There\u2019s too much history in Munich, too many of humanity\u2019s recent failures that begin and end there. Not that Berlin is better in that respect, but at least flying into Tegel serves another purpose. It keeps Odin and his bunch from having any idea where I am. What? You think I travel under my own name? Oh, come on. Loki Trickster? God of Disguise? Master of Lies? Even if I\u2019m not evil you know there\u2019s got to be at least a little to that\u2026<\/p>\n
Jack Crawford, import-export consultant, touches down at Tegel by way of Schiphol by way of Heathrow by way of JFK by way of Logan. He\u2019s here with his teenage daughter Becky\u2014aka Hel, Goddess of Death. Baggage claimed, customs cleared, Jack and Becky head for the Sixt counter, where Jack spends the next half hour assuring a kid named Heinrich that, yes, he does want that <\/em>bright-cherry, brand-new 6-series coupe. Becky spends her time looking annoyed, chewing gum, and chain-smoking Gauloises.<\/p>\n Hel\u2019s making a scene, of course, alternately goggle-eyeing Heinrich and huffing around like this is the worst inconvenience she has ever endured. You have to give it to Hel: She has the overprivileged American teenager down cold.<\/p>\n \u201cGermans drive fast,\u201d Heinrich cautions, wagging his finger as though I shall, indeed, have no pie. Which is especially galling given his peach fuzz and preternaturally bright eyes. I think he must be trying to impress Hel.<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s not a problem. I want fast. Look, kid,\u201d I confide, \u201cI need <\/em>fast.\u201d<\/p>\n He stops wagging, smiles a shade more threateningly. \u201cFast,\u201d he says, with mustard, the \u201cs\u201d getting plenty Germanic.<\/p>\n Either this is the German equivalent of the waiter asking whether I really want that curry \u201chot,\u201d or he\u2019s considering putting me on some sort of watch list. Of which, I can only guess, there are plenty what with all the fear and loathing sweeping Europe, particularly Germany, these days. Odin has been a busy bee, yes, indeed. His boy, Reinhold Vekk, is leading in the race to take over for Merkel, the only other candidate with even a remote shot, this upstart, so-called \u201cGerman Washington,\u201d Greta Bruder.<\/p>\n \u201cRight. Got it. Fast, fast, fast. But I want fast, kid. I mean, I\u2019m American, right? Need for speed, cradle to grave, Go Dog, Go<\/em>, and all that.\u201d<\/p>\n He stops typing. \u201cDog Go-Go?\u201d he asks, looking at Hel with the young man\u2019s signature blend of thinly veiled lust and abject confusion.<\/p>\n \u201cNo,\u201d I say, \u201cGo Dog, Go<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat is this Dog Go-Go?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s a book,\u201d I say, the continued perplexity of his gaze causing me to add, \u201cWith pages, for children. It\u2019s about dogs driving cars.\u201d<\/p>\n He squints. \u201cBut this is preposterous. Dogs cannot drive. They have, uh\u2026pfotes.\u201d He makes what I ascertain to be a dog face\u2014nose scrunching, mouth puckering\u2014pretends to drive with hands incapable of gripping, then holds up his mitts as though I just got the drop on him. \u201cHow in English?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cPaws?\u201d<\/p>\n He nods briskly, point proven, though he\u2019s only halfway done shaming me for my stupidity. \u201cThe dog, he cannot even\u2026\u201d he pretends to shift gears, \u201cschalten?\u201d<\/p>\n You have to love the Germans, their national sense of humor at least. One part British stodge, one part French aloofery, they\u2019re unmoved by the banal jokes Americans love. But give them a hulking sexecutioner in black polythene and a Hello Kitty mask, and they\u2019ll yuck it the fuck up. Dogs driving cars, though? In Germany? Please, don\u2019t be foolish.<\/p>\n \u201cShift?\u201d<\/p>\n His eyes light up. He points at me like I just won the bonus round at Sixt. \u201cYes, shift!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cJust, never mind about the dogs driving. You gonna give me the car or what?\u201d<\/p>\n Heinrich\u2019s smile disappears. He eyeballs me for a few more seconds, leaves me considering watch lists once again. Not that they\u2019d even locate the real me amid all the fake identities.<\/p>\n He eyeballs Hel one last time and hands me the key.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The 6 isn\u2019t an electric, or even a hybrid. But I\u2019m justifying that to myself, thinking the two hundred and fifty miles between Berlin and Bavaria will straighten my noodle, help me figure a few things out before I have to talk to Odin. And if I\u2019m going to drive that distance on the Autobahn, I don\u2019t want to spend it with an endless stream of sportscars flashing their beams at me.<\/p>\n We\u2019re barely out of the airport when Hel pipes up. \u201cDad,\u201d she says, \u201cwhen are we going to get there?