Notes: In which we begin to get the various pieces onto the board (including a couple of previously-overlooked characters from Being Human), and I play seriously fast-and-loose with various elements of myth and magic. I beg the indulgence of readers who actually know something about these matters: I try to keep these stories internally consistent, but there is a limit to my devotion to external accuracy. Certain details about Loki's neighbourhood are superficially correct but I make no claims to knowledge of the area.

Warnings: In case we need some.

Chapter Two

Loki and George stood perfectly still as the Grim- the "scent" was less powerful now, but Loki could sense the same magic on the creature: it was definitely the Grim- emerged from the ruin.

"Um, Loki?" George asked hesitantly.

"Yes, George, I am quite sure this is the creature I saw last night," Loki anticipated the question. He paused. "Although definitely not in this form."

"Uh-huh," George murmured, deep thought evident in his tone. He seemed to take for granted that Loki's assertion was correct, and so he offered, "I wonder… perhaps it takes on that other shape when it feels threatened, or feels the church is threatened. Maybe this is its- "

"- true form," Loki completed the thought. He frowned. "I did not approve of the spellwork in the first place- on Asgard, such workings would be considered very dark magic no matter what the intent- but now that I have actually seen the creature… "

"Yeah," George agreed. "It's an awful thought. Although you have to remember that, in the past, this realm has also gone in for disemboweling and beheading humans in the name of the law. To say nothing of what we used to do to witches."

Loki sighed. He did not like to think about that. He especially did not like to think about all the fantasies he had once had, in which he left Asgard and found a place where he could really belong. Had he actually come, at that time, to this realm he now loved so much, he probably would have gotten himself burned at the stake. "I suppose you are right."

"Mind you," George added, in a tone so elaborately neutral he sounded like Agent Coulson, "by human standards that was all a very long time ago. And we don't do things like that now."

"As my brother once remarked, time flows only forward," Loki agreed, continuing to look at the creature before them.

The Church Grim stood on the derelict external narthex of the ruin, looking from George to Loki with sparkling, hopeful eyes. The fluffy tail curled over its back began to wag, and when Loki instinctively dropped to a crouch and extended a hand, as the kennel master of Asgard had taught them to do with puppies, the creature came skipping down the overgrown stone path toward him.

Last night, apparently in a protective fury at the proximity of George in werewolf form, the black dog had been at least as tall as a large calf, its shaggy coat bristling and eyes glowing red.

Today, it stood no higher than Loki's knee, had flopped-over ears and a delicate little smiling face. Its only point of resemblance to its other self was its shaggy black fur. Even at that, its coat was soft-looking, and the little creature had a white throat and endearing white toes on its front feet, like the kitten Elizabeth.

"It would not, of course, have been acceptable either for a larger, ugly dog to meet such a fate," Loki said out loud to remind himself. "However- "

"Yeah," George repeated, right behind him now. "Hello, sweetheart."

The Grim flattened its- her- ears, lowered her tail and wagged it appeasingly, before scampering in a circle around the two. When Loki cautiously reached toward her she cringed backward a step, but then came closer as soon as he lowered his hand, as though torn between the longing for contact and the fear of what they would do if they caught her.

Glancing at George, Loki strongly suspected he was not the only one present who wished for a time machine and a sturdy spade.

The two friends remained in their crouching postures, waiting, while the dog tried to decide she trusted them. There was, of course, little either of them could do to a ghost even if they wanted to, but the dog naturally did not know that. She probably did not know she was a ghost.

Within a few minutes she gave in to temptation and loneliness and sidled up to Loki, who through an effort of concentration was able to rub her behind the ears. The little dog wriggled and her tail became nearly a blur as she leaned into his fingers.

"George," Loki heard himself plead.

"If we drag the gate open, that should deal with the problem of the iron," George replied, in a distracted voice. Loki glanced up from the clinging dog and realized George was looking at the fence, a calculating expression on his exhausted face.

"If we- ?" Loki prompted hopefully.

"Well, obviously we're not going to leave her here," George said impatiently. "Come on, let's see what we can do."

With a last pat to the dog, Loki straightened up- carefully, so as not to frighten her more than he could help- and followed George to the fence.

