by Nazri Noor
The demons around me gasped. I only had time to look down at myself as Florian let out another warning cry, grunting as he hurled the beans in our midst. I was in a full suit of golden armor, staring out of the slits of the visor of a helmet that wrapped fully around my head. It wasn’t nearly as ornate or as complicated as what Raziel had made, but it was a damn good try. I hoped that it was strong enough to protect me.
The first little bean landed at my feet with a soft clatter, followed by the next, and the next. Then came the almighty kaboom.
I would’ve been a goner if I hadn’t been cloaked in divine armor. Dionysus’s magic beans exploded with the force and fury of grenades. The demons closest to me were obliterated, splattering my armor with their infernal blood and gore. Gross.
But still, I’d survived. The explosions hadn’t even tossed me off my feet. Grudgingly, in my heart and my mind, I sent a quiet, prayerful “Thank you” up to wherever Raziel was. Yeah, fine. I guess he was my mentor after all. Whatever.
I looked down at myself, grimacing at all the minced demon stuck to my greaves, dripping off my pauldrons and my breastplate. Aww, yuck. I wondered if I’d have to clean myself off before returning the suit to the Vestments.
But speaking of cleanup, there were still three demons left standing.
I was going to have to get rid of those, too. I closed my fist, feeling the satisfying crackle of my joints going up my arms. Lifting my hand, I aimed my gauntleted fist for the closest demon. Now, I don’t want to exaggerate or anything, but I fully punched his head off.
That armor wasn’t just divine in nature, but heavily enchanted, too. It was already so light, feeling like hardly anything on my body, but it also imbued me with strength far beyond my human bounds. I didn’t have to inspect myself to know that the glyphs on my skin were working on overdrive, spilling light out of me like a huge, golden aura.
I dealt with the second demon, screaming as I punched a hole through his chest, then tore the head off the last one. Where this thirst for violence was coming from, I couldn’t be sure, but it satisfied this primal, wanting urge inside of me. Was this how the son of Samyaza was meant to fight in battle? Was this my purpose, my mantle, as a prince of the fallen?
It was all I could do to stop myself from throwing my head back and screaming “Mason, smash!” to the high heavens. Lifting the visor on my helmet, finally exposing my face, I looked to either side of me, murder frothing in my blood as my brain raced between the two options I had: to attack Mammon, or break Quilliam’s face.
Upon catching sight of me, Mammon broke off from its fight with Florian, slashing itself free of the last tangle of vines. “Time, perhaps, for an expeditious retreat,” Mammon said. “Consider yourselves fortunate. This isn’t the last you’ve heard of the Prince of Greed.”
Florian’s fist would have connected with the side of Mammon’s head if the prince hadn’t collapsed into the pool of gold at its feet, sinking into an abyss of pure, molten wealth. The two of us watched in helpless frustration as the liquid gold seeped into the ground, until it was a speck, then, until nothing was left.
“Damn it,” I grunted under my breath.
Well. Break Quilliam’s face it was, then. I rounded on him, taking pleasure in how his eyelashes fluttered in sudden fear, how he backed up against the wall. Stupid move. I had him cornered. With one gauntleted hand, I reached for Quill’s throat, then slammed him into the wall. Plaster fell about his head in little chips. He gasped, pawing at my hand. I pushed harder.
“Start talking,” I said. “Because in less than a minute, I’ll have crushed your windpipe as easily as a beer can.”
Quill laughed stutteringly. “I thought you didn’t drink.”
I slammed him into the wall again, my other hand pressing against his chest. Dust and broken plaster clung to his hair. “I’m not fucking around, Quilliam. Who are you, and what do you want from me?”
His head lolled around, like the pressure I was putting on his throat was cutting off his air, or maybe all the smashing of his head was making him dizzy.
“Can’t tell you,” he breathed. “If I did, I’d have to kill you.” He laughed hoarsely. “We’d both be as good as dead.”
Sneering, I brought my face closer to his, so close that only he could hear what I had to say. “You’re going to have to talk, because I can guarantee you this: one of us will be very, very dead, very, very soon. And it’s not going to be me.”
