Chapter 3

Loki heard the front door opening, the sudden amplified sound of birds singing outside, the rattling of keys being removed from the lock, and the door closing again. A soft female voice followed – the woman from the photographs?

"Hey, Sash. Have you come to greet me, eh?"

She was talking to the cat? Loki refrained from rolling his eyes a second time.

"Want your dinner, do you?"

Yes, Loki urged. Feed the beast. Go away, towards the kitchen, where ever that may be, and do not come into the library. That way, he could make a quick escape and she would be none the wiser.

"...just let me put these new books away..."

Damn it, Loki scowled irritably. It appeared she had a voracious appetite for books. And while he would normally approve of such a passion, being a lover of books himself, it was not going to help the present situation.

His pupils dilated, eyes darkening with intent, as he evoked his invisibility.

To his shock nothing happened.

He tried again but felt only an unpleasant tingling, like pins and needles, in his arms and hands.

He felt a flicker of panic. His magic had never failed him before. Did this have something to do with his present weakened state? The effect of the incantation? Surely not. He had performed magic with both a raging fever and serious head wound in the past.

Hearing the woman draw closer to the room, he opted for Plan B, quickly glancing back towards the desk, at the framed photograph of the man.

By the time she had reached the library door he had shape shifted into her husband's guise, relieved that his magic hadn't completely failed him, but alarmed by the extent of pain it gave him. Shape shifting was usually as natural and as fluid as breathing. Something was wrong with him, that much was obvious, and it was affecting his magic as well as his physical being. His hope was that it would only be temporary.

As he braced himself for the confrontation, he tried to relax into the persona. He had no idea what the man was like, his mannerisms, his voice, all those little idiosyncrasies that made a person unique. But he had no other option. It was either this or remain himself, and she would be less likely to panic if she saw a familiar face.

But when she finally met his gaze, her reaction was not quite what he expected.

Her eyes widened in shock, instantly glazing with tears, and he watched in morbid fascination as the colour swiftly drained from her face leaving her pallor disturbingly ashen. The books fell to the floor with a dull thud as she reached a hand up to her chest, her fingers trembling.

"David?" she choked, barely able to get the name out.

It was then that Loki saw what she was reaching for – a gold band on the end of a chain. What appeared to be a ring.

He noticed there were no rings on any of her fingers.

"No..." she gasped. "No...this can't be real..."

Acknowledgement hit Loki like a ton of bricks and frustration flooded through him when he realised his mistake, that he had shape shifted into a dead man. The ring was obviously her wedding ring, removed from her finger but too cherished to be excluded entirely from her possession.

What the curses was he supposed to do now?

Her eyes frantically roamed his face and she seemed desperately torn. Wanting to rush across and embrace him but shock holding her with a vise's grip.

"David?"

So many emotions swept across her face – pain, disbelief, hope...joy – and Loki found his irritation giving way to genuine regret. Maybe it was because he recognised her torment all too well, his own grief still so raw.

He realised that he had no choice.

As he shape shifted back into himself, simply clothed as he had been in his cell, she recoiled back in fear and confusion.

"David?"

He sighed, knowing there was no easy way of doing this. "No. I am not."

Whether due to the confirmation, or the shape shifting itself, Loki didn't know, but her legs suddenly buckled beneath her and she crumpled to the floor with a sob.

Loki frowned his discomfiture, finding himself in unfamiliar territory. How could he sneer at such a display of sentimentality, when, for the first time in his long life, he was battling the same emotions.

"I did not know your husband had passed. I am..." he hesitated as she stared up at him in bewilderment, her eyes still glassy, her whole body trembling now. "...I am...sorry," he added, the latter coming somewhat reluctantly. He was not accustomed to apologising.

"David?" she repeated mechanically, and there was pleading in her tone, her mind seeming unable to accept this different man, still focussed upon the fact that her dead husband had appeared before her.

"No," Loki said more firmly, his irritation beginning to rise again. "I shape shifted into his guise so as not to alarm you with my own."

She frowned her uncertainty, slowly shaking her head. "Shape...shifted...?"

He took a step closer and she shrank back, slamming into a bookshelf.

He watched her impatiently, so very tempted to simply hurry passed her quivering form and make his exit. He had no time for this! Mortals were always so problematic.

