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Mobius kept checking the rear-view mirror, his concentration less on the well-known road ahead and more on the magnificent machine he was towing behind. That perfect union of form and function, his beloved 1990 SuperJet, rattled along faithfully, securely attached via tow hitch. Dusk had just bled it’s last colors into the night sky; the beachside streets were nearly deserted. Despite his confidence in both machines, Mobius couldn’t bring himself to take his eyes from the PWC for more than a few seconds at a stench. If anything were to happen to her—
He slowed to take a bend in the road, keeping a special watch on the ski as he did, and was startled by the sudden thu-whUMP from one side of his hood. He looked up just in time to see a body spin past his driver’s window; his foot stamped instinctively down on the break and the tires squealed, his jet ski bucking against the tow hitch. Mobius swore as he scrambled out the door, spotting the unmoving shape lying at the road’s edge.
“Damn fool!” he cursed, hurrying over. He stooped, putting one hand on the man’s shoulder and giving it a light shake. “Hey, I’ll owe you one big time if you just aren’t dead.”
Emerald green eyes flashed open, a smile appearing on the man’s face. “Really?”
Mobius blinked, drawing sharply back. The stranger had wavy hair, caked now with dust but probably black; his smile spoke of honest laughter and gratuitous lies.
“… Yeah, sure,” Mobius managed, after a moment.
The man all but hopped up, brushing himself off. “Good. You see, I’m rather in need of a lift.”
“You’re hitching ?” Mobius asked in disbelief, but the stranger was already making his way around to the car’s passenger side. Mobius hurried to catch up. “Now wait a minute!”
“Oh!” the stranger exclaimed suddenly, clutching at his chest and screwing his eyes shut. “My ribs—I think you might’ve broken—“
Mobius glared at him, unamused, as he slid into the car. “Where exactly are you looking to go?”
The stranger’s eyes opened again, a thoughtful look cast over his mock-anguish. “Where are you headed?”
“I live about five miles up this road, in town.” Mobius pointed. “You won’t get very far with me, I’m afraid.”
The stranger nodded. “No, that’ll be fine. That’s where I’m looking to go.”
“To town? You could’ve walked that in a couple hours.”
The stranger shrugged. “Except I didn’t know it until just now.”
“Didn’t know where you were going?”
“‘Away from here’ was about as much idea as I had.”
Mobius frowned. “I know I’m going to regret this,” he said. Checking the jet ski in the mirror, he started up the car.
They drove in silence for a time, the stranger gazing listlessly out the window. Mobius—his attention now divided between road and PWC and passenger—couldn’t help noticing how graceful the stranger’s neck was beneath that tangled black hair, and then the proud set of his shoulders despite his apparent weariness.
“I’m Mobius,” he said, as they passed the town’s outer limits.
His impromptu acquaintance turned, smiling. “Loki. It’s a pleasure, I’m sure.”
Mobius meant to laugh at the obvious alias, but he didn’t quite manage it. “Loki. Where do you want me to drop you?”
Loki kept smiling. “Didn’t you say we were going to your place?”
Mobius chuckled, incredulous. “I said that’s where I was headed, sure.”
“And I said that would be fine.”
Realizing this madman riding beside him was serious , Mobius tried to summon the proper alarm. He couldn’t. So he chuckled again, turning back to the road and glancing at his jet ski in the mirror. “You’ve got guts.”
“Sometimes they’re the only thing I’ve got to my name,” Loki replied. “Other times, though, I’m a prince.”
Mobius shook his head. “One night, that’s it. Then you move along.”
Loki didn’t reply to that, but his smile remained. Mobius wondered how any mortal thing could be possessed of eyes so emerald green.