BOOK TWO

my fault

ONE

I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream

I know you, that look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam

And I know it's true that visions are seldom all they seem

But if I know you, I know what you'll do

You'll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream

- "Once Upon A Dream," Lana del Ray

Alana Cooper just couldn't find the book she was looking for.

She was wandering through the halls of the New York Public Library, which was almost deserted.

Apparently there was some sort of new alien invasion going on in London, and everyone was sitting, captivated, in front of their televisions.

Whatever, she thought. It's probably going to be on every television in the world for another week.

Her mission was more important.

Her first flashback had happened two weeks after she woke up in the hospital. She'd heard a person playing piano in the lobby and had remembered a different song, played on the piano, heard from afar. She'd gone to see who was playing… and there it had ended.

The next one had happened another month later. She had been lying on her roof, looking at the stars, and in her flashback she'd heard footsteps coming up behind her. Someone had lain down next to her… but the flashback ended before she could see whom it was.

She was absolutely, positively fed up with her amnesia.

Which is why she was at the library, looking for a word, one word. One word that she could remember from the missing years of her life. One word that had pushed its way through the barriers between her memories.

Loki.

She wasn't sure if it was a place, a person, or a thing. The memory had been vague, with white sheets and something beeping, the word like a whisper, a thought, accompanied with a fierce sense of determination and a pang of sadness.

When she had searched the word in the database, the library had popped up with all sorts of books on Norse Mythology, call number 292. She was having a bit of trouble finding the mythology section, however. The library was like a maze. She had thought she was getting to the two hundreds when it suddenly turned into the five hundreds.

She kept walking, and then suddenly doubled back, having spotted a book with a call number 292 stuffed away in the middle of the sciences.

She never reached it.

The air warped and bent around her and she found herself in another, different, library.

"Whoa," she said. What had just happened, exactly?

This library was much more majestic, with ornate woodwork and heavy leather-bound books clasped with tarnished metal buckles. Balls of light floated under the vaulted ceiling. She looked around in wonder.

A painting caught her eye down a corridor of bookshelves. She hurried down and gazed at a huge picture framed with gold. In it, lightning surrounded a stern looking white-bearded man with an eye patch and a blond haired guy holding a hammer, who looked as if he was on steroids. Storm clouds filled the sky behind them. The painting was larger than life.

Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw another painting. It was tucked away in an alcove, seemingly forgotten. This one was much smaller, framed in bronze. She walked carefully towards it, feeling tense – but why, she had no idea.

A pale man with long, dark hair was looking over his shoulder at her. The painting was grimy – a contrast to the gleaming one of the two men that was obviously polished frequently. His eyes were a startling shade of green, a mischievous smile on his face.

A knot formed itself in her stomach. This person… she felt as if she'd seen him before, like a friend from when she was small. His eyes went straight to her head, making it ache. Did she know him?

She reached out to touch the face in the painting, but before the tips of her fingers could brush the canvas, a smooth voice rang out, saying, "You're not supposed to touch the paintings."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, whirling around, startled. "I didn't know…"

Her voice trailed off as she took in the man before her. He was tall and lithe, dressed in dark leather and green and gold, with dark hair.

She looked back at the painting. "It's your painting! Sorry, I didn't mean anything."

The man recoiled as if he'd just been punched. His eyes were wide and his face had drained of what little color it had.

"You…" he breathed. "How…"

"I didn't mean to trespass or anything," Alana cut in quickly. "I was in the New York Library trying to find a book that would help me, and then I ended up here somehow, but I don't know where here is, and – "

She stopped her rapid-fire explanation and looked curiously at the man, who was still frozen and looking as if he was about to go into shock. "I'm sorry, have we met?"

The man inhaled sharply, looking as if he was trying to make up his mind about something. He said, "No."

"I don't mean to be rude, it's just that you look really familiar and – ow."

Images rushed into her mind, accompanied by a searing pain as the man vanished from her vision. Not another flashback, she thought, not here! Not now!

A pale hand, outstretched, reaching for hers, a voice crying her name. "Loki!" she shouts. People were trying to restrain her, but she had to get to him, she had to – and then a sharp pain in the back of her neck makes her dizzy, and she hears a voice screaming "No!" -

The images disappeared and she collapsed, feeling as if she'd been run over by a truck. In a flash, the man had caught her in his arms and carried her to a nearby bench covered with velvet.

"Sorry about that," she said weakly. Then, to herself, "So it is a name..."

"What is a name?" the man asked cautiously. After he had placed her on the bench he had quickly stepped back, studying her face intently, his intense eyes fixed on hers. "And… what are you wearing?"

Alana looked down at herself in surprise. Somehow, she was wearing a floor-length dress with a full, green velvet skirt, with a bodice of black leather and gold. She reached up and felt her head; a slender circlet of gold sat there, curving gradually into a V on her forehead. It was undoubtedly the finest dress she had ever worn. And the strangest.

"I have absolutely no idea. Trust me, I wasn't wearing this when I stepped through that thing... whatever it was."

"And the name?" the man said.

"Well…" Alana sat up, feeling unsure how to respond, "the thing is, I used to work in a… government position and I was injured in combat. I got amnesia, and now I can't remember a lot of my past. But I can remember this one word – well, I guess it's a name, really."

The man's eyes glimmered. "What is it?" he asked softly.

"Um, Loki."

Saying the name out loud for the first time brought a rush of emotions to Alana: pain and anger and fear and… love?

"Say it again," the man said quietly. "Please?" he added.

"Loki," she said hesitantly, feeling the strangeness of the name on her lips, and then more confidently, "I need to find Loki."

The man smiled, an expression of pure, perfect joy on his face.

"Who are you?" she asked. "I'm Alana."

"Er, I'm… Lucas."

"Nice to meet you. Now, could you tell me where the hell I am?"

The smile slipped off his face. "They cannot find you here," he said urgently. "You must stay here until all the commotion is over."

"Commotion?" Alana asked. "What commotion? Where am I?"

"Follow me," Lucas said.

A/N: Together again. :)

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