\u201d She\u2019s got her shoes off, feet on the dash, smirking so hard it\u2019s practically a leer. \u201cYou realize we\u2019re alone, right? There\u2019s no benefit to you playing entitled American teen anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAu contraire.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah?\u201d \u201c<\/p>\n Practice.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI guess.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSo?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMaybe later.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAw, you\u2019re no fun,\u201d she replies, lips curling into a pout. She hits the SatRad, starts bopping to some sort of neo-metallic German techno pop reggae fusion. Within sixty seconds she\u2019s talking again.<\/p>\n Did I mention Hel had five espressos before we left Tegel?<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The great thing about BAB 9, besides the speed, is all the green. And more than that, all the black. If you saw the way Germany looked in \u201945, you\u2019d know what I mean. Crumbling buildings; battered, ashen roads; and soot-covered soil everywhere. I\u2019ll never forget those first few days, how odd it felt when those bullets hit and more than that, hurt. Sure, they couldn\u2019t kill me, gunshots feel more like flea bites do to you, but when you haven\u2019t felt human pain your entire existence, any measure of it comes as a big, unpleasant surprise. Having to walk places? Having to ask for things? The hunger? The thirst? The cold? The need for sleep? Let me tell you, the trip out of Germany was no hoot. But I made it. So did Odin and his crew. But they came back. And stayed.<\/p>\n I guess I was hoping there\u2019d be less blatant symbols of fascism here in Germany, less of an obvious imprint, that it would be more like\u2026well, America. But even without the visuals, listening to SatRad disabuses me of those notions. True, Merkel\u2019s still in charge, and she\u2019s always been reasonable, but every other story is about immigration, violence, or immigration and violence. Never mind the billboards everywhere: Vekk\u2019s perma-tanned face and flaxen, slicked-back hair looming over reality, like an Instagram filter nobody wants.<\/p>\n I drop Hel at a Hotel Bavaria outside Augsburg, figure that will put enough distance between us and New Valhalla for the short term. If I have to stay longer than a day or two, I\u2019ll rent some sort of discrete base of operations. For now, the average German hotel chain is going to have to do.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The 6 and I hit New Valhalla\u2019s faux-stone gatehouse\u2014complete with mini-parapets and useless turrets\u2014half an hour after I leave Hotel Bavaria, around three in the afternoon. The gates remain closed as I pull up, the guard (a strapping, blond Bjorn) steps out of his fake fairy tale cottage and moves to the driver\u2019s door.<\/p>\n \u201cBusiness?\u201d he asks, eyeing me with practiced suspicion.<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t you want my name first?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFine, what\u2019s your name?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLoki\u2019s the name.\u201d<\/p>\n He nods, raises a device that looks like a cross between a .38 and a grocery store pricing gun. \u201cSmile pretty,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n I tense, but the thing just buzzes. He goes back to his tiny castle and talks to someone on the phone. A few seconds later a light turns green, the gate rises, and Bjorn waves me through.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Beyond the gatehouse and the electrified fence, New Valhalla is a picture postcard brought to life. The gunmetal brick structures and red roofs of the former Varsang Castle make up the property\u2019s pinnacle, a stone crown rising in the distance, backlit by the darkening yellows of a falling sun. Rings of trees, white fields sloping upward, seemingly untouched by god or man. The deeper I get into the property, the quieter the scene is, a prayer in pictures rather than words.<\/p>\n At the front doors (ten feet high, mahogany, double), I ring-a-ding-ding. And again. And again, waiting for whatever Odin\u2019s current butler\u2019s name is\u2014Heinrich? Klaus? Moose? Maus? \u2014to show his soon-to-be-distressed face. As I reach for my fourth ring, the doors open. There\u2019s no Maus, just Frigga, her glossy face set to a sub-z glare.<\/p>\n The narrowed, trustless eyes (sky blue and gleaming with pride); the angelic cheekbones and tapered jaw; the frosty lips pursed to spit poison\u2026in her fall, Frigga has remade herself. She\u2019s turned herself into someone with real resonance in Germany these days, a woman of the far right. Twin strands of pearls ready to clutch, an iridescent-blue skirt suit (tight, knee- length with a fitted jacket), and four-inch pumps\u2026I mentioned it\u2019s three in the afternoon, right? It\u2019s enough to make you ask, \u201cWhy\u2019s she dressed up? Why, Loki? Why?