by SM Reine
This didn’t require skill.
It required only inheritance.
He walked into the next room. “Freeze,” he said.
There was plenty of time to survey the incubi arranged around a table, where they had been playing cards. Now two of them were frozen halfway to standing, jackets swaying with the motion, faces slack.
There weren’t guns in this room. These people hadn’t been expecting to fight.
Fritz shot them one at a time. His aim was precise and so were their deaths. He didn’t breathe until the last of the bodies was dribbling ichor across the hardwood.
The house was silent. His kopis senses told him that all demons were dead.
He let the gun slip from his fingers. He lifted a hand to rub his face, and his wrist caught his eye. He was bleeding from the abrasions of Proserpine’s ropes. Some of that blood was currently flying toward the House of Belial to destroy the legacy that had allowed him to effortlessly slay the Needles.
Fritz’s jaw trembled.
His breastbone still ached from the press of Lolita’s corner.
You look just like Hans.
He roared as he flipped the card table. Playing cards and cash showered over the bodies and landed in the puddles of ichor, where they dissolved, leaving nothing behind but blood.
Fritz stepped out the front door and found himself face-to-face with his would-be rescuers.
Cèsar clutched OPA-made magic ribbons in both hands, looking at everything and nothing with hollow eyes. Isobel’s shirt had been torn across the breasts to expose her bra, and ichor smeared across her midriff and thighs. Suzy looked mostly normal. She was reloading her gun and keeping her bruised eyes on their surroundings.
“What are you three doing here?” Fritz asked. It was an odd combination of people. He’d have expected to see Cèsar with either Suzy or Isobel, but not both.
“We’re saving you.” Cèsar staggered up the steps to inspect his kopis. “Are you alive?”
“For now,” Fritz said.
Isobel shoved Cèsar aside to lunge at her husband. “Baby!”
For a moment, Fritz got to enjoy the feeling of his wife in his arms—his Hope, his Emmeline, his Belle. She didn’t feel dead against his heart. She felt as alive as she’d been the first time they married.
Then he remembered turning the House of Belial over to Proserpine, and the power of his guilt drove away all feelings of satisfaction.
Suzy leaned around them to look at the carnage inside the house. “Holy fuck. Did you do that?”
Fritz drew in a long, slow breath, and then he let it out just as slowly. He no longer had the urge to flip tables, shoot incubi, slit his wrists.
“Yes,” Fritz said. “I did that.”
It was a lie, of course.
The House of Belial had done that. Fritz was, as always, just along for the ride.
Fritz sat in Cèsar’s office while the aspis looked him over for injuries. Fritz insisted that there was nothing significant, but Cèsar was equally insistent on checking. A guilty conscience was a powerful thing.
Even if he’d found a life-threatening wound, Cèsar would have been helpless to assist Fritz. The OPA infirmary had been emptied out. They probably didn’t have a Band-Aid big enough to cover a paper cut.
Nevertheless, Cèsar looked over Fritz without ever making eye contact. When he was done, he said, “You’re safe for duty.”
“Oh good,” Fritz said. “I’m glad to have your approval. The secretary of the organization you work for desperately needed your validation.”
“Oh, fuck you, you sarcastic fuck,” Cèsar said.
Sarcastic, murderous, evil.
The only surviving human son of the House of Belial.
Cèsar occupied himself next by looking over a map of Los Angeles. They’d had to pull out a years-old paper map because their systems were down. “Since we failed to close Helltown, we’ll have to expand our security perimeter on it to…here.” He traced a big circle over the map with a fingertip. “No point fighting over the stuff inside the circle. The demons get to keep that ground.”
Cèsar was getting to be a better liar. He didn’t even blink when he talked about the “failure” to close Helltown up again.
As if he’d had nothing to do with that.
Fritz slid off the edge of his desk, jerked the hem of his button-down to straighten it. They’d cut his jacket up to bandage his wrists. “It’s a shame what happened in Helltown.”
Cèsar nodded silently.
It was the quiet of that nod that made Fritz finally snap.
“You won’t even apologize?” Fritz asked. “Agent Bryce died because of you.”
