am here. I came in response to a call. Less than a month ago someone...invoked me; and the denial I had practised for years evaporated as though it had never been. As you can imagine I could not give my true reason for leaving to the priests...Then I heard about strange events on these shores and I felt impelled - beyond all reason, looking back on it - to investigate. So here I am..."
"And here we are..."
"That's right."
For minutes Thor and Jane just sat, looking at one another. Thor drank coffee that was almost cold. Jane finished the wine. Then Thor recalled his excuse for visiting; the entire reason he was supposed to be there. He got up, fetched his briefcase and fished out Jane's photographic folder.
"I brought it back," he said, smiling.
"You still have yours, then?" Jane grinned. "You know, I thought you would."
"I could never have parted with it." Thor told Jane where his copy was kept. This information seemed to breach another barrier. Jane's eyes filled with tears. As she took the folder from Thor she began to weep in earnest, silently, eyes closed, leaning back in her chair.
"It was that precious to you, then?" she murmured. Then her sobs became too deep to allow her to speak.
Thor could stand this for only a few seconds. He reached out a hand once more and grasped Jane's right hand, wishing to comfort, though he was not certain that he, of all people, would ever be able to do such a thing. Then abruptly, she opened her eyes and, still weeping, got to her feet, pulling him toward her. "Kiss me," she said. "Hold me. Thor. Touch me. I want your hands on me. Please."
Thor never knew whether he drew Jane toward him, or she drew him to her. Whichever it was, suddenly they were holding each other as if neither had ever intended anything else. He felt Jane caress his back, beneath his shirt; then with one hand she reached down to the base of his spine, while the other moved along his ribs, across his chest. He touched her neck, her shoulder, the curve of her breast through her thin clothing; and he kissed her mouth.
Neither of them could ever quite remember how they reached her bed, nor when they decided that that was where they must go. The chief memory either of them had beyond their desire and its fulfilment was of the amazement with which they realised that no-one was going to stop them.
They both thought, later, that they had slept for a while. Jane knew that she had been asleep because she woke convinced, just for a moment, that everything that had happened since Thor arrived had been just another lonely woman's dream; then she saw the golden god stretched out beside her on her bed. Her gasp woke Thor who, to her amazement, seemed as awe-stricken as she was herself.
They reached out for one another again. There was no imaginable reason why not. Only then did the screams from outside the apartment become loud enough to disturb them.
Thor reached the living room window first, half-dressed, still dragging his T-shirt over his head. Outside the peaceful scene of nannies and babies had been dreadfully interrupted. No casualties were visible, though several people stood around the square rooted to the spot with terror, shouting for help. Within the railed-off area of parkland, its head at the level of fifth-floor windows, its breath a scorching flame, its terrible wings outspread, its scales deep green and gold, stood the twin of the water-dragon Thor had seen on the television only a week before.
Moments later Jane arrived and stood beside her lover, gazing at the scene. It caused her to recall some of the disadvantages of their old relationship.
"Jane, whoever is causing this just shouldn't know I am here. It is black witchcraft. I must go down. I'm sorry."
"Of course you must go. It's not your fault. Be careful. I'm going to call the police."
"Aye..." Thor retrieved his hammer from its case and returned to the window.
"What about your costume?"
"The hammer's magic is altered since Odin died. I am wearing all that I have."
"Right...!"
Jane watched as Thor opened the window and climbed onto the sill, barefoot, dressed as he was in black T-shirt and jeans. He whirled his hammer about his head and flung himself toward the monster, apparently heedless of his personal safety. As so often in the past, Jane found herself almost unable to watch. She dialled 999 and gave her address to the operator, reporting another, potentially dangerous-looking, mysterious appearance. Then she decided that she could not just sit there. She might not realistically be able to do anything, but it was inconceivable that she should hide away while the most important person in her life risked so much, just outside. Jane took her keys and ran down the corridor to her private lift.
The dragon breathed flame. Thor, circling, looking for advantage, felt the heat of it as he passed. This was no illusion, no appearance with power to terrorise but not to hurt. It was a solid, potent creature; in all detectable ways as living as he was himself. As living as all the other 'appearances' had seemed to be. The most important thing was to protect the human bystanders. Seeking to draw the dragon's attention, to lead it, if possible, away from this too-well-frequented place, Thor flew directly toward it and landed to perch behind its head, where the fiery breath could not reach him. Raising his hammer, he dealt the creature a blow which might have shaken Yggdrasil, direct to the back of its skull.
