False Gods

by Nazri Noor

  “Oh,” I said. “Taxes.”

  She nodded. “Indeed. Since you were intending to sell your wines in the Black Market – an interdimensional space outside the jurisdiction of both Californian and the United States federal government – then you would only be paying taxes within the arcane underground.”

  “But we were planning to sell them to Dionysus,” Florian mumbled. I shot him a glare, wanting to run over and kick him in the shin to stop him from talking, but it was too late. “You know, at the Amphora.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “What? The Amphora? You mean that your wines would have been sold within this reality? The one where the IRS and the California Franchise Tax Board exist? Where you would be liable for self-employment taxes totaling – ”

  “We get it,” I said, somehow keeping my voice level. “We get it. We won’t do anything now. We’re going to behave, okay? No more bootleg wine.”

  Florian sighed, deflated. I mouthed a soundless “Sorry” to him, but I knew there was no winning with Rani.

  “Then I am pleased that we could come to an understanding,” she said. “Curious, is it not? How so many things can be resolved without violence. I do so prefer to work that way.”

  I kicked at the ground. “Yeah, but you can stop time,” I mumbled.

  “An excellent observation. Perhaps you would prefer that I include you in the temporal stasis field I’ve lain down in the vicinity? Would it comfort you more knowing that the alternative would be for me to freeze both of you in time, slap your faces for sport, then have you both thrown into the Prism?”

  I stuck my hands deep in my pockets and shook my head. “No, ma’am.”

  The Lorica made good on their threats, too. The high-security Prism, located deep within the heart of Lorica headquarters, was a seven-layered jail, sorting arcane criminals into different levels based on the severity of their crimes and how dangerous their abilities were. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life in orange, or red. The stories I’d heard about that place – no thanks.

  “Then it’s settled. You will no longer engage in this ridiculous entrepreneurial endeavor. You will also behave, I trust, and avoid exploding entire sections of this fair city’s sidewalks. We make it look easy, but cleaning up after this mess isn’t going to be fun.”

  “But I told you,” I said. “It was Quilliam. He’s this magus, and he summoned a bunch of books, then the books opened fire on me, then – ”

  “I still see no sign of this Quilliam character,” Rani said. “Provide evidence of his existence, or of his role in destroying so much public property, and I will have him thrown into Prism faster than he can blink. But for now, you may as well be telling me that your imaginary friend did this. Well, imaginary enemy, more accurately.”

  She got us there. I breathed through my nose, trying to keep myself calm. It wasn’t fair. This was Quill’s fault.

  “Gentlemen,” Rani said. “I hope you both understand that you are extremely fortunate that I was the one who came to investigate this scene.”

  She paused for a moment, stretching out the silence. What she didn’t have to mention was the fact that she came alone. Nothing says confidence more than showing up without so much as a support team, let alone one or two bodyguards.

  “You have been shown more patience than the other Scions of the Lorica’s Heart would have afforded,” she continued. “Please keep your noses clean for the foreseeable future. Otherwise, the consequences could be dire. Remember. We are always watching.”

  Maharani snapped her fingers. Smoke and fire began rippling and crackling again, the stasis field lifted. The Scion herself was gone. Florian and I pushed past the gathered crowds, lowering our heads. The Lorica was bad news, but so were the cops. We needed to get out of there, and fast.

  I sucked on my bottom lip, chewing on its edge, half expecting to taste blood, breathing steadily to control my anger. They were watching. Like I needed to be told. Everybody was always watching – the Lorica, the demon princes, the people upstairs.

  Damn it all. I just wanted to fade from the world, go somewhere nobody could ever find me. But I wasn’t safe, not even in Artemis’s domicile. I needed to disappear, and as much as I hated the idea of it, I needed Beatrice Rex to help me do that.

  And the only way to make that happen was to do exactly what Loki wanted.

  13

  “This is most unfortunate,” Dionysus said, an empty goblet dangling loosely from his fingers. “Most unfortunate indeed.”

  I sighed. “Huge understatement. Look, we’re really sorry, but the Lorica’s got our number.”

  He set his goblet down, leaned forward, then planted his chin in his hands, grinning at me. “It really is the downside of being so famous, is it not, Mason?”

