by SM Reine
“I’ll remember you said that,” Belphegor said. I’d never heard anything so friendly said in such a threatening way before. “In return, you should know that Lucrezia de Angelis organized everything with the so-called Judge Abraxas.”
Fritz had gone very, very still. “Yes. That’s what I feared.”
“I must return to Dis. Will you do the honors?” Belphegor swept a hand toward the portal.
“Of course.” Fritz walked stiffly to a bank of computers on the opposite wall, which I hadn’t been able to see before. It had been too bright in the room. I was shocked they still worked after being exposed to the blast of air from Hell, and even more shocked when Fritz reactivated the portal by pressing a few buttons.
Belphegor stepped onto the edge of the portal.
“I’ll be in touch,” the demon said.
He vanished into flames.
The nice thing about having a massacre on our base was that we didn’t have to take the bodies or evidence very far. Our labs and morgue were on site.
That was literally the only nice thing about it, though.
Fritz and I were escorted outside into the winter cold and examined by healers while the Union processed the scene. “What’s the last thing you remember before Director Friederling woke you up?” the healer asked me, shining a light into my eye.
Suzy vanishing, and Lucrezia conspiring with demons. “Infected brutes broke in while I was on trial,” I said. “I grabbed a gun someone dropped and shot them, but it was chaos. I have no idea if I even killed them. And then I got knocked out.”
The lie couldn’t have sounded convincing, but that was what Fritz had told me to say. I’d stick to the story until I died if I had to.
And that seemed an eerily likely outcome.
Gary Zettel was standing just a few feet away, oxygen mask hanging around his neck, arms folded, expression skeptical. “You don’t remember anything after shooting at the brutes?”
“Nothing at all, aside from seeing Agent Takeuchi attack Allyson Whatley,” I said. It made my teeth hurt to speak out against her, but that too was something Fritz had instructed me to do.
Allyson was being looked over by a healer on a bench against the wall. She glared murder in my direction.
“What was Agent Takeuchi doing at your trial?” Zettel asked.
“She had evidence that Malcolm Gallagher was committing acts of treason against the Union,” said a chilling female voice.
At long last, Lucrezia de Angelis had returned.
What convenient timing.
She dismissed the healer, and it took all the strength in my body not to haul off and punch her smug face.
“Agent Takeuchi showed video to the directors proving that Agent Cèsar Hawke had nothing to do with the treason—only Malcolm Gallagher,” Lucrezia said. I bit the inside of my cheek, resisting the urge to argue.
“Yeah, and then she attacked my aspis,” Zettel said. “Do you believe her?”
“In this, I do. Agent Takeuchi wanted to rally the directors so she could assassinate them. Agent Hawke was an easier target than Commander Gallagher.” Lucrezia smiled toothily, and she reminded me of the brutes with the huge mouths filled by giant fangs. “She never intended Agent Hawke to take the blame for anything.”
The thing was, Lucrezia wasn’t far off.
My trial had been a ruse to gather the directors and assassinate them. And I had been the most convenient target.
But Lucrezia had ordered the assassination.
Not Suzy.
My partner wasn’t there to stand up for herself, and Fritz had made me swear that I wouldn’t argue. Because the part where I wasn’t intended to take the blame was true, too. Lucrezia wasn’t trying to kill me. She didn’t want Fritz out for her blood—not yet.
I was nothing more than a convenient target.
It stung.
What stung even worse was when I saw a couple of kopides wrestling a man to the ground near the garage. Even at that distance, I could identify Malcolm. For a drunken old man with only one eye, he put up a hell of a fight.
For a moment, I forgot my promise to Fritz. I took a step toward the kopides. “Malcolm!”
Lucrezia rested a long-nailed hand on my shoulder. “Relax, Agent Hawke. The traitor is being taken into custody. Justice will be served.”
I couldn’t help but growl at her. “Justice?” There was no pretending I was happy to see someone like Malcolm going to the guillotine.
