Chapter 2
1076 Words
Chapter 2First comes the call. Second comes the information gathering. Third comes Loki barging down the door.
I laugh at my own little joke as I walk through the college parking lot. I like to think that’s how the sequence always works. Unfortunately, it rarely does. You see, those coming to this dimension usually want to stay. Imagine the audacity!
Still, it helps me get focused on the simplicity. Why make this harder than it should be?
I pull out my cell phone, a smartphone of course and way more sophisticated than one you could ever think of getting, and call up the information I need. Within moments, I have the exact information I’m looking for. One has got to admire the genius of Google. They weren’t even gods when they got the idea, though they will be when I get my full powers back.
But there is something nagging at the back of my head, like Odin’s ravens pecking away at something I should be remembering. What could I possibly be overlooking?
Nothing. Loki overlooks nothing! I plan from beginning to end, taking into account every possible scenario. It’s who I am, it’s how I work.
Then why do Huginn and Muninn haunt me. I look up, expecting to see the ravens circling me now. Well, they aren’t flying, but they certainly are looking down on me from the skeletal branches of leafless trees where they sit. It reminds me of the day the All-Father sat on his throne and cast me out with his easy judgment. Certainly, I promise that if things happened as the witnesses claimed it had then yes, I might have deserved it. Problem was that I hadn’t actually done it this time. For once, I was innocent.
Then I feel the missing notion like a ghostly hand reaching across the realms. I know I have been touched by something powerful as I read the thought sent from the Yggdrasill Tree and I nearly slap my head. Yes, brilliant, why had I not remembered that piece of information?
Minotaurs are assassins. Reading the mythology, it seems like there is only one Minotaur, but the truth is that Minotaur is the name of their race. They were brought here much in the way African slaves were brought to America and the aftereffects very similar too. It used to be that reparative sacrifices were sent to the Minotaurs in their labyrinths. An easy way to off the children of families not very well liked by those in power. Now, the Minotaurs are hired out and sent after their prey. I mean, gee, how many centuries did it take for the humans to realize, “Hey, if we don’t send our children in the labyrinth, they won’t die”?
But I digress. The point is: if a Minotaur is here and his prey chosen, then he’s obviously set to work of slowly destroying his prey and the initiator must be somewhere nearby, watching.
I wonder if that person is supposed to be here in Midgard. Why and who would want an ordinary human dead by the hands of a Minotaur? I can only think of a handful of suspects: a jealous goddess, a vain sorcerer queen, or a spurned half-god. All three possibilities are always a joy to work with, let me tell you.
Well, if I am going to be searching for a Minotaur assassin and the purse-strings behind the beast, I better take a moment to gather my thoughts. Yes, it is time for a little peace of mind.
Back in the day, I would just flip my cloak and I’d teleport where ever I wanted to be. But Odin wanted to make sure I stayed in Midgard and did what he wanted me to do. Keep the rabid dog on a short leash, make sure he stays in his cage and out of trouble.
Again, I’ve let myself drift. Besides, it’s really not as bad as I make it out to be, this lack of teleporting. I run my fingers gently over the smooth gray body of my little imported automobile. Freshly waxed and sparkling like a gem, my Rolls Royce Phantom seems ready to break out of the parking spot before I even slide into the car behind the leather steering wheel. Thor once told me I was better suited to an AMC Gremlin, so I make sure that every year when I upgrade to the newest model, I send the prior year’s Phantom to him with a big ribbon on it.
As the engine purrs to life, Two Steps from Hell pours sweetly out of the radio with their song Norwegian Pirate. Wouldn’t a Norwegian pirate be a Viking? I enjoy the way the beginning of the song sounds like a race on a space age track; it gets my own engine revving for the hunt. I shift the car into reverse, loving the feel of the mechanics gliding as I clutch, break, and change gears. Humans, they did get this power thing right with their automobiles.
Within moments, I’m out of the college campus and back in traffic.
Street lights... ah, what fun! You know how you’re driving along and one goes greeeeen, yellow, RED! Ha ha! Teleporting might be a no-no, but tinkering with and manipulating human inventions is not off my benefits list.
With barely a thought, I get my lane moving ahead of me so I won’t have to slow down. A car oncoming the perpendicular intersection screeches to a halt at the sudden change in signals. As I sail through the intersection I swear I can hear him shouting into his cell phone that the light didn’t even turn yellow. He might be right. But I am on the trail of a Minotaur. There is no time to waste. It’s best to keep traffic flowing in my direction.
I turn down a side street off the main drag and go down about two blocks into a charming residential area. Quaint cottage style houses with little white picket fences line the street. Not to mention the planter boxes waiting for spring flowers and lace curtains in nearly every window. The very part of me which could easily blend into this human world is repulsed. I want to flee. But the god in me knows, understands.
The trickster in me, however, wants to make this sickly sweet and too-good-to-be-true neighborhood the site of a meteor impact.
Now is not the time to be laughing at my own plotted jokes. Someday though, I promise it will be done.
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- Writer
