Chapter 5

Chapter five

Ron found Lincoln at around noon on the school’s football pitch. The boy was a tall, beige-skinned athlete with hair he usually had cropped. Due to the winter, Lincoln had grown his hair out so that it was an inch long and covered his head like a small bush. He was dressed in grey shorts, a white t-shirt and trainers with no socks despite the cold conditions and was running from one end of the pitch to the other, his breath fogging with every stride. The front of his shirt read “For Stephen”, and on the back of it there was a number and the logo of a local sports club for young people.

            “Hey!” Ron called, smiling. “Hey! Lincoln!”

Lincoln kept doing his laps from one end of the pitch to the other, so Ron jogged over and intercepted his friend’s latest lap.

            “What ya doin’, mate?” Lincoln cried, stopping, out of breath and clearly agitated. “You’re wreckin’ my mojo, man!” He reached up and pulled out a pair of black buds. Earphones. That explained why Lincoln had continued to run while Ron was calling to him.

            “Sorry, Lynx,” Ron said apologetically. “Any luck with your training?”

            “You just stopped it, dude!” Lincoln said, bending over to catch his breath. “Need a break, though, I can tell ya that, man. Jeez! This is wearing me out!”  He wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

As Ron waited for his friend to regain normal breathing, his hand went to his pocket, where the light purple paper rested, folded up to fit. After reading it out to Richard, Ron’s confidence was wavering. Could he read it out to Lincoln? If so, would Lincoln understand what the paper said? Hermod had said that Ron and three others would be able to understand the content of the message- could Lincoln be one of the other three? Ron had to find out- Richard clearly wasn’t one of them. He wasn’t sure about Matt, and Kevin... well, Kevin needed more experience.

Lincoln looked up, his cheeks turning pink.

            “What ya want, mate?” he asked.

Ron’s hand clasped the paper and he slowly pulled it out, saying; “I need you to look at something,” he pulled the letter out and held it in front of him, closing his eyes, “and I’m asking you because my dad couldn’t make sense of it, and next to him you’re the only guy who’s been cool to me since I first came here.”

When Ron opened his eyes, Lincoln was staring at him.

            “What do ya want me to look at?” he asked.

            “This,” Ron passed him the paper. “Just open it and tell me what it says... or what you see.”

Lincoln kept staring at him.

            “What? Just take it,” Ron said.

            “Take what?” Lincoln asked impatiently.

            “The paper!”

            “What paper?”

            “The paper I’m holding!”

            “You ain’t holding anythin’!”

Ron looked at his hand and saw, with shock, that it was empty. He searched his pockets and found nothing. His eyes widened and he filled with panic. He felt nauseous and started breathing heavily.

            “Dude, you okay?” Lincoln looked worried and stepped forward. He put a hand on Ron’s shoulder, but Ron stepped back. “Want me to get the nurse or somethin’?” Lincoln asked.

Ron fell to his knees. Lincoln turned and ran towards the school building. Ron grabbed his stomach and began to hyperventilate. He looked up at the school- a collection of red-brick cuboid-shaped buildings, each of which rose one or two storeys from the ground- and the world went blurry. He felt thirsty, and he could swear that somebody had their hands around his neck. Instinctively, he clawed at his neck, trying to rid the sensation of strangulation. He fell to the floor, landing on his right side, choking and gasping. His vision was blurring severely, and he could hear hooves coming up behind him. Amidst the blur of the school, he thought he saw a man. This man was not like the school- where the school looked like a wet painting, this man was clear. He stood in the swirling colours, tall and dark. He had long white-blonde hair, a straight face and a small beard. He was young, lean and wore armour of some sort. At his side, a scabbard hung. Ron could make out the hilt of a sword, and a type of instrument slung across the man’s shoulder.

The man’s eyes narrowed, and suddenly Ron could see their colour- ice blue. Ron’s eyes widened and began to water. He let out a small, strangled yelp as the sound of hooves got closer.

Without warning, the man was gone. He had just disappeared, along with the hooves and Ron’s blurred vision. He took a deep, grateful breath as the imaginary hands lifted. Ron saw a woman kneeling over him, a hand on his head. He heard someone calling his name, asking if he was alright, if he needed anything. He knew that voice. Strong, regional and innocent.

            “Lincoln?” Ron asked in a raspy voice. “Lincoln!”

