The Hammer of Thor

eight-seat Cessna flown by a girl my age who’d only been taking lessons for a few months.

That wasn’t Sam’s fault. I had nothing to compare it to, but the takeoff seemed smooth. At least we got airborne without any fatalities. Still, my fingernails left permanent gouges in the armrests. Every bump of turbulence jolted me so badly I felt nostalgic for our old friend Stanley, the canyon-diving eight-legged flying horse. (Well, almost.)

Amir declined to use a headset, maybe because his brain was already overloaded with crazy Norse information. He sat with his arms crossed, staring morosely out the window as if wondering whether we would ever land in the real world again.

Sam’s voice crackled in my headphones. “We’ve reached cruising altitude. Thirty-two minutes left in flight.”

“Everything good up there?” I asked.

“Yeah…” The connection beeped. “There. No one else is on this channel. Our friend seems okay now. Anyway, there’s no need to worry. I’ve got the controls.”

“Who, me? Worry?”

From what I could see, Barry seemed pretty chill at the moment. He was kicking back in the copilot’s seat staring at his iPad. I wanted to believe he was keeping an eye on important aviation readings, but I was pretty sure he was playing Candy Crush.

“Any thoughts?” I asked Sam. “I mean about Goat-Killer’s advice?”

Static. Then: “He said we should seek him out in Jotunheim. So he’s a giant. That doesn’t necessarily mean he’s bad. My father”—she hesitated, probably trying to get the word’s sour taste out of her mouth—“he has lots of enemies. Whoever Goat-Killer is, he’s got some powerful magic. He was right about Provincetown. We should listen to him. I should’ve listened sooner.”

“Don’t do that,” I said. “Don’t beat yourself up.”

Amir tried to focus on me. “Sorry, what?”

“Not you, man.” I tapped the headset mic. “Talking to Sam.”

Amir mouthed a silent Ah. He returned to practicing his forlorn stare out the window.

“Amir isn’t on this channel?” Sam asked.

“No.”

“After I drop you guys, I’m going to take the Skofnung Sword to Valhalla for safekeeping. I can’t take Amir into the hotel, but…I’m going to try to show him what I can. Show him my life.”

“Good call. He’s strong, Sam. He can handle it.”

A three-second count of white noise. “I hope you’re right. I’ll also update the gang on floor nineteen.”

“What about Alex Fierro?”

Sam glanced back at me. It was weird seeing her a few feet away but hearing her voice right in my ears. “Bringing her along is a bad idea, Magnus. You saw what Loki could do to me. Imagine what he…”

I could imagine. But I also sensed that Goat-Killer had a point. We would need Alex Fierro. Her arrival in Valhalla wasn’t a coincidence. The Norns, or some other weird prophecy gods, had interwoven her fate with ours.

“I don’t think we should underestimate her,” I said, remembering her fighting those wolves, and riding a bucking lindworm. “Also, I trust her. I mean, as much as you can trust somebody who has cut your head off. Do you have any idea how to find the god Heimdall?”

The static sounded heavier, angrier. “Unfortunately, yes,” Sam said. “Get ready. We’re almost in position.”

“For landing in Norwood? I thought you said we were going to Alfheim.”

“You are. I’m not. The flight path to Norwood puts us just over the optimal drop zone.”

“Drop zone?” I really hoped I had misheard her.

“Look, I have to concentrate on flying this plane. Ask Hearthstone.” My headphones went silent.

Hearthstone was having a staring contest with Blitzen. The dwarf’s granite face poked out from his Bubble-Wrap cocoon, his expression frozen in dying agony. Hearthstone didn’t look much happier. The misery swirling around him was almost as easy to see as his bloodstained polka-dotted scarf.

Alfheim, I signed. How do we get there?

Jump, Hearth told me.

My stomach dropped out from under me. “Jump? Jump out of the plane?”

Hearth stared past me, the way he does when he’s considering how to explain something complicated in sign language…usually something I won’t like.

Alfheim kingdom of air, light, he signed. Can only be entered…He pantomimed free-falling.

“This is a jet plane,” I said. “We can’t jump—we’ll die!”

Not die, Hearth promised. Also, not jump exactly. Just…He made a poof gesture, which did not reassure me. We cannot die until we save Blitzen.

