Since Lady Sif had specifically asked to see him, Evenson saw no reason to refuse.
After all, every veteran MMO player knew one universal truth:
If you wanted help from a powerful NPC or faction...
You had to grind your reputation first.
Fortunately, she wasn’t far away.
S.H.I.E.L.D. had housed her inside headquarters rather than in a hotel.
Partly for observation.
Partly for security.
Leaving an Asgardian warrior to wander New York unsupervised seemed like a recipe for disaster. If she happened to get drunk and decided to celebrate according to Asgardian custom by challenging strangers to honorable combat...
Someone would probably end up filing paperwork under "citywide incident."
So S.H.I.E.L.D. had converted one of its guest suites into something resembling an Asgardian residence.
Several barrels of exceptionally strong liquor.
Decorative racks of axes and swords.
And, most importantly...
A sauna that operated twenty-four hours a day.
Evenson currently sat on a couch upholstered with an entire bearskin rug.
It was the first time he’d ever experienced luxury like this.
His verdict was immediate.
Why is this so uncomfortable?
Bear fur is stiff as sandpaper.
Who looked at this and decided it belonged on furniture?
Across from him sat Lady Sif.
She had removed her armor and now wore only the padded garments beneath it.
Even so, she carried herself with the same effortless authority.
Her damp hair and lightly flushed skin suggested she’d only recently left the sauna.
Evenson couldn’t help sighing inwardly.
If I’d arrived five minutes earlier...
...I might’ve unlocked a once-in-a-lifetime achievement.
Then he noticed Sif staring directly at him.
His smile froze.
...Please tell me she can’t read minds.
"Evenson."
Sif crossed one leg over the other with surprising elegance and rested her chin on one hand.
"Isn’t there something you’d like to tell me?"
Evenson immediately sensed danger.
"That depends."
"What exactly are we talking about?"
"Your friends have been very hospitable."
"They’ve taken me sightseeing."
"They introduced me to your world’s... movies."
Her expression remained unreadable.
"I enjoyed them."
"That’s good to hear."
Evenson smiled.
Naturally she had.
Every film had been carefully screened by S.H.I.E.L.D.
Entertaining.
Harmless.
Politically safe.
Nothing controversial.
"So I asked for more."
Sif’s eyes never left him.
"What kind?"
Evenson asked cautiously.
Surely S.H.I.E.L.D. hadn’t accidentally handed her...
No.
Even they weren’t that incompetent.
The truth proved much worse.
"I requested the footage of our battle with the Destroyer."
Click.
She pressed a button on the remote.
The eighty-inch television lit up.
Onscreen, Sif leaped onto the Destroyer Armor...
Only to be struck from the sky by a blazing green meteor.
She paused the video on the exact frame of impact.
"What do you think of this?"
Cold sweat instantly ran down Evenson’s back.
"...I’d say your luck was exceptionally bad."
Fortunately...
The footage only captured the Infernal crashing into Sif.
It hadn’t caught Evenson casting the spell.
"Oh, spare me."
Sif snorted.
"Everything happened too quickly at the time."
"But after watching this recording over and over..."
She pointed at the frozen image.
"The thing that hit me."
"And the creature you summoned later to heal my injuries."
"They’re exactly the same color."
Evenson raised an eyebrow.
Not my fault Infernals don’t come with customizable paint jobs.
"You said it yourself."
"The second one healed you."
"One saves people."
"The other falls on them."
"Completely different circumstances."
"They just happen to look alike."
"What an incredible coincidence."
"The only mage present was you."
Sif leaned forward.
"So unless another sorcerer dropped a giant flaming rock out of the sky..."
"...who else could’ve done it?"
Evenson suddenly understood the true meaning of sitting on pins and needles.
At the same time, he silently cursed Nick Fury with extraordinary creativity.
That bald menace actually let her watch this?
He was trying to get me killed.
"...Fine."
He surrendered.
"The Infernal was mine."
"I started casting before the Destroyer even appeared."
"The spell had already been activated before you jumped onto it."
He spread his hands helplessly.
"What happened afterward..."
"...was really just unfortunate timing."
"Smooth talking."
Sif slammed one hand onto the massive stone table.
Crack.
Fractures spread across the surface like spiderwebs.
Evenson nearly jumped off the couch.
"Before anything else..."
"...let’s agree not to hit my face."
"Actually..."
"If possible..."
"...don’t hit me anywhere."
To his surprise, Sif remained seated.
"You helped Thor."
"You saved my life."
"I’m not going to repay that kindness with violence."
Relief flooded through Evenson.
Now that’s an honorable warrior.
"But..."
She smiled faintly.
"You still lied to me."
She walked over to one of the enormous barrels and filled a heavy mug nearly to the brim.
Then she placed it in front of him.
"Drink this."
"And we’ll consider the matter settled."
Evenson stared at the mug.
Seven hundred milliliters.
At least.
Judging from the fumes alone, the alcohol content was terrifying.
"...You’re very generous."
He forced a smile.
"Could I pay in installments?"
"You keep the mug."
"I’ll finish it over the next thirty years."
Sif folded her arms.
"That’s acceptable."
"The debt won’t be cleared until the last drop is gone."
"So unless you want me to punch you once every day for the next thirty years..."
"...drink."
"I drove here."
Evenson offered weakly.
"I shouldn’t drink and drive."
Sif looked genuinely puzzled.
"Why not?"
"Everything drives better after a drink."
"Back home, nobody gets behind the reins without finishing a proper mug first."
Evenson suddenly understood why Asgard probably had a horrifying number of dragon-related traffic accidents.
One day...
I’m introducing seatbelts and drunk-flying laws.
No riding dragons or piloting starships while intoxicated.
Then he imagined presenting that proposal to a hall full of Asgardian warriors.
...I’d be executed before lunch.
There was no escaping.
Evenson shut his eyes.
Lifted the mug.
And drained it in one heroic effort.
The liquor hit him like a freight train.
The room spun violently.
His vision blurred.
A second later, he collapsed backward onto the bearskin couch.
His final coherent thought drifted through the haze.
There goes today’s flight to England...
...and those non-refundable discount tickets.
...
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