  “Yeah,” I said, squinting at him. “Famous.”

  Trust Dionysus to already be drunk so early in the afternoon. My understanding of gods was that they could sober up whenever they wanted, with the caveat of needing so much more alcohol to actually get sloshed in the first place.

  He just really loved the state of it, then, the warmth and buzz of – you know what, the hell if I knew. I don’t drink. Legally, I shouldn’t, plus I didn’t like losing control of myself, even for a little bit. No judgment for anyone who likes a beer or a cocktail to relax after work or what have you, but it’s just not my thing.

  Again, it was really nice of the staff at the Amphora to let us in regardless of all that. We weren’t there as customers, after all, but as potential suppliers. Well, one-time suppliers. Florian sat on the couch next to me, his face long and somber, not at all a fine match for the Amphora’s sumptuous interiors.

  Velvet everything, basically, deep red drapes cascading from the ceiling to the floor, attached to those fluted columns you might find on both ancient Greek buildings and the front porches of the homes of the rich and slightly tacky. Magical fires burned in every corner, glowing merrily. Everything smelled of an ancient, unknowable incense, its fragrance always just at the tip of your nose and your tongue, giving the Amphora a distinctly seductive air.

  Seductive. That was the right word. Not romantic, no. Dionysus and his crew were anything but. Both the god and his servants, the maenads, lived with a passion for festivities, for wine, and the frenzy of flesh-ripping violence. It was the reason I was so hesitant to visit the Amphora and report to Dionysus, because why risk being torn limb from limb when a phone call would suffice?

  But Florian had the right idea. It was the right thing to do, and based on the way Dionysus was giving us his signature lopsided grin, how he had his legs draped over the side of his chair, it looked like we weren’t scheduled for a casual afternoon dismemberment, after all.

  Dionysus peered into his goblet with one eye, pouting. “Ah, what a tragedy it is, to lose so much of that delicious wine you made.” He swirled his finger in the emptiness of his goblet, and where there was only space, suddenly he was making a whirlpool in a cupful of brilliant red wine. He waggled one eyebrow at Florian and grinned. “Ah. But you can always make more, yes?”

  “Whoa,” Florian said. “I’m not sure if we made it any clearer, but that sounds like a really bad idea.”

  Dionysus threw his head back and made a whining noise I wouldn’t have expected from a god, but maybe this was his negotiation style. “Why not?” he said, drawing out the vowel. “I can offer you protection.”

  His eyes went huge and he sat up, sloshing half of his newly materialized wine on the ground. From the bar, one of his maenads shook her head and tutted.

  “Florian,” Dionysus said, breathless. “I have an idea. You can come and brew your beverages right here in the safety of the Amphora.”

  “That sounds really sketchy,” I said.

  “Is your name Florian?” Dionysus said, scowling. “I didn’t think so. This is an opportunity, my friends.”

  “I don’t know,” Florian started to say, just as Dionysus launched from his armchair. He wrapped one arm across Florian’s s
houlder, pulling him close, then went on a high-velocity sales pitch.

  The desperate want was thick in Dionysus’s voice, and I could see the dollar signs flashing in his eyes. Like I said, the god of wine was a passionate creature, but better that he was channeling it into entrepreneurial energy than the traveling massacres his tribe was known for in ancient times.

  It was pretty clear that I no longer mattered to the conversation, and I left the table to stretch my legs. Whatever it was the two of them decided, Florian and I could talk it out once we weren’t within earshot of a potentially murderous wine god. It was risky business, sure, tempting fate – and Rani – by agreeing to Dionysus’s terms, but all that was best left discussed outside of the lion’s den. I ambled over to the bar and nodded at the maenad.

  “Can I get a diet cola?” I said, fishing for my wallet – then remembering that I’d left it in Beatrice’s bag. “Oh. Oh shit.”

  The maenad tilted her head at me as she wiped down a glass. “Problem, hun?”

  “Sorry,” I mumbled. I raked a hand through my hair, my brain swelling with the stress of having to replace my IDs, get a new phone, and – my cash. That was the last of it, barring a hundred or so bucks I kept under my mattress. “Turns out I lost my wallet.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, softly adding: “Fuck my life.”

