by C. L. Roman
"I —" Gwyneth stopped. What could she tell her? The situation sounded bizarre even to her own ears. "I am looking for work."
Faiza beamed at her. "Well then, let us talk."
Amal placed his hand on his wife's arm. "Let us talk of this later."
With an apologetic glance at Gwyneth, Faiza spoke to him in English. "Why wait? She has brought us more business today than we have had in the last three. I will teach her English and she will help us improve our sales. It is a fair trade."
He slid Gwyneth a furtive glance. "What you say is true, but there is something about her that worries me."
"Pshaw, she is tall," Faiza said. "Many women are tall. Not so tall as this one I will admit. But this is not a reason to lose an opportunity." She looked at Gwyneth and continued in Arabic. "What wage will you accept?"
"Wage?" Gwyneth asked. "I do not know this word."
"Money, payment, for your help with the kiosk." When Gwyneth didn't answer, Faiza named a number and Gwyneth nodded. Whatever the amount, it was better than nothing.
At the end of a successful day, Faiza smiled. "Very well. So, we will see you here in the morning, yes?"
"Yes," Gwyneth said. The couple had closed up their cart and attached it to their vehicle.
"All right then. Goodnight," Faiza said, and gave Gwyneth a sharp look.
"Goodnight," Gwyneth replied, and looked around uncertainly. A bench sat empty a few yards away and she walked over and sat down on it.
Amal followed her. "Where is your home?" he asked and Gwyneth scanned the park. It was a good question, one she had no answer for. Amal folded his arms across his chest. "Where is your father?"
"He is dead," she replied and focused her gaze on her hands in her lap.
"May Almighty Allah dwell him in Jannatul Firdaus. And what of your husband?"
A tear splashed onto Gwyneth's hand and Faiza sat down next to her. Glaring up at Amal, she put her arm around the taller woman's waist. "You will come with us. No, no! I insist," she rushed on as if Gwyneth had protested. "We have too much dinner and too much space in our home. If we leave you, perhaps you will come back in the morning and perhaps you won't. You will come with us."
Bemused and obscurely comforted, Gwyneth went with them.
"Gwyneth? I'm home. I'm sorry it took so much longer than I expected." Loki surveyed the deserted living room before walking into the silent kitchen. The echo of his steps bounced back at him as he took in the empty fruit bowl. Moving faster now, he went down the hall. "Gwyneth?" he called.
A quick search of the apartment confirmed the empty feel of the rooms. Gwyneth was gone and she hadn't taken much with her. He slammed his hand down on the dresser and ripped his cell phone out of his pocket.
"Oris! What have you done with her? I swear if you have ruined her I will end you."
"I have done nothing, Loki. What are you talking about?" There was a quick, vile intake of air and then, "You've LOST her? The Master is going to destroy you!"
With a curse that burned Oris right through the aether, Loki threw the phone through the kitchen window. Glass shards rained down, littering the balcony and the sidewalk below with glittering fragments.
When another search of the apartment revealed nothing more than the fact that she had taken both the tablet he'd given her and the card Delaney had provided, he poured a glass of wine and flung himself into the overstuffed chair in the living room. "The only question is, will she be able to find him right away, or will it take time?" he muttered aloud. His imagination ran variations on the scene he would face were he to admit this loss to Lucifer. The Master had wanted her willing, had demanded it even, but he'd wanted her regardless and anything less was likely to end poorly for Loki.
There was only one option remaining. Gwyneth would have to learn the cost of ingratitude — and Delaney would have to be made to see the benefits of handing her over. And if he wouldn't...a slow grin parted the demon's lip until his fangs slid into sight. Well, there were always alternatives. He hadn't had a live meal in a long time.
He stood as the house phone rang, its hollow clangor filling the apartment with ominous intent. Only one entity used the land line. Loki looked at the caller ID and backed away. He opened a cabinet in the entertainment center and pulled out a new cell phone. Punching in a code, he transferred the phone number as he flung the front door open. In less than three minutes he was on the street, hailing a cab.
Cole pulled out his cell phone for the fifth time on his short walk to the studio.
"It didn't ring," Xavier said, striding along in his six inch heels as if he'd been born wearing them.
Cole shot him a surly look. "I was making sure I remembered to take it off silent."
Xavier gave a shout of laughter. "That phone hasn't been on silent since you bought it six months ago. If it weren't for me, you'd never see your friends face to face...you'd just haunt their timelines and tweeter-feed."
"For a man wearing those shoes in public, you have an astonishingly limited grasp of twenty-first century technology."
Xavier skidded to a halt and turned his ankles this way and that, staring at the rhinestone studded neon orange stilettos. "What's wrong with these shoes?"
"Nothing, if you're a runway kitten instead of a linebacker."
"You are homophobic."
"I am not homophobic. I just have an actual fashion sense." He eyed his brother's tie-dyed mini-caftan and leggings with skepticism. "And right now it is completely blocked." He started walking again. "Besides, you keep telling me you're transgender/bi."