“It wasn’t me, it was the Apple, and they—”
“I know.” Fritz couldn’t listen to this anymore. Couldn’t stand one more moment of Cèsar lying directly to his face. “I know that Suzy’s family are old members of the Apple. I know she joined them after her stint in the Union detention center, and I know that she recruited you after Senator Peterson’s assassination. You only agreed to move into my guesthouse so that you could spy on me. I know. Stop lying.”
“I didn’t move in to spy on you,” Cèsar said.
At least he didn’t deny his membership in the Apple.
“Yes you did,” Fritz said. “I used a radical witch to rally support for my bill, and you decided you couldn’t trust me. Instead of hashing out your concerns with me like an adult, you moved in to my home to spy. You took advantage of our friendship. And I allowed it to happen so that I could keep an eye on you as well.”
Cèsar had been drawing on the map with a Sharpie. He capped it with a firm click. “Fine. Cards on the table. You made me sign that new contract. You know I’m in the Apple, and that I’ll lose my memory over it. Who’s taking advantage of our friendship now?”
“I made you sign a new contract because I wanted you to tell me the truth.”
“Instead of asking me? Talking to me like an adult?” Cèsar flung his hands into the air. “Glass houses, stones, tea kettle, pot—”
“Stop,” Fritz said.
In truth, Fritz wasn’t really angry with Cèsar.
He owned the House of Belial. How could Cèsar feel safe talking to Fritz about anything?
He was angry at himself. Angry for his bloodline. Angry that he couldn’t bear dismantling the House of Belial. Angry that Cèsar feared Fritz so much that he allied with Gary Zettel.
Angry about what he was now going to order Cèsar to do.
“I knew about your membership in the Apple before you signed the contract, so you aren’t automatically fired now,” Fritz said. “It’s fortunate for both of us. For you, because you get to keep your memory as long as this information remains confidential. For me, because you’ve presented me with an opportunity to end the Apple.”
Cèsar folded his arms. “How?”
“I’m sure that the Apple knows about the Genesis Convention and wants to strike at it,” Fritz said. “I’ll tell you where the Genesis Convention is meeting. I will leave a gap in security so that Zettel—and anyone else in your branch of the Apple—can attack us. I will lay a trap so that they can be arrested instead.”
“Suzy’d probably be given that operation,” Cèsar said. “I’m not going to let you arrest her again.”
Something that felt dangerously similar to hysteria swelled up inside of Fritz. Cèsar was choosing the Apple over him—his kopis—just like that.
Who could blame him?
Cèsar hadn’t chosen Fritz to be his kopis. Someone like Cèsar never would have picked someone like Fritz.
“So that’s how it is,” Fritz said.
Cèsar didn’t look happy. “That’s how it’s gotta be, yeah.”
Fritz had brought this on himself. “I gave the House of Belial up for you. To save you. To protect you. To make sure that you could escape the clusterfuck of a situation that you created in Helltown.”
Cèsar’s eyes widened. “You gave it up?”
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Fritz shoved his sleeve up to expose the small knife wound. “I gave my blood so that Proserpine could take over the wards. The House of Belial is hers, the way she’s always wanted.”
“Oh my God, you did not do that.” Isobel stood in the doorway to Cèsar’s office. Fritz wasn’t sure how long she’d been there—long enough to hear the part where he’d given the house to Proserpine, but possibly not long enough to hear about Cèsar in the Apple.
Either way, she looked pissed.
“Would you have preferred that I let Proserpine’s nightmares kill Cèsar?” Fritz asked.
“I think I’d prefer that you let Cèsar handle his own fights,” Isobel said. “I would rather that you not surrender a house filled with innocent enslaved human beings to demons!”
It didn’t seem to have occurred to Cèsar that would be a side effect of transferring the property until that moment. Now he looked angry. “Wait, you did what?” Cèsar asked.
Isobel stood beside him. Not Fritz, but Cèsar. They formed an impenetrable wall of disapproval. “Yeah, Fritz,” she said. “Tell us what you did. Be very clear about it.”