Mjolnir's blow rang on bone, solid as granite and as unyielding. The creature tossed its head and shook it, seeking to dislodge the gnat which had bitten it. Thor took to the air again, directing his second strike to the top of the head just between the eyes, then moving away before it could attempt to breathe in his direction.
It was just as he thought. The dragon's hide was impervious to his hammer-blows. Thor realised that he would have to call upon his magical powers in order to have a hope of defeating this monster; that, or find a piercing weapon of some sort which might pass between its scales. But the strikes did seem to be having some effect. The creature shifted, swinging its head around to look for its enemy. It shrugged, lifting its great wings; it stretched them forth, perhaps seeking to take to the air. Thor decided that if it should prove impossible for him to destroy the monster, he might encourage this development. If the dragon could at least be persuaded to follow him, then he would allow this; he might thus remove it to a less populated area. He swung back down again, this time to belabour its neck and chest. Meanwhile, in response to his mental command, in what had been a clear and sunlit sky the storm-clouds began to gather.
Jane St. Clair stepped out of the doorway of her apartment block. In the square's normally peaceful bit of parkland she could see nothing but the body and wings of the dragon, whose head reached above her fifty feet into the air. Its wings beat back and forth, creating a wind almost strong enough to knock any mere humans in the vicinity off their feet; its head swept around as if in search of something. As Jane watched Thor smote the beast again with his hammer and then flew rapidly across its field of vision, as though trying to draw its attention. She looked again; evidently that was exactly what he was trying to do. The dragon was on its feet now, wings beating, though these looked as if they could never be large enough to bear such an enormous body from the ground. It breathed flame, missing Thor by feet. Jane could see his clothing char even from where she stood.
She gasped, gathering herself to cry out to her lover, though she knew that he would not be able to hear. It was not something that she could help. But even as she opened her mouth to shout she saw that there was someone else in the square, standing not ten feet away from one of the monster's great claws.
It was a young woman. Her hair was long and fair and half her face was hidden by a multicoloured mask, as if she were some supervillain; an impression only heightened by the close-fitting costume that she wore. She was not afraid of the dragon, by her bearing. In fact, from the way she was standing with arms upraised, not only was she not its victim; she was its master. Jane saw the wide grin on the girl's half-hidden face and felt her heart lurch. The woman was somehow causing all this; and she was loving her work. Frantically Jane screamed out to Thor, pointing at the enemy which she could see, but which was out of her lover's line of sight. He flew by, circling the dragon's head at close quarters, seeking to distract it from the humans on the ground. It was only too obvious that he could not see the one who must really matter.
The storm gathered. Thor, its master, called out to it in his mind, shaping its pattern. He felt it respond even as the dragon breathed fire again, missing him even more narrowly than the last time. The lower parts of his jeans felt as though they were about to disintegrate, but as yet he was unburned himself. If this tactic did not defeat the dragon he would have to lure it away. He smote the beast once more and cried out to the thunderhead, commanding it to strike as he struck, through his hammer.
The lightning struck between the dragon's eyes, blinding and stunning the beast even as it prepared for flight. The monster screamed aloud. Its balance lost, it began to topple.
For a moment Sophie Douglas could not believe that Thor had actually hurt her dragon. Then she realised her peril. Unless she dismissed it the dragon was real and corporeal, with all the vast weight which such a beast would have to possess; and she was right beneath it. Thor was in flight still, crying upon the storm to aid him; but she had no choice. Even as it fell toward her Sophie commanded her creature to disappear.
Jane watched. Thor turned, startled, toward the suddenly empty space of the parkland; their eyes met momentarily, but even as Jane was at last able to point him toward the real enemy, he saw her for himself.
