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The floorboards creaked, and Loki looked up. Theo was standing in the doorway of the bedroom—Loki hadn’t bothered to close it. “What are you doing? ” Theo asked, but it sounded less like a question and more like he already knew.

Loki slammed the book shut as he pushed himself to his feet. “Just some light reading to pass the time. ”

He wasn’t certain if he imagined it, but Theo seemed to lean away from him. His grip on his cane shifted. “I wanted to tell you. ”

“Tell me what? ” Loki said. “That before I even arrived, you all had made up your minds about me? You had decided I was not to be trusted, that I was slippery and cruel and wily, because of a lot of old stories you had read about me? How disappointed you must have been when it was me who showed up instead of my brother with sunshine spurting out of his ass. I’m sure this book”—he flung the volume onto the ground between them—“has some very flattering things to say about him. Because he’s the hero, isn’t he? He was always going to be the hero. And I’m not. I could descend from the heavens surrounded in angelic light and give everyone in your realm cheese sandwiches and a unicorn, and you would all still know me only as the villain from the stories. ”

“I didn’t know what else to think! ” Theo replied. “It’s all we have. These stories don’t come from nowhere, do they? They’re rooted in something. They told us who you are. ”

“No one gave me much of a say in who I am. You think my father and my brother are so wonderful and brave because some book told you so? Here’s the truth: Odin doesn’t give a damn about your little society. He doesn’t give you a thought. Mrs. Sharp’s husband died because you humans don’t matter to him. He didn’t care enough to send help, or even consider it. I’m here because he’s punishing me—you’re my punishment. You are all wasting your time—wasting your lives—thinking you matter to the ruler of the known universe or that you’re doing something to keep the Nine Realms in balance. You’re nothing—not to Odin, and not to me. ”

He didn’t wait for Theo to reply. He pushed past him, out the door and into the hallway. He heard Theo call after him, but he didn’t turn. His father had taught him that only the weakest of warriors looked behind at their home. They kept their eyes forward, knowing the points of the swords landed where their eyes rested.

Amora was in her dressing room when Loki opened the door without knocking. She was curled in a chair beside the fire, a steaming cup of tea on the table next to her, and her fingers tangled in her long hair, working it from its knots as she skimmed the newspaper on her lap.

She looked up as he entered. “What are you doing here? ”

Loki didn’t reply. Instead, he pulled a stool up beside her, reached into his coat, and withdrew a pouch that he dropped onto the table with a hollow clatter. The drawstring was loose, and the leather slipped back to reveal the glittering shine of the five stolen Norn Stones.

“All right, ” he said. “Let’s be villains. ”

Amora reached out and touched a finger to the surface of one of the Stones. It sparked gold where her skin met it. “Where did you get these? ”

“I stole them. ”

“From who? ”

“Who do you think? ” he snapped. He felt frayed and skittish, still raw from what he’d read in Theo’s book. “From Karnilla. ”

“You’re the thief your father has been looking for. ” She plucked one from the rough material of the pouch, holding it up to examine. The Stones were each slightly smaller than her palm, angular and translucent. Colorless. “And what exactly were you planning to do with them? ”

He didn’t want to tell her that he had grown weary of Thor’s glorious successes and decided to stage one of his own. A priceless object had been stolen, and he would be the one to find it. Something no one else could locate but him. It felt silly and childish to say so my father would notice me. He couldn’t find a true opportunity for heroism, so he had had to invent one by stealing. Perhaps Odin was right. Theo was right. All the books were right.

“The better question is, ” he said, “what are we going to do with them? ”

Amora looked up slowly. He could see the spots along her jaw where she hadn’t quite wiped away the greasepaint from her stage show. “These are the most powerful magical amplifiers in the Nine Realms, ” she said. “The two of us, with these Stones—we could level planets. ”

“Raise armies. ”

“Form mountains with our bare hands. ”

“Conquer cities. ”

“Conquer Asgard. ” She kept her head down, examining the stone, but her eyes flicked to his face, studying him for a reaction through her dark lashes. “Come now, ” she prompted when he didn’t reply. “There’s no chance you stole these without the thought crossing your mind. ”

It had. Briefly. That his father had had a vision of Loki leading an army against his own people, an army of the dead that could only be raised by power like those the Norn Stones contained. But he had convinced himself his actions were noble. Noble adjacent. Noble in that he was operating within a system rigged against him, so why not rig it in return?

