While Loke finished his washing up, I got up from the table to wander around the kitchen. I looked at the rack of cast-iron cookware hanging over one of the prep tables and saw an inverted Fe in the oily sheen of many of the pots and pans. I looked down at the table itself and saw it again, flashing out at me from the woodwork.
It was there again, traced in the dust caked to one window like a child had traced it with a fingertip. It was in the paneling. It was worked into the pattern of the marble floor.
I stopped looking around, tilting my head back to press the heels of my hands into my eyes. I was probably just too tired. And too suggestible, just like Haraldr had said.
Perhaps after I talked with Loke, I should call on Haraldr. Now that I had something to tell him other than about m