For a guy who rarely made a sound, Hearthstone could speak in defiant shouts when he wanted to. He’d just given me my marching orders: poof out of this plane; fall to Alfheim; save Blitzen. Only after that would it be okay for me to die.

Amir shifted in his seat. “Magnus? You look nervous.”

“Yeah.” I was tempted to make up some simple explanation, something that wouldn’t add any more cracks to Amir’s generous mortal brain. But we were beyond that now. Amir was fully in Sam’s life, for better or worse, normal or abnormal. He’d always been kind to me. He’d fed me when I was homeless, treated me like a person when most people pretended I was invisible. He’d come to our rescue today without knowing any details, just because Sam was in trouble. I couldn’t lie to him.

“Apparently, Hearth and I are going to go poof.” I told him my marching orders.

Amir looked so lost I wanted to give the guy a hug.

“Until last week,” he said, “my biggest worry was where to expand our falafel franchise, Jamaica Plain or Chestnut Hill. Now I’m not even sure what world we’re flying through.”

I checked to make sure my headset mic was switched off. “Amir, Sam is the same as she’s always been. She’s brave. She’s strong.”

“I know that.”

“She’s also head-over-heels crazy about you,” I said. “She didn’t ask for any of this weirdness in her life. Her biggest concern is that it doesn’t mess up her future with you. Believe that.”

He hung his head like a puppy in a kennel. “I…I’m trying, Magnus. It’s just so strange.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Here’s a heads-up: It’s going to get stranger.” I switched on my microphone. “Sam?”

“I could hear that entire conversation,” she announced.

“Ah.” Apparently I hadn’t figured out the headset controls after all. “Um—”

“I’ll kill you later,” she said. “Right now, your exit is coming up.”

“Wait. Won’t Barry notice if we just disappear?”

“He’s mortal. His brain will recalibrate. After all, people don’t just vanish off jet planes in mid-flight. By the time we land in Norwood, he probably won’t even remember you were here.”

I wanted to think I was a little more memorable than that, but I was too nervous to worry about it.

Next to me, Hearthstone unlatched his seat belt. He pulled off his scarf and tied it around Blitzen, fashioning a sort of makeshift harness.

“Good luck,” Sam told me. “I’ll see you back in Midgard, assuming…you know.”

Assuming we live, I thought. Assuming we can heal Blitzen. Assuming our luck is better than it has been the past two days…or ever.

Between one heartbeat and the next, the Cessna disappeared. I found myself floating in the sky, my headphones plugged into nothing at all.

Then I fell.

Loiterers Will Be Shot, Then Arrested and Shot Again

BLITZEN ONCE told me that dwarves never left home without a parachute.

Now I understood the wisdom in that. Hearthstone and I plummeted through the frigid air, me waving my arms and screaming, Hearth in a perfect swan dive with granite Blitzen tied to his back. Hearth glanced over at me reassuringly, as if to say, Don’t worry. The dwarf is Bubble-Wrapped.

My only response was more incoherent screaming, because I didn’t know the ASL for HOLY FREAKING AGGG

HHH!

We punched through a cloud and everything changed. Our fall slowed. The air turned warm and sweet. The sunlight intensified, blinding me.

We hit the ground. Well, sort of. My feet touched down on freshly mown grass and I bounced right off, feeling like I weighed about twenty pounds. I astronaut-skipped across the lawn until I found my balance.

I squinted through the searing sunlight, trying to get my bearings—acres of landscaping, tall trees, a big house in the distance. Everything seemed haloed in fire. No matter which direction I turned, I felt as though a spotlight was shining straight in my face.

Hearthstone grabbed my arm. He pressed something into my hands: a pair of dark sunglasses. I put them on and the stabbing pain in my eyes subsided.

“Thanks,” I muttered. “Is it this bright all the time?”

Hearthstone frowned. I must have been slurring my words. He was having trouble reading my lips. I repeated the question in sign language.

Always bright, Hearth agreed. You get used to it.

He scanned our surroundings as if looking for threats.

We’d landed on the front lawn of a big estate. Low stone walls hedged the property—a golf course–size expanse of well-kept flower beds and thin willowy trees that looked as if they’d been pulled upward by gravity as they grew. The house was a Tudor-style mansion with leaded glass windows and conical turrets.