He cheats. He remembered the phrase suddenly from the book.

“How would we do it? ” he asked.

“Your father laid it out for you, ” she replied. “You saw it in the Mirror. ”

“An army? ”

“An army of the dead. Humans would never stand against Asgardians, but the dead raised and endowed with the power of the Norn Stones would. You have a train full of the dead, dead I have preserved perfectly, dead who will make fine soldiers for you. All moving this Sunday on a train that will cross one of the points where Midgard and Asgard are connected. You could open the Bifrost yourself with the Stones. ”

Loki suddenly remembered touching the dead chimney sweep with magic at his fingers. It wasn’t a spell he could have done on his own—reanimation—but with the Norn Stones, he had already done it.

“What about all the human passengers? ” he asked.

“We uncouple the cars, ” Amora replied. “Take only what we need. ”

“And you’d come with me? ”

“I’m never leaving your side again. ”

He felt light-headed. This close, he could smell her perfume, something with citrus and spice. It wafted over him as her head canted to the side. “Think of it, Loki, ” she said, and she fell to her knees before him, clutching at his trousers. “Think of it, my king. ” She climbed from the ground to his lap, her arms around his neck, the touch featherlight upon his shoulders. Her fingers stroked his hair. “It could be ours, all of it. Everything we deserve. Everything Odin and Karnilla have denied us. We could take it back. ”

He had considered it. He had thought of it for years. Him on the throne. Amora at his side. Magic restored to the realm, venerated in the way it should be.

But he had not planned on returning to Asgard with an army.

He had a sense it was a gesture his father would have a hard time overlooking if this plan did not play out in their favor. But he’d take a life in the dungeon in chains before he’d settle for one of lock-jawed smiles, pretending he was happy to be the second choice. If fate had dealt him a poor hand, he would stack the deck. Or cut the cards and deal his own. He would win.

“Yes, ” he said, and he leaned forward and kissed her. “Let’s lead an army to Asgard. ”

The Necropolis Railway station was attached to the terminal at Waterloo Bridge, with its back to the Thames, where barges bobbed in the dark water. The facade was dark red stone, with an iron gate where the lettering he’d seen them polishing the night before—the words CEMETERY STATION—sat in a curve above it. The station crest—a skull and bones with an hourglass—was engraved above the office door. As he crossed the threshold, Loki glanced up at the inscription: mortuis quies, vivis salus.

The Allspeak translated for him, shifting the words before his eyes: A good life, a peaceful death.

A bell over the door jingled as they entered the office, empty but for the clerk behind the ticket desk. He looked up as they entered and gave them a smile that felt far too cheery considering he was charged with monitoring a death train. “Can I help you? ”

“Yes, sir. ” Amora threaded her arm with Loki’s and led him up to the desk. “My husband and I need to book passage for Sunday. ”

“Very good. ” The clerk licked the tip of his pen and flipped open the ledger book on the counter in front of him. “And what is the name of the deceased you’ll be accompanying? ”

Amora’s smile faltered. “Do you need that information? ”

“For Sunday we do, as we’re moving all the living dead from the city to Brookwood. The seats are reserved for family. Trying to discourage tourists and onlookers, you understand. ”

“Of course. ”

“So the name of the—”

“How long is the ride? ” Amora blurted, though Loki sensed she was looking less for the information and more for a way to stall.

“Just shy of an hour, ” the clerk replied. “Sometimes we have to stop to take water, but we nearly always come in under. ” He pointed to a map pressed underneath the glass countertop and traced the pathway with his pen. “Trains leave daily at half eleven, and the scenery along the route is very comforting. Starts here in Waterloo and goes out to Brookwood in Surrey. Lovely cemetery, Brookwood. Largest in England. Not so crowded and dirty like the ones here. Worth the expense, if you ask me. ”

“Now, aren’t you just paid to say that? ” Amora asked him with a flirtatious smile.