There was no mistaking her: the height; the deceptively sturdy build; the white-blonde hair. Thor knew her immediately, though that knowledge did not help him in the least. He still could not imagine what manner of power this could be, that could call not only a consultant orthopaedic surgeon but a creature straight from an Asgardian child's fairy-story to life before his eyes. He observed her costume. For some reason, in her garb as supervillain, the girl he knew as Sophie Douglas had elected to wear a cat-suit in a rainbow of colours. Between her breasts was a circular yin-yang symbol; but radiating out from there in wavering stripes were the red, yellow, green, blue and purple of the mystic bridge Bifrost.
Thor descended toward the ground. Sophie lifted her arms. "Hail, Thunderer!" she cried. "Or should I call you Doctor Blake?"
"Make it louder, Sophie, why don't you?" Thor muttered to himself. "I don't think Father McCarthy heard you over in Paraguay."
The dark watcher of the Fire of Vision saw the battle and was delighted. The child was doing well. She had barely started her campaign and already Thor was battered and, as usual, baffled by events. The time was near. The watcher prepared himself. It was necessary that he release his magic precisely as it was needed.
Just two streets away, Moondragon threw caution to the wind. No longer did she care who saw her, nor what they thought. The girl, the one she sought, was glowing strongly in her mind, yet there was something desperately wrong. The shielding she felt was still in place, yet it seemed as though it were stretching to a breaking point; and although she had no rational reason to believe this the psychic knew that if that shield broke and she were not there, catastrophe would ensue for the child and for everyone involved.
Moondragon ran.
"Who are you?" Thor called out. "What do you want with me, child? I have done no harm to you! Even as he spoke he was aware of the contrast between his attempt to appear calm and dignified and his appearance. He was barefoot and he wore jeans that hung in tatters from his knees, more like the apparel of the Hulk than of the Lord of Storms. Frantically he sought to think; to determine just what might be happening here. Why did the girl seem to want him dead? He could not even begin to imagine.
"Thor!" the girl shouted. "I am Gestalt! And I am your doom!"
"Aye, many have said so," Thor replied, "And ever have their words proved false, whether they were earthly villains or the Goddess Hela herself! I warn you, Sophie; battle me further at your peril!" Slowly, he began to advance toward his adversary, allowing his right hand, in which he held Mjolnir, to hang at his side. He would make no further hostile move unless the girl did so first.
Rapidly Sophie glanced about her. The police had arrived. They were standing in an uncertain group about a riot-squad van near the apartment building from which Thor had emerged. One of their number was talking to a red-haired woman who was gesticulating toward the centre of the square. To the other side, to Sophie's great delight, a group of pressmen was visible. It was time.
"Brave words, Thunderer!" Gestalt cried. "But how can you - even you! - fight so many?" Then she threw back her head and laughed.
About her, people started to pop into existence. Thor stopped in his tracks, then watched, horrified. The Avengers: not even in their most out-of-control and wildest early days had so many of them assembled. Iron Man and Cap and the Hulk; Giant-man and Hawkeye; the Swordsman and the Black Knight; Mockingbird, Tigra and Hellcat; Wonder Man and the Wasp; Jocasta and Captain Marvel and Ms. Marvel and the Vision and the Scarlet Witch and Mantis and Moondragon and the Beast and Sersi and Crystal. The X-men, the old X-men: Ice-man and the humanoid Beast and the Angel and Cyclops and Marvel Girl. Still they came. The Silver Surfer appeared, as did Thanos and Doctor Strange; the Enchantress and the Executioner grinned at him, for all he knew they both were dead. Demons of Muspellheim stood alongside Adam Warlock.
Sophie watched the thunder god's face. He was appalled; it was too easy to tell. Somehow she knew that his most characteristic weaknesses were his emotional transparency as well as his extreme naivety about women. She felt as though she could almost read his thoughts. He knew he was outmatched; that he would, if all these old friends and foes were to attack him, surely die that day. She held her creatures in check, watching. The pressmen were trying to approach; the police restrained them, unable otherwise to intervene. British police had little practice in coping with super-powered battles. Undoubtedly the Army was on its way; for all the good that would do. Perhaps they would call in Excalibur, or the real Avengers. All the better. She would beat them too.
"Make your peace with whatever Power you know, Thunderer," Sophie cried out. "The Valkyries shall surely have your soul this day."
