The Sanctum Sanctorum might be one of the most magical places here on Midgard, even keeping in mind the powerful covens around. It also works as a home for the wizards currently protecting it, Doctor Strange and Wong, and as a place for magical refugees to stay, like me.
I have been assigned a room at the end of the east hallway of the second floor - the furthest room from Strange's. A detail that I immediately noticed, and that he knows I noticed. Wong's room is in another hallway, closer to the library.
My temporary room has nothing special to it; it's not as big as the ones in Asgard, but it's not tiny. It is bigger than the room Sabrina once gave me, at least. The few colours are dark and most things are made out of wood, giving my surroundings a smell very different from the castle. It has only one simple window, which these last two days has helped me get an idea of Midgard's clothing, based on the humans I watch walk in front of the building - clothing that I quickly copied on myself.
A knock on the door makes some dust fall off the old wood planks. A true magical home.
—We are going out to eat, come on. —Wong says from the door, —I don't feel like cooking today. —
Without a second thought, I start walking behind him. The halls feel shorter than they look, thanks to the illusional factor of the building, which makes it easier when one wants to get to some place quickly. Going down the stairs, I look at Wong, —After we come back, may I finally visit the library? —
Even though Strange and I's first interaction happened in the library, I still have not been able to go back there. It is protected with magic, so I cannot sneak in with a simple spell.
—No. Strange and I agreed that you should not have access to it. Demons are enemies, after all. You probably understand our concern. —
I frown. —Yet you want me to teach you about my magick. —
He does not comment further.
Strange is waiting for us at the door. Just like Wong, he is wearing normal Midgardian clothing. He looks at my own, —Who did you copy that outfit from? —
—Some gentleman. —I shrug.
He raises his eyebrows, —Well, a black turtleneck and dress pants would be considered formal by many. Maybe too formal for lunch. You should change into something more casual, like what I'm wearing. —
I look down at what I am wearing. It's something Father would definitely like. —This looks better, though. —
Strange sighs. —Alright. Let's go. —
The busy streets of the city - which I believe is called "New York" - are louder when you are walking among them. Their density is underestimated until you are struggling to keep up with two totally average men who know this place like the palm of their hands, and who for some reason love walking as fast as possible.
Every human is looking down, focused on their steps or their devices. They all look very different, both in their clothing and their appearance, yet they all follow the same paths and actions as the others. The tall buildings are covered in technology, showing what I suppose is advertising, for the same products with different names.
Noise; what a distraction. The voices, and the vehicles, and the horns, and the steps, and the other voices that nobody else can hear are getting overwhelmingly louder in my surroundings. This city alone has more civilians than the entirety of Asgard, and every second that passes, it seems like the number increases.
A few of them sneak glances at me. What do they see?
—Lokidottir. You stayed behind. Wong is already getting us a table. —Strange is next to me again, us two now standing right in the middle of the crowd. The humans don't mind; they simply walk around us.
The noise is so loud that even focusing on him, I cannot stop hearing everyone's thoughts. —I lost you, there are too many people here. —he looks at me in silence. I continue, —And do not call me Lokidottir. I have a name. —
We restart our walk, —I thought you were proud of being Loki's daughter. —
—I am. But it is not my whole personality. —
I hear him chuckle under his breath. —You make it seem like it is. —
After walking through the last part of the crowd, we arrive at the place, finding Wong waiting at a table on the terrace, open towards the street. Before I get to sit, Strange shakes his head and signals for us to follow him, leading us into the restaurant where there is, fortunately, very few people, and where the tumult of the city cannot be heard.
Sitting down, some menus are placed in front of us. A lot of words are unfamiliar to me, however, some images seem tempting. Snapping my fingers, I get the men's attention, and point to one of the pictures. —I want that. —
Strange nods, —Margherita pizza? I've heard they make good ones here. —
Wong probably notices my confusion, and adds, —It is basically made of bread, tomatoes, mozzarella, and basil. —
—I do not know what half of those things are. —
Strange stifles a laugh, Wong sighs. —I will teach you about human gastronomy when we get back. —
The food is ordered, and we are left to wait. At another table, a child catches my eye. It should not be older than two years. We hold eye contact for about two minutes; it refusing to look away from me, and me answering to its antics in the same way. Finally, the child begins to sob. The mother starts to take care of it as I stay wondering what caused its crying.
When I turn my head back to our table, Strange is now the one who makes eye contact with me. He does not break it, at all. After some seconds, I try reading his mind, but I find myself blocked by him. He smirks, —We're trained against mind reading. —
I look at Wong, who is folding his napkin. I cannot read his mind either. I sigh, —That's very boring. —
—But, —Strange moves his hands around, —No one else is here. Why don't you try reading their thoughts? You might learn something new about humanity. —
Wong frowns. —Wouldn't that be a breach of privacy? —Strange simply brushes the question off. I look around.
"The waiter got my order wrong..."
"God, why isn't the baby shutting up..."
"Quel était le mot pour régime..."
"That girl is so pretty..."
