It was easy to see how some people might be under the mistaken impression that working alongside Stephen Strange would be exciting. He was the Master of the Mystic Arts after all, a candidate in running for the title of Sorcerer Supreme. He had fought literal gods, been to other dimensions, and people the universe over came to him for advice. Teaming up with him surely was glamorous and adrenaline pumping.

The reality was, it was boring. Very, very boring. If I were still capable of getting sleepy, I would have checked out hours ago. The fact that I didn't need sleep meant that I could continue surveillance while Stephen and his friend caught some shut-eye.

I couldn't even enjoy the view, which sucked because I had never been to New Orleans, on this Earth nor on mine. We were here because Stephen had been asked by a friend of his to help with a problem. Jericho, the friend, had been having issues with a group called the Cult of the Dark Lord. A string of disappearances had been occurring in the city, young women vanishing without a trace, and Jericho was convinced the group was responsible but he had needed help. Apparently, the people who lead this Cult were some very nasty, very powerful Voodoo priests and priestesses.

I wasn't here to fight those. I was nowhere near skilled enough in magic to throw down against a Voodoo priest, especially since I had spent the past four months in Wakanda focusing on training in physical fighting. Loki had tried to help me keep up my magical training, but it was hard for me to feel motivated when I spent every single day getting my ass whooped by the Dora Milaje. The only reason I didn't return to our cabin (At first, I had slept in the Dora Milaje's quarters with the other single women, but after one of them caught Loki and I in the forest doing something that I would have preferred she not have seen, the two of us were given our own residence) every evening all black and blue was because my bruises healed within moments of my acquiring them. By the time those women got through with me every day I was in no mood for anymore lessons. All I wanted to do was collapse and snuggle up to Loki, a desire that he happily obliged.

I was here because my empathy and other enhanced senses were needed. Stephen and Jericho could both sense things as well, but neither of them had my hearing, my sense of smell, nor my empathic senses that could pick up silent cries for help from any other women who were being taken. Right now, I was sitting on the balcony looking out over the French Quarter, although my senses had a wide enough range that I'd be able to pick up someone's distress from miles away. It was early morning, most people were asleep, and I was bored. I had given up on reading an hour ago. I couldn't even chat with Loki, because he was too busy dealing with wedding stuff to project himself here to talk to me. I felt bad about leaving him alone to deal with that mess, but Stephen had said he and Jericho had tried on their own already and really needed me.

I also felt bad because part of me was glad for the break. I hadn't realized how stressful weddings could be until I became the bride. Maybe it was because it was a royal wedding, but Loki and I were both ready to commit murder.

I picked up something, but it wasn't distress. Someone inside was awake. A few minutes later, Stephen walked out with a cup of coffee in one hand, and a cup of hot chocolate in the other. He handed the latter to me. "Anything?"

I shook my head and took a sip. "What kind of cult actually calls itself a cult? That's a tad on the nose, isn't it?"

"At least they're honest," Stephen replied. He picked up the book, to use the term very loosely, I was ignoring. "A History of the Asgard-Vanaheim War. Doing a bit of light reading?"

"Procrastinating doing any light reading is more like it. When I got engaged, I had no idea I was signing up for classes."

Stephen set the tome back down. I knew he must have used magic to aid him in picking up that twenty pounds of book. "No surprises there. You're going to be a Princess, so you need to know the history of the people you'll be governing."

"I won't be doing any governing. That's Valkyrie's job. Thor and Loki advise her and still carry the titles in a ceremonial capacity, but Valkyrie is the official ruler."

"You'll still be a Princess. Loki still has some responsibilities, and so will you."

"Ugh." I really needed the reminder right now. As soon as I got back from Wakanda, I had been snatched up by New Asgard's Council who decided that I needed to be educated in Asgard's history, culture, and that I needed etiquette lessons and general knowledge in How To Be A Princess. I knew plenty about Asgard's culture, I was about to join their damn royal family. I knew all about their history, and very little of it was good. Loki still carried some deep emotional scars from much of it. I didn't want to learn which fork was the salad fork and what plate held the bread, and how exactly I should wave, and how deeply I should curtsey when greeting diplomats of what rank. I didn't want to play politics, I just wanted to be Loki's wife! "I wish they would just let me get through the wedding before I have to deal with this mess. Assuming I survive it at this rate."

