Gwen inspected the cane with a critical eye. It was black, shorter than average (since she was too), and lacked the rattle most swordsticks have since the interior of the shaft was lined with soft velvet. Inside there was a dagger the length of her forearm, made of melted and smelted Asgardian throwing knives, but that wasn't even the best part. The best part sat at the top: the silver head of a snarling mouse, with rubies for eyes and teeth sharp enough to tear blood. She would have to be careful not to nick her hand on it, lest she add another scar to the collection. "'S not bad," she admitted, standing up and testing her weight on it. The craftsman exhaled with obvious relief.

"Only the best, ma'am. Happy to be of service. An honour to serve one of our city's foremost –"

"Shut up, now," she said, and he did so with barely a whimper. "They'll sort out your payment on the way out."

He bobbed her something between a bow and a curtsy, then fled. That normally would have made her laugh, but that didn't happen a lot these days.

After a lunch of black tea and cigarettes, she left the Burrow and slipped on a pair of smoked glasses as the blade-sharp sun beat down. Leaning on the new cane as she walked down the street, she hailed a cab and folded herself into the back seat with a wince. "Williamsburg," she said, rubbing her knee.

"Any street in particular?" the taxi driver asked, pulling out onto 7th.

"Bleecker."

"They say there's some kinda magician living up there," said the driver. "My pal saw him throwing fire. The Wizard of Williamsburg, they call him. Thought it was some kinda gay thing at first."

Gwen leaned forward and yanked the partition up. She wasn't in the mood for chatty chaffeurs.

There was a homeless guy on the sidewalk as Gwen climbed out the cab. She flipped a fat gold coin from a faraway land as she passed. Out of the corner of her eye she watched him pick it up, bite it, and grin. Whatever the man's vice was, he would be indulging in a hell of a lot of it that night.

Bleecker Street, meanwhile, was more colorful than the other red-brick Brooklyn blocks, being filled with brightly coloured hipster shops and brightly coloured hipster people. 177A took up and entire corner of a block, standing regally with its green lead roof dwarfing the neighbours with a regal insouciance. A building had to be really fancy to pull a word like "insouciance" out from the shallow depths of her vocabulary, and 177A was that and more.

She climbed the short, wide steps and knocked on the door, which opened without assistance within a couple of seconds. Inside was a room impossibly large, with a lofty ceiling fringed with windows and a sweeping mahogany staircase. The staircase seemed to be saying "climb me – go on, you know you want to. Have a look what's up here." But Gwen's days of creeping around unattended were over. She was a mover, now. A player. So the Wizard of Williamsburg could bloody well come and greet her himself instead of getting his architecture to do the job for him.

She picked up her cane and banged the iron cap on the floor three times, loud enough for the sound to echo around the hallway. When she heard the soft swish of a cape behind her, she didn't even flinch.

"I see I have a visitor," said a voice, in the tones of someone who was very smug about just surprising somebody else.

"Doctor Strange," said Gwen, without turning round. "I've heard a lot about you."

"And you are…?"

"A friend when you're in need," she said, "let's put it like that."

They maintained their positions for an extended moment, each waiting to see the other move first. After half a minute, at which point it was threatening to get awkward, Doctor Strange stepped out from behind her and offered Gwen a gloved hand to shake.

"I don't recognise you," he said. "But I feel like I should. You've got that kind of… aura."

She shook his hand, and noticed the slightest flicker of pain cross his eyes when she grasped his fingers as tightly as she could. "People call me Mouse," she told him.

"Ah. You're an unsavoury."

"And yet people never call me sweet," she said, letting go. "So you've heard of me, at least."

"I'm making it my business to know things. Judging by your Rats scurrying all over every city in this hemisphere, I'd say yours is too." Strange was tall and handsome, although ageing, with the enigmatic facial hair of a superhero and the clothes of a sorcerer. "Why are you here?"

"You're a very interesting man, Stephen. I had a reliable tip-off about the usefulness of the Sorcerer Supreme," she said, and Strange's shoulders stiffened.