The clerk’s ears went red. “Well, yes, ma’am, but I’d be saying it either way. Has your service been booked yet? ”

“Not yet. ”

The clerk tipped his ledger shut and reached for a small pamphlet, which he slid across the counter toward Loki and Amora, then began pointing out the different options with the tip of his pen. “We offer first-, second-, and third-class funerals, which correspond with the mourners positions in the train as well. A first-class funeral allows you to select the graves and a permanent memorial. The prices vary with the plot size. Second-class funerals cost a quid, and the erection of a permanent memorial is an additional ten shillings. Should you not opt for that, we reserve the right to reuse the grave at a future date. Third-class funerals are buried at parish expense in the section of the cemetery designated for that congregation. No permanent memorials can be erected, but you can upgrade your ticket later. Services can be held at the station—we’ve got chapels for the Anglicans—and we can provide ham sandwiches and fairy cakes, for an additional fee. Are you an Anglican or a nonconformist? ”

Loki did not understand the question, so he decided not to respond to it. “How many bodies will you be taking on Sunday? ”

“We expect the train to be full to capacity, and each car holds up to thirty bodies, and we’ve got ten hearse cars on regular rotation, though we expect to be adding a few more for Sunday. We’re still waiting on final numbers from Scotland Yard. Now”—he took up his pen again—“I really must insist on the name. ”

Amora glanced at Loki, and he replied, “Rachel Bowman. ”

The clerk consulted his list, then nodded. “Very good. ” He withdrew two blank tickets from his desk drawer and dipped his pen again. “May I have your names? ”

“Sylvie and Jack Lushton, ” Amora said, without hesitation.

The clerk inked the names, stamped the tickets, then traded them with Amora for shillings. “Do try to arrive at least a half of an hour before the train departs, ” he said.

“It’s such an awful business, isn’t it? ” Amora said. “All those dead people. ”

“Bloody awful, ” the clerk replied grimly. “Some of the worst this city’s seen. And I lost both my parents to the cholera. ”

“Whoever’s done it must be a vile bastard, ” she said. Loki ground his foot into hers, a gesture he hoped would convey not to get carried away. Amora ignored him.

“I heard it was a disease, ” the clerk replied.

“I heard it was a serialized killer, ” she said, leaning in confidentially.

“Bloody hell. ” The clerk turned white. “Do you really think? ”

“We should go, ” Loki said, taking Amora firmly by the arm.

“Of course. So sorry for your loss, ” he said with a gentle smile. “I do hope you have a pleasant journey. ”

Amora dealt him a devastating smile in return. “Oh, I’m sure we will. ”

They left the station arm in arm, but Amora stopped them on the edge of the platform, looking out along the tracks that disappeared into the dark corridors of the city. Amora’s grip shifted from Loki’s arm to his hand.

“Stop gloating, ” Loki said, unable to keep the annoyance from his voice.

“I’m not gloating. ”

“You were, just now to that clerk. ”

“Oh, him? ” She waved a hand. “He’s no one. ”

“Until he goes to the police. ”

“And tells them what? Two strangers in his station were gossiping? Who cares about the police? ” She spun around so she was standing in front of him, swinging their linked hands between them. “We leave Midgard in two days, and we are in possession of the most powerful magical amplifiers in the galaxy. Let me revel in my handiwork a bit. ”

“We need a better plan before we board the train, ” he said. “An hour isn’t long to raise an army. ”

She stopped, her hand falling from his. “We have the Norn Stones. ”

“They won’t change the spells. We’ll have to crack open every coffin and wake each of them individually and then tell them to stay put while we go wake their fellows. ”

“Did your mother ever teach you runic magic? ” Loki shook his head, and Amora clicked her tongue. “Frigga, I’m so disappointed. Runes are the way Karnilla does her work across the Nine Realms without leaving her perch in Nornheim. She has runes placed in all your father’s outposts, then channels magic through them. It also makes it possible to perform spells you have nothing but energy to lend to. ”

“That’s how the Mirror worked, ” Loki said, remembering suddenly the staves carved on each side.

“Precisely. The rune directs the magical energy. ” She crouched down and retrieved a handful of stones from around the tracks, then began to lay them out. “If we overlay the kaun, which is the symbol for death... ” She laid the stones in two lines to form one half of an X. “... with the bjarkan, which means liberation... ” Two triangles joined with the lines, one atop the other. “... we have a spell for liberation from death. All we then need do is infuse it with energy. ”

“So where do we place the runes? ” he asked.

