to the sword. After the old order had been torn down and the new order had been established, Amy and Bohdi gave the sword to Steve. Steve’s nature is to keep things safe and the same and boring — there have been no tsunamis in Lake Michigan since Steve’s had the sword, no strange new viruses or volcanoes. After a few unsteady centuries, it’s what people need. But he does miss it.
Steve raises an eyebrow and looks sharply up at Bohdi. “Wait, you’re not fighting, are you?”
Holding up his hands, Bohdi blinks. “No … it’s just a misunderstanding.”
Steve’s eyes narrow. “If you are fighting, you can’t be making up tonight. Chicago is hosting a peace delegation for the Light Elves and Dark Elves, I can’t have earthquakes tonight.”
Bohdi’s lip purse. Earthquakes, World Gates spontaneously forming, and magic-eating trees going crazy don’t happen every time Amy and he have marital relations … but when things are emotionally intense, like after a fight …
“Go to Niflheim,” Steve says. “That place is flat as a pancake, it could use a good earthquake!”
“I have a kid, Steve!” Bohdi snaps.
“Get a babysitter!” says Steve.
“You have Laevithin, you have enough power to counter our magic!” Bohdi protests.
Steve’s lips twitch. “I don’t want to risk it.”
“My wife is missing. Help me find her,” Bohdi says.
Steve stares at him for a long moment, but closes his eyes and then opens them, the bionic eye glowing bright purple. “She’s not answering her phone … Accessing data on her last known whereabouts … They went to Amy’s lab, right now they’re not on any of the security cameras — ”
But Bohdi’s already running through Steve’s projection.
“Uncle Bohdi?” he hears Henry say, and then Steve’s voice in the bathroom. “What were you thinking!”
He passes through the living room, and Loki shouts from the television set. “Did you lose Amy?”
Bohdi doesn’t even pause to flick him off. He practically flies into the kitchen. Opening a cabinet, he reaches for a high shelf and grabs a handful of magically-charged marbles from a fishbowl they keep out of Durga’s still flightless reach. He jams all but one into his pocket. Clasping the one in his palm, he dashes to the foyer. Through the panes of glass beside the door he sees a beautiful Chicago day. The magic carpet on the floor lifts itself expectantly as he slips on his sneakers.
“Take Henry home,” Bohdi says, and the carpet waves its tassels in acknowledgement.
Dread coiling in his stomach, Bohdi grasps the magic marble tighter, focuses, and slips into the In Between.
x x x x
Durga loves Amy’s “office”. On the banks of the South Pond in Lincoln Park, the building was built in 1908. It is one of the most beautiful surviving examples of Prairie School architecture and has been declared a Midgardia monument. The Light Elves scoff, but Amy thinks it’s very pretty.
During the years after Cera, the Lokean Age, and then after the Technomagical Renaissance, nine separate World Gates sprang up in the quarter acre around the building, and a tenth even sprang up in the building itself. Lost bakus, unicorns, baby dragons, and others have a habit of stumbling through the gates. The building has been closed to the public, in part to rehabilitate those lost souls. Amy and her staff tend to their injuries before sending them home.
Right now Amy and Durga are in a “dragon recovery room”. There is a tiny faux cave made out of poured concrete for little dragons to sleep in, comfortably scrunched the way they like. Inside it there is a red heat lamp. The ceiling of the room itself is high, allowing for limited flight, and there are cement boulders arranged for perching. Right now, their Labrador-sized dragon guest is sitting on a boulder, a big toothy smile on his emerald, green-scaled face. He’s kneading his inch long nails in the boulder, basking in Amy’s and Durga’s company. The
Steve raises an eyebrow and looks sharply up at Bohdi. “Wait, you’re not fighting, are you?”
Holding up his hands, Bohdi blinks. “No … it’s just a misunderstanding.”
Steve’s eyes narrow. “If you are fighting, you can’t be making up tonight. Chicago is hosting a peace delegation for the Light Elves and Dark Elves, I can’t have earthquakes tonight.”
Bohdi’s lip purse. Earthquakes, World Gates spontaneously forming, and magic-eating trees going crazy don’t happen every time Amy and he have marital relations … but when things are emotionally intense, like after a fight …
“Go to Niflheim,” Steve says. “That place is flat as a pancake, it could use a good earthquake!”
“I have a kid, Steve!” Bohdi snaps.
“Get a babysitter!” says Steve.
“You have Laevithin, you have enough power to counter our magic!” Bohdi protests.
Steve’s lips twitch. “I don’t want to risk it.”
“My wife is missing. Help me find her,” Bohdi says.
Steve stares at him for a long moment, but closes his eyes and then opens them, the bionic eye glowing bright purple. “She’s not answering her phone … Accessing data on her last known whereabouts … They went to Amy’s lab, right now they’re not on any of the security cameras — ”
But Bohdi’s already running through Steve’s projection.
“Uncle Bohdi?” he hears Henry say, and then Steve’s voice in the bathroom. “What were you thinking!”
He passes through the living room, and Loki shouts from the television set. “Did you lose Amy?”
Bohdi doesn’t even pause to flick him off. He practically flies into the kitchen. Opening a cabinet, he reaches for a high shelf and grabs a handful of magically-charged marbles from a fishbowl they keep out of Durga’s still flightless reach. He jams all but one into his pocket. Clasping the one in his palm, he dashes to the foyer. Through the panes of glass beside the door he sees a beautiful Chicago day. The magic carpet on the floor lifts itself expectantly as he slips on his sneakers.
“Take Henry home,” Bohdi says, and the carpet waves its tassels in acknowledgement.
Dread coiling in his stomach, Bohdi grasps the magic marble tighter, focuses, and slips into the In Between.
x x x x
Durga loves Amy’s “office”. On the banks of the South Pond in Lincoln Park, the building was built in 1908. It is one of the most beautiful surviving examples of Prairie School architecture and has been declared a Midgardia monument. The Light Elves scoff, but Amy thinks it’s very pretty.
During the years after Cera, the Lokean Age, and then after the Technomagical Renaissance, nine separate World Gates sprang up in the quarter acre around the building, and a tenth even sprang up in the building itself. Lost bakus, unicorns, baby dragons, and others have a habit of stumbling through the gates. The building has been closed to the public, in part to rehabilitate those lost souls. Amy and her staff tend to their injuries before sending them home.
Right now Amy and Durga are in a “dragon recovery room”. There is a tiny faux cave made out of poured concrete for little dragons to sleep in, comfortably scrunched the way they like. Inside it there is a red heat lamp. The ceiling of the room itself is high, allowing for limited flight, and there are cement boulders arranged for perching. Right now, their Labrador-sized dragon guest is sitting on a boulder, a big toothy smile on his emerald, green-scaled face. He’s kneading his inch long nails in the boulder, basking in Amy’s and Durga’s company. The
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