Chapter Three – Valkyrie
I live my life inside a dream,
Only waking when I sleep
I would sell my sorry soul, if I could have it all.
Marina & The Diamonds – "The State of Dreaming"
There were only two times Darcy was ever black out drunk. One was her first—and ultimately last—kegger. She was eighteen and impressionable like most freshman. She trusted this little shit with impossibly wide, brown eyes. His name was Kyle. He was majoring in exercise physiology—for the moment. He said "Monster Juice" was just an energy drink and vodka. Just like liquid candy, baby, he said and shoved a solo cup under her nose. It sounded harmless. It smelt like fizzy Pop Rocks™ and lemonade. And soon she was immersed in a sea of frat boys, keg stands, and baritone bellows of shots-shots-shots!
The next morning, streaming rays of sunlight assaulted her face. Darcy groaned and flicked dried sleep from her sewn eyes. She emerged—with an unceremonious clutter—from a mountain of sticky, plastic cups. Her throat felt full of cotton and sand.
On her zombie-drudge back to campus, she encountered several sniggering and appalled faces. She even got the infamous head shake from an elderly gentleman. Darcy could only conclude she must have looked—and let's face it, smelt—like shit. A quick breath check confirmed she reeked like a thousand assholes. She dragged herself to the nearest bathroom and tumbled into the doorway. She gripped the porcelain sink, braced for her reflection, and moaned.
Raccoon eyes. Hair curled into a rat's nest. Caked, crusty drool stuck to her chin. Unsure if the dried puke on her shirt belonged to her. Oh, yeah. She would win Ms. Trailer Park Princess for sure.
And then, oh sweet Jesus no. Right there. On her forehead. In what she prayed was not black permanent marker—
PUSSY!
That fateful August morning, beanie hats became a daily part of her wardrobe. But she had learned a few things fairly quick about college parties:
1) All frat boys were assholes.
2) Take shoes off before drinking.
3) Don't drink with strangers.
Those rules worked for awhile. But taking her stilettos off didn't save her at Nina's bachelorette party. Her wine-blinders had her grinding against the stripper with steroid-induced bacne. Her friends still had incriminating evidence on Facebook. She thanked God everyday of her internship that Jane was oblivious to social media.
So here we were again—breaking those well-established rules and taking drinks from hot, sparkly strangers. The last thing she remembered was being on the precipice of lesbianism and being extremely frustrated. And then darkness.
But this felt different. Darcy didn't have a construction site in her mind. She didn't reek of sweat and beer nuts. She wasn't half-naked and playing tug-of-war with some guy because those were her covers damnit and sharing was not an option, jerkoff. And she wasn't puking and re-tasting the rainbow either.
She was actually okay.
Oh-ho, this proved it. She could totally handle Asgardian liquor like a freaking boss! She wouldn't need to raid Jane's pharmacy with her proverbial tail between her legs. Darcy was prepped to taunt a dozen or more "I told you so's" as soon as she was out of this garden—
Wait, wait, wait, her thoughts blared.
She was nestled in a bed of fragrant white flowers. Their petals splayed across her body like a comforter. Their strong scent of honeyed nectar tickled her nose. She made two awkward snorts and succumbed to a powerful sneeze. The force of air from her lungs shook a few flowers free from her body. Their golden dust waltzed above her and swirled onto the ground.
Darcy sat up and scanned the horizon. She dragged her arm across her nose and sniffed. She was surrounded for miles by swaying fields of flowers. No Asgardian castle in sight.
"Great," Darcy said and wobbled into a standing position. She brushed and patted golden pollen off her gown. She scanned the fields again and her face soured.
Jane must have thought dumping her drunk ass here would teach her a lesson. Thor must have agreed. And Sjöfn was only following the orders of her Prince. But was it really necessary to go out this far?
Darcy sighed. She could rationalize all she wanted. Yes, she should have slowed down and listened to Jane. Yes, she probably should have asked Sjöfn if that green liquor was acid. And no, she shouldn't have tried to seduce a hallucination. And yes, she should have squashed her libido like a bug. But there was no time for these washed-up woes. She had to deal with it.
She contemplated if her mystery man was just that. Nothing but a figment of her over-active, hormone-charged imagination. She grumbled and hurriedly picked bronze pins out of her hair. She rustled her fingers through a snarl and yelped.
"Hopeless," Darcy concluded about not only her hair—but herself.
The first evening stars twinkled against a vast purple sky. A flash of red wings skirted around her periphery. And then a flight of butterflies arched and twisted above her like low, languid clouds. Their wings beat together rhythmically and produced a slow, gentle hum. It was comforting, like a lullaby. Her heart leapt. Would they show her the way back to Asgard?