***

Richard buttoned up his sky-blue shirt and pulled on a pair of boxer shorts. He padded across his violet carpet and out of his bedroom, across the bare wood of the corridor. The sound of his bare feet against the floor sent strange shivers up his spine. The wood was cold. He felt like he was walking on ice. The end of the corridor opened up three ways: to the bathroom, which still radiated some of the heat it had absorbed from his shower earlier; the front door; and the kitchen. He turned into the kitchen and stared disappointedly at the sink. A yoghurt pot and a licked spoon sat sadly in a shallow pool of water. A purple tea mug rested on the counter by the sink with a half-eaten bowl of cornflakes. Richard sighed. Kevin had yet to eat anything. He felt worry for his youngest son as he stared at the cupboard where he knew, without even looking, the small orange spoon would be.

A warm, humid day in California. The party was in full swing. The children were happily playing duck-duck-goose outside in the backyard, and Marissa was helping Richard decorate the cake with orange polka-dots and, in cursive lettering, the words ‘Happy 6^th Birthday, Kevin!’ were displayed proudly. Richard flicked some of the icing onto Marissa. It landed on her nose like an orange fly. She smiled and giggled like a schoolgirl, flicking some chocolate syrup at him in response. Richard licked the icing off of Marissa’s nose and she licked the syrup off of his cheek.

They giggled. Richard hugged his wife tightly and she hugged him back, nestling her head in his chest. He kissed her on the top of her head and sighed contentedly.

She looked up at him. “Have I told you ‘I love you’ today?” she asked.

            “Hm...” Richard hummed, tilting his head backwards with a smile on his lips. He looked back down at Marissa and his smile grew. “No, I don’t think so.”

            “I love you.” Marissa giggled.

            “I love you, too.” Richard said softly. He looped his arms around her waist and she looped her arms around his shoulders.

Richard shook his head. He didn’t want to think about anything right now, so he went to the fridge, opened it, and pulled out a can of grape soda. He popped it and downed it in one long gulp. He threw the can into the sink. It made a hollow, metallic crash as it collided with the yoghurt pot and spoon. He kicked the fridge shut, turned and left the kitchen, making his way back to his room where he finished dressing and made his bed. He sat on the foot of the bed and rested his arms loosely on his lap. The grape soda taste was still on his tongue, sweet and sickly. He licked his lips and blinked a few times, feeling his stomach turn and clench as sugar and preservatives fought with acid.

            “Why are you doing this to me?” he asked. “Why does it have to be me?”

No answer. Richard wasn’t surprised- the windows were closed, the door was ajar, the kids were at school- except for Kevin, who had been collected by his private tutor earlier and was taken to the British Museum for the day- and the television wasn’t on. Richard was completely alone.

            “I know I’m not a perfect human,” he continued, “I’d just appreciate a little luck every now and again. You took my father, you took my mother, you took my childhood!” he choked back a sob. “But worst of all you took my wife! What have I done? Why the fuck do I have to wake up, cold and alone, every morning?” he looked up at the ceiling and felt the feeling stir- a mixture of anger, passion and poison. A cocktail so potent, so lethal, it may consume the soul if untamed. “Norns,” he hissed, “why? It seems my path is littered with bad Norns. Pandora’s box- or pythos, whatever it was- held Hope. When will a good Norn finally bless me?”

He let his tears go, let them run down his cheeks and drip off his chin. His sobs came in heaving gasps and choked coughs. The feel evaporated and became a mixture of guilt, regret and grief. He bowed his head and continued crying until he felt arms around his shoulders. Comforting arms, like a mother’s. He looked over his shoulder, saw nobody. He shrugged and the ‘arms’ left him. Next, he felt something touch his chest, and his tears dried up. He jumped and fell back on the bed. The touch on his chest left him, and his heart felt a little bit warm. He sat up and looked around his room. The white walls appeared softer and his stomach had stopped turning.

            “That was...” Richard murmured, trailing off.

He looked around and saw that the door was wide open. Moments ago, it was almost closed. Something tugged at his gut, and he left his bedroom, following the tug outside into the corridor, out of the front door, down the stairs, across the in-ground football pitch, into the streets, across the road and into the park. When the ‘tug’ faded, Richard found himself standing a few feet away from the bandstand. He took a few steps toward it, his footfalls crunching as he trod over gravel. He stopped at the stairs leading up to the stage and looked up at the dome. He found it strange that the engineers would fuse the modern age with a Greco-Roman design. He sighed.

