Chapter Text
“Come any closer and I’ll kill him!”
They were in a standoff.
The Variant—Loki 2—whoever she was, had Loki on his knees in a hold, with one hand pinned behind his back; her blade lay across his chest. Down the hall, Ravonna Renslayer, flanked by two armed Minutemen, stood facing them, no doubt ready to rush in and save Loki’s life at any cost. After all, he had been the one to find the Variant, and to deliver her straight to the TVA. Surely that warranted some kind of commendation.
Not that he needed recognition, of course.
But Renslayer merely smiled at the Variant’s words.
“Go for it,” she said smugly as she gripped her activated pruning stick.
Loki’s mouth fell open.
Rude.
Well. Clearly, his plan to ally himself with the TVA had been a bust. Time for Plan B.
Above him, the Variant seemed unsure of her next move—no doubt she had absolutely no idea what she was doing and was in far over her head. (Unlike him—the Superior Loki—who admittedly also had absolutely no idea what he was doing, but at least he had his head clearly above water, thank you very much.) Renslayer was moving fast toward them, arm drawn back, her glowing orange stick at the ready.
It looked as though Loki would have to take matters into his own hands. As usual.
He swiftly plucked the TemPad from the Variant’s belt. He pressed a few buttons at random, and a TimeDoor appeared under their feet.
He and the Variant dropped through the portal; Renslayer’s baton whiffed harmlessly through the air, missing them by mere inches.
Loki and the Variant landed hard on their backs in the middle of a gray carpeted floor, just missing a coffee table.
After a moment, Loki opened his eyes. The room was very dimly lit; everything appeared in different shades of gray, black, and white. He could hear the Variant breathing heavily beside him, no doubt winded from the fall.
Suddenly, a single word popped into his head.
TemPad.
It must have been knocked out of his hand in the fall.
Loki roused himself up to a seated position. But he and the Variant must have had the same idea at the exact same time, because beside him, she started to stir, then immediately threw herself across him, lunging for the rectangular item sitting a few feet to his left. He seized her arm to stop her, and she growled—a legitimate, full-throated growl—as she fought him. They were caught in a confusing tangle of limbs and clothing as they both struggled to reach the TemPad.
“Let go of me!”
“OW—Stop!”
“HRRGH! GET OFF MY LEG!”
“GAH!”
The Variant was annoyingly strong. Admittedly, hand-to-hand combat had never really been Loki’s forte. Thor was more of the brawny, physical type, whereas Loki usually favored illusions, daggers, and magical fighting techniques, coupled with excellent wordplay, of course. (For what is victory, if not smartassery persevering?) Still, he could usually hold his own in a fight.
But this Variant…she was fierce. She pounced and fought like a starved circus lion, out for blood. Her hands were everywhere, roughing him up like he was a sparring dummy, and it was all he could do just to keep her at bay. It was savage. It was feral.
It was…more than a little arousing, if he was being completely honest.
But there were more important things to attend to at the moment. Like the TemPad.
The Variant elbowed the side of his face; he grabbed at her arm. They each clawed their way across the carpet, until finally, both of their hands reached forward and grabbed the TemPad at the same time…
…only it wasn’t a TemPad. It was a small stenographer-style notepad with a picture of a gray Miss Minutes and the TVA logo on the front.
The Variant stared at it in confusion.
“What is this? Where’s the TemPad?” she demanded.
“I don’t know!” said Loki, palming around on the carpet. “I…hang on…”
But the Variant was apparently in no mood to be patient. She dropped the notepad and moved to grab him, but Loki was too quick; he rolled away from her, then stood up. The Variant did the same, rolling onto her back and jumping to her feet in one swift move. She turned toward him, reaching at her side to unsheathe her sword as she did so.
“HAH!” said the Variant, brandishing her sword.
But it wasn’t a sword anymore.
It was an umbrella. A pointy-ended umbrella…but an umbrella, nonetheless.
They both looked at the umbrella, dumbfounded, then at each other.
“Did you…?”
“How did…?”
And that’s when Loki noticed her appearance.
“What are you wearing?” Loki asked, pulling a face.
“What happened to your hair?” said the Variant at the same time, pulling a similar face.
He and the Variant each took in their own appearances, then stared at each other, wide-eyed.
The Variant was sporting a polka-dotted black and white swing dress. It was well-fitted on the top, with a large skirt that billowed outward, supported by a frilly petticoat underneath. (No, Loki was absolutely NOT thinking any more than necessary about what was underneath, how dare you suggest such a thing?) Her horns were gone; her hair was stylishly smoothed in the front and pinned into a soft bob in the back that had been knocked slightly askew by their fisticuffs on the floor.
