by Amy Fecteau
“Goddammit.” Matheus groaned. He squirmed as Quin sucked on the delicate skin of his throat.
Alistair crouched down, resting his elbows on his thighs and propping his chin in his hands. “Do you really like it when he does that thing with his tongue? I always found it a little annoying.”
“Okay,” said Quin, sitting up. “Your comments are not required. Either watch quietly, or go away.”
“Have you tried that spot just inside of Matheus’s elbow?” Alistair asked. “He really likes that.”
Matheus covered his face with his hands, shaking his head slightly. Visions of World War Three appeared behind his eyes.
“Alistair,” said Quin, a warning shot across the bow. One Alistair blithely ignored.
“You should hear the noises he makes,” he said.
“I’ve heard them.”
“Well,” said Alistair. “I heard them first.”
Matheus grabbed Quin’s arms, yanking him down, every muscle fiber straining to full capacity. Alistair flashed him a grin, then fled.
“You can’t kill him,” said Matheus.
“I’m not going to kill him,” said Quin. “I’m just going to staple his tongue to the roof of his mouth.”
“You can’t do that either.”
“And why not?”
“For one, we haven’t got a stapler,” said Matheus. He let go of Quin’s arms. Shaking out his hands, he scooted backward and sat up.
Quin slashed his hand back and forth. “There have to be some nails or something around.”
“No.” Matheus waved a finger at Quin. Maybe he’d been spending too much time with Heaven. Although, her finger seemed much more effective than his. “You’re not going to do anything to Alistair. You’re too old to be jealous. You should know better.”
“I’m not jealous,” said Quin. “He’s being a jackass.”
“Yes, I know,” said Matheus. “And you are going to be the bigger man, and let him.”
Quin made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. He stopped in mid-grumble, a grin exploding over his face. “You know what? I am the bigger man.” He laughed.
Matheus rolled his eyes. “Go back to your training. Christ.”
In theory, Matheus ran the meeting. In truth, he said a few words, then let Alistair take over. Quin offered advice, mostly without terrifying everyone. Joan, Drew, and some of the others shared their makeshift weapons. A final plan solidified into being. One by one, people recited their part, checking and double-checking until everyone understood their roles. Matheus watched people’s faces: tension, skin taut around the eyes, a tightness to the mouth. Everyone bore the signs, even Quin. Matheus glanced away, only to catch Heaven looking at him. She inclined her head toward the door and slipped away from the crowd. A few seconds later, he followed her.
Heaven waited outside, her gaze tilted toward the sky. She’d cleaned the blood off her feet, but stains still marked the hem of her skirt. Matheus stopped beside her. He shivered. A bitter wind blew in ebbs and flows, carrying along the smell of frost. He made a note to check the weather report. Snow might interfere with their plans.
She swayed with the wind, humming a strange melody under her breath as she raised her arms up, stretching her fingers wide. The moonlight draped her features in silver. She looked like an ancient priestess calling upon unknown pagan gods. The skin on the back of his neck prickled with goose bumps, and not from the cold. He gave a cough, and Heaven lowered her arms.
“So what do the stars have to say?” Matheus asked.
Heaven sighed. “They are not speaking to me.”
“What does that mean?”
“It does not mean anything.”
Matheus shivered again. He wrapped his arms tight around his chest. “Heaven? What is―?”
“I used to be called Ninsunu,” Heaven said. “Then, I was different.” She lowered her head, blinking rapidly.
Matheus touched her arm, hesitantly, stroking the smooth caramel skin. She was so slight, a wisp of a woman, in a wisp of a dress. “What’s wrong?” He doubted he wanted to hear the answer.
“I would like to be Ninsunu again,” said Heaven. “It has been so long. Watching the stars shift in the sky, listening to them sing.”
“Heaven, please,” said Matheus. “Please, don’t―” He stopped, unable to force the words out of his throat. “Don’t.”
Heaven turned to him, and smiled.
“You have grown wonderfully.” She stood on her tiptoes to cup his face. “Promise me, you will not be sad. You have such a beautiful smile.” She kissed him, softly, first his left cheek, then his right, and last, like the wings of a butterfly, on his lips.