“As Agent Takeuchi thoughtfully proved, Malcolm Gallagher has been conspiring with demons, committing acts of espionage, and engaging in general sedition,” Lucrezia de Angelis said. She smiled so pleasantly when she said it, as though those accusations wouldn’t lead to a death sentence. “He was conspiring with Agents Takeuchi and Banerji. In the absence of those two, Malcolm will be punished for all their crimes.”
“But what about Whatley and Zettel?” I asked, unable to resist.
Lucrezia’s expression was frozen. “What about them?”
“Zettel’s command will be restored to him,” Fritz said. He was almost as cold as Lucrezia. “Whatley will be getting a promotion as well. She’s going to be in charge of training witches in magical techniques that she’s pioneered.”
“It’s a new frontier in battle magic. Think of it!” Lucrezia was practically squirming. It was weird seeing such delight on a woman normally so stiff. “Think of everything we’re going to be able to do now that magic can be cast in advance, harnessed in ribbons, and unleashed with no reduction in power!”
I could think of it all right.
It sounded like it would lead to the end of the world.
Allyson pushed her healer aside and walked over to Malcolm. She took a black bag from one of the kopides, and a dark smile glimmered in her eyes.
“Excuse me,” Lucrezia said. “Commander Zettel and I need to be present for this.” She guided Zettel over to his aspis, and they all encircled Malcolm like vultures on carrion.
I couldn’t just stand there and watch.
It was like being frozen with Suzy’s magic again, forcing me to play dead for my protection. But I didn’t want to be protected. I didn’t want other people sacrificing themselves—and my friends—in order to preserve my life.
Fritz wasn’t giving me a choice. His hand tightened on my arm until I thought I heard the bones creak. “Don’t do anything,” he whispered into my ear once Lucrezia was too far away to hear.
Zettel kicked Malcolm in the ribs. The former commander collapsed.
“Malcolm was your friend, Fritz!” I said.
“We’re significantly outnumbered,” Fritz said. “Standing up for him wouldn’t save our lives. We’d be ejected from the organization at best and killed at worst. That would only leave the entire country vulnerable to Lucrezia—and to the deadly magic Allyson Whatley has created.”
My eyebrows lifted. “You mean…”
“Just because Suzy and Aniruddha are gone doesn’t mean their cause is,” Fritz said.
He wanted us to take over for them.
My boss wanted us to destroy the Union from the inside out.
I wanted to argue with him. Tell him that was crazy, a suicide mission, that we couldn’t get involved. After all, I wasn’t a martyr. Hell, I’d been known to elbow grannies aside to get the last copy of an X-Box on sale for Black Friday, which was why I could never return to the state of Oregon ever again.
But I didn’t argue.
Suzy was gone. God only knew where she’d run off to. But she couldn’t come back—not if she wanted to avoid getting murdered by Lucrezia.
Fritz was right. We were the only chance at stopping the Union.
“It’s not right,” I said. “We should tell the truth.”
“Cèsar, trust me when I say that sometimes the truth is not in anyone’s best interests.”
“Fuck this,” I muttered under my breath. “Fuck all of this.”
“Agreed,” Fritz said.
“You owe me an
explanation.”
“I do,” he said. “In the Caribbean, perhaps?”
Was he really asking me to be his best man again now? Malcolm was being hauled to his knees. Punched across the face. Allyson and Zettel were grinning at each other.
And we just stood there, planning a wedding.
My life was so fucked up.
Of course, if Lucrezia was conspiring with demons to destroy the world, then it might be my last chance to see the Caribbean.
“What the hell? Sure. I’ll go to your stupid fucking wedding,” I said.
Malcolm caught my eye. He wink-blinked at me once. Just once.
Then they jerked a black bag over his head, cinched it around his throat, and marched him around the corner.
I never saw him again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
AMONG THE AGENTS WHO work at the Office of Preternatural Affairs’s Los Angeles location, there was a saying: “There’s nowhere hotter than Helltown.” Meaning that if a case goes cold, you can always heat it up by going to the demon neighborhood to dig up information.