            It works in literature, he thought, and it works in movies. Why is it hard to fuse the past with the future?

            There is a name for the merger of the past and the future. Richard heard.

He stiffened and stood still for a moment before looking over his shoulder. He saw nothing but the two children running around while their father sat on the bench behind them, reading a newspaper. Richard looked at the stage of the bandstand- nobody.

            You will not find me, the voice said to Richard. Remain still.

Richard did as commanded.

            What is this? He asked the voice.

            It is a connection, the voice explained, you may call me Cassio. I make this connection with you for a single reason: we need each other. Our paths are on a parallel and, unlike others, this parallel cannot be altered. Like it or not, we are bound together.

            Thanks,’ Cassio’, Richard thought to ‘Cassio’. He felt a sense of unease grip him as he circled the bandstand, hoping to find ‘Cassio’. He had deduced from the voice that Cassio had to be a male. The voice sounded young and wise, which confused him.

            You will not find me here today, Cassio said. It is too open. Neither mist nor fog can shield me. We shall meet officially, one day.

The voice was gone. Richard took a step back and crashed backwards onto his back. The sky span. He kicked his legs a couple of times and closed his eyes. When he opened them, the kids he had seen playing- and their father- were kneeling over him. One of the kids- a girl- was on his right while her brother was on his left. The father was knelt next to his daughter. Richard tried to sit up, but the father held him down.

            “Easy, Richard,” he said softly.

Richard’s heart skipped a beat, his eyes widened and his fists clenched.

            “How do you know my name?” he tried to ask. Instead, a strangled, choking sound exploded from his mouth.

            “Removal Syndrome,” the girl whispered. She looked at her father, “He will need some mead, perhaps some strawberries and an apple, depending on the next hour. Harvey,” she directed her attention to her brother, “phone Mum and let him know what’s happened. Grandpa,” she looked up at the man- her grandfather, apparently- and spoke to him so softly Richard couldn’t make out what was being said. The grandfather nodded and pressed a hand to Richard’s forehead.

            “Relax, young man,” he said to Richard, “you’re not going anywhere just-”

            “Is everything okay?” asked a breathless female voice. Richard tried to look, but the man held him down and replied for him, saying something about being a doctor and Richard being fine given some rest. Richard wasn’t so sure about being fine: his blood felt hot and he was dipping in and out of reality. One moment, he saw the man for what he appeared to be: in his fifties with blond hair and slate grey eyes. The next moment, he saw a pale imitation of a nightmarish monster he dreamed about as a child. He had to keep breathing, but his breaths came out in short, heavy gasps which dried his throat, made his guts boil and his eyes ache.

            “It will all be over soon,” the man said, sounding a thousand miles away. Richard hoped it would be as his felt bile creep into his throat. He closed his eyes and coughed. Something hot and unpleasant came out of his mouth and covered the lower half of his face. He groaned.

The next hours were a blur between reality and illusion. Time and movement slipped by like the persistence of memory. It took Richard some time to gather that he was no longer lying on a bed of gravel, but had been transported somehow to a proper bed in a room with a fluorescent light bulb placed above the threshold of the door. Several women and men passed that threshold to take blood samples, hook up IVs or administer a spoonful of a medicine which reminded Richard of honey. He couldn’t understand much of what was going on, and although the bed faced away from the light bulb, Richard remembered asking for it to be shut off because the light felt like pinpricks in his eyes. His blood felt like fire and his throat hurt, but eventually, he was declared stable.

Richard half-opened his eyes and tentatively turned his head to the right. He saw a grey wall and an end table. The table held a blue glass filled with water, a watch and glasses case. Richard turned his head tentatively to the left and found a man in his fifties with blond hair sitting in an armchair smiling down at him.

            “Good evening, young man,” he said cheerily. “Good to see that you are finally awake! It’s been hours, my boy! Not so many young survivors of Removal Syndrome as there should be- it’s a very common condition that can be treated with an hour’s bed rest. Such a shame the young ones tend to die.” The smile disappeared and he shook his head morosely.

            “Scuse... me?” Richard asked, his voice merging with a cough.