  She reached out, to my surprise, patting the back of my hand. “It’s okay. Boss says to treat you boys nice whenever you drop by. Drink’s on the house, but – ugh, Miranda didn’t bring out a new case. Be right back.”

  I gave her a weak smile as she wandered off into a backroom, grateful for the free drink, but still feeling like my heart had fallen into my shoe. As if I didn’t have enough problems already.

  “Penny for your thoughts?” said a familiar voice at my side, one that raised my hackles.

  “What are you doing here?” I muttered, narrowing my eyes as I turned to Belphegor, the demon Prince of Sloth.

  “Oh, you know,” he said, sweeping the fringe of his hair out of his eyes, his head comfortably shrouded as always in the hood of his jacket. “Keeping tabs on my boys, and on my favorite nephilim, especially. How are things, anyway?”

  I shook my head. “You know how they are. Bad, like always. Did you hear about Mammon?”

  Belphegor tutted. “I know, tough break. Who knew that Greed would stoop low enough to deceive you that way?”

  I scowled at him. “Don’t patronize me. You demons are all the same. Especially the princes.”

  “Oh, that’s simply not true,” Belphegor said, pouting, openly pretending he was hurt. “For example, Mammon would never help you out like this.”

  Belphegor pointed at a flatscreen TV suspended from the ceiling. It flickered on at his command, showing an interview with the handsome, dashing businessman named Theodore Thorpe. He looked familiar, of course, because Thorpe was only the public identity of the Norse god of deceit. Loki had spent generations building the reputation of the Happy, Inc. empire for the Thorpe dynasty, assuming the identity of a different Thorpe each time the last one ‘died.’

  “You should really consider his offer,” Belphegor said, nodding at the television.

  “I sincerely doubt that I have a choice in the matter.”

  “Well, there’s a reason I wanted you to see this specifically. Listen closely.” Belphegor stuck his finger out, swiping it upwards, just as you would on a phone or a tablet. The TV’s volume went way up.

  “And that,” Theodore Thorpe said, “is why Happy, Inc. is proud to announce its expansion into the world of electronics and lifestyle products.” He lifted his hand to the cameras, holding up a box. “Introducing: the Cube.”

  I frowned at the TV, listening intently as Loki made his pitch. The Cube, just like he described at the warehouse, was an all-around home assistant and mini computer, a lot like the ones you could issue voice commands into that would then play you music, dim the lights, run the dishwasher, whatever.

  Loki – sorry, Theodore Thorpe went on and on about its features. I mentally checked out around the part where he mentioned how the Cube could be programmed to monitor every household member’s vitals, alerting emergency medical services if it suspected an imminent health crisis.

  “Because Happy, Inc. cares about you and your loved ones,” Theodore said, speaking directly into the camera, smiling into my very soul.

  “God,” I said. “Turn it off, won’t you? He’s got the creepiest smile.”

  Belphegor pointed at the TV again, and it winked out, Loki’s face fading from the screen. “I’m hurt,” Belphegor said. “I thought my smile was creepier.”

  “Very cute.”

  “Where is that maenad?” Belphegor said, craning his neck around the bar. “I could kill for an IPA right about now. But anyway. You do understand what this means, don’t you? Loki wants to put one of these in every household. That’s how he gains his power. The greater his corporation’s reach, the stronger he gets.” Belphegor poked me in the chest. “And there’s really no harm having a very, very powerful god owing you a favor, now is there?”

  I grimaced at Belphegor’s finger, then looked up into his face, surprised to see him looking so serious, for once. He was right. Working for Loki didn’t just mean getting the cash reward I wanted – no, needed. Barring the fact that he once stabbed my friend in the chest, it meant securing an extremely valuable ally. And when it came to the world of the arcane underground and the supernatural, it all boiled down to contracts and agreements, to who owed who, and what. That was one thing I really admired about Dustin Graves. When he cashed his favors, he cashed the fuck out, all the way to saving the world.

  A hand landed on my shoulder, almost making me jump. It was just the maenad. She smiled at me warmly.

