Holding the pizza boxes, Vidar stood outside his closed shop at half-past six sharply. The can of Fanta and sparkling water stretched the belly pocket of his hoodie.

Sunna played hide-and-seek with the clouds while youngsters were showing off their tricks on the halfpipe. The higher their jump, the louder the growing audience cheered as they watched the show through their screens, more interested in the number of viewers or virtual hearts and thumbs-up than the daredevils soaring through the sky.

Like the day before, Kira was neither risking her life on her skateboard nor among the crowd. Perhaps she was at home, reading the book he had gifted her. Tomorrow, he would ask her about the story over breakfast, vegan breakfast. 

A guy with a black helmet managed to flip the board not twice but three times in the air before landing. Bread and jam didn't contain any animal products, did they? She would eat that, wouldn't she?

Just as the skateboarder received his applause, a growling noise reverberated in the distance. Vidar turned his head towards the small yellow-and-black vehicle approached at dazzling speeds. The engine roared too loudly for its size.

With squealing breaks and a whiff of burnt rubber not far away, the little monster came to a standstill, right in front of Vidar's feet.

The windows lowered. Mo, wearing a bright orange cap and a pair of oversized sunglasses, grinned. "Ewa, I see you got pizza. You must be my date. Hop in, Wolfie."

There was little hopping as Vidar opened the door and threw Mo the Fanta. Balancing the boxes in one hand, Vidar crawled in. The heat of the pizzas radiated through his jeans as he sat down. He fastened his seatbelt, groaning. Despite angling his legs, his knees pressed uncomfortably against the glove department. His hairline brushed against the roof.

He had slept in more spacious dens than whatever this wasp on wheels was. Definitely not a car.

"Ready?" Mo asked.

Before Vidar could respond, he was sucked into his seat.

The trees and houses flashed by as Mo turned into a one-way street, breaking the law for a whole of ten metres but preventing a half-an-hour detour through the nightmare that was Antwerp's maze of streets.

No sunglasses were dark enough to mask the Ifrit's mischievous eyes. He caressed the steering wheel. "An old lady, but they told me she had spirit. Technically, she's not allowed in the city centre. Or, anywhere, for that matter."

Vidar raised an eyebrow. Knowing Mo and the social circles he frequented, both the car and the license plate had been acquired by a ten-finger discount, or fallen off a ship as they often called the practice in the harbour.

"Don't worry," Mo said. "If we get stopped, all you have to do is open your mouth and do whatever Norse mumbo-jumbo you do to talk yourself out of a sticky situation."

Vidar hummed. "Could have arranged something bigger."

"Hey, you asked me to get a car—I got a car. Most of the world isn't over two metres tall."

That was an argument he couldn't counter, though most of the world didn't have a giant as a mother either. Vidar opened the pizza box and handed Mo a slice. "Super supreme without pork."

"You're a god, Wolfie."

As Mo drove up the Northern Lane, Vidar eased as much as the seat allowed him to. A long trail of red lights along with the last sting of the evening rush had congested the road. A nightmare for most, including Mo, who sighed and snorted while he rapidly devoured his pizza.

Ignoring the numbness settling into his lower legs, Vidar didn't mind the slow pace. He took out a slice of BBQ pizza and munched quietly as they shuffled towards the ring road.

"So tricksters," Mo said as they waited for the third consecutive light to turn green, "We're abandoning the idea that a human is behind the crimes?"

"Seems unlikely, Kludde spooks humans, not the other way around."

"So, what tracks are we looking for? I doubt a leprechaun or an alverman could have exhumed Viviane's body."

"My apprentice and I made an overview of local legends," Vidar began.

Mo interrupted him. "Your apprentice?"

"Yeah, I hired a girl to help me out in the shop."

"What happened to DJ Beathagoras?"

"Touring the Mediterranean."

"Not bad." Mo made a clicking noise. "Not bad at all for someone so... oblivious."