"Who am I kidding?" Darcy shook her head. They were butterflies. They were probably terrified and waiting for her to leave so they could suck face with the flowers.
She pushed down horrid thoughts of being stranded, abandoned, or left as an appetizer for some mythical creature. She had to stay in control. Darcy breathed slowly and skimmed the landscape a third time. There had to be something. Some clue, no matter how small, to get her back to Asgard. There had to be someone else that knew she was here. Somebody that didn't approve of this shit.
Oh. Oh! Wait. Maybe that golden reindeer dude would help her out. He saw everything, right? So, he had to see her here. He would part the skies like Moses and she would be back with the Gods in a blink.
"Mister Gatekeeper!" She said and thrust her hands to the sky, "A little help, please?"
The sky remained the same intertwining purple and navy. No swirling vortex of clouds. No fantastic beam of light. No adrenaline-charged rush. No amazement as galaxies and stars brushed beneath her fingertips. Just a silly girl shouting to an empty sky.
Darcy jumped and waggled her body in absurd, attention-seeking gestures. She whistled and hollered into the darkening sky. She loudly clapped her hands. Of all the times to take a break, now was certainly the worst.
"Come on, dude," Darcy sighed and clasped her hands together in prayer. "I know you can hear me. Is it about those curtains? It was an accident. I'm really sorry. Help a Midgardian sister out, okay?"
"Heimdallr falls deaf and blind to you here. And the Queen will be so disheartened. Do you know she weaved that cloth by hand with no assistance from her handmaidens for days?"
"Oh, fuck no," the words tumbled from her mouth without filter.
His maddening, sensual voice had returned to torment her once more. Oh God, was she tweaking out again? What the hell was in that green drink? Was it not enough that she was lost? Did she really have to put up with him too?
"I am so not in the mood to play right now. Please crawl back into my subconscious where you belong." Darcy said without turning around.
"Miss Lewis," His voice dropped and almost sounded hurt. "You speak to me with such heat and vexation. To what do I owe this displeasure?"
"You can't be serious," Darcy shook her head and strode away. North and far from this bullshit seemed like the best choice. She would run into something reasonable soon. The flowers snapped in protest beneath her feet.
"Slow your pace and anger," His voice called from behind.
"Doubtful," She didn't even know why she answered. She was talking with a hallucination. So really, she was arguing with herself. So really, she was fucking crazy.
"The form you have allowed me to take here is also limited," His voice panted.
If she cared enough, she might have stopped and waited. But what was the point of giving in to her wild imagination? If she ignored him, he would fade away. And this would all be a funny story to revisit later over French cheese and wine. Well, maybe not wine. Maybe crackers. And turkey pepperoni. And cheap beer. Spray cheese was always on sale.
"And you trample on the personal field of a most labile Vanir Goddess."
Okay, maybe she would have to ignore a little harder. This was not a psychotic break. It was just a minor after-effect of the green liquor. It was only temporary. She could get through it. She plodded forward and blocked out a small, pattering sound.
A sudden, unexpected weight scrambled on her right shoulder. Darcy cried out as four distinct, sharp areas pierced her back. She stumbled forward and braced for impact. The flowers cushioned her body and provided a soft landing on her belly.
What. The. Fuck. Was. That.
The delicate support from the flowers was weird, but hallucinations didn't bite back like that, right? Oh God, she was being mauled by some kind of Asgardian monster. And she had nothing for defense except maybe a stray bobby pin. Her odds of poking this thing to death were non-existent. She was dead.
The weight shifted and pounced off her back. Oh, please! Maybe if she just laid still and didn't breathe it would go away. If she passed gas right now maybe it would think she died. It was disgusting but worth a shot.
An alarmed meow and velvety paw touched her forearm. She lifted her head and gazed into the electric green eyes of a black cat.
Darcy felt absolutely ridiculous and mortified. She was really going to let one squeak out because this oh-so 'horrifying' Asgardian creature jumped on her back? This little adorable ball of fluff was harmless.
She reached out to stroke his fur and cooed, "Hi, baby. Are you lost too?"
"Let me do most of the talking," The cat spoke in his voice.
"Oh. Come. On," Darcy pushed her face into the flowers. If she didn't see it, it didn't happen. And this could not possibly be happening.
"You will be in agreement with whatever I say. Do you understand?" He said.
"Now you're possessing some poor defenseless kitty? What's next? My vibrator?"
"Quiet," He hissed and swatted her hair.
