We're going to see things from Loki's POV here for a bit...
Many thanks to all of my reviewers! Your support is total fuel, and I could not be as inspired without you! Hoping this lives up to your expectations.
Quick note: I'm thinking this will be more along the lines of 34 chapters. The plot alterations just keep creeping up on me. Blame it on all of the Sif/Loki, and Banner stuff I've been browsing. Such as Mira-Jades Sif/Loki series, which I highly reccomend.
-XXX-
The lead in Boston proved true. Loki stretches and grins at the news, pleased with his sources. But then he recalls Tatiana, and the threat against her, and he reconsiders. He needs to go, seek out the Vinters, yet he could not on a good conscience leave his reader unprotected. So, he waits.
Patients is one of his strengths, however, in this case he finds it difficult. Finally, the god decides one quick trip would not greatly endanger his home. He tells Tatiana the night before, as she drifts to sleep. She murmurs into her pillow. The god frowns. Her behavior over the last week has bothered him greatly - he fears illness, weakness, but a niggling thought in the back of his head tells him it is worry. Lethargy has claimed her. And he doesn't like it.
The next morning, he dresses carefully before coming downstairs. Tatiana slipped out earlier to make coffee. He finds her in the armchair in the parlor. He waits for her to notice him.
"You will not go outdoors. You will not contact a soul. And," he pauses for affect. "I do hope you don't attempt anything foolish in general, my dear."
Nose still in her book, she nods absently.
He stoops to become level with her, breathing, "If so much as a toe crosses that threshold, I will burnt every piece of text in this house. Understand?"
Another nod.
Let her be angry with him. She will come around.
Loki sighs. He presses a swift kiss to her brow before briskly sweeping from the room, transporting himself to Boston in a wink.
-XXX-
A pink-and-green Victorian beauty greets him. He recognizes the Painted Lady as the Vinters's familial home. His scryings have shown him much of this place, and the people within it. With a short smirk, the god advances down the raked gravel drive. He passes manicured bushes and trees, birds peering down on him every few feet. As Loki approaches the wide porch, the door opens. A stout woman with a rod-straight posture and iron-coloured hair, thin, pursed mouth, and navy dress, steps on to the porch. She stares down at the god, who pauses in his step.
"Mr Laufeyson." The voice emitted from the thin mouth is as cold as the colour of her hair, and just as hard as the metal it resembles. "I have excepted you for sometime."
"Oh?" He smiles briefly. "I do hope it is with great anticipation."
He meets her on the step. Unflinching, her gaze moves upwards. Without a word, she turns and moves inside. The god follows.
-XXX-
"Veridane Vinters," she says shortly, pouring tea into a pansy-patterned teacup. He accepts, nodding. The woman continues. "Though, most call me Veri. You may call me Mrs. Vinters, god-son."
He sips his tea. "You said you anticipated my arrival. Would you care to…indulge me, madam?" He smiles coldly. "I've spent a long time searching for you."
"I am flattered," she replies. "And I believe I know why you have come here." She gestures to his chest. "That trinket, if I am not mistaken."
An amber glow sparks in his chest, directly where the center stone of the pendant. He raises a brow.
"You possess a gift, I see."
She pulls back her knarled hand, smilingly slightly. "A modest one."
The god ducked and hand inside of his shirt, pulling forth the pendant. Nestled in his palm, it glows faintly.
"My husband's family was the one who owned the pieces. When he passed on, I donated the ring and the pendant to the museum - a ways away, but they were so grateful. A distance enough from me to keep the powers at bay."
"Were you ever able to use them?"
She chuckles. "Oh, no. I dabble, but I am not so skilled. As for my Richard…neither did he."
"But you know what they are for?"
Veridane nods. "We knew well enough. It was all from his family, you know, brought over through Ellis Island. There was a chief, somewhere in the line. The ring supposedly granted protection from supernatural forces, and with the pendant, worked to store energy. Very useful….they are a set, but never meant to stay together." She peers at him, a hawk examining a snake. "You already knew that, though. They work best apart. On two separate keepers. Say, a chieftain and his chieftess. A king and his queen."
"Yes, I knew."
"Which," she smiles widely, revealing a set of yellowed and brittle teeth. "Is why you do not wear the dragon ring. The god-son has a queen-in-waiting?"
He doesn't respond, but watches her.
"When they told me my donations had been taken, I had a notion of who might've wanted them. Your name has been vacant from the news, but I have a grandson who works for a few media outlets." Satisfied, she settles back in her chair. "He is a good boy."
