A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who read and reviewed the first three chapters. This is my first attempt at fanfiction and I'm so glad it was well-received! I'm already super excited that you're reading this chapter but, if you have a second, I'd love to hear what you think in a comment or PM. Happy reading, friends!
Chapter Four
That night, the city of New York was plagued by a rattling wind. It pressed up against windows, fingers drumming on the glass, and formed dirty mountains out of litter and snow. It ripped paper advertisements from wooden polls and urged hurrying humans into their various shelters. By midnight, the restless streets were all but empty. Only one man remained, unaffected by the vicious wind, staring at a door, waiting for it to open.
The door had been painted white and it was oddly luminous against the darkened landscape. It opened for the first time before dawn, then again when the sun rose; as groups of metal carriages began clogging the streets, a steady stream of people poured through it. The girl, the one Loki waited for, was not among them.
It took her until noon to emerge and, when she did, she did it hesitantly. Her movements were stiff, uncertain, and she looked over the crowd with round, red-rimmed eyes. They were turbulent with emotion - anxiety, shame, determination. She did not want to see him, but couldn't stop herself from searching. Her face was the same color as the door.
Loki watched from across the street, his spine bent against a steel pillar. He was shrouded from sight, as ever, but he'd taken extra precautions to avoid her vision. New clothing, the result of three hours' observation, was part of this disguise. His coat was considerably shorter, striped, and an inconspicuous shade of gray; he'd conjured an emerald scarf to curl, serpentine, around his neck, creeping up his jaw in a fashion that seemed popular. By far, the most foreign part of this ensemble was the glasses. Humans seemed to think them necessary; hundreds of passing faces were hidden behind the odd accessory. Some had frames of thick plastic, others of thin metal, and they came in colors from abysmal black to violent magenta. Many contained panes of clear glass, like windows, while others were tinted dark. He learned the name of this variety - sunglasses - from a passing merchant. It was from this man's cart that he took a pair of his own. He hoped they would conceal his identity from Dagny...provided she could still see him.
Strangely, he hoped that she could.
Liquid excitement had been coursing through his veins for hours. His curiosity was palpable, almost desperate, and her aptitude for resistance only made it stronger. She'd been able to see him and she'd refused his influence twice. It was exactly the puzzle he needed, exactly the distraction.
Possibilities twisted through his mind, leading him down long, winding roads to a series of dead ends. She was not a sorceress: even if her denial had been a lie, he would have sensed magic's mark upon her. His powers had not diminished, either. What options did that leave?
The answer pounded in his chest, harder, even, than his heart had in Times Square. He did not know. He would have to find out.
Unaware of his eyes on her, the girl steeled herself to enter the crowd. Their relentless symphony - vehicles roaring to life, children shouting, doors slamming shut - seemed to unnerve her and, with each new sound, she started. There was no relief in her expression as she folded herself into their midst; still, she took one nervous step after the other. Loki mirrored her motions from across the street, his gaze fixed on her face.
It was expressive, for a human's; emotions wrote themselves across her features like words on a page. Her skin flushed easily beneath its anxious pallor and her lips, too large to suit her, twisted frequently around her thoughts. She had the look of someone stretched, with a tall, flat frame, coltish limbs, and high cheekbones poking out of an oval face. Her hair, which had been tied up last night, now fell past her shoulders in a reddish brown curtain. She walked with her shoulders hunched, eyes darting from the snowy ground to the people around her. Only a few of them looked back.
Her thoughts were written so plainly, so easy for Loki to decipher. But when, he wondered, would she reveal her secret? As the question pricked at him, he rounded a corner and vanished from sight. He reappeared in the crowd behind her, his eyes trained on her striped jacket.
She led him down street after street and he wondered if they would return to her theater. Soon, though, the familiar buildings became unrecognizable; he realized, then that she had another destination in mind. She paused outside four buildings, but entered none of them: the first three times, she hesitated as people brushed past her, while her fourth stop was to examine a book display. It took another twenty minutes for her pace to change at all and then, suddenly, it quickened as she cut through the crowd. She'd reached her destination: a massive building, spanning the street with its stony, gray bulk.