Vidar lifted his shoulders and opened the can of sparkling water. Humans came and went—it was the cadence of life. "Couple of creatures didn't make it to my shortlist. Gnomes, alverman, even a leprechaun on holiday—they're too small."

"Too short for your shortlist." Mo guffawed.

"Right..." Vidar snorted, then cleared his throat. "Then there are Pierlala and Tijl Uilenspiegel. Both famous tricksters, but the two rogues are human, and they haven't been spotted in two hundred years."

"Sounds like they're dead."

"Very dead. Then, there's Lady Swamp. She frequents the Western Schelde region but has never set a foot inside the city."

"Any actual suspects?"

"Obviously, there's Reynaert. If we find any fox tracks or a tunnel dug by claws—he's our guy. Number two is Lange Wapper. He's a giant like Antigone, and more importantly, our lanky friend has the ability to transform into a water spirit."

"A fox or a giant," Mo said, "but what if they're not local? These days, the world passes and settles in Antwerp. Fox paws may not necessarily belong to Reynaert, but also to a Kitsune. There are Indian tricksters, African ones, American,..."

Vidar got the gist. He took another bite.

There was also his brother, Loki, the trickster god, the one who had killed Balder and started Ragnarök, who had died thinking he could replace the Allfather. Still, after a millennium, he missed his brother, horns, jests, trouble and all. If they were to meet today, he would rather embrace Loki than punch him. Time didn't heal the ache in his heart—there were just moments he forgot the pain existed.

The light turned green. Mo hit the gas and zigzagged around the slower cars, slipping through the next traffic signal. 

Pizza-flavoured acid burnt at the back of Vidar's throat as Mo slammed the breaks to narrowly avoid a collision. Behind them erupted honking noises.

Mo made a fist. "You learn to drive."

The wasp flitted towards the motorway, and Vidar tilted his head back as a wave of nausea swept over him. He had never been too keen on driving, but this was new. The world flashed by; his head spun.

He swallowed hard.

On the way home, he would drive.

Fifty minutes, a dozen leg cramps, and two near-vomiting scares later, Mo pulled onto a field with a sign that read 'parking'. Vidar exhaled a breath that came from somewhere deep inside. 

"You look paler than usual, Wolfie," Mo said, half jesting but with a dash of concern in his voice. He darted a look into Vidar's box, finding three-quarters of cold BBQ pizza. "You're gonna eat that?"

"Not right now."

Mo saw the reply as an invitation to take a slice.

Vidar didn't care. His knees clacked as he stepped out of the vehicle into the wet grass. Finally, fresh air. Yawning, he stretched his arms and rolled his shoulders back. The headache faded. His stomach settled enough to sip some water.

They stood at the edge of humanity. Behind them, old farmhouses renovated to robust mansions sat in between the vacant lots. Ahead, a thin layer of mist rolled over the tip of the more-copper-than-green grass hills. Higher up, massive grey clouds threatened with rain, darkening the already desolate scenery.

The wind picked up.

Mo muttered an Arabic curse as he dabbed through the swamp-like field on his white sneakers, holding the slice of pizza high. "Do we have to..."

"... into the land of the will o' wisps," Vidar said.

"Willy what?"

"Will o' wisps. Spirits of the people who drowned here, luring lost travellers to their demise. You follow their lights and, before you know, stuck in a swamp. Sinking, no way out. You can call for help, but nobody hears your screams."

Mo shuddered. "Are they real?"

Payback time. Vidar grinned. "Of course, didn't I mention that we'll have to fight the ghosts of those I killed."

Mo's grip on the pizza tightened. "Ghosts..?" His voice rose to a squeak.

"I've seen you in your true shape, but this is too much?" Vidar laughed.

"Just because a look in the mirror scares you, Wolfie. I'm fabulous—hot and horny." He pursed his lips into a duckbill while pretending to hold his phone sideways.

"They should write erotica novels about you."