A loud buzz erupted from above. Darcy rolled only her eyes up to the heavens. The red butterflies were in full frenzy, circling and humming above them like angry wasps. She didn't realize they were following her. She could only conclude they were pissed—probably with her for destroying their feast.
In one fluid motion, they crashed to the ground. The impact caused their wings to burst into fabric, skin, a stern face, and strawberry blonde hair.
"I have irreparable brain damage," Darcy said and flopped her face into the flowers. She did not, she could not have possibly just seen a swarm of butterflies transform into a person. That was not possible. This whole thing was impossible! And didn't that make her better than most crazy people? They think their ramblings and fantasies are real. And this was most certainly really fucked up.
Darcy held fast to the tiniest strand of sanity and peered above the swaying petals.
Holy crap, this woman was attractive. Darcy couldn't even call her perfect—for it would do her no justice. She made Victoria Secret Angels look like gap-toothed, pavement pounders. Her long, wavy hair danced in the breeze. Her pale skin was immaculate. And woah—her large, bare breasts were barely covered by an intricate ruby necklace.
"Your highness," She said and the flowers bowed to her feet. It was as if they were worshiping her melodic, sweet voice. Golden torches burst to life and illuminated each loop and jewel of her necklace.
"Lady Freyja," The cat bowed his head low, but his tail squirmed and whipped around like a rattlesnake.
"Your presence in my realm is not as concerning as this child," Freyja squinted and maneuvered around her mystery ma—err, feline. She circled them like a poised hawk.
"It was an erroneous gesture on my part," The cat said and inched closer to Darcy. His fur brushed against her arm. It was a sore reminder of the time his leather erupted a sea of goosebumps on her skin. That was the first time they met—well, the first time she started to hallucinate. And the first time she wanted to rip his clothes off with her teeth.
But now was so not the time to have fuzzy feelings about him.
"And I would like to hear of it," Freyja paused and the flowers faced her, stretching their petals and leaves upward. "For this is unsettling. A Midgardian child has no place among fallen warriors and Kings."
Wait. What?
"I gave her Absinthe, as a gift," The cat curled his jittery tail around his paws. "I had not considered her excessive consumption of mead prior to my offering."
Um, what?
"A poor show of affection," Freyja raised her eyebrows. "One that may result in the demise of your new conquest."
His what?!
"Conquest?" Darcy had heard enough. She was not some little plaything.
"Darcy," The cat hissed and curled his tail, "Remember my words."
"Stuff it," Darcy said and pushed herself up. "I refuse to let a figment of my imagination berate my character."
"Lady Freyja," The cat walked between them. "Please, pardon her transgression—"
"Blah, blah, blah, dude. I got this," Darcy rolled and stiffened her shoulders. She pointed her finger at the woman and said, "Listen here, Tits McGee. I'm not some object to be used and tossed away. I'm not a fucking pump and dump."
The cat—in all his previous grace—now appeared in desperate need of a litter box. He paced around Darcy. His tail wrapped around and claimed her leg. His nails bit her bare feet. A small growl reverberated against her skin. She did not know if it was meant for her or Freyja—but it did not matter.
"Your woman spits fire from her tongue." Freyja smiled with teal, cold eyes.
"I'm not his," Darcy poked the cat with her toe and he retracted his claws. He mewed and pawed the fabric of her gown. "He doesn't exist. He isn't real. And neither are you."
Freyja closed the small gap between them and scrutinized her face. The cat—obviously not okay with her closeness—let out a long, exaggerated hiss.
But it was too late. Darcy was swathed in her exotic, earthy scent—akin to passion fruit and wildflowers. It was intoxicating yet dangerous. Though anger burned and bubbled within her ventricles, her muscles relaxed. She was trapped.
"You think of me as an invention of your mind?" Freyja smiled.
"Yes," The word fell from Darcy's mind, to her mouth, and into the open air. She tried to catch the affirmation, but it tumbled from her tongue. Her mind raced, but her body was calm.
"And you think you have power over me?" Freyja pursed her lips.
"Yes," Darcy said, though she knew the answer was wrong. Her mind screamed for silence, but that aroma coaxed her to respond. She had lost all control.
"Do I frighten you?" She brushed the gray feathers of her cloak with long, thin fingers.
"No," Darcy replied.
The cloak shifted and extended into large, expansive wings. The wings hovered precariously over Darcy and the feline. The cat was howling now, a ferocious and horrific sound for such a small creature. The noise prickled the hairs on her nape, but Darcy was motionless.