It did not tower, like many of its neighbors, but what it lacked in height, it made up for in stature. A sweeping staircase led to wide, wooden doors and a series of elegant columns; beautiful statues - muses, he thought - had been erected on the roof they supported. Below them, letters were chiseled into the stone, spelling out five promising words. Loki did not have to read them to know what the building was.
A library.
For just a moment, he forgot his pursuit of the human girl. He let his footsteps lead him up the cold, stone staircase, forgetting his fall from Asgard, forgetting his crash onto Earth. Dagny was mere feet from him now, but his eyes skimmed past her to the twin, wooden doors. He felt the cacophonous city fade away as a familiar song filled his ears with whispered thoughts, rustling pages, and the melody of knowledge waiting to be had. Surrounded by the written word, he had always felt safe.
There was a sudden roar and he dropped his gaze. All thoughts of safety evaporated.
A monstrous beast sat before him, paws resting on a huge, stone plinth. It was massive, could crush him easily with a snap of its jaws, and its eyes looked hungry as they fell upon his face. Ignoring the clusters of humans, the creature remained frozen; it was waiting, he knew, for the opportunity to strike.
Frantic thoughts ran through his head. He wondered how the monster could see him, asked himself what was in the library that the humans protected so fiercely. Images of battles flashed across his vision, providing him with strategies, ideas, and then, in among the memories, came a name. The beast: it was called a lion. If only he could remember how to defeat it.
Almost a minute had passed and still, neither man nor monster had moved. Another roar shook the street and Loki trembled before realizing that his lion had not made the sound. Fearing another adversary, he whirled - and saw a human vehicle, built much like a bus, creating the sound as it sped down the street.
He turned back to the lion and realized, flushing, that it was a statue.
On the landing, about ten steps ahead of him, Dagny stood beside the doors. She was waiting, watching closely for an opening, as a river of people flowed in and out. Luckily for Loki, no one paused to allow her entrance; she had barely slipped into the building when he caught the door and followed her in.
His eyes widened at the room laid out before him. Its bronze tiles stretched almost to oblivion, overshadowed by crystal chandeliers and frescoes encased in gold. It was a hovel compared to Odin's library but, for a human creation, it was nothing short of miraculous. The walls were lined with hundreds, thousands, no, millions of texts and their voices rose, once more, in a melody he longed to devour. Still, he only noted this in the back of his mind. His attention had returned to Dagny. He did not intend to lose sight of her again.
The girl's face had lost some of its pallor and she looked almost comfortable in the vast, majestic space. She wound her way past its golden tables, avoiding the other patrons with a new purpose in her step. There was still a trace of trepidation in her eyes, but it lessened as she neared the northern end. A long line of humans waited for her.
Afraid to go any closer, Loki paused beside an empty table. He lowered himself into a chair, peering through his sunglasses as the line shuffled forward and Dagny tugged at her collar. It was a long time before she reached the colossal desk at the front; there was a woman behind it and he listened carefully to their exchange.
"Hello." Dagny's voice was soft, questioning. "I have three books to return?"
The woman nodded and Dagny reached into the bag across her shoulder. She extracted three hulking volumes, one after the other, and placed them on the desk.
"Thank you very much," clipped the woman.
"It's no problem," Dagny replied.
Loki waited until she'd passed him to rise again. He kept his steps natural, unhurried, as she rounded a corner to examine a shelf; he continued past her, counted to three, then reached for a book of his own. Feigning interest its title, he let his gaze drift back to her shelf. Her hand rested against its middle row, just below a small, typed label reading "Mythology."
He took a step closer.
Dagny was frowning, reaching for a purplish book with "Germanic Legends" printed on its binding. She had barely touched it before her hand veered to the right, closing on a different volume. This one was green and she'd obscured most of its name with her grip. The only word visible was "Loki."
He took another step.
