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Katherine had a pleasant enough smile that got more and more disconcerting as you realized how it never left her face, almost as if some invisible strings were pulling on the sides of her cheeks and making her look that way.
Fortunately, there was plenty to see around Happy HQ without having to stay focused on Katherine’s increasingly creepy smile. I didn’t know what Loki’s hiring standards were, or if he made an effort to, um, magically enhance his employees to help them better fill their job roles, and I didn’t want to find out.
The office was a skyscraper located in Central Square, the heart of Valero’s central business district, which also, incidentally, contained the local Lorica office. How Loki could keep his seat of power so close to people who were essentially the paranormal police was anybody’s guess, but the Norse god of deceit had amassed a lot of magical might in contemporary times. He had plenty of mundane security upfront, which only hinted at the amount of arcane protections he would have had in place as well.
Loki’s offices reflected the spirit of his fast food empire, all bright colors and fun decor made to evoke the young, carefree nature of Happy’s various franchises. Katherine plied us with samples as we headed towards the back of the building, where we were assured that the elevator leading directly to Mr. Theodore Thorpe – Loki’s human alter ego – was waiting.
By the time we got to said elevator, both Florian and I had been loaded with everything the Happy empire had to offer: artisanal hotdogs, steamed Chinese meat buns, milk tea in various fancy flavors, even miniature bowls of their upcoming Happy Ramen franchise.
Whenever possible, I dropped crumbs and morsels into my right pocket, where I kept Box. We’d practiced this before. He liked going on walks with me, which only ever happened around Paradise because you obviously can’t go around a dog park with a little treasure chest on a leash.
Box seemed to understand that he needed to keep a low profile out in the real world, so on command, he’d conveniently shrink himself down to a little cube about the size of a die. Katherine, fortunately, didn’t seem to notice the faint munching sounds that issued from my jeans pocket.
The decor got more severe and serious as we reached the back of the building, until everything was so sumptuous and rich that you’d thought we’d been transported to a different property entirely. Here it was just all deeply stained woods and shiny lighting fixtures and knobs and knockers, including those found on the door opening out into the single elevator that Katherine helpfully corralled us into.
“Mr. Thorpe will be waiting at the top,” she said cheerily, the whiteness of her permanent smile searing itself into my brain.
“Thanks for your help,” I answered, giving her a small wave. Florian tried to say something similarly polite, but had too much hotdog crammed in his mouth to successfully do so.
The elevator quietly hummed as it brought us to our destination. The thirteenth floor, we learned from the brightly polished numbers mounted on the wood-paneled walls as we stepped out into a corridor carpeted in rich vermilion. Thirteen. Typical.
Florian nudged me with his elbow. “I feel so poor,” he said, though not with any amount of shame. It was more out of excitement, the odd, naughty thrill of knowing that we weren’t supposed to be there, that we didn’t belong.
I nodded. “Totally agree. This all feels so pretentious, which is probably exactly how Loki likes it.”
A pair of doors near the metallic numbers on the wall swung open, faint strains of classical music spilling out. I rolled my eyes, having no doubts that Loki heard us gossiping about him through the walls. Florian and I stepped through the double doors, and I fought to keep my awe to myself as we stepped into Loki’s offices.
The bastard had rearranged the place. He had to have. There was no desk there, only endless rows of bookcases filled with ancient, impressive-looking books. Tall, huge light fixtures tipped with green glass lamps that glowed like emeralds flanked a massive chair that sat in the center of the room. To either side of the chair were huge black vases positively overflowing with lush plants that spilled their snaking tendrils all over the floor. I could smell them, too, the cool, sweetish scent of green, and somewhere in there, the aroma of freshly turned earth.
It was like Loki’s own little taunting joke. He knew exactly what Florian needed to activate his powers, and Loki made sure we could see that he didn’t fear his nature magic. “Try and strangle me with these vines that I’ve provided for you,” the presence of the vases seemed to suggest. “Try and see what happens.”
And in the massive chair which was upholstered in shimmering red velvet and finished in black lacquer, a seat that was more throne than anything, sat Loki, one leg casually draped over the other, a smirk on his lips.
“The nephilim and the alraune. So we meet again.”
Florian grunted his greeting. I scratched my eyebrow and shot him an annoyed look. “It’s not like I’m thrilled about this or anything.”
Loki chuckled. “Always so charming, Mason Albrecht.” He leaned forward in his throne, then sniffed at the air. “I smell something familiar. Something I made on my own.”
“Oh. Must be this.” I plucked Box out of my pocket, felt him wriggling happily in my fingers as I set him down on the floor. He grew several orders of magnitude within seconds, transformed into a little treasure chest once more.
“A Cube,” Loki breathed. “One of them survived?”
I stuck my chest out proudly. “And followed me home. His name is Box.”
Loki rose from his throne, then bent forward, as if to touch the mimic. Box growled. The god flinched, frowned, and quickly retrieved his fingers. I kept my smile to myself.
The first few nights with Box in my hut, I had mildly disconcerting dreams where I would wake up to find that he’d singlehandedly – or singlemouthedly, rather, devoured every last animal that fell under Artemis’s protection.
It was encouraging, seeing the mimic be so apprehensive towards the fickle god that made him. It meant that there was very little chance of Box suddenly developing a fondness for his wayward asshole father and turning on everyone in Paradise.
“I don’t like it,” Loki said, his fingers safely tucked into the palm of his other hand as he returned to his throne.
“Well, you’re in luck.” Florian knelt on the floor, giving Box a tentative pat on the lid – the first time I’d seen him do so. “He doesn’t like you either.”
Loki sniffed, raising his nose in the air. “Pray that it doesn’t learn to bite the hand that feeds it.”
“Right,” I said. “Whatever, man. Listen, we’re just here
