? Dark Matter ? A Collection of Loki Stories

p e a c h e s*

"Wow. You really like peaches."

I chuckle and shake my head, "That one wasn't for the peaches."

A pattering of footsteps begins to echo out from the kitchen, growing toward our little slice of corridor.

"Follow me, Peaches," he tells me, enlacing our fingers and pulling me down the hallway glowing with flickering lamplight, draped in blossomed ivy. He leads me down palace steps, through a courtyard of yellow buttercups, and into a vast, empty library.

With a wave of his hand, Loki illuminates the rows of books, torches whipping up with flame. He takes me into the labyrinth of paper and runs his hands along the spines, sowing over and over until...

He stops at a large green volume of Midgardian texts. Some author named Shakespeare. He presses the book inward and it sinks, a couple of clicks popping until the shelf unlocks, paving an opening.

"After you, darling," Loki mutters into my ear, a cocky smile laced across his lips.

"Loki, what in Odin's name..."

His fingers trace over my shoulder, "Just trust me." He holds out his hand and I watch it for a moment before finally taking it, placing a kiss in the center of his palm.

We embark down a long, fairly lit hallway with no windows but gas lamps to light the way. Loki swings my hand as we walk, our steps echoing out against the brick walls.

He begins a story. "Do you remember that time when we—"

"—used a metamorphosis spell to look like each other for the day and nobody noticed?"

Loki bursts out into laughter and I join him, the sounds harmonizing together in the space. "Yes. I often think of that day."

"Why is that?"

"Because it's proof that out of everyone in the realms, we will always know each other best. Our mannerisms. Our hopes. Our faults."

I mock a scoff, "You, the Prince of Asgard, have faults? Well this is the first I'm hearing of this."

He replies with a devilish laugh, "You better believe it, Peaches."

"It's not like you tried to cut my hair upon our second meeting or anything of that sort."

"Hey. That was before I was proficient in magic. I would never execute a prank of my brother's idiotic caliber now." I shake my head at him and he adds, "Anyway, you returned the favor with your chicken stunt."

I laugh so hard I clutch at the aches in my sides. "Oh! They were fluttering all over your chambers! You had feathers over your garments for days."

"I heard you were forced to help your servants for four weeks after that."

"I was. And, oh, it was so worth it."

We reach a wooden door, rounded at the top. He produces a brass key from his tunic and unlocks it, the door parting to reveal a circular room glowing with moonlight, the walls consumed by big windows and the ceiling made entirely of glass. When I look out I can see all of Asgard glimmering. When I look up I can see the stars, the streaks of comets shooting off toward Vanaheim. Toward home.