She walked away, leaving Matheus frozen in the ice-laced wind.
atheus let the door swing shut behind him. Joan waited in the hall, leaning against the wall, frowning down at her shoes. At the slam of the door, she looked up, her gaze focused on Matheus.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hi.” Matheus scanned Joan for concealed weapons. He approached her slowly. The manic fire in her expression had dimmed, which made him oddly nervous.
“So, Heaven left, huh?”
Matheus nodded. “Did she tell you? What she was planning?”
Joan pushed herself upright. “Nah. I knew it was coming. She’s been around a long fucking time, you know? Gets tiring. I’ll let the others know.”
“They won’t―” Matheus stopped, unsure of what he wanted to say.
“They’ll understand,” said Joan. “It happens. You get to that point when you’re just fucking done.” Joan gave Matheus a slap on the back that knocked him sideways. “Takes some people longer than others to get there, but we all do sooner or later.” She grinned.
“Umm.” His head felt like a helium balloon, bounced around by the wind. He blinked, trying to clear his vision. The hallway around Joan blurred. “Are you sure? Really sure Heaven won’t be back?”
“Yeah.” Joan’s grin faded. “Hey, you okay? Boss?”
“I just need to… sit down.” Matheus staggered backward, groping for the wall. He sank into a crouch. Joan’s shoes turned into an Impressionist painting. With a choked inhale, he ducked his head, resting his forehead on his knees.
“Boss? Hey, boss man, you got to get up.”
Joan’s clothes rustled as she knelt beside him. “Come on. You’re going to make me lose it, too.” She shook his shoulder. “Keep it together, okay?”
Matheus forced himself to exhale. He closed his eyes, counting in a steady rhythm. When he reached twenty-three, he raised his head. He wiped the wetness from his face, and looked at Joan. She gave him a wobbly smile, proto-tears shining in her eyes.
“Fucking A,” she said. “What a fucking pussy.”
“Hey,” said Matheus. He tried to come up with an argument to the contrary, but delusions only went so far. “Am not.”
“Are too,” said Joan. She stood, and jerked him to his feet. “But, hey, pussies are pretty tough. You want to push a kid out your dick? I don’t fucking think so.”
“I―I have no idea how to respond to that,” said Matheus.
“Damn straight you don’t.” Joan nodded as though she’d just scored the winning point.
“Right,” said Matheus, confusion dampening the initial rush of grief. “Okay.”
Joan gave him another whack on the biceps and marched toward the lobby. Matheus trailed after her. He felt like a sailor after six months at sea. The ground seemed to swell and sink beneath his steps, despite the conflicting evidence of reality. He paused at the top of the stairs, seeking out Quin without thinking.
Quin glanced around, as though he’d just received a tap on the shoulder. His gaze landed on Matheus. A nanosecond blinked past, and he’d already travelled half the distance of the room. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Matheus moved away, down the steps, but came to an abrupt halt as Quin grabbed his wrist.
“Sunshine―”
“It’s nothing,” Matheus hi
ssed. He felt the score of eyes fixed in their direction. He shifted, trying to hide Quin’s grip from the rest of the room. “Heaven left.”
Quin tilted his head to the side, examining his expression. “Math―”
“Not now.” Matheus jerked his arm, and stumbled down a step when Quin actually let him go.
He gathered the remaining bits of his dignity. A low murmur rose up as he made his way over to Alistair. Joan spread the news of Heaven’s departure by the simple method of telling Blanche. By the time Matheus reached the front of the room, everyone knew what had happened. He scanned the crowd of faces. Most seemed if not understanding, then at least resigned. A few cried, soft, muffled sounds, consumed by the heavy atmosphere. Matheus swallowed, shoving hard at the sickly, hollow feeling rising in his chest. Alistair leaned into him, wrapping an arm around his waist and squeezing. Matheus stiffened his spine, refusing to look at Alistair. After a second, Alistair moved away with a soft sigh.
“Is there anything else to go over?” Matheus asked. The set in his shoulders gave way as Quin stopped at his side.
