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I Bring the Fire Part I: Wolves

Brow furrowing, he says, “Don’t toy with me,” and waves a hand. Beneath the table Fenrir barks.
Amy turns around; the other room is dark. She peers around the corner; all the candles are extinguished.
She’s not even bothered anymore.
She looks back at the table. Thor is already standing up with the plate of ham in one hand, and the loaf of
bread in the other. He’s not smiling.
“Pleasant dreams!” she says.
He nods at her. “Likewise.”
She shrugs. “They already are!”
After Thor’s out the door, she heads up the stairs to her bedroom. To her surprise, her grandmother is
standing on the landing in her pink nightgown, looking towards the door Thor just exited.
“Sounded like you had a lot of fun chatting with Hoenir’s friend,” she says, eyes narrowing to slivers.
Amy just snorts.
CHAPTER 6
Amy has more dreams later that night. They aren’t as pleasant and she has trouble falling to sleep again.
In desperation, she pulls Fenrir up near her pillow. Still, she doesn’t go to sleep until the very early morning.
When she wakes up, it is to Fenrir whimpering by the door. She blinks at the light and then does a double
take. It must be nearly noon.
Amy gets up quickly, dresses, and heads down to the kitchen. Beatrice has her apron on and is leaning
over the sink washing dishes. She smiles up at Amy. “Good morning, Dear.”
Thor is sitting at the table, in his retro outfit, a Chicago Transit Authority map spread out in front of him.
How did he get invited to breakfast? Or brunch, or whatever.
“Good morning,” he says. He looks like the guy she remembers from the police station. A little rumpled,
shoulders not quite square, expression soft. The sort of shy guy who filled her with trust. He doesn’t look like
the mischievous guy in her dream last night, the one who turned himself into an Amazon, or the guy in the
armor.
She blinks as she lets Fenrir out the back door. The kitchen is flooded with warm yellow light. Thor is
complimenting Beatrice on her cooking; there is a bowl of freshly scrubbed strawberries on the table; the
room smells like coffee, bacon and toast.
...and it feels even more dreamlike than Amy’s dream of Thor the Amazon.
“Amy? Amy?”
Beatrice is suddenly standing very close to her.
“Are you all right?” her grandmother says.
“Yes,” says Amy.
“Sit down,” says Beatrice. “I’ll get you some coffee.”
“No,” says Amy. “I’ll make some myself.”
 
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