"I will ask but once more, mortal," Freyja and her wings bristled. "Do I frighten you?"
"No."
"Good," Her wings settled and she patted Darcy's shoulder. "Fear drowns even the sturdiest of Asgardians. I like to think you will wake up."
The scent of wildflowers was drifting away. The voice was hers until the last two word—those were spoken in another small, distant yet familiar voice.
"What?" Darcy said and something grabbed tightly within her body. "Hey! Ow!"
"I like you, child," Freyja smiled and broke a ruby from her necklace. "But you must wake up." She pressed the jewel in Darcy's palm and closed her fist.
"Why are you talking like that?" Darcy felt a stronger pull underneath her skin. It curled and tightened around her bones. And then she was dragged forward, pushed on by some unknown force. The pressure throbbed and burned. She cried out from the sudden ache.
"Darcy, please wake up," Jane's sobbing voice broke through Freyja's mouth. Freyja brushed Darcy's hair and whispered, "… be gentle with his heart."
Darcy was relieved when a flood of brilliant white light blinded her vision. She was over this madness. She was more than content to put shape-shifting hallucinations and twisted angels out of her mind forever. That golden gatekeeper must have finally acquiesced to her pleas. She was so ready to be out of here.
She was airborne, levitating above the grass and flowers. Her toes traced their petals and leaves. The adrenaline-charged rush came, but something was wrong.
The vortex did not shoot her across stars or cosmic wonders, but rather down into the soil. She burst through rocks and choked on dirt. She drilled into some dark, foul place. Flashes of furniture made of bones, ravenous dogs, and a throne of human skulls burned her eyes. An overwhelming stench of rotten flesh attacked her nostrils—it took all her strength not to wretch. Darcy contemplated if it would have been better to stay crazy with her mystery kitty and psycho-winged bitch.
She knew it was better the moment her eyes met a nightmarish creature. This was a monstrous thing, masquerading as a woman. It had a long trailing robe, but the fabric did a horrendous job covering its hideous countenance. This demon was split down the middle—half skeleton and half human flesh.
When the creature extended a bony hand to Darcy, it seemed time slowed. As Darcy passed above the thing, she closed her eyes and retracted her own dangling hand. She was not getting dragged down and eaten alive by its grizzly maw.
The once inquisitive monster scowled and cursed in a language she could not comprehend. Darcy gasped as she accelerated just past the creature's scrawny grasp. The last she heard from it was a loud, blood-curdling shriek.
Darcy was swerving around gusts and unrecognizable screams. It sounded tortuous. Her stomach heaved and flipped with every turn. Darcy was terrified but, she willed her eyes open long enough to realize she was crashing into herself.
The blow was so abrupt and forceful, Darcy sat bolt upright and gasped for air. She grabbed hold of her body, slick with sweat, and shook. She was alive. She escaped.
A chorus of voices, shouting her name, gave her pause. Darcy lifted her weary head and inspected the unknown surroundings.
She was shrouded in wet linen that stuck to her skin like glue—the culprit, she hoped, was sweat and not some other bodily function. The bed was enormous and circular, swathed in a disarray of white sheets and duvets. Sheer golden curtains surrounded the bed. The rising sun reflected on tiny jewels within the fabric and cast tiny rainbows on the covers.
They looked like Queen Frigga's curtains. She breathed a little easier. This was Asgard. She was safe.
Jane was the first to slide across the linen and squeeze her tight. She cried into Darcy's hair and blubbered incoherent sentences.
"I'm all slippery," Darcy said and wrapped her arms around Jane, "You're going to stain your clothes!"
Jane pummeled her with weak punches, "Darcy! This is the first thing you say after being comatose for days?"
"Days?" She had to say the words aloud to actually consider them. That wasn't possible. She had only been dreaming for a few hours.
"Exactly four days," Another woman in sky blue robes appeared with a golden basin. She set it on an elaborate, engraved nightstand and sat opposite Darcy.
"This is Lady Eir," Jane said and tentatively released Darcy, "She watched over you."
"I had assistance." Lady Eir peeled back the linen and crinkled her nose at the moisture. "To which I require again, please."
A flurry of hands descended on Darcy. The air bit her naked skin as she was stripped of clothes. Jane was among them, tying her hair back into a quick bun. A warm, fluffy towel was placed over her exposed flesh by shaking little hands. Darcy recognized those pale, freckled arms and smiled.
"Hey, Sjöfn," Darcy said and touched her hand. "Missed you. Seen any thick-where-it-matters dudes lately?"