As Loki had noted the previous night, the fence was in considerable disrepair. It had probably been a crude affair even when it was newly built, and now it was rusted and devoured by undergrowth and grasses. The gate was closed, perhaps the last act of the congregation when they left the church behind, and though the hinges had long since rusted away, it was held upright by the overgrown vegetation tangled around its base and climbing its height.

"I think," George said, "if we pull that loose, the dog should be able to follow us out. Won't you, sweetheart?" he added, looking down at the little creature standing beside him. She looked up eagerly, wagging her tail again, obviously anxious and hoping not to be left behind. Loki bent down to pet her head again, then turned back to George.

"Shall we try it?" he said.

George, for all he looked mild-mannered and bookish, was as a werewolf extremely strong. And Loki, in addition to his magic, was also considerably stronger than he looked. Ordinarily, the gate would have presented little difficulty to either of them, let alone both together.

However, after his exertions of the night before, George was nearly asleep on his feet, and Loki had used up most of his energy and temporarily sapped his magic with his hours as an owl. The two of them struggled gamely with the gate for quite some time, pulling plant life up by the roots or tearing it free as needed, before they were finally able to make the gate budge. George then slipped back through the gap in the fence through which they had entered the churchyard.

With both of them lifting, George pushing and Loki pulling, they managed to wrestle the gate open a couple of feet. At that point, the last of the binding vegetation and the single remaining partly-intact hinge gave way. Loki and George carried the gate to one side, propping it against a sturdy part of the fence, and eyed the opening hopefully.

"If it's only the iron, that should do it," George remarked.

Loki turned on him a look sharp with alarm. "'If it's only the iron'?" he repeated.

George pushed his spectacles up his nose. "Well, I think it's the iron, but you have to remember I'm not the authority on sorcery around here."

Loki grimaced. "I really have been remiss in my studies of the magic of this realm."

George shrugged. "Considering it seems to come looking for you when it needs you, I can't blame you for letting it go at that. Anyway, here goes nothing. Come on, sweetie, come with us," he addressed the dog in the ridiculous cooing tone humans directed toward babies and small animals (and, admittedly, which Loki used with the kittens.)

George and Loki backed toward the open gateway, making coaxing noises. This was unnecessary, the dog being manifestly willing to accompany them. She scurried eagerly toward them-

- and then, as she reached the opening, recoiled back with a sharp whimper, as though she had collided with a physical barrier.

"Oh, no," Loki moaned, as he went back to comfort her. "No, no." George thrust a dirty hand through his equally dirty hair and cursed softly. The two friends contemplated the situation, George looking as guilty as if he had imprisoned the dog himself.

"I'm really sorry, Loki, I don't know what else to do," he admitted.

Loki directed a wobbly smile toward his friend, who was certainly not at fault, and looked back down at the dog. As he did so, he noticed the palms of his hands, and hope began again to bloom in his chest.

"Rust," he said, turning his hands upward for George to see.

"Pardon?" George asked, frowning.

"My hands are covered in rust, from the gate. Rust is formed by the decomposition of iron, yes?"

"Yes," George agreed, looking at his own hands.

"And if rust has been transferred to our hands as we handled the gate, does it not also follow that it must also have transferred to the earth, perhaps in considerable amounts, over the years?"

George looked enlightened. "I get it- the rust in the soil is acting as another barrier, right?"

"Right," Loki said. "At least, it is a theory. If the rust-bearing earth and vegetation are removed, perhaps she will then be able to leave this place."

"It's worth a try," George agreed. "But Loki, we really do need to get back. Both of us need to get to work, and we've got to clean up first."

"I know," Loki admitted. "I just hate to- "

"Yeah," George said unhappily. "Me, too." Addressing the dog, he said, "It's all right, Scamp, we're coming back. Don't worry."

"'Scamp'?" Loki asked, as he reluctantly rose to his feet.

"There was a dog on my street named Scamp, when I was a kid," George explained. "Little black spaniel mix that looked a bit like her. It seems a more appropriate name than 'Baskerville.'"