The god runs one finger over the rim of his teacup, eyes on the brown brew. "I must ask…why would you give them away?"
She shifts, taking a long draft of tea. He examines the quiver in her veined hands. "Scared. But playing brave."
For a long moment, the elderly woman stares out the window beside her, folding her hands on her lap. Her stalk-straight form seems to wither and sag with each passing second, losing strength and conviction. She releases a half-breath - nearly a sigh, rueful and brief. The god waits.
"I am old. And tired. My husband knew more of these things than I. He told me how dangerous these items are…I did not want them in the house. A burden to my children. And I was right." She smoothes her skirts. "Had they not been away, I have no doubt you would be here now, seeking them. Dangerous."
"Yes," he agrees. "I suppose so. Would you like to tell me where your family's ancestors got these…as you call them, 'trinkets?'"
"Oh," she waves a hand. The elegant elderly woman closes her eyes. "There was the old stories of gods and magic. But we weren't so quick to believe it. The sorcerers in the family used them, on occasion, but they fell out of use hundreds of years ago."
He nods slowly. "Thank you, madam."
Loki rose, setting down his cup. But she shifts suddenly, calling in a weary voice.
"Oh god-son. You and I both know those questions were not the sole reason for your visit here."
Smiling slightly, pausing before he faces her again, the god says lightly. "I don't know what you speak of, grandmother."
He can hear the rustle of skirts. Smell the musty floral perfume scattered on her navy dress. Discern the thud of her unhealthy heart. Taste a longing in her tone. He didn't wish it, now but she was making a request.
"God-son, I would beg you."
"Might someone forgive me." He sighs. There would be those that would be very, very angry if they knew. The god may be a trickster. But he was not so cruel. He could not deny an old woman in pain her release.
Turning slowly, Loki, God of Mischief, asks, "What ails you?"
"A hard heart," she says softly. "And too many years of living on this earth. Please."
He has never done this before. "Your family shall curse me."
She wave her hand again. "They shall not know. They will think I died taking my tea, the old woman alone in her big house."
"Very well." Inclining his head, the god approaches again. With his thumb, he presses into her forehead. The old woman gasps briefly, eyes flaring open wide. Then, she lets a little moan, and sinks back. Her eyes drift shut. Warmth escapes her solid little form. He feels a rush, then the room settles once more. It is done.
He leaves her in the chair, clearing away his set of tea things. She would be found, he suspects, by tomorrow at the latest. One this old is never alone long.
-XXX-
The god exits the Boston estates as calmly as he'd come. He takes to the countryside, sitting on a rock to observe the city. Once he is sure he has not been followed, Loki concentrates on New York. On home. He arrives just outside of the house, on the stoop.
All is quiet in the house. He frowns. "Asleep again, Tatiana?" he thinks wryly. Could she be so very bored? With a sigh (certainly not his first, nor his last for the day), Loki trudges upstairs. He is tired. Death makes him weary. If she sleeping, he may just come to bed with her. The gods know there is little left do be done today. An early night in would do them both good.
But Tatiana is not to be found anywhere upstairs. He returns to the ground floor, thinking that perhaps he missed her in the parlor or kitchen. She is not to be found there, wither. Focusing his slight claim upon her, Loki submerges his mind into the search. He cannot feel her in the house. He senses her, through the ring, but he cannot feel her. Fury rises to his throat. Had she been foolish enough to leave the house?
Back to the bedroom, he seeks her purse, shoes, or some other evidence that might tell him where she has gone. Now that he has a moment to examine the room as a whole, the god realizes something is very, very wrong. Clothing is missing. Almost half the closet. The drawers on the dresser are in varying states of array, half-open with clothes spilling from their depths. Shoes are missing, along with jackets and one of his scarves. Her things are gone. And so is Tati.
Of her own will? He cannot know. He suspects it, but SHIELD is just as likely.
More than half the house is destroyed in his sheer rage. Dishes broken, doors off hinges, clothes ripped, furniture thrown….
In an hour, he receives confirmation - a knock on the door. When he goes to answer, wrenching the door open, all that greets him is a slip of paper.
"We're still open for negotiations."
It is unsigned.
The other half of the brownstone does not fare nearly as well as the first.
-XXX-
Poor old lady. I don't usually like to introduce, then kill, a character all in one chapter. But it needed to be done.
Thoughts? Reviews, comments, questions, critiques, I take 'em all. Apologies if my replies are late - I'll do my best to be quick, but life has a funny habit of getting in the way.