  “Here’s your cola, hun.” The maenad slipped a coaster towards me, placing a still-fizzing glass on it.

  I gestured at Belphegor, nodding my head at him. “This one wants an IPA.”

  The maenad gave me a quizzical look, furrowing her forehead. “You playing tricks on me? Who wants an IPA, now?”

  I turned to show her, but he was already gone. I chuckled, playing it cool with the maenad. “It’s nothing,” I said, rubbing my temples and yawning. “Sorry. I’m just tired.”

  She clucked her tongue and shook her head. “Well, you finish up your drink and be sure to get some rest. Silly.”

  The maenad wandered off again, probably to wipe down another dozen glasses, leaving me to my thoughts – and to the little scrap of ripped, charred notebook paper Belphegor had left on his stool. It had an address scrawled across it, and at the bottom, underlined three times, a single word: Gambanteinn.

  14

  “This looks like the place,” I said, glancing up at the brownstone building. Three floors, the kind of compound that probably had a serviceable pool somewhere in the middle, so that the complex itself was shaped like a box around an artificially blue puddle.

  Florian tested the glass door leading into the apartment. I shushed him as it rattled in its frame, but it was locked, of course. We did have one thing working for us, though. Gambanteinn’s keeper clearly couldn’t afford to live in the type of place that had a doorman, and that was one less problem for us to deal with.

  “So exactly how do we get in?” Florian said, looking around, folding his arms. “I could call up some vines, and we can make our way up there,” he added, pursing his lips at one of the windows.

  “Dude. That might have worked when we were trying to steal that comb from the death witch, but this ain’t it. And what would we do, clamber into the closest open window and hope for the best?” I gestured around us. “Hello. Broad daylight.”

  He cast his eyes to the ground, rubbing the back of his neck. “It was just a suggestion.” He stood there moping for a couple of seconds, then gave me an accusing glance. “So how do you propose we get in?”

  I watched as a silhouette approached the glass doors, then fought to keep my smirk to myself. “Like this,” I sa
id, starting to dig into my pockets.

  The door swung open just as I was turning out my left pants pocket, looking for the front door keys that weren’t there. “Damn it, Florian,” I said. “You keep doing this. Did you leave them on the counter again?”

  “I said I was sorry,” Florian mumbled, kicking at the ground. He was still sulking, maybe, or he’d picked up on the ruse. Either way: good boy.

  The woman just leaving the complex had enormous sunglasses on, as well as a wide-brimmed hat, and she glanced between us awkwardly as she held the door open with one hand. “It’s – it’s really no big deal,” she said. “I forget my keys too, sometimes.”

  “Oh, you’re a lifesaver,” I said, stuffing my pockets back into place and giving her my hugest smile. “Thank you so much.”

  She lowered her sunglasses, smiling back. “I think I’ve seen you around here before. Apartment 2B?”

  With all the confidence of a lying, liar-faced liar, I stuck my chest out and grinned. “Yep. That’s me.”

  I thought I could feel Florian’s eyes boring into the back of my head. “Well, we should be going,” he said, grabbing at my wrist and tugging me through the doorway.

  “Aww,” the woman said, her smile even sunnier as she pushed her sunglasses back up on her face. “You guys are a cute couple.”

  “Come on, sweetheart,” Florian grumbled. I followed along wordlessly as the woman left the apartment complex and let the heavy glass door swing shut.

  I finally wriggled my way out of Florian’s clutches, no small feat considering how damn strong he was. I rubbed at my wrist. “Didn’t need to be so rough about it, ‘sweetheart.’”

  “Ah, shut up,” he said. “Point is, we made it inside. Nice plan you had out there. Now, what apartment did you say this gambas stain was in?”

  “Gambanteinn,” I said, sighing. “And it’s 2F. Right over there, up the stairs and in the corner.”

  I thought that its location was especially convenient because it would afford us a little privacy. A thick fringe of overhanging palm fronds covered the view of the place, giving the apartment a lovely bit of shade from the afternoon sun. It must have been nice and cool in there. As a bonus, 2F being so out of the way meant that there was little chance of anyone hearing any commotion if we had to resort to – well, you know – breaking a few fingers, maybe some faces. Just in case.