The Fate of Olympus | Reynabeth [✓]

19. Loki, God of Mischief and Artifice

The overpass that they had camped beneath was, sadly, not devoid of magical activity. An attractive blond man in a Red Sox uniform stood about a hundred feet away from where they had slept the night before. He turned toward them. He was drop-dead gorgeous, in a sinister kind of way. What was he doing, just standing there?

Annabeth shook Reyna awake.

"Ugh," said Reyna. "Are you dying?"

"No, but..."

"The sun is...ughhh. Wake me up when it's daytime."

Annabeth shook Reyna's shoulder. "I have a bad feeling about that guy," said Annabeth.

Immediately Reyna sat up. She rubbed her eyes and regarded the man with a guarded expression. "He has scars all over his face. He looks like...uh, Annabeth, who would have scars all over his face?"

Annabeth did a double-take. The man didn't have scars that she could see. "I don't see any scars," Annabeth admitted. "I guess it could be a monster. Or possibly a god who got hit in the face or something? Or a guy who got trapped under snake venom. That happened to the Norse trickster god."

"So I guess we're seeing different things." Reyna pointed to a squirrel on the other side of the overpass. "The fox is back."

"This is bad," said Annabeth. "We're trapped between a trickster god and a trickster animal."

Annabeth squinted at the squirrel to see past the Mist. Maybe the fox was a Briton god, like Sulis, but maybe the fox was a Norse god. They were in Scandinavianfolklore's country, after all. What could a fox be to Scandinavian? A fylgja was the only thing that came to mind. They were spirits that accompanied people to their fates.

Reyna wiggled out of the sleeping bag, ready for action. "I don't wanna mess with Loki. We should take our chances with the fox."

"Too late," said Loki with delight. He was right behind them. The squirrel scampered away, hiding in the foliage next to the creek. "I am Loki of Asgard."

He kind of looked like a version of Apollo, with his handsome face and flawless skin, except his irises glowed red like glowing logs in a campfire. Based on the way Reyna gaped at Loki, Annabeth guessed that Loki's scars were horrific to behold.

Loki glared at Annabeth. Their weapons turned to sand in their hands and spilled to the ground, useless. Annabeth figured it was an illusion, some kind of trick, but it startled her.

"Hey," said Reyna. She stood in front of Annabeth in a protective stance.

"Oh, I'm not interested in harming either of you. I'm here to help you," said Loki. His voice was layered in something like charmspeak. Loki's charisma wrapped around Annabeth like a warm blanket, soothing her into complacency. "Oh, the irony. Annabeth sees what a stupid mortal would see. Is your study of the Mist backfiring now?"

"Sorry to bother you," Reyna said, still standing protectively in front of Annabeth. Her voice was acidic. "We're passing through."

Loki tapped his chin. "Oh dear. How inconvenient, a Greek and a Roman passing through Norse territory. What will my father say?"

Annabeth said, "I'm sorry, we're just passing through."

Wait, had she just repeated exactly what Reyna had just said? What was Loki doing to her?

Loki said, "I doubt Odin would say that. I know exactly why you're here and it's not for transit."

"What do you mean?" Annabeth asked.

Loki rolled his ember-red eyes. "Annabeth, open your bag."

Annabeth tried to resist Loki's charmspeak, which was a form of Mist manipulation, but it gave her a headache. She succeeded for a few seconds, but the pain became unbearable. Her hand unzipped the bag.