"That bad?" I pretended not to hear the slight chuckle in Stephen's voice.

I growled. "The other day, the court seamstress showed me the dress she designed for me. This huge frothy thing covered in ruffles and metal bits that made me look like a sparkly cake. I tried it on and couldn't move in it. What really makes me mad is that I felt bad about rejecting it because it's the fifth dress I've turned down. But no one will let me get a dress from any Midgardian places because they feel that's beneath a future Princess of Asgard! So, I'm stuck with these people who designed Frigga's dress. Have you seen the pictures of her in that gown? I have. She's not smiling in any of them." I sipped chocolate in an effort to calm down. "I keep trying to tell them what I would like, but it's like they can't even hear me. My suggestions all get ignored. Basically, this wedding is being controlled by the people who were courtesans on Asgard, and all Loki and I get to do is show up."

"It's enough to give you a headache. I'm getting one just hearing about it."

"You don't get to have a headache. Only Loki and I are allowed to have headaches." I sat back and sighed. "Honestly? I'm considering making an attempt to talk Loki into eloping."

"He's a Prince," Stephen pointed out. "Princes don't elope."

"They do if I have anything to say about it," I grumbled. "I'm hoping for the both of us to catch a break with Loki's birt-"

I was out of my chair, over the railing, and on the ground running before I was consciously aware of picking up the slash of fear and panic, the source of which I was racing towards now. I had no idea if Stephen was following me or if he woke Jericho up. I was too busy following the pulse of terror that was sending my protective instincts into overdrive.

Loki was trying very, very hard to be patient. "My betrothed," he managed to say without snarling, "is an empath who loves animals. And you want to have a boar hunt the day before the wedding."

The idiot who had made the suggestion blinked in confusion. "It's tradition, your grace. I fail to see how your intended being an empath has to do with it."

"She can feel the emotions, such as pain or fear, of others as if they are her own, and that power includes animals as well as humans and Asgardians," Loki tried again. "Which means, dear sir, that while that boar is being hunted, she will be experiencing every second of the animal's pain and terror as if the spear is being driven into her own flesh. Knowing that, do you feel it is a good idea to have such a hunt the day before she and I are to stand in front of her future subjects to exchange our vows?"

The fool had the nerve to keep arguing. "But it is tradition. Can she not block her ability so she picks up nothing from the creature?"

Loki could feel a migraine building up. "No. She cannot. Even if she could, knowing that an animal is being hunted for sport is unlikely to help her stress levels at all." The only reason his Pet ate meat at all was because he hated dining alone, and then she refused to consume anything that hadn't been organically raised and then humanely slaughtered.

"It is tradition," the imbecile insisted.

Loki smiled at the fool. There was nothing nice about the smile, all teeth and no warmth. The ingrate proved that he wasn't completely beyond hope when he shifted his feet nervously. "My bride is a former mortal turned angelic being. We are already breaking tradition just by marrying." Traditionally, Loki would be married to an Asgardian maiden of noble lineage, or even a Vanir of the same. "Because she is well aware that if it were up to many of you, this marriage would not be taking place at all, she is already under a great deal of stress. I have no desire to see her under any more, and will not hesitate to rip out the throats of anyone fool enough to compound her distress by doing something that will wreck her when her empathic senses pick up on an animal's fear and agony. Now, having been told that, what do you suppose we should do with the tradition of the Royal Wedding Boar Hunt?"

"Um...we should disregard it and let this be the first wedding in Asgardian history not to include one?"

"Good man. Now, will there be anything else that requires my immediate attention?"

A few minutes later, Loki sat down hard on his sofa in the living room of his cabin. He leaned his face into his hands and groaned, then flung one of those hands at the fireplace. A roaring blaze almost leapt out of it but despite his anger Loki had things well under control. "Norns have mercy," he moaned, trying not to tear his hair out. He enjoyed the way it felt when his Pet played with it far too much to get rid of it.