Alistair made a show of flipping through the papers on his clipboard. “The door windows still need to be removed from the truck. But we should have time to finish tomorrow.”
“I thought Mike was working on that,” said Matheus. His voice sounded like a stranger’s.
“He got into an argument with the electric screwdriver,” said Alistair.
“There are electric screwdrivers?”
“Apparently.”
“Aren’t they just drills?” Matheus asked.
Alistair shrugged. He scribbled something, before looking up at Matheus. “I don’t like the idea of you going off alone with―”
“Do you have a better idea?” Matheus waited half a beat. “I didn’t think so.”
“Alistair has a point,” said Quin.
Matheus yawned, stretching his arms to the ceiling. “I’m exhausted. Anyone else? Let’s go to bed.”
He spun, heading toward the theaters.
“I should have picked someone with less of a death wish.” Quin fell into step with Matheus.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Matheus. “You’d get bored.”
“I’ll be extremely bored when we’re both dead,” said Quin.
“Technically―”
“Technically, I can tie you into a pretzel and ship you to Zimbabwe. Not first class, either. Parcel post.”
Matheus paused, his hand on the door to theater one. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“See that you do,” said Quin.
They waited for dawn. None of the divisions or boundaries remained. They waited in one group, piled together like puppies, drawing comfort from each other. Matheus rested his head on Quin’s chest, one hand stretched out to Joan. Alistair curled up at his back, Freddie curled up around him. Milo lay head to head with Matheus, close enough that his curls brushed over Matheus’s ear. All of them together, waiting.
Darkness, smothering darkness, so alone, lost in the empty black, living nothingness, cold and wet and clinging, sinking into his skin, his lungs, and he couldn’t pull away, couldn’t find Quin. Alone and dying and where was Quin, and oh, God, he just needed the smallest molecule of light, a pinprick to cling to, anything, anything, anything―
Matheus opened his eyes to the dark. Panic lit within his body. Hands clenched, nails digging into his flesh, he forced a breath into his lungs. The details sharpened into place; the molding covering the ceiling, the cool weight of Quin’s hand on his stomach, the smell of dust and age in the air. Panic receded into the shadowed gray of reality. Dark, dim, but not the suffocating black of his dream. Sitting up, he scrubbed both hands over his hair, grimacing as he came across a piece of ancient bubblegum. He extracted the wad, flicking the hardened mess across the room. He rose, and picked his way among the field of temporary corpses. He still had twenty minutes before sunset. Hanging around a roomful of dead bodies did not boost his confidence for that night.
Wet footprints led from the emergency exit to the lobby. High heels, judging from the shape. Matheus followed the trail, fairly certain of the source. Other possibilities flashed into mind, but given the locked door and the sun’s position, only one person really fit.
“Juliet,” he said. “I figured you’d turn up eventually.”
“Hello, pet.” Juliet perched on the countertop, her legs crossed, and one knee-high boot bouncing up and down. Her coat sat in a pile of silky, chocolate brown furs next to her. She pouted at him. “You don’t seem very pleased to see me.”
Matheus collapsed into Milo’s computer chair. The second law of thermodynamics sent him rolling back a foot or so. He contemplated scooting the chair forward, but discarded the idea. Moving around before dusk exhausted him. Every motion felt as though he’d attached lead weights to his muscles.
“What are you doing here?”
“You’ve got the Otherworld in a fizzle.” Juliet pulled a compact out of her bag. She peered at her reflection, tsking at the wind damage to her hair. She pursed her lips, tilting her face this way and that. From her clutch emerged a lipstick in the color his Polish housekeeper used to call “whore red.”
“What have you heard?” Matheus asked.
“Oh, just rumors, pet.” Juliet daubed on the lipstick. “Apollonia has burned a lot of bridges over the years, and frankly, she’s become unbearable.” She closed her compact with a snap, and blew him a kiss. “We’re all rather relieved you’re finally decided to step up. We were all getting worried we might have to interfere. Associating with humans, imposing rules outside her species, and being an uppity little bitch.” Juliet shook her head. “As I said, she doesn’t have many friends.”