"Yeah, what are you waiting for?" Mo gesticulated, as though he was already picturing the movie trailer in his head. "The maiden and the Ifrit—a desert love. Brand new bestseller."

"I sell books. I don't write them."

"Actually, you mostly sell newspapers and soft drinks."

Vidar inhaled sharply as he started climbing the hill. "I do what I have to do to afford a roof over my head."

"Does that include killing spirits?" Mo's footsteps crunched on the gravel. He trailed close behind Vidar, darting an uneasy look from one side to the other. "They're fickle things—once humans, and they still act like humans. Friendly in your face, but then they stab you in the back."

"They drown you," Vidar reminded him. "And they're not always humans."

Mo groaned.

"They're just tales to keep people away from swamps. I'm pretty sure Lady Swamp invented them because she grew tired of people passing through her land."

"I don't want to meet her either. Now, where did you bury your girlfriend?"

"She wasn't my girlfriend."

"Sure, Wolfie."

"She wasn't."

"Fine, at least tell me where you dug her grave."

Vidar ran his hand through his hair, scratching his scalp. So far, he recognised little of old Saeftinghe. Once they had reached the top, the view would trigger a memory, or so he hoped. This was a treacherous place where the tide came and went, turning muddy rivulets into salt marshes before they got swallowed by the sea and spat out hours later.

In the twenty-first century, the sea level was two to three metres higher than when Saeftinghe drowned, one of the information boards read. In fact, the hill they were climbing was a recent, artificial construction, built to protect the inland villages from another lethal flood. That explained why he didn't remember.

Not that he trusted his brain.

They reached the top. Through the mist appeared the wilderness of creeks and muddy beaches that stretched as far as the horizon. The river branched wide like grubby fingers claiming land. Further, in the east, two puffs of clear smoke spurted up.

"What's that?" Mo said in awe.

"The nuclear power plant of Doel," Vidar said. "The village was born out of islands in the river. Now it's doomed to disappear for the sake of expanding the harbour. Human greed strikes again and shall drown yet another polder treasure."

"So, where do we go next? This place is huge."

"It's been such a long time." 

Vidar blinked as drops of rain fell from the sky. The clouds and the mists had chased Sunna to the realm beyond the heavens. He wondered if she would still find refuge in the forever-garden that was his old home.

"Logically speaking, you must have buried her during high tide, so the mermaids could attend the funeral," Mo said.

Except, he wasn't logical when he was upset. He peered into the distance for a familiar bend in the stream or the crumbling remains of Saeftinghe. Anything that would provide a clue.

Out of nowhere, a faint blue-ish light lit up down in the marshes. Thinking his mind was playing tricks on him, Vidar ignored it. Moments later, in the corner of his eye, the light flickered again. Brighter, like a candle in a lantern.

"Did you see that?" he asked Mo.

"What?"

"There's something down there." 

"I don't see anything."

The glow hovered above the water, floating. 

"There," Vidar pointed towards the light.

"Are you alright?"

In the middle of the marsh appeared the curvy shape of a woman, the strands of her silver hair like fleeting smoke. She couldn't be. Ghosts or will o' wisps weren't real; they were figments of imagination, fuelled by fires of organic decay.

Or could she?

The outline of a tail flicked in the water. A soft voice whispered through the wind, not loud enough to make out the words yet clear enough that she was calling him.

Viviane called him.

She needed him.

Disregarding all paths leading down, Vidar stomped down the hill. He splashed through the mud and darted through the shallow creeks. Viviane was down there, perhaps only her spirit. But she would have the answers. She would be able to tell who exhumed her, and potentially where Antigone was.

"Don't follow the light, you giant dog-brained god!" Mo yelled through the rain.

Maybe ghosts were real. Perhaps he had just forgotten their existence. The shape of blue light swam away from him. She was leading him somewhere. To her grave?

His feet moved faster than the rest of his body could follow. He slipped over a patch of slippery mud but set his hand just in time to prevent a fall. He leapt into a ditch leading towards the marsh, the peat beneath his feet gurgled. The rotten leaves wouldn't get to him.