I look at the source of the last voice; it's a young woman, staring at me, who immediately looks away. Grinning, I go back to Strange and Wong. —Nothing important. A lady thinks I am pretty, that's it. —
—Interesting. —I look at Strange in confusion. —Here there's a bit of a stigma around same sex couples. It's stronger in some other places. I suppose in Asgard it's very normal? —
—Yes. Are midgardians that rigid in more topics? —
He takes a moment to answer, —I was planning on talking about that later. But yeah, though it mostly depends on the culture. Some think men are mightier than women, some think the colour of our skin makes us different, etcetera. This is too complicated to be explained at an Italian restaurant. —
I nod. —What does Italian mean? —
—Italy is a nation. Earth is divided in many of them. —he leans forward, placing his hands under his chin. —It's my turn to ask you a question. Is your telepathy part of your demonic powers or is it just Asgardian magic? —
—Both. Although Asgardian telepathy is focused on memories and feelings while demonic telepathy is more of thought reading and mind control. —
He softly nods in silence. Wong is also listening, having finished his little craft with the napkin. It looks like a dragon. I suppose this is a moment for us to learn about each other's culture and magic, so I come up with another question; —What did you mean with formal and casual clothing earlier? —
Strange points at my top, —That's a turtleneck. Normally used at formal events or in cold weather. —he points at my bottom, —And those are dress pants, for formal occasions too. On Earth people dress up based on the weather, season, culture, and setting. I'm wearing a hoodie and jeans; casual and somewhat appropriate for summer. —
—Is it bad if I don't wear appropriate clothing? —
—Not really. But some people will wonder why you're wearing it. —
A woman enters the restaurant. She is wearing a skirt shorter than the traditional ones in Asgard - which I suppose fits what Strange called "casual" and "for summer". Making sure that nobody is watching, I change my pants for a similar skirt.
Wong and Strange notice the change, and cautiously look around. —Don't worry, nobody saw. Is this better? —
Strange shrugs. —I... Guess. But don't use your magic in public again. —
I nod. I knew forehand that Midgard is kind of an underdeveloped realm, when it comes to any kind of magic. Sure, they have wizards, witches, sorcerers, and whatnot, but Father was a witness on how hard it is to find them, and how little average midgardians accept those arts.
(Although there are, apparently, teams of gifted people, accepted by most of the public. One of those defeated Father, after all. )
The food arrives, along with some drinks. There's two "margherita pizzas" which are circular, a size bigger than my hand. Their bottom is a bread-like mass, and on top of it there is something that looks like tomato sauce, and some other ingredients I cannot recognize. Mozzarella and basil, I suppose. It smells baked, and sweet, but there's a hint of a herbal smell.
With no hesitation, I take a slice of it, and bite it. The bread is crunchy, yet tasty, and the sauce is sweeter than I thought. The topping is creamy and slightly salty.
—It's good, right? —
—Yes, this tastes better than most if not all food in Asgard. What do you put in it? —
Wong takes a sip of his drink, —Spices, and things like that. Do you have spices there? —
I shrug, —Five or six types. —Wong makes a face at this. I take a look at my drink; it's dark brown, with small bubbles, like the men's. A sip of it feels explosive, and sugary, and its tickling does not stop until I swallow the liquid. —What in Hell is this? —
Strange chuckles, drinking from his glass too. —Coca-Cola. If some soda is shocking you I can't wait for you to try some of the stronger tastes. —
That is concerning.
Some minutes of silent eating pass. I will admit; I like that about them. Wong does not appear to talk a lot, and Strange, even with how much he speaks normally, stays completely quiet when eating.
But, Wong interrupts it. —I have another question. —I look at him, expecting. —How is Loki your father? —
The witch-asgardian war definitely went unnoticed for outsiders, like them. But, for sorcerers who take care of Midgard and are supposed to know about any threats or changes in the magical community, you would think they should have known at least a little bit about the war.
—He made a deal with Sabrina, daughter of Lucifer and second in line for the throne. —
Wong frowns. —I don't know that name. Is there any chance she goes by other ones? —
Well, of course there is. If I am completely honest, I do not know what is real and what is not from everything Sabrina taught me. Can I even call Her that?
Strange points at me, —That means you are in line too, doesn't it? —I nod. —Why didn't you mention that before? —
—I didn't consider it important. —
He sighs, going for another slice, slightly shaking his head. —A literal royal demon is staying with us. Help me, god. —
I do not think it makes a difference. Sure, I understand the dangers of giving asylum to a random demon, but my royal status in Hell does not make me more dangerous. Very few people know who I actually am, and the ones that do, are either busy or do not want to interact with me ever again. Also, I don't even know if my royal status is still valid.
Ten minutes later, we finish our lunch. Strange and Wong pay - in what I believe are called "dollars" - and we stand up, ready to leave.
Oh. Back to the street.
The noise is back. It really is back. There might be less people, because the busy hours might have ended, but the noise is still completely the same. My temples hurt a lot, and the bright lights blind me a little. A hand grabs me by the arm, dragging me to another part of the street; it's Strange. Wong, in front of us, is leading us to what looks like an alley.
—We're taking a shortcut. —
Wong opens a portal, just like the one that appeared under my feet on the first day; orange sparks and, as it becomes wider, a window to the lobby of the Sanctum Sanctorum. He immediately steps in. Strange, on my side, pushes me forward.
I look back at him, —Will you teach me how to make one? —
He rolls his eyes, and after I go through the portal, he follows. It closes. —Nope. —
—Alright. What about not using magic in public? You broke the rule. —
Walking away, he shrugs. —There are a few exceptions. Anyways, I have stuff to do, —now at the top of the stairs, he looks down, —Find a way to entertain yourself and don't make a mess. Maybe read a book on human society. See you at dinner. —
And he leaves me alone.