As for Loki, his TVA jacket and tie were gone. In its place, Loki was wearing a rather well tailored charcoal gray suit with a vest and a matching tie. He gingerly touched his hair; it was much shorter than it had been, and was parted to the side and pomaded in place.
“What the hell did you do to me?!” the Variant demanded, punching at her flared skirt. “I look like a wedding cake!”
“You think I did this?!” Loki was offended. “Please! This isn’t my style at all!”
“Well, who else would do it?” the Variant said angrily. “Is this one of your stupid illusions? What, are you some sort of magician?”
“No! I swear, this isn’t me. Is it you, Loki?”
“Don’t call me Loki!” growled the Variant. “It’s Sylvie now. And no, I’m not doing this. Why would I do something so stupid, even if I was capable of it? What kind of maniac would want to make the whole world look all black and white?”
Loki looked around. She was right—there were no colors anywhere. He had thought it was poor lighting, but he could see sunlight streaming through the semi-sheer curtains. Loki held up his hand and called upon his seidr, which always glowed green; it appeared in his hand, whitish and gray.
“Huh,” he said, staring at the glowing, monochromatic light.
He’d no sooner extinguished it before the umbrella tip was once again pointed in his face.
“CHANGE IT ALL BACK AND GIVE ME THE TEMPAD! NOW!” she demanded.
“I already told you, this isn’t me! I don’t know where the TemPad is! And, for heaven’s sake, put that thing away!” Loki said peevishly, grabbing the pointy end of the umbrella and wrenching it away from his face. “Honestly, you look ridiculous. What are you going to do, shelter me from the rain to death?”
“Any object can be a murder weapon if used properly,” the Variant—Sylvie—said threateningly.
Loki crossed his arms. “Lovely. How very resourceful of you.”
Sylvie let out a frustrated growl and flung her umbrella on the floor. “That plan you just interrupted was years in the making—years! And as soon as I find the TemPad, I’m getting out of this suburban hellhole and going straight back to the TVA to finish what I started!”
“What you started? Which is…what, precisely?”
Sylvie drew herself up proudly. “Kill the TimeKeepers, take down the TVA, and free the timeline.”
Loki stared at her. Then he started laughing.
Sylvie glared at him. “What is so funny?” she asked, her voice deadly. (Probably more deadly than her umbrella, Loki would guess.)
“I’m sorry, it’s just…the idea of you rushing in to kill three immortal Space Lizards with your little umbrella is extremely amusing.”
She crossed her arms. “As opposed to your plan, which is, what? Hang on, let me guess: Cozy up to the Space Lizards and let them do as they please with you? Then maybe, what, try to stab them in the back first chance you get?”
Loki opened his mouth to respond—for, yes, while that pretty much had been his plan, he always had a witty retort on hand—but then they both heard it: a telltale “swooshing” sound, coming from just outside the house.
Loki and Sylvie glanced in alarm at the living room window, then back at each other. Then, as one, they rushed over to the window. Loki got there first; he tore open the curtains and peered out. Sylvie came up behind him and shoved him aside to make room. They jostled for dominance for a moment, elbowing each other in the ribs, before they both noticed it.
A glowing orange TimeDoor—the only hint of color on the entire street—opened right there on the sidewalk in front of the house.
“Shit!” said Sylvie under her breath. She ducked, then pulled him down with her.
“I thought you wanted me dead!” Loki said.
“If they find you, they find me, and then we’re both as good as pruned,” whispered Sylvie. “And I am not throwing away my entire life’s mission because a lesser Loki couldn’t help but cry out for attention.”
“Thought you didn’t want to be called a Loki.”
“Will you shut up!” Sylvie hissed.
“So we’re a team now?”
“Ssshhh!”
They both watched as two Minutemen stomped out of the door, pruning batons at the ready.
But then, something…odd…happened.
As soon as the Minutemen stepped fully onto the sidewalk, they were both engulfed in a strange, grayish-white energy, like a fuzzy static. Within seconds, both Minutemen had transformed. Color had turned to black and white. Their armor changed into white jumpsuits, with nametags on them and a logo on the back that said “Westview Disposal Services.” The pruning batons turned into trash pickers.
Loki and Sylvie shared yet another incredulous look.
“Garbagemen?” said Loki in disbelief. “They’re garbagemen now?”