I was ready to coin a new phrase like that one. “There’s nowhere better to forget your sorrows than a hole in the ground run by history’s first half-demon overlord.”
It wasn’t as catchy, but I was too tired for witticism.
When I arrived at the pit that used to be Craven’s, the bouncer didn’t try to stop me. He took one look at my face and stepped aside.
It was hopping in the club in that depressing kind of way, like everyone there was making a desperate attempt to forget what had happened to their home city.
Who could blame them? I’d gone for the same thing.
Unfortunately, since I wasn’t into abusing illicit substances, I had nothing to do but sit at the bar and watch other people get wasted. It was about a thousand times better than sitting around in the Union warehouse, though. Breathing that stale air. Watching kopides train like a fucking army. Knowing that Lucrezia de Angelis was conspiring with demons to sell humans into slavery for God only knew what reason.
The people who signed my paychecks were evil. Actively evil.
I’d failed to protect Aniruddha, the one guy who might have known enough to fight back against them.
I’d lost Suzy, my oldest friend.
Malcolm had been arrested.
And I’d smiled and pretended to get along with the Union and saluted like I was one of those fucking scumbags.
I was a coward.
Neuma bellied up to the other side of the bar, leaning forward with her arms squeezing her breasts together. Considering that she was a succubus, I was pretty sure that the view of her cleavage was deliberate. And considering that I was a red-blooded American male, I was pretty sure that I had no choice but to look.
Too bad I wasn’t in a mood to appreciate it.
“I’ve got something for you,” Neuma said. She offered me an envelope.
I studied it suspiciously without taking it. “What’s that?”
“It was left here by a very sexy Japanese lady. She told me to send it to Los Angeles if you didn’t visit me first, so I’m glad you’ve saved me the postage.”
Sexy Japanese lady? My heart skipped a beat, and I took the envelope. “Thanks, Neuma.”
“Don’t mention it. I hope it’s good news.”
I slid my thumb under the lip to open it. There was only a yellow sticky note inside, just like the kind that Suzy and I had plastered all over our shared desks at work.
There were two words on it, written in familiar handwriting.
I’m okay.
That was it.
My throat went all thick, but I felt like a thousand pounds had just been lifted off my shoulders.
Suzy had somehow used her magic—that powerful, rare interdimensional magic—to vanish from the Union base. I still didn’t know where she had gone, but she was alive.
It was more than I could say about most of my other friends.
“Is it good news?” Neuma asked.
I tucked the sticky note back into the envelope. “It’s good news.”
“Awesome. Now what else can I get for you, cutie?” she asked, trailing a finger along my knuckles. Her touch gave me a raging boner, which had to be a sign that my mood was about a thousand times better now that I knew Suzy was all right.
“Don’t get me anything. You’re the overlord, not a waitress. You don’t serve people who work for the Office of Preternatural Affairs.”
“I do if they’re real cute,” she said.
Who was I to argue with a gorgeous woman overflowing with compliments for me? “I don’t know. What do you have?”
“Anything you want,” Neuma said, forefinger in the corner of her mouth. She might as well have shouted, “Hey, want a blow job?” at me with all the stuff she was doing to that finger with those lips.
“I’d love wings if you have them,” I said.
She gave me a pitying smile. Patted my hand. “I’ll see what I can rustle up in the kitchen. Whiskey to tide you over?”
“None for me. Thanks.”
“I’ll take the whole bottle,” another woman said, sliding onto the bar stool next to me. Krista looked as miserable as I felt.
Anyone who worked for the OPA or the Union that had the tiniest fraction of a soul would be miserable that morning. Malcolm had gone through preliminary sentencing, and Lucrezia de Angelis had decided to ship him to Montana HQ for trial. They couldn’t sentence him in Fernley now that the directors were dead.
His flight to Montana would be his last flight ever.
“Heading back to Los Angeles soon?” Krista asked, pouring whiskey into a shot glass for herself.