“Fine.” Quill wheezed, his eyes rolling around in their sockets. “I can tell you one thing, then. Guess what.”
I spoke through clenched teeth. “What?”
Quill’s eyes sparked, his irises turning bright orange. I crushed my hand harder around his throat, but he only smiled. When he spoke his next word, it was through a grin, in a hoarse, taunting whisper.
“Ignis.”
A pillar of fire consumed him utterly, his entire body bursting into flames. I would have thought that he was dying if it wasn’t for his mocking laughter. I pressed harder with my hand, but it was like groping for thin air. He’d slipped from my grasp.
When the flames cleared and my vision returned, all that remained was the charred, blackened imprint of a man’s body against the wall. Quilliam J. Abernathy was gone.
36
After a couple of days spent mostly sleeping and subsisting on plain frozen cheese pizzas, Florian and I finally regained enough strength to peel ourselves off our beds for more than thirty minutes. Or my couch, in Florian’s case.
The fight against Mammon and Quill – that traitorous rat bastard – had taken a hell of a lot out of both me and Florian, physically and spiritually. And fine, so Belphegor had nothing to do with the demons. But I still wasn’t going to believe that he meant me anything but ill.
Yet our problems were far from over. Too many clocks were ticking. The rent was due real soon, but we could barely work, much less stay upright for very long. We were just counting down the days until our landlord busted our door open and kicked us out.
“Hey. Florian. Florian.” I was hoping my voice would carry through my bedroom door and into the living room. Florian’s half moan, half grunt told me he was at least half listening. “Do you think – if we find a spot somewhere in the woods – do you think you could make us a house out of vines and bark? Just, like, grow one out of the ground.”
After about half a minute, his response came. “I dunno. And then what? We just live our lives in the forest?”
“Yeah, dude. Two Tarzans, Tarzan-ing it up in the California wilds. No rent to pay, ever. We could live on what nature provides us. Or, you know, you could grow fruit out of your bare hands or whatever it is you do.”
He chuckled. “Yeah? And you’d still have to get better at warding magic, keep away the crazies that want to kidnap your nephilim ass.”
I shoved my face in my pillow and groaned. “Ugh. Don’t remind me.”
That was when the phone rang. Dionysus. I picked up, murmuring a groggy “Hello?” into the receiver.
“Well, hello yourself, Mason,” Dionysus purred. “Time to pick yourself up and go to the hardware store. Buy some nails while you’re at it. Artemis has more work for you.”
I stretched out along my bed, my feet sticking out past the frame, my body fighting every impulse to leave its creaky, squeaky comforts. “And when do we get paid for our work, exactly?”
“We’re still working that out,” Dionysus said stiltedly. “Artemis has had surprising difficulty adjusting to modern currency. Oh, I say difficulty, but really, I should have simply said stubbornness. All she has are jewels and gold coins. We need to get those pawned first, perhaps in the Black Market. That will take some time. You do understand, don’t you?”
I sighed, staring up at the ceiling. Entities, am I right? “Whatever, man. We’ll do it. Even if we have to live out in the forest, we’ll still need cash to buy toilet paper.”
It took me and Florian less than an hour to drag our still-exhausted corpses out of
the apartment, and we certainly remembered to buy nails this time around. Based on the last session, I knew I could use the Vestments to pull up the closest approximation of the tools I would need for the job. Battle axes chopped wood just as nicely as regular ones did, with the added bonus of looking slightly cooler.
Time would tell if I could use a full-blown mace to hammer nails into wood, but I supposed that I could scrounge around and look harder for some kind of celestial war mallet. I had money to buy some nails, sure, but actual tools? Pass. We were going to use the last of our money on frozen pizzas. We still needed to eat, damn it.
At least passing through the Nicola Arboretum and actually entering Artemis’s domicile was uneventful, and I’d wised up since the last time we came to work. I dressed nice and comfy in a tank top and a pair of shorts, and even brought a pair of sunglasses. Artemis welcomed us gruffly, as did Priscilla, who presented us with our regulation coconuts. I couldn’t lie, though. Just seeing Priscilla reminded me of her cooking prowess and the fact that we were going to get at least one fantastic meal out of the bargain. Man can’t live on toaster pizzas alone.