“I gave Proserpine my blood so she can transfer the soul links to the House of Belial,” Fritz said.
“I can’t believe you’d give the house away without letting the slaves go first,” Cèsar said.
Fritz opened his mouth to respond.
Isobel said, “I’m not surprised. He’s a Friederling.”
Fritz closed his mouth, jaw clenched, shoulders tight. They had made up their minds about Fritz’s character. He was as manipulative as his father. He was untrustworthy.
A Friederling.
“The Genesis Convention will occur tonight at seven fifteen,” Fritz said. “It’s going to happen at the manor where we all live. You can let the Apple into the wards.”
Isobel turned a look of surprise at Cèsar. “You’ve got contacts with the Apple?”
“I’ll explain later.” Cèsar turned back to Fritz. “I already told you I’m not doing it.”
Fritz didn’t even know whom he was angry at anymore. At Cèsar, at Isobel, at himself. He only knew he was angry enough that he slammed his fists into Cèsar’s desk and shattered its top. Fritz remained with his knuckles planted on the cracked surface as he glared at his aspis. “Help me arrest the leaders of the Apple.”
“Go fuck yourself.” Cèsar put an arm around Isobel’s shoulders. It wasn’t until Cèsar started walking her toward the door that Fritz realized Isobel was weeping. She was that upset over the idea of the House of Belial’s human slaves being surrendered to a nightmare.
Just like any Friederling would do.
They left.
The door hung open, and Fritz didn’t move for a long time.
Then he peeled his knuckles free of the desk. They were bleeding.
He sat down. The desk in front of him was blurry. There was too much work for him to do as the Secretary of the Office of Preternatural Affairs, and he couldn’t accomplish a damn bit of it. His phone buzzed in his pocket nonstop. His computer’s email pinged every few minutes. He should have been answering. He should have kept his cool.
Fritz took Lolita out of his pocket. He opened it to page sixty, tracing his fingers along indentation of the Purple Heart.
He hurled the book into the trashcan.
Suzy Takeuchi poked her head in. Fritz folded his arms so she wouldn’t see his bleeding knuckles. “What do you want?” he asked.
“I was listening in on your argument with Cèsar,” Suzy said. “You want to arrest the Apple? I’m right here.” She offered her hands to him, wrists pressed together, as though making it easier to handcuff her.
“That must be a damn good cult if you and Cèsar are so loyal to it,” Fritz said.
“The Apple’s not that good,” Suzy said. “The OPA is just that bad.”
“Yes, I’m aware I’m terrible.”
“I said the OPA is bad. Didn’t say anything about you, you self-centered prick. Anyway, you don’t need Cèsar’s help to get the Apple at the Genesis Convention. They wanna assassinate all your asses anyway.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Fritz asked.
“I thought you’d want to know that Cèsar’s being as much an obstinate mule with Zettel as he is with you,” Suzy said. “He won’t let you get assassinated.”
“He’d be smart to kill a Friederling like me. All Friederlings deserve to die, especially Proserpine, the nightmare who will be acquiring my slaves’ contracts shortly.”
Suzy offered him a small smile. “I can’t say anything about Proserpine or your slaves, but you saved Cèsar’s life at the expense of other people. Cèsar’s lucky to have you.”
Of all the places Fritz had expected to get support, Suzy had not been among them. They’d never been friends. They’d barely survived as coworkers. Fritz hadn’t felt guilty arresting Suzy the first two times, and he’d have done it again if not for the Breaking.
She was a cultist, after all. As responsible for the mess in Helltown as Cèsar.
“The Apple mostly wants Makael dead,” Suzy went on. “He betrayed Adam, you know. And that’s all the Apple cares about. You could let us kill Makael, and it’d spare everyone else at the Genesis Convention.”
“Are you trying to recruit me into the Apple too?” Fritz asked.
“Naw. I’m asking you to make another tough choice. You chose to put Cèsar first earlier, so put him first again. All you have to do is let us execute our plan.”
“Tough choices,” Fritz mused. “Was stealing the Focus from Helltown a tough choice?”
