Loki kept a close eye on his Pet. She'd been looking a touch green ever since the two of them broke into this part of the Cult's base, and little wonder. The iron-rich stink of old blood was enough to make him want to vomit. He had no doubt it was much, much worse for her. It was instinct to reach out and sooth her, cast something to make the stench more bearable so she wouldn't suffer so much.
Tracy would not thank him for that. She was willing to indulge his desire to coddle and spoil her to a point. Loki had to keep in mind what those points were. He didn't make an effort to ease her discomfort now for the same reason he didn't immediately jump to her side during the zombie fight: It would wreck her confidence, make her feel as though he didn't trust her to take care of herself. He wouldn't do that to her, wouldn't clip the wings she was slowly unfurling. So, he held back even though the harsh breath she sucked in when they came upon an ornate door leading into some chamber beyond had him gritting his teeth.
The two of them knelt on opposite sides of the doors, him keeping watch while she used her senses to determine if there was anyone on the other side of the doors. When she shook his head at him and slowly cracked one of the doors open to slip inside, he followed.
He almost threw up then and there. His Pet's face was completely drained of color, and she breathed heavily through her mouth, no doubt to fight back her gorge. He followed her eyes, which were staring at the large, round tub at the center of what Loki realized was a bathing chamber. Tracy was trying to make herself go investigate the bath, but it seemed that her legs were frozen. She just couldn't bring herself to get closer.
Loki discovered why when he walked over to have a look. "The entire bath is stained red. I am sure I do not have to ask from what, but..."
"It's blood," Tracy almost gagged. "What in the fucked up Bathory shit..."
"Bathory?"
"Countess Bathory, serial killer who lived a few hundred years ago. Her kill count is estimated to be over six hundred at the time she was sentenced to imprisonment in her castle. Legends say she was trying to retain her youth by bathing in the blood of the young women she tortured and murdered." She tried stepping towards the tub again, but backed up two steps with a wince.
"Stop trying to force yourself closer," Loki snapped.
"Why? You think I'm going to faint?" Tracy snapped back.
"No, Pet, it's because if you throw up, then I will, and I have no desire to taste my dinner a second time. It wasn't very pleasant the first time."
She stared at him, and he could see her fighting a smile. Got her. "You're an Asgardian Prince, I'm sure you ate dinner at the Hall?"
"Yes, but it was still cooked Asgardian style: Charred on the outside, still wearing a bell around its neck on the inside."
Her eyes narrowed at him. "You're just trying to make me laugh to take my mind off the odor in here."
"It worked, did it not?"
"No." But she couldn't hide the grin despite quickly turning her head away and attempting to hide her face behind her curtain of chocolate brown hair. She also made no further effort to get closer to the bath. "On my Earth, historians were mostly convinced that the stuff about Countess Bathory bathing in the blood of virgins was a myth, but here..."
"Either way, it appears someone has drawn inspiration from the story," Loki finished, watching as his Pet studied the large statue of a rooster, carved from obsidian, standing by a round marble column. "And I would appreciate you not looking so intently at another cock."
"Stop it," Tracy ordered, but she was smirking. "I'm just curious at the choice of décor. There are several of these in this bathroom. I spotted a couple of others in the halls. What's with all the roosters?"
Before Loki could say something that would have either made his Pet collapse into giggles or rolled her eyes so far up that she would have been able to see out of the back of her skull, the mansion that the Cult's base was located in began quaking.
"Stephen!" Tracy exclaimed, and Loki knew that she could sense he was in danger. He grabbed her arm before she could take off.
"If whatever it is has managed to take him," Loki reasoned, "then you would be no match for it."
She growled, because she knew he was right. "Damn it, she's killing him!"
"Show me," Loki commanded, as he opened up his link to her. Using that, he allowed her senses to guide his teleport. They materialized right by where Stephen was on the ground, hands around his throat. Surrounding them was a thick gray mist.
"Get out!" Tracy roared, falling to her knees by Stephen. "Get out of him, you bitch!"
Loki watched as some familiar blue flames licked the ends of her hair, swirled around her hands. He said nothing, already gathering up his own energies. Judging by his Pet's words, the "mist" was alive, so he needed to be ready when...