It sounded good; it sounded truly threatening, just like a genuine supervillain. But Sophie was suddenly unsure. She did not know why she had said that. It did not even sound like her. She wanted publicity; she wanted to demonstrate her own extraordinary powers - and just the fact of her existence - to the world before she died. But she was no murderer. Although she felt abruptly certain that she was quite capable of carrying out her threat, she had had no intention of killing Thor; only of beating him.
Sophie realised that she was in danger of losing concentration and thus of losing her gestalts. She applied herself fiercely to the task of their maintenance. Her heart rate, in her excitement, was over one hundred and sixty per minute. Her cardiac muscle required a great deal of oxygenated blood to maintain its rate and its output. And in her distracted state, with part of her mind still trying to fathom her own words, she altogether forgot about the accessory coronary arteries she had created for herself earlier in the day.
Thor, still standing with his hammer at his side, saw the 'Avengers' and 'X-men' and all the others waver, then regain solidity. And then they began to fade in earnest. Instead of the self-confident villain who had faced him a moment ago he realised that somehow, he was once more confronted by a desperately sick teenager.
The girl who called herself Gestalt seemed to crumple from within. Her strength left her; she staggered, face suddenly grey, sweat beading on her forehead. She clutched her chest. The gestalts guttered and went out. In their stead another monster appeared; but this one clutched at its creator, and its claws were buried in her heart.
Jane St. Clair had twenty years of nursing experience. She could recognise a heart case when she saw one, even if it was accompanied by strange appearances. She was a professional; and she knew when she was needed. She did not hesitate. She ran toward the square, dodging policemen and vaulting railings to reach the one who needed her help.
Thor moved as well. He reached Sophie's side in a few moments, in time to catch her as she collapsed and the gruesome apparition began to fade away. He felt for the carotid pulse, feeling with immense relief that though feeble, it beat on. "Hush," he said. "Sophie, never mind anything else. Please let me help you. I am a doctor as well. I'll see you get the care you need."
Sophie lifted her head. "Dr. Thor," she murmured. "Fancy that." Then she passed out.
The watcher at the Flame leaped to his feet. That was the signal. He could not wait any longer. It would have to be...now.
Thor, holding Sophie to him, felt it first. His patient opened her eyes, and they were no longer pale sea-grey but a fiery and flashing blue; and her limbs regained their muscle-tone and grew new strength out of their depth of weakness.
She flinched back from him, pushing away. Horror and hatred was in her face, and a new awareness. She actually broke his hold, shoving herself backwards, away from him, scrambling to her feet. "Murderer!" she screamed. "Rapist! How could you pretend...You, a doctor! You are nothing but a monster....Nothing but a vicious monster, even though you are my father!"
Thor knelt immobilised, trembling in shock. He felt his own heart lurch, stop, start again; he felt the hollowness of terror in his stomach. He saw Jane from the corner of one eye, turned toward her, registered shock and disbelief on her face. "I don't know what..." he started to say.
"Who is..." Jane seemed barely capable of speech.
Thor reached out to her and saw her flinch away.
Moondragon used her psychic skills to fly, telekinetically, over the heads of the reporters and the police. She ignored their shouts, their orders to stop. The shields were gone. It was hard to concentrate on controlling her flight; she knew everything now. She knew what had happened to the girl; she knew who had done it and she knew why. She could sense the field as it built and she lunged for its periphery, terror at her heels. She had to get there. Had to.
Sophie Douglas stood. She raised her arms again, but this time she called forth no gestalts. Light beyond that of the earthly sun struck from her hands; her hair floated, defying gravity, to create a gleaming aureole about her head. The rainbow of her costume glowed, its colours swirling. Thor, looking on, saw the colours form a pattern, a force, a tunnel in the world.
"I am no longer Sophie, nor Gestalt!" the girl cried. "I am hatred and revenge incarnate; I am the Goddess Sophia! And in the name of my hatred I summon thee; I call thee out, for my mother's sake, for the sake of her whom thou dishonouredst and whose death thou didst cause. My hatred stands between thee and me for ever more, and may Hela not separate thee from it!"
Behind Sophia something moved; something or someone dressed in green reached out for the goddess even as she completed her curse. Then Thor could see only the rainbow. It formed itself into a bridge in truth. There was a flash like black lightning. Thor felt a hand grasp his shoulder; a hand which might have belonged to Jane St. Clair. Then there was nothing