"Indeed," Loki agreed, sighed, and looked down at the dog, whose crestfallen expression made it very clear she knew she was about to be abandoned again. "We really will come back for you as soon as we can," he reassured her foolishly, wishing he could make her understand.

"Come on," George said miserably, and led the way back to the path. Scamp followed them as far as the open gate, backed up a step, and barked as they left, at first hopefully, as if she was telling herself they had only forgotten her, and everything would be all right once they were reminded she was there. The barking increased in urgency as they continued to walk away from her.

As the ruin disappeared around a bend behind them, they could hear the barks turn into disconsolate wails.

Loki glanced back once. George put an arm around him and kept walking.

~oOo~

The sun was well up by the time they arrived home. Mitchell, who had the same shift as George, had already left for work. Since Mitchell's usual practice was to wait for George, his absence confirmed that they really were late. It might also have indicated confidence in Loki's ability to watch over George: George preferred to go off alone to transform, but Mitchell generally made sure to be at home when George came back. This was ostensibly to return George's Star of David pendant in person, but everyone knew Mitchell really just wanted to see with his own eyes that George had once again returned safely.

"What happened?" Annie asked, as the two came slumping through the front door. "What's the matter?"

"We'll tell you later," George began, glanced at Loki, and accepted his wordless gesture toward the stairs as an invitation to go bathe first.

"We encountered a ghostly dog and have been trying to rescue it from thralldom," Loki summarized the situation, as he picked up Philip, the caped kitten, and cuddled him. "We failed."

"But you're going to try again, right?" Annie asked. It occurred to Loki that, even had the dog really been the large demonic being he first encountered, Annie as a ghost herself might still have sympathized with the desire to free it. Although George was certainly correct that she would not have appreciated its appearance in the house.

"Yeah," George replied, from halfway up the stairs. "Loki has some ideas."

"An idea," Loki admitted.

"Good," Annie said. "George, there isn't any hot water, the boiler's on the blink again. Sorry." George uttered a savage little noise, and Annie went on, "Mitchell's going to call the rental agency later this morning. Maybe this time they'll send someone who can figure out what's wrong."

"Do you want me to- ?" Loki offered, wiggling his fingers.

George sighed. "If you can manage, I'd be really grateful," he admitted. Loki smiled and nodded. He possessed just enough sorcery at the moment to heat about one tub full of water, so as long as he and George each filled the bath about halfway, they should be able to avoid adding the discomfort of a cold bath to the other inconveniences and disappointments of this morning.

Annie caught his arm as he started toward the stairs. "Tell me about the dog when you get home tonight, all right?"

"All right," Loki promised, fought the impulse to kiss her in his current disheveled state, lost, and planted a quick peck on her hair. "I am sure we can help her."

"Of course you can," Annie agreed, took Philip from him, and said, "Now go along and see to George. I'll start some tea."

~oOo~

Loki was cleaning small hand prints off the glass front door of the school when he had the sensation of eyes upon him. Well, he frequently had such a feeling, but this time it was not Heimdall. He turned his head and found a group of children watching him.

"Yes?" he prompted. He was not at all surprised to find his old friends Patrick and Trevor in the group, but for once they were not to the fore. Instead, they hung back, behind a trio of girls from their class, one of whom answered Loki's query.

"We… we made- " began Gillian, freckled and rather shy. She faltered and glanced at her friends, bespectacled Tamsin and curly-haired Moira. Tamsin pushed her spectacles up her nose in a gesture that reminded Loki hilariously of George, and stepped forward.

"We've been making friendship bracelets," she explained, as though Loki would understand the meaning of these words. Apparently his expression disabused her of this notion. In a slightly patronizing tone (since beginning to work at the school, Loki had also been disabused of the belief there was anything unusual or inherently sinister about the way Sif used to talk down to him when they were both children- had he known any other little girls at the time he might have recognized the tone as unremarkable) she explained, "They're bracelets you make for people, to show them you're friends with them."

"Ah," Loki replied, suddenly enlightened. "Are these made by knotting together threads of various colours?" He had noticed more and more of the children, and not a few of the teachers, wearing such bracelets recently. Patrick and Trevor were each wearing one at this very moment, and the girls' wrists were positively covered with them.