A wind rose suddenly, tugging a chunk of her hair free from its arrangement. It tumbled over her shoulder. “One on the train, and one on each of the bodies. ”

“And who controls the spell? ”

“We both do. ” She nudged one of the stones, rearranging the shapes slightly. “We’ll work together once we’re on the train. We board with all the living humans, then make our way through. You take one of the Stones, I’ll take the rest. ”

“Why do you need the rest? ” he asked.

“I’m not as strong as you, remember? ” She stood, shoving her hair from her face. “Not all of us have been luxuriating in Asgard building up reserves of power. ” She looked tired, her skin gray and her gaze swampy and dark as this city. Her eyebrows were pressed together, and her thumb was skimming her lips. “Do you have them? ”

“The Stones? Of course. ”

“Let me see them. ”

He withdrew the pouch from his coat and pulled the drawstring open, revealing a glance of the shining gems. She reached for them, but he pulled them away, shoving them back into his coat pocket. “We have to wait. Karnilla can sense when they’re used. She’d catch us. ”

“It’s hard. ”

“I know. ”

“I’m so tired. ” She leaned forward, pressing her cheek to his chest, and he let his arms fold around her, holding her to him. “I want to be home. ”

“So do I. ”

“I want to be with you. ” She tipped her face up to his, and he felt himself pulled to her mouth, almost beyond his will.

“Soon, ” he said, then again as she leaned up and kissed him so the word was lost in her mouth. Soon.

They went to the Southwark Morgue under the cover of darkness.

The morgue was closed, the moon just starting to drop below the smoky clouds along the horizon, but the red-roofed pub in the alley was still bursting and loud, off-key songs rising from inside and patrons spilling out into the street. A few of them were standing at the morgue windows, their hands cupped over the dark glass, trying to see in. There was a policeman guarding the front door, his hands folded and a truncheon hanging from one fist. A drunk from one of the pubs was poking him in the arm, asking over and over again to be let inside, only to be ignored.

Loki recognized the officer suddenly—it was Gem.

“I can handle this, ” Loki said to Amora as they approached. “Stay here. ”

Gem didn’t look at him as Loki approached. He was too busy growling at the drunk man, “Shove off or I’ll have you in irons. ”

“Gem, ” Loki called as the drunk stumbled off, muttering to himself.

Gem looked his way and gave a small nod. “Evening, ma’am. ”

He wasn’t sure how good his impersonation of Mrs. S. was. Good enough to pass in the darkness, he hoped, but the lights from the pub were brighter than he would have liked. He should have conjured a hat, though he’d never seen her wear one. “Can you let me in? ” he called.

“In? ” Gem repeated.

“Inside the morgue. I have the Enchantress, and we need to get inside before they take the bodies away. ”

“You and... ” Gem’s brow creased. “Her? ”

“We need to test a few things, ” Loki said, with a vague wave of his hand. “Just to make certain the deaths will stop when she leaves Midgard. Earth. London. ” He mentally cursed himself for the slipup but tried not to let it show in his face.

The creases in Gem’s brow deepened. “I thought you said... ” he started, but trailed off.

Loki folded his arms, alarmed by just how thin these arms were. Mrs. S. was remarkably small. “What did I say, Gem? ” he demanded.

Gem’s eyes darted down the street, like someone might be watching. “I can’t be seen with you, ” he said quietly. “Or officially helping you. You said I can’t lose my job. ”

“Well, listen to what I’m saying to you now, ” Loki said. “We won’t do any harm. Come, Gem, don’t you trust me? ”

Gem took off his cap and rubbed a hand over his head, then replaced it with a nod.

Loki smiled. “Good boy. ”

He turned back to where Amora was waiting at the end of the alley, but then Gem called, “Did you find him? ”

Loki stopped. “Find whom? ”

“Him, ” Gem replied. “The God of Mischief. ”

“Oh. Him. He’s gone back to Asgard. ”

“And is Bell all right? ”

“Theo? ” Loki asked, his voice pitching in spite of himself. “What’s the matter with Theo? ”

“I dunno. You said affair of the heart when I asked. ” Gem shrugged. “Dunno what that was supposed to mean. ”

He should have left. He should have turned and walked back to Amora and not said another word that could jeopardize this disguise. But doing what he should had never been his strongest suit. “What did you think of him, Gem? ” he asked. “Loki. The God of Mischief. ”

Gem shrugged, swinging his truncheon in a wide circle that reminded Loki of Thor with Mjolnir. “Seemed like a surly chap. Bit tense, though I suppose I would be too in a strange place. ”

“Do you believe all the stories about him? ” Loki asked. “The ones Theo had in his flat? ”

“Stories is just that, aren’t they? ” Gem replied. “Not worth putting much stock in. I’d rather know a man myself before I judge his character. Why? What did you think of him, Mrs. S.? ”

“He seemed like a bit of a scoundrel to me, ” Loki replied.