Before he could reach her, however, she released the book and turned away. He watched a grimace overtake her features as she brushed past him, thrusting empty hands into her pockets.
She's curious, he realized as he followed. He wondered if that fact would help him or hurt him. But she's also afraid.
The city seemed louder when it rose, once again, to engulf them. Loki wasn't sure if its activity had increased during his absence or if he'd just grown used to the peace in the library. Whatever the reason, Dagny seemed to feel the same, tensing noticeably as she reentered the throng.
Her pace was quicker now; though she remained unobtrusive to passersby, she darted and dodged through openings with a startling swiftness. The buildings, ones he'd ignored on their first trip, reared over Loki in an ever-changing blur as he hastened to keep up. Her steps did not slow until she reached something called a "grocery."
The term was not one Loki recognized but, judging from the posters in its window, the shop sold the city its sustenance. Advertisements plastered the glass storefront, depicting various foodstuffs, smiling humans, and an assortment of numbers which seemed to have monetary meaning. Covered in writing as well, the shop's doors let out a pair of women, both of whom swung plastic bags from their wrists; the tantalizing scent of bread followed them into the street. It occurred to Loki that he hadn't eaten in a very long time.
A breath escaped his lips and floated out into the frosty air. It began to take shape as Dagny entered the store; when it followed her in, moments later, it had a striped suit and piercing blue eyes. Its creator, still outside, allowed a minute to pass before stepping through the doors, himself. He chose a different path than the girl, seeking the doughy fragrance.
His search brought him past a group of bleating machines. They were covered in colorful objects and manned by humans in vests, who collected the items into bags as they rolled down black paths. The bags were presented to others in exchange for coins, paper, and small plastic squares.
Odd, Loki thought.
The area beyond the machines was even stranger.
A city of aisles stretched out in either direction, its sweeping shelves reminding him of the library. As his distance from them lessened, he began to realize that they were stocked with food. Boxed, jarred, pressed into metal cans: each vibrant, unfamiliar item was meant to be eaten. He'd attended many a feast on Asgard, been dragged through the kitchens by Thor and Volstagg, but he'd never seen anything like this.
The shelf nearest him held a stack of cardboard boxes, each colored scarlet and adorned with scattered shapes. There was a pyramid of red and white cans beside them. He passed glass containers, filled to bursting with purple liquid, and rows of golden pastries, crammed into plastic packages. Names like "Kraft" and "Quaker" leapt out at him, but he found no meaning in any of them. After six aisles, he still hadn't deemed anything edible.
The seventh aisle was larger, lined with slanted shelves and squat, wooden baskets. Colored spheres spilled out of one; dodging a woman's metal cart, Loki saw more green fruits inside of it. The whole aisle, in fact, was filled with human produce. Fruits were arranged to his left, while an entire row of vegetables grew, green and red and orange, on his right. These foods were not contained in flimsy packaging but still, Loki did not trust them. He had begun to turn away when a burst of crimson caught his eye.
Mere inches from his left elbow was a bushel of gleaming apples. They glinted deliciously in the light and the familiar image sent a terrific ripple through his abdomen. He had little time to think before his fingers snatched one up and then his mouth was filled with the tart, red skin. He swallowed greedily, devouring fruit after fruit, until the sweet taste grew overwhelming. Then he leapt across the aisle for a handful of orange roots.
The vegetables' pleasant crunch assured him that they were indeed carrots, a plant he remembered from childhood. Odin had taken it to Earth a thousand years ago as a gift for the humans who worshipped him. Now, over a millennium later, Loki gorged himself on its brightly colored meat.
If you only knew, Father, he thought while he ate.
It took another two handfuls of carrots and three more apples but finally, Loki's hunger abated. He felt as if a haze had cleared from his thoughts and, for the first time in minutes, they fell to something other than eating. They drifted outside of his mind and into the specter's, watching Dagny choose food of her own.
She carried a plastic basket in the crook of her arm and he could tell from the way she walked that it was heavy. Jars, bags, and boxes had been tossed haphazardly into it; he'd seen some of them while exploring, but most of them were as foreign as the rest of the store. The largest bag was a bulky blue thing and, with every step she took, its contents rustled together. He wondered what sort of food it held.