Seconds later, another Minuteman rushed out of the TimeDoor—
—and was promptly transformed into a dogcatcher, complete with a net that Loki was sure would not at all aid in the capture of canine escapees.
Then, the TimeDoor itself began to sputter and spark as its yellowish-orange light battled with the same silvery static that had engulfed the Minutemen. It changed into several different things—a mailbox, a newspaper stand, a bush—before finally settling on a black fire hydrant.
“So, this isn’t your magic, then?” Sylvie whispered, staring at the Minutemen-turned-blue-collar-workers with wide eyes.
“No,” said Loki, his expression a mirror of hers.
A tiny, scruffy-looking dog came from out of nowhere and relieved itself on the hydrant/former TimeDoor. Then, the dogcatcher/former TVA Minuteman spied the dog and began chasing it down the street with the ridiculous net.
Sylvie grabbed his arm to pull him back from the window, then she closed the curtains. They looked at each other.
“Where and when the hell are we? Where have you taken us?” she demanded.
“I-I don’t know! I just hit a few buttons.”
“You just hit a few buttons?” Sylvie repeated angrily. “Perhaps you don’t understand what’s at stake here—namely, our lives!”
“Well, excuse me for not being quite as well-versed on traveling through interdimensional time and space as you, I’m rather new at this!” said Loki. “You’re welcome, by the way, for saving your life when you froze back there. In case you didn’t notice, Renslayer was about to prune you.”
“I didn’t need your help!” said Sylvie angrily. “I had the situation completely under control until you mucked it all up by following me. And don’t think I didn’t catch the fact that she was perfectly fine with you dying, too!”
Loki scoffed. “She was bluffing.”
“Uh-huh. Or the fascist time police you work for suddenly decided you were expendable.”
“I never worked for them—I was more of a consultant. It was a means to an end, anyway,” said Loki dismissively. “I’ve been playing them this whole time, because the second I found out about you, I knew that we should work together.”
“You are so full of it,” huffed Sylvie in disgust. She began crawling around on the ground.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m trying to find that TemPad. We’re sitting ducks without it—no doubt, the TVA is already working around whatever that fire hydrant glitch is. You want to work with me so badly? Help me find it.”
“And how do I know that you won’t kill me the second we find it?” asked Loki.
“You don’t,” said Sylvie simply, sticking her head under the couch. Loki stared as her rear end poked up from under the couch, her comically huge skirt pooling around her.
Then, he sighed and got on all fours to join her in the search. Loki figured that, at the very least, if he got to the TemPad first, he could hide it until they could hammer out a deal that would be mutually beneficial to both of them.
And if she got it first…well, he’d have to take it from her and then hide it until they could hammer out a mutually beneficial deal. Either way, a mutually beneficial deal would be reached, somehow.
They searched everywhere—under the TV stand, under the coffee table, and any other plausible place it could be—but came up with nothing. After a few moments, Loki’s eyes again fell on the stenographer’s notepad with Miss Minutes’ picture on the front that they had grabbed earlier. He picked it up and flipped it open.
Scrawled across the first page in black pen were the following words:
EVENT: 314159265*358
DATE: 11-08-2023
TIME: 06:39:42
LOCATION: WESTVIEW, NEW JERSEY, USA
NOTIFICATION: LOW BATTERY—YOU’RE OUTTA JUICE!
Loki read and reread the words on the page. Then, he tapped Sylvie on the shoulder.
“What is it?” she asked in mild annoyance.
Loki held out the page for Sylvie to see. Her eyes widened. She grabbed the notepad from him and examined it closely.
“Does this mean what I think it means?” asked Loki.
“No…” Sylvie whispered. She flipped through the notepad and turned it around, examining the back. Then she looked up at him with a horrified expression on her face. “No, this…this can’t be the TemPad, can it?”
Loki pursed his lips, then shook his head.
“No. It must be some sort of illusion,” said Loki. “Here, let me try something.” He held out his hand; Sylvie looked at him suspiciously. He shot her a look of exasperation. “Oh, come on. If we’re going to work together, you need to be able to trust me.”
Sylvie reluctantly handed over the notepad.
“For the record, I don’t trust you,” she muttered.
“Fair enough.” Loki’s hand glowed as he allowed his seidr to flow over the notepad, checking for irregularities. “Interesting…” he said, furrowing his brow in concentration.
“What are you seeing?” asked Sylvie “Is it a TemPad or is it a notepad?”
“It’s actually a bit of both,” said Loki, still probing the notepad with his seidr. “The magical signature on this object is indicating…conflicting realities.”
“Conflicting realities? What does that mean?” asked Sylvie.