Some time before lunch, Artemis called me over, looking like she had a list of things she needed doing.
“More of these flat-pack furniture things to deal with,” Artemis told me. “And I’m going to need you to put up some little structures this time. A cute little shed over there, and maybe a gazebo, if you can swing it.”
I squinted at the places she indicated, then nodded. “I can certainly try.”
“The point is to make them sturdy. Perfection and prettiness aren’t important. Take all the wood you need from the trees around here. Even if your buildings look crappy, we can always get Florian to throw some moss and vines all over them and everything.” She pursed her lips and nodded, her eyes going distant as she imagined the end result. “With or without shitty handiwork, we’re going to make this place look like it’s fit for elves, damn it.”
I pouted. “Hey, give me some credit. I’ll try to make them pretty. Also, did you just say elves?”
“Guys?” Florian walked up and positioned himself between the two of us, which was a little too close for comfort by most standards. “We need to talk.”
My eyes flitted from him, to Artemis, then back. “Right now? Buddy, we’ve got work to do, and it kind of sounds to me like you’ve got something private you want to share, so maybe save it for when we’re back at the – ”
He put his hand up. “This can’t wait, and it’s meant for the both of you. You’re some of the only people I actually trust in this world, and I think you deserve to know.”
The relaxed, carefree demeanor that Artemis almost always wore melted from her expression, and she stood to attention, folding her arms and watching Florian intently. “If this is important to you, then I’m all ears.”
I pretty much copied what Artemis was doing, trying not to appear so flustered. “Yeah, me too, man. I’m listening.”
“Okay,” Florian said. He looked at the ground, up at the sky, then shut his eyes, taking in a massive quantity of breath, like he was building up to some major reveal. I won’t deny, I was getting a little anxious, and maybe a little excited about it, too. “I’m not a dryad.”
Artemis scoffed, rolled her eyes, then waved a hand, as if to show Florian that it wasn’t a big deal. “No such thing as man-dryads. I knew from the start. Everyone knew.”
“What?” My head whipped between the two of them, and I frowned. “I sure as hell didn’t. What are you, then?”
Florian’s gaze dropped to the ground, and his voice fell to an embarrassed murmur. “I’m an alraune.”
Artemis nodded. “Well, now that makes more sense.”
I glanced between them again, confused. What the hell was an alraune? What was I missing? But I knew in that moment that Florian didn’t need much more than my acceptance. He’d been a great friend throughout, and it didn’t matter whether he was a dryad or an – whatever that other thing was. I clapped him on the shoulder, squeezing hard.
“Hey, doesn’t matter what you are. You’re my buddy, and a great roommate. Okay?”
That was more than enough. Florian’s eyes glinted as he looked at Artemis, then at me, brimming over with gratitude. He turned right back around and headed to the next barren parcel of land, coconut in hand, ready to fill the empty dirt with the beauty of verdant wonder.
As soon as he was out of earshot, I turned to Artemis, the creases in my forehead enough of a question. “What was that all about?” I whispered.
Artemis sighed. “I’m going to take it that you don’t know about alraunes.”
“What, and you do?”
“Hey. Goddess of the hunt. I know quite a bit about animals, and I’m pretty familiar with mythical and magical creatures, too.” She held out her palm and a book appeared in her hand, flipping on its own to show an illustration of something that seemed to be half human and half plant. It looked nothing like Florian. In fact, the picture was of a young woman emerging from the petals of an enormous flower. Think the Venus de Milo, but with a rose instead of a seashell.
“Wait. Where did you get that book?”
“Shush,” she said. “Shut up, shut up. Look, see for yourself.”
Artemis handed me the tome, and as I read the entry I slowly began to understand. Alraunes were nothing like dryads, which were ancient Grecian nature spirits. An alraune was a creature that originated from Germany. An alraune, the book said, was created when the blood or the semen of a criminal who died by hanging spills on the earth.