            “My boy, you don’t recognise me?” the man looked slightly hurt. “Of course you don’t- you’ve never met me before today! But I’ve always been there with you, and you mother come to think of it.” He bit his lower lip and looked upwards for a moment. “Yes!” he said suddenly, looking back at Richard. “Of course I knew your mother- a wonderful woman. Truly wonderful. I am Doctor Herbert Fenris, but you may call me Herb. I saw you this morning in the park while I was out with my grandchildren- such darlings, aren’t they? Harvey is seven and Lana is ten. Such magical ages...” he gazed off into the distance for a few minutes, as if recalling his own childhood, then he said: “You appeared to be in some kind of trance, then you stepped back and collapsed. A typical symptom of Removal Syndrome, I’m afraid. Some mortals do suffer from it, but then it reverts to something like a migraine. Mortals are deathly boring!”

Herb stopped talking and smiled at Richard.

            “O... kay,” Richard said, taking care not to strain his voice. “Where... I?” he asked.

            “You are in the HQ, son,” Herb answered. “Loki came down to check on you an hour ago- you were deeply asleep. We couldn’t wake you up! Loki being Loki, he worried, but he’s pushed back the meeting another ninety minutes until you’re recovered enough to take part.”

            “Covered... nuff?” Richard mumbled.

Herb bent over and disappeared from sight as he seemed to reach for something on the floor. Richard tried to see what it was, but Herb was sitting up in a second, holding a small glass bottle filled with something that looked like honey. The bottle had a cork top, which Herb pulled out. He held the bottle to Richard’s lips and tilted so that Richard’s mouth filled with… what was it, anyway? It had a sweet taste which reminded him of honey, but there was a dryness to it which made him think that this was white wine. Perhaps it was a dessert wine?

Nonetheless, his mouth was filling quickly, and by habit he swallowed. Whatever he was drinking, it immediately made him feel calmer and he was left feeling a little guilty when the bottle was emptied and pulled away from his mouth. He looked at Herb with pleading eyes, silently asking for more. Herb picked up on this and laughed.

            “My boy,” he said cheerily, “if you knew what this was, any more would have your soul for plumes! My dear boy, I’ve never seen one take such a liking to this-” he waggled the bottle- “in all my years of association with the Organisation.”

Richard found himself laughing along with this strange man, although he had no idea what he found funny. All he knew was that there was a large smile plastered on his face and a strong, warm feeling in his heart and gut. He felt strength returning to his limbs, which previously felt weighed down and wooden, and his mind felt clearer. He sat up in the bed and looked at Herb.

            “I’d say I’m ready for that meeting,” Richard said, smiling, “wouldn’t you?”

Herb chuckled. “Not quite yet, son,” he said, “just to make sure that you’re ready, have an apple and some strawberries.”

Richard, still sitting in bed, looked around the room.

Herb chuckled again.

            “I feel fine, Herb,” Richard said impatiently, looking at Herb, “can’t I just go? There are n-”

Herb produced a punnet of strawberries from thin air. Richard’s mouth dropped open.

            “No strawberries?” Herb said, handing the strawberries to Richard. Richard took them, still looking at Herb.

Richard examined Herb, this ‘doctor’ who had found him in the park. He looked disturbingly familiar- perhaps he had been on the news? It was possible- elderly blond people tended to be on the news, on television and other forms of media nowadays. On the other hand, there was something about the name ‘Doctor Herbert Fenris’ that struck a chord in the back of Richard’s mind.

            “Right,” Richard said slowly, “no strawberries.”

He opened the punnet and pulled out a strawberry. He had a thought, and suddenly the punnet felt heavier. He looked at it and his eyes widened. There, resting on the strawberries was a bright green apple. Richard licked his lips.

            “I take it you like your fruit.” Herb chuckled.

            “Yes,” Richard whispered. “Yes I do.”

After eating the fruit and feeling rejuvenated, Richard hopped out of bed and was just about to leave the room when Herb mentioned that Richard was in his underpants. He looked down and, with embarrassment, asked where his clothes were.

They were under the bed.

Herb was respectful enough to leave the room and let him dress, but he insisted on escorting him to the meeting room in case of any ‘repercussions’. Richard didn’t feel too bad on the way. In fact, he practically skipped to the meeting room where he found Loki and a group of people sitting at the table.

            “Ah,” Loki said, sounding pleased, “it is good to see that you are feeling well, Richard.” Loki managed a smile.

            “It feels good to feel well.” Richard said.

            “Have you brought Matthew?” Loki asked.

Richard’s heart skipped a beat, his eyes widened and his gut clenched.