“Yeah, well, so are you. ” Gem smiled. “I think that’s why you liked him. ”

He had to stop. Any more of this and he’d want to turn around and run back to the offices at number 3½, or back to Theo’s flat. Throw open the door and demand to know what “affair of the heart” he was engaged in, though Loki already knew. He needed to hear Theo say it.

Instead, he swallowed. “Are you going to let me inside now? ”

Gem dug a pocket watch from his coat and glanced at the face. “I got relief coming in twenty minutes. You’ll have to be out by then. ”

“We’ll be finished. ”

“I’ll meet you round the back. ”

“Here, give me the keys so you needn’t leave your post. I’ll bring them back when we’re finished. ”

Gem looked reluctant, but he surrendered his set. As Loki took them from him, he frowned. “Oh, you’re not... ”

Loki froze. “What? ”

“Nothing, ” Gem said quickly, ducking his head. “Twenty minutes, all right? ”

“I’ll count each one. ”

The morgue was dark, the glass separating the hallways from the bodies on display looked opaque and glossy. The humans laid out on the tables looked ghostly in the faint glow through the windows, their skin luminescent, like the pale glow of the moon behind a cloud.

“Do you have your knives? ” Amora asked, and Loki slid them both from his sleeves. “Here, let me have one. ” She held out a hand, and he hesitated only a moment before he handed one to her. “Don’t forget. ” She took his hand and carved the rune into his palm. His blood bubbled to the surface, then shrank back into his skin, leaving just a very faint impression and the sting. “They all have to be precisely the same for it to work. ”

“I’ll get it right. ”

“You start here, ” she said, tipping her head toward the end of the hallway nearest them. “I’ll go to the other side. We’ll meet in the middle. ”

As Amora retreated, Loki approached the first corpse. A middle-aged man with dark hair salted with gray, and a neatly clipped beard. His eyes seemed closed so lightly that Loki almost expected that when he touched him, he’d wake. But he didn’t have the Norn Stones on him this time. Somehow, these living dead were eerier in the dark, and alone, in the morgue with a hallway full of them.

Loki took the man by the chin and pried his mouth open. He and Amora had discussed where they might put the rune—nowhere that would be visible when the corpses were re-dressed and packed into their coffins. There had seemed only one option, but Loki felt his skin crawl more than he had expected when he reached into the man’s mouth and pried his tongue from it. He had a strong inclination to pull his hand away—like he was afraid the man might bite him—but instead, on the tip of the man’s tongue, he carved a delicate imitation of the rune on his palm. Blood bubbled up to the surface, and Loki doubted suddenly whether he was right—perhaps these people weren’t dead after all. Perhaps their souls still existed somewhere. The dead didn’t bleed, did they?

But this was what he’d chosen. Too late to start feeling empathy now.

He dabbed the blood from the man’s mouth with the inside of his sleeve, then moved down the row to the next body.

He worked quickly and methodically, trying not to think about the warm flesh beneath his hands, how alive these people still felt to him. What Gem had said. He was in the second hallway, prying apart the jaws of a woman whose rotted teeth splintered from the force, when he heard the door at the end open—not the door to the hallway, but the one the public used. He ducked behind the table, crouching out of sight. Heeled footsteps echoed through the hallway. Not Gem—his boots wouldn’t click so loudly.

Then Loki heard, through the darkness, his own name. “Loki. ”

A shadow blotted the glass, accompanied by a long beam of golden light that bobbed across the floor.

He stood, and the light stopped. “Mrs. Sharp. ”

They met on either side of the glass. The beam of the lantern she unveiled turned it veined and gold as she held up a hand, tracing the shape of him, still glamoured in her form, against the pane. “Well, that certainly is eerie. Particularly with the glass here. ” She rapped one knuckle against it and it rang. “It’s like looking in a mirror that has gone rogue on you.