"I said get away from him!" Tracy screamed and then Stephen was engulfed in the brilliant blue flames. A piercing, blood-curdling shriek of agony echoed in the large hall, and the mist began clearing to reveal several black-robed figures, a man in a black suit, and Jericho. Who had his staff, the head wreathed in eerie golden-green flames, pointed at the man in the black suit.
The mist streamed out of Stephen's mouth and nose, and the blue flames slowly vanished, leaving the Sorcerer unscathed. The thick mist coalesced, formed a humanoid shape, and fade away to reveal a middle-age woman with coffee-colored skin. She was still screaming, and when she opened her eyes, they landed on Tracy.
She was fast when she ran at his Pet screaming, fingers curled into claws.
Loki was faster. A flash of green, and the woman went flying through the wall. He quickly formed a "net" of magic and bound the woman before she could turn back into mist. "Pet?"
"Her scent was all over that bathroom," Tracy snarled. The blue flames hadn't died away. If anything, they were spreading.
"Bondye gen pitye," Jericho murmured. The man in the black suit turned pale, and several of the black robed figures, the ones who were still conscious, began to flee.
"Jericho," Stephen breathed. "If you want Mr. Drew alive for questioning, I strongly suggest you get him out of here." Stephen wasn't making a move to get out, probably because he was just bathed in those blue flames but was suffering no ill effects.
"We need Mama Limbo as well," Jericho replied. He jumped when a line of the blue fire traveled towards him, but then twined around his leg like a cat. He scooped up some of the flame, watched it dance in his hand briefly before it died away. His eyes widened when he saw that his palm was unmarked. "I don't believe it." But he took Stephen's advice, and teleported out after grabbing the one called Mr. Drew.
The blue fire spread further, and Loki saw a trail of flames race towards Mama Limbo at terrifying speed. What he had said earlier about his Pet not being a match for her? He took it back.
His final thought before the whole place was consumed by blue fire was that he owed his Pet an apology. Then his thoughts were drowned out by Mama Limbo's screams.
Several minutes passed. It was a miracle the structure was still standing. "It feels...cleaner," Stephen observed, studying their surroundings. He was right. The mansion still looked the same, but the air was lighter, didn't have the reek of blood and suffering. Loki noticed that, but wasn't paying too much attention. He was cradling his Pet in his arms as she fought to remain conscious.
"Sorry..." she whispered. "I...lost my..."
"Shhh, it's understandable, Pet," Loki soothed her, stroking her hair off her forehead.
"Is Stephen ok?" she asked.
"Better than ok, actually," Stephen answered for himself. "That back ache I've been dealing with for months is gone, and even my hands don't hurt as much as they normally do. However..." He glanced over at Mama Limbo. "...I think I'm the only one here who benefitted."
Mama Limbo was catatonic. She lay there, still in Loki's bonds, her eyes wide open but not seeing anything, her body rigid, mouth caught in a rictus. Drool leaked out of the corner of her mouth. "Not that I care," Loki began. "But..."
"She's alive, but Tracy did a number on her," Stephen answered. "She won't be doing anything for a while. What was that about a bathroom?"
Loki told Stephen about the bath filled with blood. Stephen grimaced in distaste. "Jericho's going to love that."
"He already does," the Voodoo Houngan stated as he walked out of the shadows. He was giving Stephen an accusatory glare. "You could have told me what she is."
Loki's arms tightened around his Pet as he bristled with protective anger. Stephen was staring back at Jericho. "Do we have a problem?"
Jericho stared for a few more seconds of tense silence before he shook his head. "No." He smiled. "But I may ask to borrow her every so often."
"No," Tracy whispered hoarsely. "I'm not doing that again..."
"You just need to learn how to control it," Stephen reassured her. "Until then, Jericho..."
"Ask for her help sparingly, I've got it," the Houngan nodded. He walked over to Loki, reached out with his hand, and gently touched his Pet's wrist. Loki's arms tightened further.
Jericho noticed. "Yes, do take care of her, friend. She has the attention of the Loa now. They'll be watching."
"She needs to rest," Loki managed to say it without snarling. The idea of a bunch of Voodoo spirits keeping tabs on his Pet was not one he liked.