"Yes," Tamsin replied briskly. "And we made some for Mrs. Hart" (this was Loki's supervisor, Carol) "and for you."

"For me?" Loki repeated, startled and rather touched. The girls nodded, all business now, possibly with many more bracelets to deliver before the lunch break was done. Under instruction, Loki extended his hand- the right, his dominant hand as well as the one he generally used in spell casting- and each of the girls fastened a knotted-thread bracelet around his wrist. Moira's was in shades of blue, Gillian's in rather muted blue, green, and brown, and Tamsin's quite striking in black, red, and yellow.

As she knotted the ends around Loki's wrist, Patrick broke his uncharacteristically long silence by bursting out,

"That's a poison snake! You're trying to kill him!"

This made very little sense to Loki, who had not made a close study of the venomous serpents of Midgard. He glanced at Trevor, who looked embarrassed, and then at Tamsin, who raised her chin and, in accents that rather made Loki think of Hermione rebuking Ron, replied loftily, and largely in italics,

"It's 'red touch yellow, kill a fellow'." She pointed at Loki's wrist. "'Red touch black' is 'venom lack.' That's a king snake, not a coral snake." To Loki, she added, "It's perfectly harmless."

"I have no doubt," he replied, inspecting the bracelet and confirming there were careful bands of black separating every occurrence of yellow and red. If there was one thing you could trust, it was Midgardian children's knowledge of slithering or scaly creatures. "I know you would not attempt to kill me with a venomous snake."

"Of course not," Tamsin said, with a disgusted glance at Patrick. "That would be a pretty rotten friendship bracelet."

Patrick, for once, seemed to find himself with little to say. Loki was torn between sympathy and amusement, although he tried to keep both emotions off his face: it had occurred to him that Patrick's efforts to tease Tamsin might have a certain… significance... in a small-boy way, and he did not wish to embarrass his young friend.

At the same time, he also rather appreciated the way Tamsin stood up for herself. Annie's one flaw, as far as Loki could see, was her tendency to undervalue herself: although she could more than stand up for herself in the give-and-take of the house, it was hard to imagine her defending herself under other circumstances. It would be worrisome if Annie's social contacts were more extensive, and had probably been a source of discomfort to her in life.

"These are beautiful, and I appreciate the sentiment," Loki assured the girls, left hand unconsciously folding affectionately around his right wrist. "It is very kind of you. Thank you."

"You're welcome," the girls chorused, and all the children scampered away. Loki smiled at the colourful bracelets on his wrist, then went back to his task.

~oOo~

Later that afternoon, Loki strolled slowly along the street behind the one on which he lived, past the place of worship on the corner. This was a slight deviation from his usual route home, but at this time of day, if he loitered, he would be able to hear from within the call to prayer directed toward the faithful who worshipped there.

Loki knew very little about the religious practices of humans: he had never made a specific study of them, and Mitchell's general aversion (almost amounting to an allergy) to religious symbols would have rendered such scholarship both tactless and uncomfortable. (Mitchell was unable to explain why, then, he had no trouble handling George's religious pendant, except to theorize that its connection to George was more powerful to him than its connection to any religion.) This was not one of Loki's real areas of interest anyway, but he liked the sound of the voice bearing witness that there is no deity except God, and incidentally affirming the existence of a community all engaging in prayer together, if perhaps at different locations.

(Loki was not at all persuaded of the existence of a single god or God, which even superficial awareness of local faiths revealed as a common belief, but he considered it good manners to keep such doubts to himself. It was not as if he had any stake in the matter, "God of Mischief" being a nickname rather than an actual title.)

The call was not intended to be audible from the street, and human hearing would be unable to perceive it, but Loki's senses were equal to the task if he concentrated, and he found it pleasant to listen to.

Also, as far as he could tell, no imprisoned ghost animals haunted this place, although he supposed such a guardian might be quite happy with humans and activity around them. Unlike poor Scamp, left all alone in a crumbled ruin.

The thought of the little ghost dog made it impossible to appreciate the sound of the call any longer, and Loki picked up his pace, almost jogging to the end of the street, where he turned right and found himself at his own little pink house on the corner. He let himself in, picking up Elizabeth as she attempted to dash past him to engage in dangerous exploration (really, he should ward the house against escapes by the kittens, it was just that at the moment the idea felt uncomfortable.) The car was in its place on the street, so Loki was not surprised to find his housemates already gathered in the lounge.