"From who, exactly?"

"The king of Asgard."

"Odin? How the hell would you have even met?"

"You might want to put the kettle on," said Gwen, "it's a hell of a story."

%

"Where's Thor?" Loki asked, as the handmaidens helped him into his robes. Not that I care, he added to himself. I don't care about anyone except me. It's the best way to avoid getting hurt. Not that she hurt me or anything. Which isn't to say that I'm thinking about her, because I'm not.

"Last we heard he had reached Muspelheim, lord," one of the guards told him.

"Oh. What's he doing there?"

"Pursuing his quest to locate the Infinity Stones. I thought he had told you this,"

"He did," Loki replied in his father's voice. "But it's not my job to remember, is it? As king, I have other people to do that for me."

"Yes, lord. Of course, lord. A messenger has arrived with news about the play, lord."

"Oh, good. Bring me some wine, would you?" he added to the prettiest handmaiden, who bobbed a curtsy and ran off to fetch it. "What's the message about?"

"It will be ready by the turn of next season, lord."

"That's a bloody long time," Loki frowned.

"The playwright says that art takes time."

"Hm," he said. "Well… it is an excellent work of theatre, I suppose. And the statue…?"

"Should be completed around the same time, lord."

"Excellent! We might as well have a festival to celebrate it. Loki's Day. The humans name sevenths of their week after myself and my more dim-witted son, and yet they render my youngest to the dusty halls of forgetfulness. It's a disgrace," he declared, taking the wine that the handmaiden offered him and downing it in one. "Now get out."

"Everyone, lord?"

He cast an appraising eye around the room. "No," he said, and pointed to the pretty handmaiden with the wine. "You can stay – and that page by the door. Everyone else get out. Unless you want to watch, that is."

%

Gwen told Strange everything. Well, except for the boring details. And the things that made her seem weak, like Lucy and the miscarriage and her old addictions. She didn't bring her personal relationship with Loki into it, either. She wasn't stupid. But apart from that… everything.

"He thinks he's Asgard's answer to Machiavelli," she explained. "And he can be clever, I'll grant him that. But he's lazy, and likes to create problems for other people to watch them struggle over."

"Is that how you would describe his attack on New York in 2012?"

"That wasn't all him," she replied. "Mostly him, I'll grant you that, but the man behind it was Thanos and it's Thanos you need to be scared of. He caught Loki off-guard. That's how you beat him. Come at him when he's not expecting it. As for Thor… well, now you know where his dad is. Family's a big deal to the good guys, so I hear."

"But Thanos –"

"I don't know much about him," Gwen cut over the doctor. "Pretty much nothing, actually. Some big space titan that doesn't know how to share, by the sounds of it."

Strange smirked. "You have such a way with words," he said.

She twirled her foot, watching the warm oil lights of the Sanctum Sanctorum shine gleam off the patent leather of her boot. "If you know about the Asgardians," she said, "you know about how the whole damn universe works. And if you know how to get one up on them, then you can do what the Avengers struggled to achieve combined."

"Why tell me this?"

"I'd rather have you with me than against me," Gwen replied.

"I don't tend to associate with criminals."

"Good thing I'm just a humble businesswoman," she said, "ain't it?" She stood up. "Things are shifting, doctor, and not just in New York. The whole universe is on edge. Something bad's gonna happen real soon. And when it does, I'd like to be certain that the protector of our planet owes me a favour." She stood up. "If you ever need anything… unsavoury, Stephen, do let me know. I can see myself out."

"Wait," said Strange as she went to leave the room. "Who are you really? What's your real name?"

Her fingers curled around the head of her cane. "You're the magical genius," she said. "You tell me."

They stared each other down. Strange's gaze was fierce; Gwen could've sworn she could smell the metallic taint of magic on the air between them. But she hadn't got where she was by blinking first.

"Mouse," said Strange, eventually. "Let's just stick with Mouse, shall we?"