The girl's movements were just as quick, just as cautious, as they'd been on the street. She wound her way through the humans, plucking things from shelves and adding them to her collection. As he watched, she reached for a metal tin on an upper shelf; it was too tall, even for her height, and she struggled for a full minute before her fingers brushed against it. She never asked for help, nor was she offered it.
After a time, Loki began to drift towards her, sliding another apple into his pocket as he left the produce behind. The specter was still watching but, on his command, it strode suddenly from Dagny's aisle and faded into nothing. The girl did not notice its disappearance nor did she look up, moments later, when Loki appeared in its place.
His foot was poised, ready to step into her path, when she turned away from him. He froze, not moving until she'd abandoned the aisle and, even then, he did not follow. Instead, he made his way towards the grocery's glass doors, then glanced back at the row of machines. Dagny stood before one, just as he'd expected, shifting her basket from arm to arm. She's waiting to pay for her food, he thought. That's what the machines do. As he watched, one of the vested men turned to face her.
"Hello!" He said, enthusiastically. "Did you find everything you were looking for today?"
His voice carried easily over the store's relentless chatter but, discerning the girl's voice took effort. Loki watched her eyes dart away from a shelf of glossy books, resting on her food for a moment, before looking up at the man. "Um, yes," she told him.
He responded with a grin, placing her food onto a black path. "Are you going to be able to carry all this?" He asked, while he worked. "We offer a parcel delivery service, if you're interested."
Her reply was quick: "I'll be fine. I live just around the corner."
She struggled with her bags as they left and, after three steps, her shoulders sagged under their weight: the first part of her answer, it seemed, was an exaggeration. Following her around the corner, however, Loki saw that the second part was true. Her apartment was only five buildings away; another thirty steps and she'd be out of sight.
It occurred to him that he would have to follow her in.
The thought bloomed into a dozen twisted plans, all trying to solve the same problem. Outside, he was a meaningless face of the crowd, invisible even if she saw him. But if he followed her through that door...
"Goddammit!"
Loki looked up to see that one of the humans had stepped in a pile of snow, soaking her foot with a dingy, brown liquid. She limped forward, muttering profanities, as the crowd surged around her. Each step left a muddy footprint in her wake.
Interesting, Loki thought.
Dagny was steps from her staircase when he threw the apple.
It tumbled through the air, small and bright and scarlet, and landed just outside her door. There was a pulse of light and the tiny fruit morphed into an orb of liquid emerald. Seconds later, Dagny crushed it beneath her boot.
Loki smiled.
He counted to one thousand before following her inside. His steps led him through the door, as easily as if it had been open, and he found himself in a darkened foyer. Hallways stretched out to his left and right, lined by bluish doors, while a marble staircase reared up in front of him. It was covered in brilliant green tracks.
His smile widened.
The second floor landing was the same as the first, but for the doors. They were equal in number and size but, rather than blue, they'd been painted a dull shade of burgundy. On the third floor, they were pink and, on the fourth, they were purple. It was the same all the way to the ninth floor and likely continued after that. Loki lost interest in other doors, though, when the footprints led him down a hallway of green ones.
There was a puddle, larger than the others, outside the second door on the right and two emerald smudges pointing to the third. He imagined the scene as his footsteps slowed: after nine flights, Dagny would have finally looked down to see the paint oozing from her boots. She would have stepped to the right for a better look, widening the track, then bent down to remove the offending footwear. She would have probably stained a grocery bag or maybe even a finger; sure enough, as he approached the third door, he saw a tiny green smudge on its handle.
Perfect.
He crept closer, straining his ears for some sound of her. After a moment, he found that the strain was not necessary: her agitated voice drifted clearly out to him.
"- paint everywhere," she was saying. Her tone was frustrated, as it had been last night, and he could imagine her expression as she added, "I knew I shouldn't have gone out. I hope you're happy, Cess."
