Something Wicked This Way Comes

||3- Stitches||

His aura did not falter in brightness, did not flash or flicker. He was not lying—or maybe he was...God of Mischief, of fire, of lies. It shouldn't be possible...but yet her father had believed. Told her stories of Gods and Goddesses, of ravens and eight-legged steeds. Stories he claimed—no matter how much her mother protested—were just as real as Spirit Lynx that watched over his child.

And Thor existed—he fought with the Avengers. He had been the blonde she had seen in the vision, his battle hammer Mjölnir tight in his hand.

The vision that had reminded her of the horrible tragedy that had befallen Manhattan only four years prior...Kat may have been all the way on the opposite side of the country, but that had not meant she hadn't felt the impact.

"I assume from the lack of color in your face that you believe me." 

Kat slowly nodded, still frozen to her spot. His voice was cool—intrigued—as he asked, "perhaps you are able to confirm that with the same abilities you used to burn me?"

Kat frowned.

"As a matter of fact, yes."

Loki cocked his head to side—an animalistic move, studying her as he took a step forward. This time, Katalina didn't stumble back. She had managed to clear her mind—dispelling her foggy thoughts enough that she could see in Loki's aura that he wasn't currently a threat. She intrigued him.  She was safe—at least for now—but she still couldn't decide whether or not being the center of his attention was the best place to be.

"And how, may I ask, were you able to do such a thing?" He inquired, and, as he finished speaking, he glanced down at his burned hand.  The burned skin of his forearms from where he had pinned her.

"Are you a witch? A sorceress?"

Kat pursed her lips, "I don't prefer that term...witch. My father was a witch. I'm different, I'm a psychic."

Loki's brows raised, then furrowed. 

"Psychic?"  Loki repeated, sudden confusion in his voice.

"And a Medium. I sense things, have visions, read auras, speak with the deceased..." Katalina broke off, not sure why she was telling him this.

Loki took in her words, "because you hope I'll open up to you."

Kat nearly flinched, the surprise evident enough on her face that a small, simper grin crept across his lips. "Your wards slipped."

Katalina slammed them back up.

"You're a telepath, and the God of Mischief," Kat said. Of course he was...how long had her shields been down? Kat had not had much experience with telepaths—she knew how to shield her thoughts, her energy, to ward herself from negative energies. It was one of the first things her mother had taught her—it was the same as blocking a telepath, wasn't it?

From the conflicted look on the God's warm, alabaster face, she knew it was. A small pressure pushed up against that wall she had built, cold—powerful. But it slunk back, finding no cracks.

"Impressive. For a mortal." He drawled. He flexed his hand, his long, slender fingers splaying out in front of himself. "And the burns?"

"Defense mechanism. It's my body's deterrent when I unintentionally get drawn into a vision." Kat explained, voice clipped. Awake, it seemed, Loki had more control over his aura. Whether he knew he did or not, had leashed that seeping energy that had flooded her apartment when she had brought him into it.