“When did you say this happened?”

“About 5:20-ish. It happened so fast, detective, I just- I-“

Blah blah blah. I watched the police interview witnesses, getting basically to same information from each one, only slightly altered. What a waste of time. People never know anything, these detectives included.

I turned and walked into the house. It was plenty nice, the exterior seemingly inspired by New York brownstones, and the interior was well furnished and neat. Well, except for the bloodstain.

It was right in front of the entry door, meaning the guy had only made it a few steps into his home before, you know.

Sighing, I crouched down to examine it. The body had already mean removed, but red was everywhere. Whoever did this had fun with it. I felt myself smile.

“Agent Jarson.”

I looked up, “Yes?”

A man, another agent or detective by the looks of it, stood above me. He was tall, but I towered him once I stood up.

He cleared his throat and held out his hand, “So you’re the famous L. Jarson.”

“Guilty,” I said, shaking his hand.

“Inspector Smith Wilson,” he introduced himself. I forgot his name almost immediately. Too common, too useless. “So what do you think?” he asked.

I took a look around, though I didn’t need to. “Quite interesting day,” I answered monotonously.

“I bet I can make it even more so,” he offered. After a quizzical look from me he looked down at a carpet that was just a few inches from the large bloodstain. Using his foot, he slid the carpet away.

I gasped. No. No no no no. My hand flew to my red hair, my fingers habitually pushing through it. I took a breath, and calmed myself, this was not the time or place for something like me to panic.

After a moment, I looked back at the uncovered hardwood floor. Or really, I looked at the pale blue paint that was over it. It was a sort of sigil, with runes surrounding it. Viking runes.

“You seem surprised,” the inspector said. “Any idea what it is.”

“No.” Hel, that was such a lie. I stared a second longer and then turned on my heel and left. Left the house and left the inspector standing there confused. I had to think.

I’d only made it a house down when I stopped. Damn, I’d been around humans too much lately. I shouldn’t be worries, nor should I care at all. Yet, I couldn’t deny it worried me a bit. Whoever painted that there knew. They knew and wanted to catch me. Or maybe…not me. I blew out a breath. Was there another one around here? Could the sigil painter be hunting someone else?

Wow, I really really need to stop hanging around humans. I was starting to gain emotions, ew. Not like there was anything I could do, it was either hang low in these slums or risk punishment again up there.

Either way, I’m stuck here with someone who knows how to trap gods. One step into that sigil and any Norse diety freezes. Can’t move. I shivered. Cold was my thing but walking was, too.

I had options. I couldn’t have cared less about the murder ten minutes ago, but now it seemed that if I can find the killer, I can find the hunter. But wait…the hunter put that trap there…they probably know who I am. Shit. That changes stuff.

I supposed I’d have to lure him out. I smirked, at least I was getting some action. Just what a dormant trickster god needs.

There was more determination in my step as I continued down the sidewalk, it was the most purposeful I’d walked in years. Whoever this hunter was, they were no match for Loki.