Loki smiled.

            “That’s fine,” Loki said, “I thought you might forget, given your ‘accident’ this morning, so I contacted Ryan. They should be here before the meeting is out. Take a seat, Richard.”

Richard obeyed and did a quick survey of the people in the group. He counted seven, including himself and Loki. The only other people he knew were Thom and Morgue. Thom was a tall, fresh-faced man with deep blue eyes and cropped brown hair. He smiled at Richard. Next to him was Morgue- a thin, pasty-skinned man with sorrowful hazel eyes and dirty blond hair. He kept his eyes on the table. The other three were people Richard didn’t recognise. Two of them were women and the other was a man.

            “Perhaps we should commence?” Loki suggested, making eye contact with everyone.

Thom shrugged, Morgue kept staring at the table, the women nodded and the man mumbled something that sounded like “sure”. Loki looked at Richard. Richard nodded, although he was sure that more people were meant to be here.

            “Attention!” Loki snapped. Everyone sat up straight in their chairs and turned their focus to Loki. Loki turned to Thom. “Llewellyn, what is the current status of your business?”

Thom reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, touch-screen device. He tapped a few on-screen buttons and read from the screen:

            “The stars are 3-5; the technology has been recovered; the books are being located as we speak.” Thom looked up at Loki with a straight face. “With the exception of the stars, I’d say business is going pretty well with the Trackers.”

            “Right, of course,” Loki mumbled before turning to the two women, “and how is business progressing with the Guardians and Watchers?”

            “The Guardians are progressing well enough, Mafuro,” the first woman said. She was short and wore glasses. She was dressed in a pinstripe pants-suit and sat with her hands clasped on the table. “We are tracking the course of the stars. So far, the case is that minor constellations and stars are disappearing while the major entities become brighter.”

            “Is this positive or negative, Trish?” Loki asked suspiciously.

            “So far,” the woman said carefully, “the Guardians consider this positive as no mortals have noticed yet. It will be considered negative when this development breaks into the mortal circles.”

            “The Watchers agree,” the second woman said, “although there is some evidence in the form of blogs suggesting that the news is leaking.”

Richard could see Loki’s ears pricking.

            “Leaking?” Loki repeated quietly, then loudly: “LEAKING?”

The woman’s face paled. She gripped the table and shrunk back. Next to her, Trish’s clasped hands were turning white. Richard looked at Morgue and Thom, whose eyes were locked on each other. He thought he knew what they were doing.

            “HOW CAN THIS POSSIBLY BE LEAKING?” Loki shouted.

What’s this about a blog? Richard asked Thom.

Hey! Who invited you? Thom snapped.

Sorry, I-

That’s okay, man. Haha! I get you every time!

Thomas! Morgue snapped. Richard, a blog has been found on the internet which contains some information that appears to have been leaked from our database! Delores should have kept her mouth shut about it!

Typical, Thom huffed, Watchers never learn.

I used to be a Watcher. Morgue sounded annoyed.

You’re an exceptional case. Thom thought casually.

Guys, seriously! Richard thought with a mental sigh. You should really get married.

What?! Morgue thought incredulously.

Not a bad idea! Thom smiled at Richard, then turned his eyes to Morgue. Morgan Kinstol, will you be my wife?

Thom’s first mistake was chuckling.

Loki had been in the middle of a tirade about the HQ’s security when Thom failed to hold back his childish chuckling. Richard saw that Loki’s eyes were beginning to glow a dangerous red, and he crouched in his chair. Morgue, Trish, the man and Delores followed suit.

Thom’s second mistake was meeting Loki’s eye.

Thom’s third mistake was asking “What did I do?”

Loki roared like a bear, scowled at Thom.

The air turned chill.

It was as if some medusian spell had been cast over the small collection of people. Nobody spoke. Richard didn’t even dare to breathe. He kept his eyes focused on Thom, not even chancing a glance in Loki’s direction.

Thom seemed to show some common sense by remaining silent. Although he hadn’t moved, Richard thought that Thom looked smaller in his seat.

All of a sudden, Loki’s eyes regained their usual grey-hazel hue; his scowl faded; he took his seat at the head of the table. Everyone sat still, gawking at Loki.

            “And now,” Loki said, “the reason I have brought you here tonight: my work. As you may know, when I took on the role of Maestro I also took on an ancient task. I have recently been given permission to assemble a team to help me with this task...” Loki trailed off.