It was a damn good thing she was the one, because he was never, ever going to go through this wedding business again. Loki normally thrived on chaos, but this whole affair was a nightmare. All of New Asgard was abuzz making preparations for the day, invitations were being sent out, a feast was being planned and prepared, there were flowers and other decorations to choose, groomsmen and bridesmaids to pick, attire to try on. Then there was all the stuff Tracy had to go through. Loki had not appreciated the thinly veiled sneers from the members of the Council and what was left of Asgard's nobility at all when they made references to her having to learn etiquette so she wouldn't embarrass them when it came time for her to fulfill her Princess duties. Nevermind that she didn't care about being a Princess and he didn't give one goat's arse whether or not she was a perfect Princess. That thought never even crossed his mind when he decided to propose, and he knew it damn sure never crossed hers.

The fools were lucky he hadn't struck them all dead. He knew that they'd been hoping he would get over his "little phase", stop fooling around with the Midgardian girl, and get ready to settle down with some well-bred beauty from one of the noble families, or perhaps agree to a betrothal with a maiden from Vanaheim. Loki knew they didn't approve of his choice. He didn't give a damn. The fools had never cared for him, and were only putting on the pretense of caring now. They didn't like him any better than they had before Asgard was destroyed.

The only reason he hadn't snatched his Pet up and fled with her to one of those Midgardian chapels to get married quickly was because he knew his brother would spend the rest of their years pouting. Thor was so excited about the wedding that one could be forgiven if they mistakenly thought he was the one getting married. His infuriating brother really needed to pick Dr. Foster, Sif, or someone else and focus on his own life. Obviously, even with being the figurehead ruler of New Asgard, an Avenger, and a member of the Guardians of the Galaxy, he wasn't busy enough.

"Enough," Loki told himself. No more stressing about the wedding, no more thinking about snooty nobles and his brother. He was missing his betrothed, so he reached for her mind with a polite mental "knock". He wanted to make sure she was alone before projecting to her, well aware that she was currently in the company of that party magician and one of his party magician friends. Loki was in no mood to put up with Strange.

He made contact, but quickly felt the impression that his Pet was in trouble through the link. Pet?

Can't...talk...

Tracy almost sounded out of breath, and he could feel a sense of urgency, alertness, and a fierce protective rage. What is it?

...ombies...fuc...zomb...

That was all he needed to hear. To Hel with projecting. With a flash of green light, Loki was in New Orleans, and it seemed like he was in the middle of one of those Midgardian zombie films that Romanoff was so fond of. These zombies, unlike the ones in the films he'd watched on Bad Movie Night, were very, very real.

His eyes went to his Pet first, a sense of relief briefly stealing his breath when he saw that she was okay, just really, really disgusted and angry. As he watched, she flung out a hand and sent several zombies flying. Behind her, an unconscious woman in a pink dress was sprawled on the asphalt. Her unconscious form was protected by a shield. He knew it was Tracy's because it shimmered with brilliant white light. Nearby was sprawled another unconscious figure shrouded in a black robe. Tracy had not shielded him.

Now that he knew she was alright, Loki felt free to cut loose. After the day he had, slaying a bunch of undead abominations was just what the healers ordered.

I was aware that Loki had just popped in, and out of the corner of my eye I saw a bright flash, then smelled fire burning. I chanced a glance to see that Loki was wielding a pair of flame-wreathed daggers as he mowed through the zombies. Show off.

It would be nice if I could call up fire as well, but Loki and Stephen had both said that I was nowhere near ready for fire magic. I needed to work on my control first. In the meantime, I was stuck with using a pipe I had found in an alley to beat the zombies back while shielding myself against being bitten. I didn't know if I would be immune to a zombie bite, or even if Voodoo zombies were like normal(ish?) run-of-the-mill zombies and could infect with a bite, but I wasn't taking chances.

I swung the pipe, smashing in skulls, dislocating rotten jaws, crushing arms and ribcages, and the damn things kept coming. All of this because I had jumped the roped figures trying to take the young woman, and they had decided to retaliate. The things were relentless, and the smell! Holy fuck, the smell!