"Lady Darcy," Sjöfn recoiled from her and cowered into the bed. "Please forgive me. I never meant for anything so horrible to happen. I was following the orders of Prince—"
"Are you accusing Thor of poisoning her?" Jane spat and rounded on Sjöfn.
"—Loki."
Darcy did not know which was worse, the complete pallor of those around her or the fact that everyone heard her mutter, "Who the hell is that?"
Like it or not, she received an animated—and aggressive—history on the fallen Prince of Asgard. His numerous attempts for multi-realm domination, his failure after failure for the crown, and his complete disgust for all things Midgardian. Oh, and not to mention a few thousand casualties thrown in for good measure. She could not help but snort when Jane quoted Doctor Banner's description of his mind—very much like a bag of cats, indeed.
So, her mystery man was indeed real. A crazy, convicted, exiled but certainly real God-Prince. And despite all that, she still wanted to fuck him senseless—it was a big problem, yes, but it could wait. She would solve it at home with lots and lots of therapy (aka wine).
"Geez," Darcy whistled and said, "When did this poor shmuck last get any?"
"Darcy!" Jane exhaled and snapped a washcloth against Darcy's skin. "Is that all you got out of our conversation?"
"Lady Jane," A third handmaiden emerged, dressed in red draping fabric. She tossed long, black curls over her shoulder and said, "It is entirely possible Mistress Darcy still suffers from delirium. It is best to let her mind rest."
"I could not agree more, Lofn," Eir rose from the bed and handed off her washcloths to the dark-haired handmaiden. "Resume bathing and ensure Lady Darcy is well-rested for this evening."
"This evening?" Darcy squeaked. At this point, it would be a miracle if she could stand let alone attend some grand Asgardian function. Did they have wheelchairs around this place?
"Don't worry," Jane smiled, "It's just this small thing with Thor and his parents."
"Oh, yeah," Darcy sighed. "No pressure there."
"Fear not, Lady Darcy," Sjöfn beamed, "I will prepare your wardrobe!"
Lady Eir ushered them away with hushed tones toward the great oak doors. She glanced back to Lofn and said, "Ensure her safety, at all costs. Do you understand?"
The frost from her tone was palpable and uncomfortable. Darcy squirmed and observed the handmaiden for retaliation. But nothing came.
"Would you know me to do any less?" She purred and wrung a washcloth over the basin.
Her response seemed suitable enough for Lady Eir for she left them alone. Lofn cleaned her body with quick, firm strokes and instructed her to turn. Darcy was too tired to be mortified and rolled onto her side. She scrubbed her shoulders down to her lower back. Lofn would pause only to retrieve fresh water or a new washcloth.
Darcy's eyelids were heavy. She did not anticipate a bed bath—or being awake for less than ten minutes—would be so exhausting. She failed at stifling a yawn.
"Sorry," Darcy mumbled and peered over her shoulder.
"This elixir will mend your fatigue," Lofn presented her with a small, steaming mug.
"Um," Darcy faltered and slowly shifted to face Lofn. "What is that? Last time I took an unknown drink from an unknown person—well, lots of fucked up shit happened."
"This is a healing brew made with extract from Idunn's apples," She said and passed the drink to Darcy. "Lady Eir mixed it earlier."
Darcy did not have to ask if they were from the garden—for there, floating in the mug was a paper-thin slice of gold apple. The scent of cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves wafted around her nose. She hesitated. Was she really going to do this again?
"It will do you no good cold," Lofn said and made a motion for Darcy to drink.
Darcy sighed and put her faith in the handmaiden. She swigged the elixir back in one shot. Yuck. The smell was certainly deceitful. She shuddered. When the aftertaste faded, Darcy was surprised—and very thankful—to feel somewhat perkier. She thanked her and returned the empty mug.
Lofn cradled it in her hands and tapped the handle with her fingers. "He never meant to harm you either, Lady Darcy."
Darcy did not know what to think of that statement. It was so contradictory. Jane and Lady Eir had painted Loki as the most offensive criminal in all the nine realms. Sjöfn said nothing, but only kept her eyes downcast. Lofn was making his coma-inducing alcohol seem like just a mistake.
He would have to do a lot of work on his knees to make me think it was a mistake, Darcy thought and smirked.
"If he really meant it," Darcy shrugged and said, "I just might let it go. But that's a huge maybe. I think it would be better to hear an apology from him anyway."
"I knew I valued your mind, Lady Darcy," Lofn scampered around the bedroom, collecting clothing and other toiletries in a woven basket. "We will make the impossible happen."
"And what would that be?" Darcy said.
"We are bringing you to Prince Loki."