\u201d<\/p>\n I could tell you it\u2019s for kicks, some vomit-inducing sex game Odin cooked up\u2014and there are plenty of those\u2014but more likely Frigga\u2019s off to chair a meeting of the \u201cLadies Auxiliary of the International Council on Nationalism\u201d or some other such horse doodle. Oh, it\u2019s not called that I\u2019m sure, probably isn\u2019t even formal, just some toney club where Frigga meets with Munich\u2019s rightist she-lite. They plot, plan, and eat little sandwiches, sip Riesling and dispassionately discuss the coming race war, the final genetic Armageddon they\u2019ve spent the last century angling for.<\/p>\n The John Birch Society back in the US? The Moral Majority? The Tea Party? Sure, that\u2019s what happened in America. But fortunately, the Tea Party was the apex. Fortunately, America realized what sort of terrible road it was beginning to travel down and moved back the other way. In Europe, though, all those workers\u2019 fronts and united nationalist something or others just keep getting more popular. All of them are Odin\u2019s handiwork, too, every last one. No, I don\u2019t have proof. I just know it\u2019s true.<\/p>\n Oh, they won\u2019t come out and say it, these members of the neo-fascist New World Order\u2014they\u2019ll deny and deny until it\u2019s too late\u2014but what they really want, what they lust for, is that somehow, someway, someday, they\u2019ll get Old Adolf back, somebody like him at the very least. And when that happens, when their new Old Adolf comes along, he\u2019ll win, forever and ever, amen.<\/p>\n \u201cLoki, you\u2019re still black,\u201d Frigga snaps, as though she needs to make her disenchantment or racism more obvious after all these years.<\/p>\n Speaking of disenchantment, Tyr enters the frame; stands looming a few feet away, in the middle of the petrol-black-and- gleaming-gold-tiled front hall, the double staircases snaking towards the second floor; that, given the height of the ceilings, is really where a third floor should be. No surprise from Tyr: that\u2019s what Tyr does. He looms\u2014like dark clouds and vultures, like insurance agents at cocktail parties and divorce lawyers at yard sales.<\/p>\n \u201cGuilty as charged, Friggs,\u201d I respond with the toothy smile she used to like, maybe even love. Ah, but those were the bad, old days. Yeah, sure Frigga and I had a thing. Odin still doesn\u2019t know, of course.<\/p>\n My mother? Oh, come on, I told you I was adopted, a literal babe in a basket. Anyway, the affair was her idea, the lech. Does that still work with women, goddesses I mean? Are they leches; or is there a feminine? Lechess, lecheur, lecha con leche\u2026Point being Frigga is one. A lech, I mean. She practically held me down.<\/p>\n \u201cI wish you wouldn\u2019t call me that. You know I hate your stupid nicknames.\u201d The intensity of her stare upshifts from snow princess to ice queen in the process.<\/p>\n The stare, you see, is Frigga\u2019s \u201cbig trick,\u201d her methode de vie et guerre<\/em>. Some trick, too: she used to be able to turn people to ice with it back in the day. I mean that literally. We\u2019re not talking about the impenetrable death-gaze of some heart surgeon\u2019s trophy daughter, some Leticia or Bambi prancing down a triple- buffed, see-your-goodies runway, eyes full of na\u00efve stoicism and teen entitlement. No, no, no: We\u2019re talking see, stare, zap. Quick as that, you\u2019re solid ice in need of a place to chill, or else.<\/p>\n Me? Oh, no way. No. Fucking. Way. Frigga\u2019s stare only ever worked on you guys. Of course, she tried on me, after things fell apart; before, too, to tell the truth. She tried on Surt, Thyrm, Fen, all of them\u2026no luck. She kept trying though, does still; even now that her look has no physical effect on anyone, even you guys. That\u2019s the thing with the Asgardians: They\u2019re locked in the past, lusting for some mythic, unspoiled dreamworld. No wonder they fell for Hitler.<\/p>\n \u201cI guess I was just surprised. I was expecting Gerhard or Klaus or whichever cryogenically frozen Stormtrooper you\u2019ve got answering the door these days\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat would be Gestalt. Odin sent the mortal servants to their quarters when you arrived,\u201d offers Frigga. \u201cOne of the Valkyries will show you to Odin\u2019s study.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhich one?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh, who can tell them apart anymore. Tyr, summon a Valkyrie.\u201d<\/p>\n Tyr claps his hands thrice and a Valk jets in. She\u2019s centimeters off the ground. But for her speed, it\u2019s hard to say whether she\u2019s using her wings at all.<\/p>\n I\u2019m still eyeing her, trying to figure out which one she is from the olden days. Is it Synesthesia? Dyspepsia?