“It means it has the properties of two different objects,” explained Loki. “It’s been changed on a molecular level, but the underlying essence of the TemPad is still present.”
“Then…it’s not an illusion?”
“No…” said Loki. “No. I’m not sure what it is, but it’s no illusion.” He withdrew his seidr and handed the notepad back to Sylvie. “Whatever this is…it’s more complicated and powerful than just about any other magic I’ve ever come across. In fact, its signature rather reminds me of an Infinity Stone.”
“An Infinity Stone?” whispered Sylvie. She glanced down at the notepad again. “Well…well, how do we change it back?”
For once, Loki noticed the snark missing from her voice; she sounded a bit scared.
“That’s the thing,” said Loki delicately. “I don’t think we can change it back.”
“So, what, we’re just…stuck here?”
Loki nodded. “At least, until we can figure out who did transform it and get them to transform it back.”
Sylvie stared again at the notepad. Then, she crawled over to the couch and pulled herself up onto it. She looked rather shell-shocked.
Loki got to his feet and tentatively followed her; he lowered himself next to her.
“Um…” Loki began, “where exactly is here, again?”
Sylvie sighed. She tossed the TemPad-turned-notepad onto the coffee table in halfhearted defeat. “Like it says. Earth, 2023. New Jersey, to be precise.”
New Jersey.
And only a little over a decade since he’d tried to conquer Midgard.
Lovely.
Just then, the doorbell rang.
Loki and Sylvie shot up from the couch; both assumed a defensive posture. They stared at the door.
“Should we, you know…answer it?” whispered Loki.
“You tell me, this is my first time in what I’m assuming is some alternate-reality version of Earth. Or maybe purgatory. Hard to say at this point.”
“Yes, and I’m just awash with experience in these matters,” Loki said sarcastically.
The doorbell rang again.
Loki took a deep breath. “All right,” he said. “Let’s just…let’s just find out who it is.”
Sylvie nodded. She retrieved her umbrella and they both cautiously tiptoed over to the door. Loki glanced back at Sylvie, who hovered at his elbow, holding her umbrella over her shoulder like a baseball bat. She nodded toward the doorknob. He gingerly grasped the handle and slowly opened the door.
An unassuming postal worker stood on the other side.
“Hello…?” said Loki, staring at the man.
“Well, good morning, Mr. Wentworth! Mrs. Wentworth!” said the postal worker cheerfully, nodding at Loki and Sylvie in turn. He pointed to Sylvie’s umbrella. “Ah! Didn’t realize it was supposed to rain today! Maybe I’ll run on down to your new department store and get myself a new pair of galoshes, eh, Mr. Wentworth?”
Loki blinked. He shared a quick glance with Sylvie.
“Ah. Yes. And, um…just who are you, again?”
“Dennis! Your letter carrier!” said the postal worker, pointing to his “LETTER CARRIER” badge. He laughed. “Don’t worry, you’re pretty new to the neighborhood. I don’t expect you to pick up everyone’s names right away. Anyway,” he shuffled his things, “I’m glad I caught you before you left for work! Got a package I need you to sign for.”
Dennis held out a clipboard and pen. Loki took them cautiously, hastily scrawled something on the signature line, then handed it back to Dennis.
Dennis handed Loki a rectangular parcel, carefully wrapped and tied with string. “Here you go!” He leaned in and whispered conspiratorially. “Based on that return address, I think it might be those wedding photos you’ve been waiting for.”
Loki glanced down at the package in his hand. Wedding photos?
“Well, see ya later, alligator!” Dennis turned and made his way back down the front walk, whistling all the while.
Loki closed the door, then turned to Sylvie. They both stared at the package in his hand. It was addressed to “The Wentworths.”
“What are you waiting for? Open it,” whispered Sylvie insistently.
Loki ripped open the package. He and Sylvie stared at its contents in wide-eyed surprise.
For there, in a beautiful ornate silver frame, was a picture of Loki and Sylvie. Decked out in fancy Midgardian wedding attire. Clinging to each other and smiling blissfully at the camera, as if it was the best day of their lives. Etched into the bottom of the frame in elaborate script were the words:
Mr. and Mrs. Thomas and Sophie Wentworth
“…and they lived Happily Ever After!”
Loki blinked.
Sylvie blinked.
Loki blinked again.
Then, Sylvie succinctly summed up the situation for the both of them:
“Well. This is a nightmare.”
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Super special thanks to my amazing friend Vulpixen for this AMAZING book cover art!!! I can't stop staring at it!!