“Tomorrow,” I said. “I have to catch up on a lot of paperwork.” And hate myself for the rest of my life. “You?”
“I’m going on leave soon. I get a week off before I have to return here for more work.”
Neuma reappeared. “We don’t have anything meaty that isn’t moldy or a species you wouldn’t eat,” she said, “but I’ve got pistachios. How you feel about pistachios, cutie?”
The bag was dusty and half-empty. Who knew how long the nuts had been sitting back there? But after my week, they looked like the most delicious stale pistachios I’d seen in my entire life.
“Perfect,” I said.
She gave me the whole bag and sauntered off. I leaned back on my stool to watch her go.
Damn. They didn’t make demons like that in Los Angeles.
Then I remembered that I’d been talking to Krista. The human woman who was, supposedly, on my side in the fight against evil. “They’re letting you off the leash for the entire week?” I asked. “Any fun plans?”
“Not yet, but I’m hoping to go somewhere very warm, very far from demons,” Krista said.
I cast a sideways look at her. “How do you feel about the Caribbean?”
A smile spread over her face. “Is that an invitation?”
“It depends on how likely you are to laugh in my face,” I said. “A man can only take so much rejection before his pride withers up into something dustier than a nightmare demon.”
“I’m not one to refuse the Caribbean, but I’m also on a Union kopis’s salary.”
“It’s on my partner’s credit card,” I said. “The guy’s a billionaire. He won’t notice the extra plane ticket.”
Her grin broadened. “I’ll drink to that. And to our dearly departed friends.” Krista poured a second shot, then pushed the glass to me. She tossed back the one sitting in front of her. “To Malcolm.”
He’d have wanted me to have a drink for him. It was the selfless thing to do, really.
And what harm could one shot do?
We drank.
“You know, Agent Hawke,” Krista said, “there’s something better than alcohol for warming cold blood.”
“Cardio?” I asked, pulling a face at the empty shot glass. Whiskey tasted disgusting. No wonder I’d sworn off alcohol.
“One could a
rgue that the workout is cardiovascular in nature, yes,” Krista said. The fingers of her good hand looped around my tie, tugging on it until it came undone.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“They have rooms here.” She showed me a key with a tag on it—a tag that had the Craven’s logo and a room number.
“Oh,” I said, and then she started to unbutton my shirt with her good hand, and I said, “Oh.”
“What do you think?” she asked.
“I think I’m not in a relationship place,” I said, because I’m noble like that.
Krista kissed me. She tasted like whiskey and smelled like gunpowder. And you know what? The whole palsy thing didn’t stop her from being a damn good kisser. “I’m not in a relationship place either,” she said. “I think we’re on the same page.”
Who was I to argue with a gorgeous woman about what she wanted to do in a post-apocalyptic wasteland?
We went up to the room.
It turned out that we were, in fact, on the same page.
And yeah, she kicked my ass.
Malcolm would have loved the tribute if he’d known about it.
Fritz and Isobel had their ceremony on a yacht in the Caribbean. The ship was called the Friederling X—possibly the most arrogant name for a yacht ever—and it had been decorated minimally for the wedding. Some flowers here, a witch’s altar there, a couple guards with guns.
The Caribbean waters were choppy, but that didn’t seem to matter to Fritz and Isobel. Both of them smiled like they might never stop smiling. And after a few drinks, the seasickness didn’t matter to me, either.
I’m normally not a drinking guy, but if a billionaire’s yacht wedding with an open bar wasn’t an opportunity to knock back champagne, I didn’t know what was.
There weren’t many people to share the champagne with, either. I was there as best man, and the high priestess of the Temple of the Hand of Death, Dayna, served as Isobel’s maid of honor. There was also an officiant with box braids, a thick Jamaican Patois, and white linen pants, and he seemed to have brought his own liquor.
Aside from that, there were no guests except for my plus-one. A very sexy, Scandinavian-looking plus-one who killed it in a slinky red dress.