<\/p>\n \u201cThey\u2019re all new, by the way. In case you were wondering. We got them here on Earth, after you left,\u201d says Frigga, as though in response to my question.<\/p>\n \u201cFollow, me, please,\u201d says the Valk.<\/p>\n When she turns to go, I see her wings are mechanical, a framework of gears, levers, and spindles powering their magnificence. I want to shout, \u201cYou\u2019re a fake Valkyrie!\u201d but I don\u2019t. I do what I\u2019m told and follow.<\/p>\n \u201cFerret, ferret, ferret,\u201d Odin shouts as I enter.<\/p>\n I do a double-take and another\u2014I do a quad-take\u2014but I don\u2019t see any ferrets, just what passes for Himself\u2019s throne room in New Valhalla, a place of silent reflection and secret communication, a place to scheme, \u201ca study\u201d as they say.<\/p>\n Odin\u2019s wearing a smoking jacket\u2014deep red with iridescent Valkyries, and a cornflower blue ascot that matches his lone good eye; a tinted-glass monocle on his bad one, the overall look is Hefner hobo-hipster meets Norse Monopoly Man. All around him, the afternoon air flickers with shadows somehow both reluctant and oppressive.<\/p>\n \u201cFerret,\u201d someone on TV finally replies.<\/p>\n I realize Odin\u2019s watching a gameshow on a wall-sized TV, an American show at that. I forget the name. Something alliterative with a synonym for luck and a sobriquet for money rolled into one big bad Bye, Bye, Miss \u201cAmerican Pie.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCo-rrect,\u201d says the shiny-suited, intensely white host, his level of surprise suggesting whatever \u201cferret\u201d was the answer to was one tough question.<\/p>\n In response, a golden-haired, French-braided model tippetty-taps across the stage, does a snappy little kick-turn, and pushes one of thirty TV\u2019s. The screen explodes in a maelstrom of color then segues from monetary prize to typeset question as she struts back the other way.<\/p>\n \u201cUsed to have a Valkyrie looked just like her,\u201d Odin adds, seemingly to himself, gaze going a tick nostalgic, still apparently unaware I\u2019ve entered. I can\u2019t help thinking this is all a dodge, done for my benefit. He knows how I loved the Valks, how I\u2019ve missed them. Then, again, he could just be wasted.<\/p>\n \u201cA-hem,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n And he turns. \u201cSon,\u201d he responds with what appears to be true delight. He moves towards me, practically hovering across the floor. \u201cYou came! I can\u2019t tell you how good it is to see you. Though a little notice would have been nice.\u201d<\/p>\n There\u2019s a tear in his eye. Yes, a tear. But I\u2019m not fooled, so don\u2019t you be either. I\u2019ve seen Odin\u2019s tears before. I\u2019ve seen them a thousand times. Even though they look real, they almost never are.<\/p>\n \u201cI didn\u2019t want you to know I was coming.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHmm. Well, the important thing is you\u2019re here.\u201d He wraps his arm around my shoulder, pulls me deeper into the room, towards the quartet of dark chocolate leather armchairs set in a half-circle around the ten-foot-wide hearth. The fire\u2019s light pours into the room, falls to haze on the chairs\u2019 cushions, twinkles in the nail heads that decorate their arms. \u201cThere\u2019s someone I want you to talk to. Someone who\u2019s going to help us change the whole game, help us get home.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHome?\u201d<\/p>\n He nods, calls, \u201cLadies,\u201d as the doors to the study close and lock behind us. Another set of doors, these in the room\u2019s far, northeast corner, creak open, the darkness beyond seeming almost to spill into the lit room.<\/p>\n Two women step from the shadows into the light. They wear black, flowing gowns, these women; dresses of silk and lace that seem to move almost of their own accord. The dresses put off light even in their darkness, seem to shimmy and flounce as the wearers stand still, gazing fiercely. They\u2019re serious about something: I just can\u2019t tell if it\u2019s of the kissing or killing variety. Honestly, the scene leaves me thinking of Stevie Nicks. And Sunshine, of course. They both look exactly like Sunshine, albeit under different color schemes of skin, hair, and gaze. They look like what might have happened if Andy Warhol had been in the cloning business, these Neo-Norns his only subject.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019d like you to meet Halflight and Darkness,\u201d Odin says.<\/p>\n Nods from both. \u201cTrickster,\u201d they offer simultaneously.<\/p>\n \u201cWell, obviously we\u2019ve met, in the past. But which is which, in the now?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m Halflight,\u201d says the one with black hair.<\/p>\n \u201cAnd I\u2019m Darkness,\u201d says the one with white hair.