Cess? The name pricked Loki's interest. Those weren't just thoughts she'd spoken aloud - she was talking to someone. Could it be a friend? A roommate? A lover? He leaned forward for the response, hoping to figure out which from their words, their footsteps, their breathing. Unfortunately for him, he heard nothing. The only noise came from Dagny, shuffling her feet over a smooth surface, sighing loudly, and closing something metallic. There was a low rattling sound that he recognized from the grocery - the heavy bag, the big blue one. She was carrying it, jostling its contents again. This sound was followed by a chorus of plinking, then a high-pitched mewl.
Loki frowned. His curiosity hung over him, a thick cloud that only grew larger as more time passed. He'd spent hours trailing her and still knew nothing; she was in this apartment with all of her secrets and, whether 'Cess' was a part of them or not, he needed answers. He needed them desperately.
Patience, he reminded himself. Take care not to think like your brother.
Still, in another corner of his mind, he was already planning his entrance. Would it be better to walk calmly through the door and show temperance or to display his power by tearing it apart? Would she comply more easily to gentle questions or violent demands? Would she answer him at all or would she require more magic to see what he needed?
She's curious. He remembered his realization from the library.
Another memory flared and his thoughts were eclipsed by an image of her face. He'd watched it carefully the night before, as she looked on his power, as she spoke to the human boys. It had changed, somehow, upon their reply. Her eyes had widened, of course, full of the usual shock and terror. More than this though, she had broken. He'd watched her will crumble like burnt wood to ash.
His other thought returned, as well: But she's also afraid. Perhaps a direct approach would not work in his favor.
I could make her listen, he reasoned with himself. I could keep her from running. I could keep her from breaking. But the idea was met only by doubt.
He knew too little of her power. She'd refused his influence twice - could she refuse other magic, as well? If he conjured chains, would they hold her? If he willed answers from her lips, would she bite them back? His plans left too much to chance and too much to go wrong; if he wanted her answers, he would have to wait.
Patience, his thoughts whispered again. Their voice sounded strangely like his father's.
He sighed.
The staircase seemed longer, somehow, as he approached the building's exit and the hours outside felt colder than they had with the girl in sight. His striped jacket was warm, warmer than a fur-lined cloak, but it was not his body that balked in the wind. What if she did not return? What if she remained in her room all night, all tomorrow, all week? What if she never revealed her truth? What if the memories came back? Ghostly fingers, a mere shade of last night's anguish, brushed his chest for a moment and he swallowed.
They are only memories, he told himself.
The sun began to sink before long and, with each of its movements, a new song passed over the city. A symphony of laughter came first from a tide of human children; it was followed by an irritatingly rhythmic beeping which came, slightly different each time, from a line of stopped carriages. The vehicles broke apart eventually and, as they surged forward once more, they began blaring music of their own. Strange melodies pulsed through the ground beneath him as the sky went from navy to black. Still, Loki waited.
It was the only thing he could do.
He breathed a sigh of relief when, an hour later, the door cracked open and Dagny stepped through it. Her hair was neatly plaited and the rough, blue trousers she'd worn earlier were replaced with a dark, draping fabric; he recognized it from last night and guessed that, beneath her coat, she wore an equally familiar black shirt. She was returning to the theater.
His pulse quickened. He'd followed her to the library - to the apartment, to the grocery - but the Lapis was where she'd seen him. She'd defied his magic in its auditorium and refused his influence in its lobby: could the theater hold the truths he sought? The speed of his thoughts was matched only by Dagny's quick footsteps, which were leading him down a road he recognized. His feet avoided a familiar crack in the pavement, then passed the corner where she'd turned to confront him. There, just down the street, was the shop window the boys had haunted. And then, rising up in front of him...
An extraordinary building, painted the oddest shade of blue. It beckoned with its shining, glass doors, each one covered by a picture of the world he'd left behind.
Loki took a breath and, after a moment's pause, he followed Dagny inside.
A/N: Why do you think Dagny can see Loki?