"Take her home," Stephen said. "We'll take it from here. And Loki? I know it's generally bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her dress before the wedding, but you may want to be present for the next gown fitting, just in case she tries to strangle your seamstress."
"I am not going to strangle the seamstress," a disgruntled Tracy said several minutes later, after Loki took them to their New York home and settled her on the sofa. Heimdall, the black cat they had adopted, was curled up on her tummy, purring.
"No, you're just making her rip her own hair out," Loki responded, sitting on the other end of the sofa, taking her feet into his lap, and easing off her boots and socks. He began rubbing her feet and calves. "For the sake of her tresses alone, perhaps we should visit one of those chapels you spoke of."
His Pet paused in the act of stroking Heimdall to cock her head at him in interest.
Loki sighed. "We can't," he said, after a few minutes of quiet, during which he massaged more of her sore spots. "Thor would never let us hear the end of it if we married without him present."
"I know you don't want to hurt your brother," his Pet said, "But, really, he's the only one in New Asgard who's enthusiastic about this wedding. Even Korg isn't all that excited about it." She scoffed. "In fact, most of them would prefer this marriage not take place at all."
Of course she had picked up on it. "That is one thing you can say of my people," Loki used his knuckles to dig in at one area under the ball of her foot. "We have long memories, and we hold grudges."
"Really? I couldn't tell." Tracy flopped her head back onto the pillow Loki had placed behind her. It seemed even holding her head up took too much effort. He also knew she was talking about wedding stuff to cover up how shaken she was. He didn't call her out on it...not yet, anyway. But he knew that what had happened with the Cult and Mama Limbo had disturbed his Pet. Right now, she was too exhausted to fully realize it. Later, they would talk.
"Most of those people don't even care for you at all, seeing you as either a traitor or beneath them or both," she continued. "Of those, about half of them aren't thrilled about a former human becoming an Asgardian Princess, and are waiting like a bunch of vultures for you to 'grow up', dump me, and pick a noble's daughter to settle down and make royal babies with."
"You know that will never happen," Loki said gently, not liking the touch of bitter insecurity he detected in her tone. He dropped her foot, leaned forward, and with his hand tilted her face towards him by her chin. "It will never happen," he vowed again, making sure he locked gazes with those shimmering emeralds his Pet called her eyes.
"I know. I'm just saying...do we really want to say our vows to each other in front of a crowd of people like that, whether they're our subjects or not?"
Loki didn't know what to say, because he'd been thinking along the same lines. The people of Asgard had never cared for him. As a child, he'd been overlooked in favor of the Crowned Prince. As a young man, he'd been ridiculed for his study and mastery of Seidr, for not being manly enough, for being quiet and cerebral instead of a beer-swilling, boisterous warrior who bragged about his achievements loudly for all to hear whether they cared to or not. He was seen as cowardly due to his preference of using stealth, guile, and subterfuge to best his opponents rather than brute strength, bullied and ousted for his 'womanly' ways. And then when it got out that he was of Jotun heritage...
For a little bit, after he had helped save what was left of the people of Asgard, some had looked upon him more favorably, and still did. For too many of them, however, that deed was not enough, and they continued to look upon him with disdain and suspicion.
He could handle that. He could not, however, abide the disdain being directed towards his Pet.
But there was his brother...Thor would be heartbroken if he wasn't present for his wedding.
"We can talk more about that later," Loki decided. "We need to bathe, and you won't be able to clean yourself alone."
Tracy smiled. "You just want an excuse to grope me."
He leaned forward, and pushed Heimdall off her stomach. The cat looked back at him in utter disgust before padding to the cat tree by the window. "Do I need an excuse?" he purred.
She swallowed hard, her pulse jumping while she gazed back at him. "Guess not," she said in a husky rasp.
Loki helped her to the bathroom. He took his time stripping her, teasing her into a fever pitch, before carrying her into the shower where he held her up with telekinesis. The hot water poured down on them while he ran his soapy hands along her curves, stroking, pinching, and then leaning in to taste. His Pet knew that he was distracting her from thinking about the wedding, about the Cult of the Dark Lord, about what Jericho said, all of it, but just as he didn't call her out on it earlier when she was distracting him from bringing up how disturbed she'd been from the day's events, she didn't call him out on this.
Tomorrow was soon enough to fret about things.