“How did you know I was here? ” Loki asked.

“Gem alerted me, ” Mrs. S. replied. “Though he said you did quite an impression. ”

As she raised the lantern, Loki realized what it was that had tipped Gem off to who he was—on Mrs. Sharp’s left hand, the gleam of her wedding band. He’d forgotten it.

“What do you want? ” Loki asked, trying to paper over any cracks in his voice with the strength of it, but he didn’t feel strong.

“Looking for you, ” she replied. “We’ve been worried. ”

“For me or the rest of the world? ”

“Theo told me what happened. ”

“What do you mean what happened? ” he demanded. “That I learned my own story? ”

The beam of the lantern guttered, then flared. Mrs. S. sucked in her cheeks. “I didn’t know how much you knew. ”

“None of it, ” he said. “But it’s already been written. It’s been told and retold. You humans know everything about me, so what choice do I have? ”

“Everything’s a choice, ” she replied, her breath fogging the glass between them as she leaned in. “There’s always a choice. ”

“Then I choose to be what you all think of me. ”

She smiled sadly. “That’s disappointing. ”

“Are you surprised? ”

“No, ” she replied. “But I wish it could be different. I wish so many things could be different. For all of us. ”

He saw Amora before Mrs. S. did, moving silently through the darkness like a shadow with her knife raised. A warning itched at the back of his throat as Mrs. S. touched the tips of her fingers to the glass, her lips parting to say more.

But then she caught the reflection in the dark glass and gasped, just as Amora struck her in the back of the head with the hilt of her dagger. Mrs. S. collapsed, the lantern tumbling from her hand and cracking against the tile. Amora caught her, forcing her to her knees and pressing the blade to her throat.

She looked at Loki. So did Mrs. S. Through the darkness, he felt their eyes upon him. He felt his fingers brush the glass, then fall. He did not know what he wanted. He did not know who he was. Everyone knew but him.

Amora buried the knife in Mrs. Sharp’s throat, then pulled it across, severing her neck. The blood was bright and jeweled through the darkness. It coursed down her front in thick rivulets that shimmered in the beam of her lantern, the candle still stubbornly burning. Through the glass, he heard the rush of air as it left her throat. Her body spasmed, and Amora released her, letting her body fall, still thrashing, to the ground. The glass between him and Amora was speckled with blood.

Amora could have stolen Mrs. S. ’s energy. She could have drained her and left her here in the morgue with the other dead, carved a rune on her tongue and raised her as a soldier, one more to join their ranks. But instead she had buried Loki’s knife in her throat and let her blood stain the floor. If she hadn’t thought herself a murderer before, in spite of the hallways of humans laid out at her hand, she couldn’t have hidden from it now.

Everything was a choice. Amora had made hers.

And Loki had let it happen.

He dropped his hand from where his fingers had pressed to the window, half expecting to see the blood there too.

On Sunday morning, the train station was packed. Not just with mourners in their black crepe and veils, but men and women from every class in London who had come to gawk at the Necropolis Railway full of the living dead, like they’d never seen a train before and hadn’t been staring at the bodies on display in the Southwark Morgue for weeks. The coffins were lined up on a barge with its back to the station, bobbing in the black water of the Thames. The day was appropriately gray, with heavy swirls of clouds so low they masked out the industrial smoke.

Loki and Amora stood on the platform with the queue of passengers waiting to board. They were both dressed in black, high-collared jackets and donned dark glasses in spite of the overcast day. No one looked twice at them. The mood on the platform was making Loki jumpy. With a crowd gathered around to witness a grizzly spectacle yet again, there was the same mismatched jumble of emotions as outside the morgue. The same merchants who had been hawking their wares at the morgue were here, offering bags of toasted chestnuts and postcards for sale. A group of children were running wild between the passengers waiting to board, their shrieks of laughter drowned by a bell from the station. He didn’t like the mix. He wanted one feeling, one emotion, one face for him to read.

The policemen milling around seemed to share his discomfort. They had their truncheons out, or one hand resting upon them on their waists, prowling the crowd unsure of what trouble they’d have to quell. Loki shifted his weight on his flat shoes. He missed his heeled boots. He missed his black nails and his tunics, and he missed Asgard, he realized. He missed his home.

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