“Does that mean they’ll help?” Matheus had only a vague idea of the other species and cultures that made up the Otherworld. Quin had mentioned demons, and there had to be more werewolves besides Freddie. Not to mention unique cases like Faust. Matheus felt pretty confident that only one Faust existed. He knew there must be more succubae, but he’d never considered what else called the city home.
“Of course not. Apollonia is your kind, therefore your responsibility.” Juliet laughed.
A shudder climbed gleefully up his vertebrae. “Why mine?” He resisted the urge to look for a weapon.
“You volunteered.” Juliet swung her leg to an imaginary beat. Her nails tapped on the counter as she leaned forward. “You should have run, pet.”
“What about you?” Matheus asked. “Will you help?”
“Silly boy.” Juliet laughed again. “It isn’t my fight.”
“We’re family.” Matheus knew even as he said the words, they didn’t mean anything to Juliet. She looked at him, not unkindly, but not swayed, either.
“I must be going.” She gathered her coat.
“Don’t you want to see Quin?” Matheus exerted himself, and managed to roll the chair a foot closer to Juliet. “He’s back. I mean, his memories are back.”
“Oh, I’m sure we’ll catch up eventually.” Juliet waved her hand in an airy gesture, but didn’t move from the counter.
Matheus counted to ten, and heaved himself to his feet. He walked toward her, making sure not to stand between her and the exit, and stopped a few feet in front of her. “Why did you come here? Not to warn me about Apollonia. Not to see Quin. Is there something you wanted to tell me? What do you want, Juliet?”
He took a hasty step back as she hopped off the counter.
“Despite my sister’s stupidity, I do retain some measure of affection for her.” Juliet swung her coat over her shoulders.
Her boot toe tapped. Matheus bit back a curse as her human mask slipped away. Ice splintered in his veins as she reached up to cup his face. He flinched as her claws brushed his skin, but she held him gently. She tilted his face from side to side, catching the dim light of Milo’s computer screens.
“You carry a piece of her within you, however bastardized and corrupted that piece might be,” said Julie
t. This close, the sickly sweetness of rot wafted underneath Juliet’s expensive perfume. He locked his knees.
“You look so much like your father.” Her voice deepened to a hoarse whisper. The prick of her nails scratched along his jaw.
“I didn’t choose my face,” he said. “Or my parents.”
Juliet sighed, and the smell of rot grew stronger. “No.” She released him and stepped back, drawing her coat closed, once again the chic Chanel devotee. With her chin nestled into the fluff of furs, and the ivory and honey glow of her human face, she looked like a transplant from the Golden Age of Hollywood. He imagined that even without her other gifts, men had an easier time stopping the tides than resisting Juliet’s requests. “Lenya asks after you, pet. It’s quite troublesome.”
“Oh,” Matheus said in the face of Juliet’s expectant expression. She looked at him as though waiting for the next line in the script. “I’m sorry?”
A tiny line appeared between Juliet’s flawless eyebrows, but with a shake of her head, it vanished. She smiled, the kind of smile that sent men flying off to war. “I know I shouldn’t spoil her, but they are only children for so long. Did you know? Succubae eat their mothers. When they’re fully grown, of course, but before they’ve taken their first man. So our time with our daughters is limited. I do hate seeing them unhappy, pet.”
“Erk,” said Matheus.
Juliet gave a wistful sigh.
Matheus struggled to find a thread to which to cling. “I feel like you are trying to tell me something. It’d probably be quicker if you just told me what it was.”
“You have no subtlety, pet. You get that from your father.” She cocked her head to the side. “Even if I wanted to join your fight, the others would never agree to it.” She paused, snuggling deeper into her coat. “But perhaps I can convince them to provide a bit of help.”
“Why?”
“For Lenya’s sake,” said Juliet.
“Right. I think I have an idea, and you can tell me if it works. Let me just find a pen…” He wandered toward Milo’s desk.
“Don’t dawdle,” Juliet called after him. “I do still have to make the arrangements.” She resumed her position on the counter, still swaddled in her coat.