"Wolfie!" Mo's voice sounded far away.

Viviane's tail waved, beckoning him.

"I'm coming," he said under his breath.

The water in the ditch rose, but Vidar kept running. 

He felt light, free from all worry. Soon, he would be able to hold her and tell her how sorry he was for not protecting her better, neither in life nor in death. Cold and wet, he wouldn't give up. He was the God of Revenge, and he would avenge her, smite the wicked who had disturbed her eternal sleep.

Suddenly, the blue hue was gone. The sky was dark.

Not seeing where he was running, his foot hooked into something. His ankle twisted. He fell flat onto his stomach, the mud spraying his face. His clothes, already wet before, were soaking now.

Just as he scrambled up, a dark wave surged towards him. High tide.

He froze.

There was no way out.

He braced himself for the impact. As a god, his chances of dying were low but not zero.

Claw-like fingers grabbed him by the shoulders and yanked him out of the ditch. The sheer force made him tumble through the mud and reed. The claws poked through his skin, engulfing him in a heavy warmth.

A pair of burning eyes gazed down at him. "Don't follow the light!" bellowed the deep voice. Steam twirled out of the creature's mouth.

Vidar panted. "Mo, I saw her—she was there."

"Someone wanted you to see her. It wasn't real."

Not real. He breathed in and out, trying to make sense of what had happened.

With a clack, the burning jinn transformed back into his friendlier shape. The horns disappeared into Mo's skull, his nails sunk into his fingertips. He placed the orange cap back on his head and hid his fiery eyes behind the sunglasses.

"I'm not crazy," Vidar said. Partly to himself too. He reached for his boot. An old fishing net had wrapped itself around his ankle. He showed Mo the woven flax. "See."

"By the time you were born, Odin had handed all Norse wisdom out to your brothers and sisters, hadn't he?"

"The Allfather carried Mimir's head around," Vidar said. He failed to see how that was relevant.

"Oh, Wolfie." Mo shook his head as he held out a hand to help him up. "This trap was laid out just for you. You were tricked, like your dear old friend, Kludde."

"Tricked," Vidar repeated. "I wanted to find her grave."

"Vidar, we could wander around this area all evening. You still won't find it, will you?"

"No," Vidar admitted after a while. Though it hurt to admit a demon like Kludde remembered places he didn't, he still had no idea where he had buried Viviane.

"I've seen enough to know it's the work of a powerful, cunning spirit."

"So not Reynaert."

"Or Kitsune—this land is too wet for a fox. Anansi is known for toying with his victims, but he's too impulsive. Whoever is responsible is a patient creature. Eshu, maybe, if he's still around," Mo thought. The names meant little to Vidar.

"I'll have a word with Lange Wapper, but not tonight," Vidar said. He needed a shower, long and hot, and then sleep until Sunna began her daily journey across the sky. His lack of sleep had clouded his judgement. 

As they climbed up the hill, Vidar regularly glanced at the marsh. The rain had stopped. Not a ripple on the surface. No light. 

Tricked like an ordinary human. How could he have been so foolish?

Something rustled in the wilted grass. 

Vidar leapt aside. His heart skipped a beat.

A tiny ringed snake slithered through the mud, no bigger than an overgrown worm. The animal disappeared under the wood on which he walked.

Mo darted a look over his shoulder. "What?"

"Nothing, it's just..." He was losing his mind. He needed to distract himself. "Hey, Mo, I'm going to drive back Antwerp."

"You don't have a license."

"No, but I have my Norse mumbo-jumbo."

"Fair enough. Can I have another slice of your pizza too?"

"You can have it all."

The black box that was the wasp's key flung through the air. Vidar grabbed it with one hand. A good night's sleep would help to make sense, and then a good breakfast.

Fruit was vegan too. Kira might like that more than stale bread and old jam. 

"Mo, I'm stopping at the supermarket too."

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