Annie smiled at him from her place on the sofa with the second kitten in her lap. "George has just been explaining about the ghost dog. He said you have a plan?"

Mitchell slid over on the sofa to make room for Loki next to Annie. He accordingly sat, still holding Elizabeth, which led to a sneak-attack on her by her brother Philip, and then both kittens dashing hysterically out of the lounge and up the stairs. Watching them go, Mitchell remarked,

"You know, I'm not at all sure those two are going to be very pleased if we bring home a ghost dog."

"They will learn to love her," Loki said firmly. Annie smiled at him.

"About your plan?" she prompted.

"Yes, tell us about it," Mitchell urged. "Since George was far too busy today to think of one himself. What with moving patients and mopping floors and making time with pretty nurses- "

"I beg your pardon?" Loki interrupted, which was surely Mitchell's intent. "Nurses?"

"Nurse," Mitchell amended. "Just the one."

George, his face gone as red as a Jotun's eye, mumbled, "It was just a cup of tea in the snack bar."

"No, no, tell us more," Loki urged. Quite apart from the natural instinct to tease a fellow housemate, this really was what one might call news: the housemates in general had a drastically restricted social circle. Three of them had acquaintances at their places of work, and of course they were on friendly terms with the Avengers. But still- while Loki's status as an alien sorcerer was no longer a matter of secrecy, for the sake of the rest of the supernatural community, Mitchell and George still concealed their own natures, which necessitated a level of caution around humans that was not really conducive to cultivating close friendships outside the house. George had never sought out ties with the werewolves of the city, and Mitchell had, after the events that culminated in the death of Herrick the vampire captain, recognized the need to cut his with the vampires.

So much for general socialization. Mitchell's words indicated that George's interest in this nurse was romantic. That was even more unheard-of, or less-heard-of, or whatever the correct idiom might be: George had many wonderful qualities, but he was shy and could be rather awkward in general social situations.

In this, of course, he was hardly alone: having spent his youth on the fringes of a group that did not want him, and treated as literally untouchable besides, Loki's own social development was, to say the least, stunted in certain areas. Indeed, his current shy attachment to Annie was unique in his experience, and he knew quite well that if he had not been fortunate enough to find himself actually sharing a house with her, he would never have had the nerve to approach her.

Mitchell… was a bit of a puzzle, now that Loki thought of it. He was outgoing, friendly, and certainly handsome, and Loki could only assume it was caution about accidental revelations of his nature that stopped him from seeking out the companionship of women. Loki had never given the matter much thought, but it now occurred to him that Mitchell might well experience that as a loss.

At the moment, he gave no sign of jealousy: Mitchell was generous, and certainly wanted nothing more than for George to be happy. And besides, he was even more inclined toward teasing than Loki.

"Nina Pickering," Mitchell almost sang, when George seemed disinclined to say more. The vampire might have been the same age as Patrick, and Loki suddenly revised his earlier impression: perhaps Patrick did not pester Tamsin out of any budding devotion of his own, but to tease Trevor about his. This would, he decided, merit further attention, purely for purposes of research.

Now, however, Loki said only, "Nina- was there not a nurse by that name present on the occasion when my brother went to visit the patients?" Thor's visit had been a source of considerable pleasure to the patients in the long-term care unit, which was hardly surprising since at the time he had been in the form of an extremely handsome and affectionate ginger cat. Loki recalled arriving to retrieve his "pet" and encountering a tiny, attractive, and yet very formidable young nurse with fluffy blond hair, who had provided him with a borrowed cat carrier and instructed him to take better care of his animal companions in future.

"That's the one," Mitchell agreed cheerfully. "A lovely young woman, if frankly a little terrifying."

"That is also how I remember her," Loki agreed, then turned a raised eyebrow on George. "Which must tell us something rather interesting about you."