<\/p>\n I turn to Odin, \u201cSo, she was telling the truth?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShe?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh, come on, Odin, I know you know Sunshine has been to see me.\u201d<\/p>\n He nods. \u201cI know what you\u2019ve been thinking, Loki. You\u2019ve been thinking we haven\u2019t seen each other in half a century. You\u2019ve been thinking we haven\u2019t spoken in decades. You\u2019ve been thinking.\u201d He pauses. \u201cI\u2019m up to something. It\u2019s not true, though, son, not at all. I\u2019ve made a fresh start and I want you to help us, to work with us. For the greater good.\u201d He raises his arms, Jesus taking in an imaginary multitude.<\/p>\n \u201cHelp you do what?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cRagnar\u00f6k, what else?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHave you forgotten the part where we all die?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou don\u2019t understand, son. We\u2019ve had it wrong all these years. And I\u2026well, I have to take a lot of the blame for that.\u201d<\/p>\n Halflight and Darkness nod solemnly, knowingly. They nod in knowing solemnity.<\/p>\n \u201cThe Norns were right to leave when they did. We were a mess. And what\u2019s happened since, well, that\u2019s just proven how right they were. But they\u2019re back. And we\u2019ve got a chance, all of us, to make things right, to finally let humanity live without us, completely. See, the way the Norns have been explaining things to me, Ragnar\u00f6k was never literal. It was always a metaphor, about us leaving humanity with the power to help themselves.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSo, we\u2019re not going to die?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh, no, you\u2019re going to die\u2026\u201d Darkness replies.<\/p>\n \u201c\u2026on this world\u2026\u201d adds Halflight.<\/p>\n \u201cBut not for good.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNot\u2026\u201d \u201c\u2026forever.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe\u2019ll all go back to Valhalla and live there,\u201d Odin exclaims. \u201cJust like in the beginning!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHappily ever after, eh? You, without any worshippers for the rest of time? And how is it we\u2019re supposed to get all this going? We don\u2019t have any powers left to speak of.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe Norns can give us our powers back,\u201d Odin chimes in. \u201cThey can re-form The Wheel of Fate.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou mean that thing you turned into a Hitler statue so you could pass some of your power to Old Adolf?\u201d I turn to the Norns. \u201cHe\u2019s been meddling constantly since you left. Hitler was just the worst example.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cEven if that\u2019s true, you weren\u2019t blameless. Were you, Trickster?\u201d asks Halflight.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou meddled.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI didn\u2019t help Hitler.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s not what we\u2019ve been told,\u201d Darkness replies.<\/p>\n \u201cTold by whom? By him?\u201d<\/p>\n Odin lowers his gaze, faintly shakes his head as if too deeply hurt to finish the action. I find myself wishing I had a ham so I could throw it at him.<\/p>\n Halflight: \u201cNot by the All-father. That is all we will say now.\u201d<\/p>\n Odin looks up, vindicated.<\/p>\n \u201cJust because some mythical person says something, you\u2019re going to assume it\u2019s true?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMythical?\u201d Darkness asks.<\/p>\n \u201cYou know what I mean.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe have seen evidence of you influencing human events.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat evidence?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe moving things. The pictures.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou mean video? Film?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI was helping.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSo was I,\u201d says Odin.<\/p>\n \u201cYou were helping Hitler.\u201d<\/p>\n Darkness: \u201cSo, you say, Trickster. But maybe you were the one helping Hitler?\u201d<\/p>\n Halflight: \u201cDon\u2019t forget we knew you before, in Asgard. You don\u2019t have such a good track record, Trickster.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI played a few tricks. That\u2019s my thing, remember?\u201d<\/p>\n The Norns gaze at me, lips pursed, eyes narrowed.<\/p>\n \u201cFine, if you don\u2019t believe me, why am I here?\u201d<\/p>\n Both Norns: \u201cWe need your help with Sunshine.\u201d \u201cThere it is.\u201d<\/p>\n Darkness continues, \u201cShe\u2019s confused. She thinks you\u2019re her only hope. How ludicrous is that?