“Me?” said Jack, as all eyes turned in his direction. “Why me?”
Loki chuckled. It was not a pleasant noise. “Several times during the past century, I found it necessary to employ Dietrich von Bern. While not without his faults, I always found him quite competent. That any mortal, even one of your ancestry, could defeat him as well as one of the Great Beasts, astonished me. I had to see for myself what made you special.”
The Norse deity stared directly into Jack’s eyes. Mortal’s gaze met immortal’s and held. For an instant, neither figure moved. They remained frozen in place, as if communicating by thought alone. No one at the table dared make a sound, afraid to disturb the strange scene taking place before them. A minute passed. Another. Then, gradually—very, very gradually—Loki started to tremble. His body started to shake, not with fear, but with relief.
“You don’t have an answer,” he declared, his voice quivering with emotion. “Not even a Logical Magician can accomplish the impossible.”
“Perhaps not,” said Jack quietly. “But I don’t give up very easily. I’ll find a solution.”
Loki chuckled harshly and shook his head. Eyes glowing, he stepped back from the table. Hands on his hips, he rotated his head slowly, taking in everyone sitting at the table. His thin lips curled in a sneer of disdain, He was arrogance personified.
“Follow your champion,” the man in black declared, “and be damned. He cannot succeed. You are stupid fools.”
Yet for all of his sarcasm, there was a note of doubt in the Norse deity’s voice. Something troubled the trickster. Worry lines clouded his forehead. Despite his statements to the contrary, something he had seen in Jack’s eyes frightened him. Badly.
The trickster’s gaze darted from one frost giant to the other, “Attend me, you fools. We are done here. I have learned all I needed. We are leaving at once.”
“But, master,” said the giant posted behind Grondark, “what about smashing their bones…”
“Shut your mouth, you animated icicle,” shouted Loki. For the barest instant, the laughter was gone, revealing beneath it an unspoken fear. “The plan has changed. No reason for us to waste effort on these churls. The Old Man of the Mountain will deal with them. They are his problem, not ours. Come.”
Whirling about, Loki strode for the exit. Back stiff, he never once turned around. Shaking their heads in bewilderment, the two frost giants hurried after him.
“I’m glad that’s over,” said Fritz Grondark, rising to his feet. Clutched in one hand was a massive hammer. “Not my monkey wrench,” he declared apologetically, “but if push came to shove, I thought it might do the trick. I never go anywhere without some sort of protection. To be honest, I wasn’t sure the past few minutes if I was going to need it or not. That Loki speaks in riddles.”
“Yeah,” said Hugo, straightening out its feathers with its beak. Otherwise, the bird appeared unharmed. “First he tells us we’re a bunch of dumb jerks. Then, he races out of here faster than snow melting in the desert. Does Jack amuse him? Or scare him six ways to Sunday? It doesn’t make any sense to me. Anybody care to explain? I’m one bemused fowl.”
“Loki possesses the power to see into a man’s soul,” said Freda, staring oddly at her son. “He can read the truth to any question he asks. What secret concerns him, Johnnie? And, more important, what is your answer?”
“Loki wondered if I knew how to kill a god,” replied Jack. “He read in my thoughts that I didn’t. That’s what made him laugh. Until he caught the rest of my deliberations.”
“The rest?” repeated Megan.
“I don’t understand how to defeat a god,” said Jack, smiling grimly, “but I have a theory. That’s what scared Loki, I do have an idea. A very interesting idea.”
9
“I refuse,” said Freda Collins, a few moments later, as Bryan served their salads, “to let that lout, Loki, spoil our celebration,” She raised her champagne glass. “Drink up. In Valhalla, we never worried about the morrow. We lived only for the moment.”
“Yeah,” said Hugo. “Eat, drink, and be merry. You know the rest. Typical dumb Norse credo.”
“Bird,” said Freda evenly, “I can wring your neck as easily as the frost giant. And Cassandra would probably lend me a hand.”
“Listen,” said Jack, anxious to escape the squabbling, “the band’s playing a slow number,” He pushed back his chair. “Megan and I love to dance. We’ll be back before the main course is served.”
Except for a few older couples, they had the dance floor to themselves. Jack eased Megan about, enjoying the sensation of holding her close. Her head resting on his chest sent his pulse racing.
“Calm down, handsome,” she declared, giggling, “or you’ll get us arrested.”
“Not here,” said Jack. “Morality seems to be one of the few human traits not adopted by the supernaturals. They are totally without shame.”
“So I’ve noticed,” said Megan.
“It’s not their fault,” said Jack. “Remember, they’re creations of mankind’s collective subconscious. Thus, they embody all of humanity’s suppressed dreams and desires. A common fantasy among both men and women is a nonviolent encounter with a sexually aggressive partner. The supernaturals can’t help acting the way they do. We’re the ones who programmed them that way.”
“Well, keep your hands to yourself where nymphs are concerned,” said Megan. “Those women are well beyond the aggressive stage. They’ve evolved into predators. And to them, you’re a particularly choice cut of beef.”
“A fact,” said Jack truthfully, “that never ceases to amaze me. I’m neither particularly handsome or exceedingly muscular. Beautiful ladies never treated me like a sex object before.”
“Push your own analysis a step further,” said Megan, snuggling even closer. “Humans have always dreamed about romantic liaisons with legendary characters. Encounters that featured the visionary playing the lead role. Those thoughts were, in turn, embedded in the basic character of supernaturals. The nymphs don’t want rugged barbarians. They want the men whose imaginings created them. In other words, guys like you.”
“Thanks,” said Jack. “I think.”
“Don’t pout,” said Megan. “I find you quite handsome and very desirable. And I’m not pre-programmed.”
“Very desirable?” asked Jack.
“Very,” said Megan, running her fingers slowly along the back of his neck. Her touch sent shivers running down his spine.
The song ended and reluctantly they returned to their table. Fortunately, during their absence, all disagreements had been settled peaceably. Freda and Cassandra were reminiscing about old battles while Hugo regaled Fritz Grondark with bawdy tales about the sex lives of elves. A few moments after Jack and Megan resumed their seats, Bryan arrived with the main course.
The food was superb. As promised, it was a memorable meal. Though Jack found it somewhat disconcerting watching Hugo ripping and swallowing chunks of boar flesh only inches away from his own plate. Nor did it help when halfway through their dinner, the bird belched, then declared loudly, “The only thing lacking is a pint of blood to wash down the grease.”
“There’s Cartaphilus, the Wandering Jew,” said Megan, trying to point out some of the notables to Jack as they ate. “He plays chess with Father once a month. Under a pen name, he writes travel books.”
Hercules, when spotted wandering close to the bandstand, resembled a professional wrestler. The distinguished cut of his tuxedo could not hide the bulging muscles in his chest and arms. He nodded pleasantly to Cassandra when she waved.
“One of the few men I admire,” admitted the Amazon. “He’s always treated me with respect.”