Hurrying up beside him, Xavier tossed his hair and sniffed. "Well, I like to keep an open mind. Unlike some people I could name. I wear what I like and I date who I like. I don't worry about labels. Oh, Louise Vittone!" He finished on a squeal and tottered off at full speed to examine some handbags being sold by a street vendor. "I love her knock offs, don't you? I mean, they really are quality fakes."
Cole grabbed his brother's arm and kept walking. "And yet, still fakes. You do know that I'm a designer, right?"
"Of course, I wasn't going to buy one, I just like to look. Hey, easy on the musculature..."
The pair squabbled their way to the studio and stopped short at the front door. Waiting for them was Mr. Lokstrum, and he didn't look pleased.
"Where is she?"
"Where is who?" Cole played with the medallion on his wrist, unobtrusively lifting the rapidly heating metal away from his skin.
"Gwyneth, as you know quite well."
"I know a lot of things. What the devil you're talking about is not on the list."
Mr. Lokstrum's gray eyes paled even further and Cole felt a chill run from the backs of his heels to the nape of his neck. "Xavier," he said. "Go inside and make that phone call we were talking about."
Xavier sidled past Mr. Lokstrum and slid the key into the lock. Loki grinned. "Why don't we continue our discussion inside? I'm sure we can come to a mutually beneficial agreement."
"I don't think so," Cole said "I'm not sure what's happening, but I assume from the fact that you are looking for her that — Gwyneth, is it? That she is no longer with you. As she has made that choice, I have no intention of telling you where she is, even if I knew, which I don't."
"Perhaps not yet," Loki said. "But she took your card with her." His eyes were nearly white now and Cole found it difficult to look away. The human stared into Loki's face, transfixed. "If she calls, you will call me —"
"Cole." The sharpness in Xavier's tone snapped Cole's attention to him. "You need to put in that order, remember?"
Closing his eyes against the jagged wedge of pain that lanced through his head from ear to ear, Cole stretched his neck, first one way, then the other. He opened his eyes, black as hot soot.
"You will go, now," he told Loki. "And you will not come back."
Confusion clouded Loki's features and he fell back a step.
Xavier paled and wrenched the studio door open. "The order, Cole," he said, and ste
pped through the entry.
Cole followed him, but turned in the doorway. "You are not welcome here, demon. Remember it."
In a heartbeat Cole and Xavier were inside, the door ratcheting closed behind them.
Clipping down the marble foyer to the elevator, Xavier's face had taken on a wooden expression.
"Spill it X. You won't be happy until you do."
"Happy? I won't be happy, period! All those years of assuming that Mimi's pendant was just a quaint family story, told to amuse us kids and now it looks like the whole thing is real?" The doors opened and he stomped inside, turning with a flounce. "And then, as if that weren't bad enough, Mr. Evil shows up at our door?"
"Looking for Gwyneth."
"He probably ate her and is now looking for an after dinner snack."
"No reason to come to us asking about her if he killed her."
Reaching their floor, the pair entered the reception area. Xavier spun around. "Are you kidding me? He's a demon! Who knows what he would do? It's a good thing we own the building. At least we can deny him access."
Cole nodded. "That will hold him for as long as he doesn't realize he can push past it."
"What are you talking about? Mimi said —"
"Mimi said that I could deny a demon entrance if I own the property outright. I'm not sure how that will work here, considering the bank still has a half interest in this place." At his brother's stunned look he rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. "Cut me a break, will you? I only half believed it in the first place." He shoved both hands through his hair. "It's not like I ever put the power to the test. I have no idea what the limits are. At least we know Mimi was right about you as well."
Xavier closed his eyes and tightened his lips. "What do you mean?"
"He about had me brother. When you spoke, it broke his hold, just as she said it would."
"Oh merciful heavens." Xavier swayed on his narrow orange heels and then collapsed into the nearest chair. "And to think I always thought having a little faerie blood was romantic."
"Like Mimi always said, 'A little drop'll do for you'" He dropped into a chair of his own and wished heartily for a later hour and a beer. "The thing is, if she was right about this, she was right about everything."
Xavier lifted his face out of his hands and stared at his brother. "Gwyneth is in danger."
Cole nodded. "And that means we have to find her, as soon as possible."
Gwyneth held the scarf up to the light and exclaimed over the quality of the weave in broken English. "Is so excellent," she said, smiling. "I would love to have three, yes?"
"Of course," Faiza said, and made a show of bringing out additional scarves for Gwyneth to select from. The two women behind Gwyneth smiled as Amal stepped forward to help them make their own selections.
It was the last sale of the day and the sun was fading behind the trees along the edge of the park. Gwyneth pretended to look at the wares of another vendor while the women completed their purchase. As she examined a coral necklace a shadow fell across her shoulders and she shivered.
"So, this is where you've been hiding yourself," Loki said, and closed his fingers around her arm.
She gasped and spun away from him, backing into the cart with a rustling of rings and chains. "Keep your hands to yourself, Loki," she said, switching back into Semitic without thought.
Loki smiled at her and the color began to leach out of his eyes. "You want to come with me."
Gwyneth felt a wave of frost roll through her, muffling her will.
