I Bring the Fire Part I: Wolves
The bus driver, says, “Buy it for him online when you sit down! We’ve got to get a move on!”
“Okay,” she says. From a shapeless bag on her shoulder, Fenrir gives a happy yip.
“Is that a dog in there?” says the bus driver.
“No!” say Amy and Loki in unison, quickly hurrying up the steps.
As they settle into their seats which are a might bit cramped, Amy complains about being in a
“cattle car.” Loki says nothing. He actually thinks the vehicle is fairly amazing. It’s not one of
the litters of Odin’s wife, Frigga, and the seats are not proportioned for someone his size, but
even with his legs splayed wide, one knee awkwardly out in the aisle, it is much more
comfortable than a horse.
His brain churns with questions. Why did Odin’s spell leave him so drained? And how did he
escape it? How is he the good guy? Could they possibly mistake him for the real Thor? And
unicorns? How in the nine realms are they slipping over here? They certainly didn’t come from
Asgard’s orbiting garbage heap.
He closes his eyes. He should pull out his book and look for branches of the World Tree in the
vicinity of Chicago.
Instead he falls asleep.
Maybe it is the steady hum of the engine. Maybe it is that there are people all around. Or
maybe it is just exhaustion. Whatever, even though Amy wouldn’t think it possible, in the bus,
just a little before St. Louis, she dozes off. She wakes up with a start, vague memories of
darkness and Ed Malson in her mind.
She takes a breath. Fenrir pushes her nose out of the bag in Amy’s lap and licks her hand.
Amy pats the dog’s head. She is safe. Thor Odinson saved her. She rubs her eyes. His parents
must be lunatics for giving him a name like that. Lunatic parents may be something they have in
common. Thinking about Thor, she blinks. Wincing from the pain in her neck, she rolls her head
to look at him across the aisle. Her eyes widen. Thor’s head is bent down against his chest; his
eyes are closed. He’s shivering, his lips are moving, a scowl is on his brow. She can tell instantly
he is having bad dreams, too.
That isn’t what’s making her eyebrows touch her hairline.
He’s wearing armor. What looks like the handle of a sword is poking out of the knapsack that