"I think I liked it better when you didn't remind me quite so much of Mitchell," George remarked, folding his arms and peering at them both over the top of his spectacles. Mitchell slung an arm around Loki's shoulders, put a hand on his head, and pulled their faces close together so they could favour George with identically suspiciously innocent smiles. George sighed, removed his spectacles, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "It was just a cup of tea. Nothing serious. I don't think she likes me particularly, to be honest."

"Well, then she is extremely silly," Loki said, sobering and instantly defensive on George's behalf.

"I'd rather not talk about it right now," George muttered.

Annie tapped Loki on the knee. "Ghost dog, remember?" she said. "You were about to tell us your plan?"

"I do not believe it quite rises to the level of a plan," Loki said apologetically. "I simply intended to return to the ruin with a spade, and dig up the earth and vegetation from the gate." He quickly outlined his theory ("I do not believe it quite rises to the level of a theory, either") that the rusting of the gate had deposited sufficient quantities of iron into the soil to prevent the ghost from crossing it.

"Are you sure that's the problem?" Annie asked, looking reluctant to disagree with Loki but as though she felt compelled to speak. "I mean, I dropped a knife last night doing the washing-up and I didn't have any trouble stepping over it."

"Well, you don't have a curse on you, either," George pointed out. "And anyway, the type of magic in the spell probably makes a difference. Loki doesn't have any trouble with iron, do you, Loki?"

"Not that I have ever noticed," Loki agreed. Feeling a little deflated, since of course Annie might very well be correct, he went on, "It is at least worth trying, and if it does not work, I can try something else."

"We can try something else," Annie corrected, patting him on the knee, and Loki immediately felt much better.

"Okay," Mitchell spoke up, "I'm pretty sure there's a spade or a shovel in the- "

"- what's the difference between a spade and a shovel, anyway?" Annie asked, aside.

"Dunno," George said. "I'm always afraid I'm going to call a spade a shovel, frankly."

"- basement," Mitchell went on, pretending not to hear the others. "After tea we'll collect it and go on an expedition." He hesitated, turning to Loki. "How sure are you that it'll be safe to bring the dog home? I mean, if it- "

"- She," Loki and George corrected him together.

"- she," Mitchell amended, "can turn into a giant raging demon, she might not exactly be safe to have around the house. I wonder if we should just free her and turn her loose."

"No," George said, before Loki had to. "She's a dog. We can't just abandon her."

"I think it very likely the spell that controls her form causes her to change into the more threatening shape when there is a threat to the church," Loki spoke up. "If we can break her connection to the church, perhaps that spell will be broken as well."

"There's also the chance," George said reluctantly, "that if we break the connection, she'll just move on."

"Her own little dog door will turn up?" Mitchell suggested, and Annie made a face at him.

"Well, if it does, that will be all right too," Loki replied. "I just hate to think of her trapped like this and all alone."

Mitchell gave him an understanding look, opened his mouth to speak-

- and his mobile rang. Mitchell glanced at it, frowned at the display for a second, then said,

"Oh, right the rental agency. Mitchell," he said into the device. The rental agency was responsible for the house in the absence of its owner, their landlord, who was working out of the country. So far they had not been terribly helpful in the matter of the faulty boiler, but one lived in hope, especially Loki and his housemates who were not terribly gifted in the area of home repairs.

Mitchell was frowning in concentration as he listened intently. "Thursday, then? Yeah, we can be home that afternoon. He wants to meet us?" More listening. "All right, we'll deal with him direct. Thanks."

Mitchell pressed the button that disconnected the call, put down the mobile, and looked around at the others.

"What?" George asked.

Mitchell set the mobile on the coffee table and said, "The agency's not going to be looking after the house any longer. Apparently the owner's come back to England from Saudi, and he reckons he'll take over responsibility again. And he wants to meet us."

"He does?" asked George. "Why?"

"We're the only tenants who've ever stayed longer than a couple of weeks," Mitchell shrugged. "Maybe he wants to make sure we're happy here and planning to stay on."

Loki hardly heard Mitchell or George. He was more preoccupied with Annie, who had gone very still and was now as pale as…

"The owner is coming home?" she repeated, in a dazed little voice.

Mitchell looked anxious, but he nodded.

Annie spoke again. "Owen?"

"Yes. Owen."