Suzy’s cheeks turned pink. “The pocket dimension where the Apple meets took a good hard hit when the Fissure came through. We need it to hold the wards together. I’m just following orders.”
“I’m surprised. The Agent Takeuchi I remember never followed orders she disliked. If I’d told you to do something that led to thousands of demons from Helltown murdering people all over Los Angeles, you’d have told me where to put that order.”
Suzy rolled her eyes. “Next you’re going to tell me that I would put the Focus back myself if I’m as good as you think I am.”
Fritz didn’t say anything because he didn’t have to.
“Ugh,” Suzy said. “Zettel’s gonna hate me.”
“I’m sure he already does.” Zettel hated everyone. “The Genesis Convention needs to happen as planned. Makael cannot be assassinated. He’s our only hope of surviving apocalypse, and by holding my position on that council, I’m ensuring that my wife and aspis will be safe too.” Fritz traced a hand over the five o’clock shadow on his upper lip, considering Suzy’s round features. “You can come with us.”
She looked suspicious. “Why?”
“Cèsar,” he said simply.
She rolled her eyes again. “I’ll put the Focus back to save the city. But you’re still an OPA shill and I’m still a member of the Apple. We’re enemies. And you can shove your good intentions up your ass.” She headed out.
He called after her. “Suzume?”
“What?”
“When the Apple attacks the Convention, you shouldn’t be among them,” Fritz said. “I’ll arrest you again if you are.”
Suzy flipped the bird at him. “Don’t call me Suzume.”
“All right,” he said. “Suzy.”
Chapter 15
Isobel and Cèsar ended up on the roof of the Infernal Relations Department. Its wards were best equipped to handle demonic influence, so the smoke from the Fissure couldn’t touch them up there. Isobel stood beside Cèsar, shoulder-to-shoulder, and gazed out at the city as it burned, and she felt…
Well, she wasn’t sure what she felt.
It had been a long time since she’d felt such visceral hate for the Friederling family. And she’d never felt that hatred for Fritz. He looked like all those old photos of his family, eerily blond and Germanic, but the resemblance ended at the superficial.
Until now.
&n
bsp; There was a huge demon drifting through the sky—something bigger than a blimp with hundreds of legs writhing under its belly. Cèsar was watching it with grim concern, his elbows propped against the edge of the roof.
“Is it true?” Isobel asked.
“Yep. I did wear my Wednesday day-of-the-week Underoos twice this week,” Cèsar said.
He surprised a laugh out of Isobel. “Disgusting,” she said.
“Apocalypse made me forget to change them. What can I say?” He sighed and turned away from the city, leaning his back against the wall. “And yeah, I’m a member of the Apple.”
“That’s insane. The Apple is evil, and you…” There were a lot of insulting words she could use for Cèsar, but evil wasn’t among them.
“I signed up because of Fritz,” he said. “Because of what he did in Washington DC. I thought I couldn’t trust him.”
“Or me,” Isobel said softly. “You could have told me. You know that I would have kept the secret from anyone, even Fritz.”
Cèsar’s eyes were darkened to black by the hellish nighttime. “I don’t want you to see me like that.”
“I don’t care you’re part of the Apple. At least you haven’t enslaved my cousins.”
His hands massaged her spine. “Neither did Fritz.”
“But he’s the one who won’t let them go.” Isobel found a smile buried deep within herself. “Where’s your tattoo?” All members of the Apple had matching tattoos.
Cèsar glanced around, as if expecting to see OPA members closing in on him. “I had to put it somewhere Fritz would definitely never see it,” he said. “Which ruled out my arms, calves, face, etcetera.”
“Leaving behind…what? Your back?”
“I get shirtless around Fritz a lot,” he said.
“Your thigh?” she asked.
“I swim in Speedos sometimes.”
Isobel realized what he wasn’t saying, and she burst out laughing. “You got a cult tattoo on your ass!” She smothered her helpless giggles behind her hand. An Apple on Cèsar’s ass.
Cèsar laughed too. It was an embarrassed kind of laugh, but it was a laugh. It quickly died off. “What are you going to do about your family?”