My shield was preventing anything disgusting falling on me, thankfully, but I kept my mouth closed so I wouldn't accidentally swallow any of the rotten decomposing body parts that were flying. I still retained that breathing habit though, so there was no shielding myself from the overpowering stench. Which got worse when a loud whoosh sent my head vibrating, followed by a ring of fire that was traveling like a shockwave and consuming every zombie in its path.

I ran to the woman to make sure she was still shielded, and felt Loki run over to make sure I was still shielded.

The fire cleared in seconds, and I looked up expecting Stephen, but it was Jericho standing where the center of the fire ring had been. He was wielding a wooden staff that raised my hackles as I studied it, and a huge golden medallion glowed on his chest.

And okay. So, Stephen's friend was a power. I gave Stephen an accusatory glare when he landed. "'Some' magical talent?"

"It wasn't a lie," Stephen remarked and bent down to examine the woman. "I see nothing broken, but she may have a concussion."

"I can feel her. I'll let you know if something's wrong," I assured Stephen, now breathing through my mouth and fighting my gag reflex because the area around us reeked. Not even Loki enfolding me in his arms and pulling me close, surrounding me with his scent, was enough to ward off the stink of burnt decomposed flesh. "If I hadn't already lost any ability to have an appetite, this would have definitely done the job," I muttered. If I sounded grumpy, that was because I was. Zombies. Ick.

Loki's responding chuckle was interrupted by Jericho's voice, thickly accented in a way that shouted his Haitian origins. "You shattered this man's collarbone."

I looked over at the cranky Houngan. "Sorry? Actually, I'm not...I felt his intentions when he was dragging that woman down the sidewalk. I also felt the glee he experienced while hurting her. I took it too easy on him."

"I am not complaining. I am just letting you know." Jericho knelt down by the guy.

I turned my face back into Loki's chest, nuzzling him. "Thanks for coming. How are you? I can tell you've had a rough day."

"The council discussed incorporating some Irish wedding traditions into the wedding ceremony," he said by way of response.

I had a sinking feeling I wasn't going to like this. "You informed them that I'm not actually Irish? Some of my ancestors are, but I'm fourth generation American."

"These people are very big on bloodlines. Anyway, there is an Irish wedding tradition that involves the bride being presented a horseshoe. The council wanted to embellish on that, because if giving the bridge a horseshoe is sending her good luck, then why not send everyone present good luck?"

I squeezed my eyes tight and took a deep breath. "So, what...are they going to present everyone there with a horseshoe?" That didn't sound so bad, so I knew there had to be more.

"No, my Pet. That would take too long, having people go up and down the aisles giving out horseshoes. They want to rain horseshoes down on everyone."

Kill me now. "Please tell me they're talking horseshoe-shaped confetti or maybe horseshoe shaped plushies?" I leaned my head back to look into his eyes hopefully.

He raised one perfectly coiffed brow. "You know better than that."

I groaned. "You know, I think New Orleans is home to a few wedding chapels...and we have Stephen and Jericho, they can be our witnesses..."

"Nope. Leave me out of it," Stephen said immediately.

"Agreed. Deal with your horseshoe rain problem instead of fleeing," Jericho added.

"I am sorry, who are you again?" Loki narrowed his eyes at the Voodoo mage. I knew he objected to the phrasing as much as I did. I was not suggesting fleeing by bringing up elopement. I was suggesting retaining what little sanity Loki and I had left. The wedding was turning into a circus. All we needed was a dancing bear.

"I am the supreme Houngan of Haiti, and I have just finished questioning this cultist," Jericho replied. "I know where the Cult of the Dark Lord..."

"Seriously? They actually call themselves a cult?" Loki interjected.

Jericho cleared his throat. "As I was saying, I know where the Cult's base is. Stephen and I are ready to head there now. But if you are too busy..."

"I've only known him for about twelve hours and I already hate him," I whispered, and felt Loki's amusement. "No, you are not leaving me behind," I said out loud. "I can do with some stress relief. Beating up some cosplayers who've been kidnapping and hurting women is just the ticket."

I hoped it wouldn't take too long, but Loki and I did need some cathartic beating. I really wanted it, because Loki's birthday was in two days and I didn't want my anger and despair tainting the day.