But his mother's face was there again, in his mind, haunting him like a ghost. A ghost he welcomed, of course, but haunting him all the same. She had begged him to do good. Maybe reassuring the woman would be a step in that direction.

"I am not going to harm you..." he added tersely, stepping closer.

"Don't!" she cried out, taking him aback with her sudden outburst.

She appeared to have finally gathered her senses, though her body and eyes still betrayed her fears. Scrambling to her feet, she splayed out a defensive hand in a bid to keep him at arm's length. "Stay away from me!"

He hesitated, pleased that she had snapped out of her stupor at last. She had a bit of fire in her after all. He took a step back. "As you wish."

"What...what the hell are you?" she whispered hoarsely.

He regarded her curiously. Did she not recognise him? Her voice sounded English so he concluded he had been transported somewhere in England, but surely she would have seen him on one of those...televisions? It was several Midgardian months ago...but surely his exploits would have reached all corners of their world by now.

He felt a twisting in his chest that had nothing to do with the effects of the incantation this time.

Then again...what was there to recognise, he lamented, anger and despair rushing through his veins in equal measure. His hair long and unkempt, clothes dishevelled, feet still bare and bloodied. He was but a shadow of his former self. Nothing like the powerful conqueror he had been in New York.

But then something else dawned on him and he seized upon the thought, not wishing to succumb to his own demons in front of this mortal woman.

He had not noticed one of those televisions in her living quarters. And this library certainly had no room for such a sizeable contraption.

Though he accepted there were other rooms that might house one, he found himself scrutinising her face, at its thinness, bordering upon gaunt, at the dark circles around her eyes. She also looked a shadow of the happy vibrant woman in the photographs. Her features reflected her grief all too well and he wondered how long her husband had been dead. Had she simply been too preoccupied with her own turmoil to care about that of the world's?

"Are you an alien?"

Her words caught him by surprise and he arched a brow. "A what?"

"There's this movie – Starman – this reminds me..." she stopped suddenly, as if wary of continuing.

As their eyes locked she took a couple of shallow breaths. A hint of colour had returned to her cheeks but she still reminded him of a cornered animal, preparing for flight at the first opportunity. There was a deep primal part of Loki that relished the power he had over her, while his more pragmatic side knew that terrifying her senseless was not going to be a good start to fulfilling his mother's wish.

Seeing that she was trying to summon some semblance of courage, even admiring her for it, Loki slipped his hands behind his back, interlocked his fingers, and leaned forward slightly. "Where upon Midgard am I?"

She looked at him strangely. "Midgard?"

Her ignorance made him sigh inwardly. "You call it Earth."

She blinked, perplexed, and there was caution in her eyes. "This is England...if that's what you mean."

He nodded. "As I suspected."

"...you sound English."

He narrowed his eyes, insulted. How dare she think him from Midgard! "But I am not, I assure you."

There was a long drawn out silence.

"Then where are you from?" the woman dared.

He smirked. "Somewhere far, far away."

"A galaxy?"

He detected a hint of humour in her own tone though her delivery remained tense and guarded. He didn't understand the reason behind her jesting, however, and was about to question her on it when he felt blood trickle from his nose again.

"You're bleeding..." she blurted in surprise.

"I am well aware of that," he returned shortly, sweeping his fingers roughly across his face, the fresh blood smearing across his hand, mingling with the dry. He frowned. These curs-ed maladies were proving most tiresome. He had hoped that by now...

Pain suddenly exploded behind his eyes, ripping through his consciousness and instantly terminating his chain of thought. He staggered, clutching his head in his hands as the dizziness returned with a vengeance, the room spinning faster and faster with no sign of slowing. With a strangled cry it was his turn to slam painfully to his knees.

When he found himself inadvertently reaching out to the woman, he was just coherent enough to feel a flare of self-disgust before his world turned dark again.

Author's note - if you haven't seen the movie Starman I recommend you watch the trailer over at You Tube. That way you can kinda see what the woman means. The movie is very good and stars a very young Jeff Bridges, and the beautiful Karen Allen.

Thanks for reading. Feedback is MUCH appreciated and it encourages me to write more! *wink*