Going with him is probably best...the thought rubbed against her volition, eerily similar to her own voice, yet foreign. She shook her head and stiffened, startled to find herself already several feet from Faiza's kiosk, walking out of the park. She planted her feet. Unprepared for resistance, Loki jerked around like a marionette whose strings had suddenly been cut.
"Damn. I forgot that hybrids usually have some immunity. Yours isn't total though. Let’s try again." He cupped her chin in his palm and forced her to look at him. "You want to —"
Gwyneth slapped his hand aside. "Touch me again and you'll lose more than your grip."
Changing tactics, Loki spread his hands, palms up. "Gwyneth, I don't understand. I thought you wanted to find Jotun."
"And you were going to help me do that?"
"Of course I was. In fact —"
"What? You know where he is? You'll take me to him?"
"Well, no, but I do happen to have a lead. Why are you acting like this?" He dropped the persuasion and turned a look of confused betrayal on her.
She snorted. "You know, if you had used that one first, it might have worked. I heard you, Loki. Selling me to your boss."
"That is not what I was doing. That is the lead I was talking about."
"Really?" She tilted her head to the side, staring into his face. After a moment, he looked away. "No, I trusted you once. I won't make the same mistake again."
"Gwyneth, are you well?" Amal walked up and stood next to her, his arms crossed. For the first time, Gwyneth noted that they were at the center of a small group of people, all looking on with varying amounts of curiosity and concern.
She gave Loki a hard look and then a gentler one to her friend. "Yes, thank you Amal. Shall I come and help you pack up?"
"It would be well. The sun is going."
"Goodbye Loki," she said, keeping her tone formal. "Thank you for your help, but I can make my way from here." Somber faced, she rejoined Faiza.
"We have to kill him." Surt's tone left no room for argument, but Jotun shook his head and Surt growled. "So, he wakes up after interrogation and tells his boss that he gave us the location of a cache of over fifty nuclear bombs. Then, after he shoots him, the boss orders the weapons moved and we start all over again."
Jotun knew he was being ludicrous. What difference did it make whether he murdered one man to protect a mission that would kill millions? But his stomach rolled with nausea at the thought of intentional murder. "It is not necessary. He will think this is a night horse, you said."
"Nightmare," Surt said. "And maybe he will, but there is always the chance that he won't. And if he doesn't — if he takes the story to his commander — No." He shook his head. "Once he has told us what he knows, he dies."
Jotun picked up the news clipping again, staring at the picture of a middle aged, brown haired male with a wide smile and a trim mustache. The article discussed the man's wife and young son, the dog they had adopted from a local animal shelter.
Why did Sabaoth want the humans dead? The thought threaded its way through the murky currents of his mind like a foul mist. Jerking his head up to look out the hotel window, the angel tossed the clipping on the bed as if it had suddenly caught fire. "If it must be, it must," he mumbled. "Very well. We find out where the weapons are being stored and then what?"
Surt sat down on the couch across from his partner and smiled. "Finally, you see reason. The first step is location, then we get the launch codes. I have heard they can be purchased." He tapped the black velvet pouch on the table. "One more use for your talents. The codes will not come cheap."
"But we will not kill the ones that sell them to us?" Jotun stalked to the window and stared down. Thirteen stories below, families played in a pool area. He watched as a little girl fell on the concrete and began to wail. Even angelic senses didn't allow him to hear her — distance and the thick glass blanked it out — but he could see the wide mouth and the brown eyes full of tears. A woman scooped the child into her arms, cradling her and pressing kisses against the small forehead. His gut twisted again and he turned away.
Shrugging, the demon leaned back on the couch, spreading his arms along its oversized back. "Maybe not, maybe so." Noting Jotun's scowl, he relented. "Not if we don't have to though. After that, we break into the facility and use the bombs to ignite Ragnarӧk."
"I think it will not be so easy as you make it seem."
"No, but it won't be as hard if you'll let me kill the
humans that get in our way."
"I have no problem killing those who directly oppose us." He could feel Surt studying him, assessing his commitment to the cause. The pounding began again at the base of his skull. He remembered the argument over changing the stones. It had paid off in making their accommodations more comfortable. His resistance had been foolish then. Was it now?
"So, the convention is scheduled for the next three days. We go in, we get him, we come out," Surt said.
"It is good. I will fly in —"
"And how will we fly in without being seen?"
Jotun stared at him. "By going in the night. Who will be watching then?"
"I told you —"
"You told me they had a machine that would detect our mass." Stalking closer, he glared at Surt. "Why are you so resistant to flying?"
"Aside from being the city that never sleeps, New York is also the city that has cameras on every corner, plain and infra-red. Do you know what infra-red is?"
Jotun shook his head.
"It is heat sensing. Your body will show up on the camera as a red outline the exact shape of Jotun — wings and all! Who do you think you are — you who know nothing of this new world — to tell me how we should run this mission? This has been my mission since the beginning of creation. Sabaoth gave it to me then. I lead it now. You follow, or don't, but stay out of my way." Surt shot to his feet and marched down the hall to the suite's master bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
Jotun's brows rose as he watched Surt leave. After a few moments he picked his gray suit jacket up from the back of the chair and walked out the door. Someone had to surveil the other hotel, and it did not seem as if Surt was in the mood.