“Oh, wow,” I muttered, handing back the book. “This is hardcore. Also, this really explains why he doesn’t know jack shit about Greek mythology.”
Artemis shut the pages with one hand, the tome disappearing with a comical pop. “It also explains why he’s so embarrassed about what he is. You know who your father was. He didn’t. All he knows is that the man was a dead criminal.” She cupped her chin, a finger poking at her bottom lip. “Yet it’s interesting, isn’t it? How the two of you ended up crossing paths. You’re both the consequences of the actions of your fathers.”
“Of their sins.”
“Essentially, yes.” Artemis’s lips broke into a warm smile. “Though no one is truly, completely sinful, are they? No one is beyond redemption.”
I laughed uncertainly. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about right now.”
“What I’m saying, I guess, is that I’m grateful.” She cocked her head over her shoulder. “Thanks for saving me back there. You know, that whole deal with the Prince of Greed.”
I shrugged. “No worries. It was the right thing to do.”
“It was,” she said. “And, you know, technically it was your fault a demon prince nearly sucked me up like a Mai Tai.”
“R-right.”
“And I’m sure it wasn’t a coincidence that Mammon picked the Rodriguez witches specifically to pull off their shenanigans.”
I cocked an eyebrow at her. “How do you mean?”
The corner of her mouth curled into a wry smile. “Put the first syllables of their names together. Maria and Monica.”
“Mammon.” My mouth fell open. “That’s – that’s so annoying, and dumb, and petty.”
“Sounds exactly like a demon to me.” Artemis shrugged. “It’s like you’ve never had to deal with them before.”
I sighed. “I’ve had to deal with them tons. And I’m still going to, unless I can magically pull ten thousand bucks out of my butt.”
She patted me on the back. “Hey. Mason. Just so you know, if I had ten grand sitting around?”
“Yeah?”
“I still wouldn’t lend it to you.”
“Very funny,” I grumbled.
She pulled her hand back, shaking it off. “Ugh. You’re all sweaty.”
I chuckled, then flexed my arms. “It’s all this sexy man-labor.”
She tutted, then rolled her eyes, only going quiet when her gaze settled on the ho
rizon. I knew that the weather and the sunshine was under her total control, and it looked like she was going to allow her domicile to transition into sunset. Artemis’s dimension turned into a painting of amber, orange, and purple. I held my breath, marveling at its beauty.
“It’s really starting to come together,” Artemis said, her chest rising and falling as she gave a deep, contented sigh. “It’s starting to look like home.”
Home. I wish I knew what it meant. “It sure is,” I said, smiling despite the fact that she wasn’t looking at me. Artemis was transfixed by a sunset of her own making, and I couldn’t blame her. It was breathtaking.
“Over there.” She pointed at a little plot of land close to the center of the domicile, right smack between the entrance portal and Priscilla’s jungle kitchen. “That seems like a nice spot for a hut.”
I rolled my neck around, my joints popping as I tried to envision how it might look. “I could probably put one up there. Nice little shack.”
“Give it a cute little porch, and a few windows for circulation. Make sure it’s all pretty. And comfy. Something you’d like to live in yourself.”
I thought my heart stopped just then. I fought to keep my voice steady as I turned to her. “Artemis? What are you saying right now?”
She smiled, tilting her head at me. “Mason Albrecht. How would you like to live here?”
37
“Hand me a knife,” Raziel said.
I sighed, summoning a dagger from the Vestments, tossing and catching it in my hand as it made a sharp little somersault in the air. “I really don’t know if this is going to work.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “You mean the knife, or the entire reason we came out here?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Both? Pick one.”
I tossed the dagger again, the sun glinting against the gold of its blade as it danced in a perfect circle. It was a beautiful day out in California, in a county I’d forgotten to ask Raziel about, but somewhere more remote and certainly less urban and populated than Valero. It was an open field of grass. Just grass, as far as the eye could see. I had to squint to even make out the road because Raziel had asked us to hike a full twenty minutes away.