\u201d<\/p>\n I must look hurt because Halflight chimes in, \u201cWhich is why she came to see you. Which is also why\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSunshine has the statue.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe Hitler statue? The one from Asgard?\u201d<\/p>\n Odin cuts in, \u201cCan we stop with all the Hitler-this and Hitler-that? Let\u2019s just go back to calling it The Wheel of Fate, shall we?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMuch as I can appreciate why someone who helped Hitler wouldn\u2019t want to hear Hitler-this and Hitler-that, I think it\u2019s important to stick to the facts. Halflight and Darkness don\u2019t seem to understand. Hitler and the Nazis were something you had to experience to fully comprehend.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh, don\u2019t misunderstand us,\u201d the Norns say as one. \u201cWe\u2019ve read up on this Hitler fella. He was the most dastardly figure in human history.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd Odin empowered him!\u201d<\/p>\n Darkness: \u201cOr maybe you did.\u201d<\/p>\n Halflight: \u201cOr maybe you both did.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cEither way, they\u2019re willing to forgive us. All of us,\u201d Odin says, spreading his arms as if to take in the entire pantheon.<\/p>\n \u201cJust like that?\u201d<\/p>\n They nod.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat about all the carnage? The dead Jews? The babies? The wars? Is Sunshine the only one of you who cares about humanity, or good, or truth?\u201d<\/p>\n The Norns glance at each other. They shrug. \u201cOdin has agreed to do everything we ask. As long as he can pass this trial period without meddling in human affairs, Fate will consider him absolved. You will all have your powers restored. And Odin will once again be king of the gods.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou realize he\u2019s behind this Vekk guy, right?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat has not been proven!\u201d Odin interjects.<\/p>\n \u201cThe one whose image is everywhere? Maybe. But the All-father has agreed to leave the humans to their own devices, let Fate run its course.\u201d<\/p>\n I shrug.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019ll talk to Sunshine then, help convince her?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll tell her what\u2019s been said. As for convincing her, I\u2019ll have to give that some thought. I don\u2019t trust him,\u201d I say, pointing at Odin. \u201cOr you, for that matter,\u201d I add, turning to the Norns.<\/p>\n In spite of what seemed a pretty stiff rebuke from yours truly, there\u2019s nodding and smiling, even a few stolen glances.<\/p>\n \u201cAlright, ladies, you may return to your lair,\u201d says Odin.<\/p>\n The Norns leave me standing there with Odin.<\/p>\n \u201cSo?\u201d he asks after they\u2019re gone.<\/p>\n \u201cAs I told the Neo-Norns, I need time to think. And it won\u2019t do you any good to have me followed. I didn\u2019t bring Sunshine with me.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSo, she\u2019s back in America?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMaybe.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou left her with the giants?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCould be.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHel?\u201d<\/p>\n I raise a provocative eyebrow.<\/p>\n \u201cNot the wolf. You didn\u2019t leave her with the wolf?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHow about all of them?\u201d<\/p>\n I leave him standing there, struggling for breath.<\/p>\n \u201cMaybe you should just ask Heimdall?\u201d I call, as I go.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" You have to love the Germans, their national sense of humor at least. One part British stodge, one part French aloofery, they\u2019re unmoved by the banal jokes Americans love. But give them a hulking sexecutioner in black polythene and a Hello Kitty mask, and they\u2019ll yuck it the fuck up.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":182,"featured_media":21905,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-21903","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","writer-kurt-baumeister"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/21903","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/182"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=21903"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/21903\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":21906,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/21903\/revisions\/21906"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/21905"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=21903"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=21903"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=21903"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}