Unless I could somehow turn it into one. I hadn’t worked out how to do so, though. Which left me somewhat helpless. I might be my father’s daughter, but legal stuff?

I was an idiot. A royal idiot. Law.

Justice.

As soon as I was off the bus I ran for my apartment. I’d put the horn in the one place nobody who sneaked in would look for it – my underwear drawer. Habit, really.

I pulled it out. Truth horns weren’t exactly admissible evidence, unfortunately, or I’d make Mike drink from it and declare he wasn’t there. I doubted he’d mind.

But it wasn’t the horn itself I wanted. I carefully tucked it into a shoulder bag and headed out again. There was a dusty excuse for a park a block or so away. It actually had a couple of trees in it. A good spot for what I intended to do.

I tugged the horn out of the bag and sat down, cross legged, resting it across my lap. “Hey, Tyr. You about?”

No immediate answer, but I hadn’t really expected one. Tyr and Loki, after all, didn’t like each other that much. Something about Fenrir.

Then I heard a voice from behind the trees. “I will forgive the lack of mead this time – given mortal laws.”

I stood up and turned. He was tall and heavily built, much like Thor, but blonde rather than a redhead. Other than that, he wore modern dress and his right hand had been replaced with an obvious, but modern-looking prosthetic.

“Yeah. Got anything non-alcoholic you like?”

He laughed a little bit. “Juice will do.” He stepped towards me.

“Somebody I care about is being wrongfully accused. And I haven’t worked out a good plan. He got well and truly framed. By a demon.”

“A demon who appears to have all of Loki’s bad points and not a one of his redeeming qualities.”

I offered him the horn. He shook his head. “I don’t need it. You might.”

“I wish I could actually use it to, you know…but the people on the other side think they’re telling the truth.”

“On the other hand, break an illusion and it stays broken for that person.”

I nodded. “Alright. So, if I could get the witnesses to see that it wasn’t Mike…” I carefully put the horn back in the bag. “Wait…can this thing be used to get people to see the truth, as opposed to just speak it?”

“Not on its own.”

I nodded. “Let me guess. I need mead.”

“You need the right kind of mead. You need Kvassir’s blood.”

“That sounds unpleasant, but I assume it’s a recipe?”

“Yes, but it would also have to be made by somebody who knows the symbolism. Or…”

“Or by me, but I have no idea how to make mead.”

“And it would take six months to age.”

“So, I need to find somebody who already has some and is willing to stand me a bottle.” I wasn’t quite sure where to start, but I would. “Thank you.”

“I’m not doing it for you, but for your friend.” Then he turned and walked away. No vanishing. It made me wonder how much of a mortal presence he was keeping right now. The prosthetic said…quite a bit of one.