            “Glad to help,” said the other man, “what is it you need us for?”

Loki made eye contact with each of the people seated around the table.

            “I have to confess,” he said carefully, “I had hoped to have had a fuller table here tonight. Nonetheless, the task is too valuable to speak of openly. I knew that we would have some trouble in maintaining the numbers, so I took great care in selecting my team.”

            “You mean,” the man said, “the telepaths?”

            “Exactly.” Loki said, smiling strangely. “The telepaths. This way I can contact any of you, morning or night. Within or outside of the HQ, I can get to you anytime I need you. Not to mention, your skills are invaluable. Tobias,” he said, turning to the man Richard didn’t know, “your telepathy skills are still infantile- you will need to work on forming connections. Richard,” Loki turned to Richard, “you will be in charge of helping Tobias hone in on his telepathy.”      

            “Loki?” Morgue asked carefully. “Can you please get to the point?”

The room tensed, and Richard thought he saw Loki’s eyes flash a slight red.

Very well, Morgan, said a voice inside Richard’s head. The task I have been set is to uncover ancient lore which may hold the key to the future of our kind. This lore is referred to as the Ancient Fable. For entirety of my reign as Maestro, I have been scouring our sacred texts, hoping to find some clue to unlocking the Fable, but so far I have had no luck. I have made one breakthrough- it is my theory that the results of Inheritance Project may hold the key to unlocking the Fable.

Richard cringed on the inside.

The Inheritance Project? Morgue contributed. That can of worms has been closed for a long time. And for good reason!

Yes, yes, Kinstol, Loki sighed mentally, I am aware of the controversies surrounding the Inheritance Project, but the fact of the matter is that our kind is now peculiar in a biological interest more than mythological.

So, Thom thought, we’re going with the eugenics?

It was not eugenics! Loki flared. A series of genetic experiment were conducted in order to develop an understanding of our genome! Mortal DNA and our DNA were combined in order to demonstrate and understand the effects of mixed breeding.

So, Thom thought, eugenics.

IT WAS NOT EUGENICS!

Thom, Morgue thought, lay off the eugenics.

That would be wise, Tobias thought. His ‘voice’ came through weakly, and it took Richard a few seconds to understand what he had said.

But that’s what it basically-

ENOUGH! Loki roared, glaring at Thom.

Thom shrank back with wide eyes. Richard felt the compulsion to follow suit, but he thought that that would make Loki even angrier.

Just to clarify, Richard thought carefully, the eugenicists sought a master race. We, on the other hand, want to know if there’s anything we can prevent or try to replicate if we can understand mixed breeding, and, therefore, our genetic composition. It could be eugenics if and only if we wanted to enhance our abilities and were willing to put innumerable lives at risk. A small group was used in the experiment Loki is talking about, so it wouldn’t be totalitarian if one or two died as a result- it would help us learn. Besides, there might be some abilities we don’t know about that mortal DNA might reveal.

Well said, Richard, Delores smiled at him. I mean, well thought.

Yes, quite. Loki sounded bemused.

I’d just like to say, came a distant-sounding female voice, that I find it highly offensive to be referred to as a ‘eugenicist’. Really! You analyse the most recent samples of data from one experiment done before you were born, and you pay for it the rest of your career!

Marcella, Loki sighed mentally.

What? The woman- Marcella- asked, sounding annoyed. It’s true, Uncle!

Ooh, Loki has a niece? Thom thought, feigning malice. This just got interesting!

THOMAS! Loki flared.

Sorry.

Marcella, Loki thought, although you cannot see them, I will tell you the names of those you will be working with: Richard, Thomas, Morgan, Tobias, Delores, Trish, Gabriel, Lucas, Dianna, Isabel and Hendric.

I can see them, Uncle. Marcella sighed. Well, the ones who turned up. Nice to see you guys- I don’t have long, but I can catch up at the next meeting, right? Well, Uncle Loki will fill me in. Or Dad.

Your father ‘will fill you in’? Loki sounded unpleasantly surprised. How? WHAT DOES HE KNOW OF THIS BUSINESS?

Relax, Uncle, Marcella sounded breezy, he only told me what he knows when I told him I’d be working late- there’s nothing to worry about! Besides, it’s a family matter.

Loki, Morgue ventured, I hate to ask this, but what are we going to do?

Loki sighed. I have no idea.