by Paul Neuhaus
Nate and Ferley were already there waiting for them. “This place is a dump,” Ferley said.
“I don’t know San Francisco. I chose it for the name. Tiamat was a Babylonian goddess. For real this time,” she said, adding the last part for Molly’s benefit. “She gave birth to the other gods and formed the world.”
As they rode the elevator to the fifth floor, Nate said, “Michelin called this place ‘Tops in Mildew’. I think you guys’ll be happy here.”
“Enough grousing about the hotel,” Quinn said. “It’s time to come clean. Which one of you guys is Resolute?”
Ferley and Nate looked at one another and, finally, Nate raised his hand. “I sent word ahead. I told the big boys we needed access to Set, and it was as important a deal as they come.”
The redhead smiled at the two men. “This is like the end of Casablanca. You guys coming around and signing on for the fight.”
Ferley cleared his throat. “Look, I wanna make something completely clear: Nate and me, we don’t fight. I mean we’ll set things in motion and we’ll watch others do our fighting for us, but we don’t throw down ourselves. And, by that, I mean never.”
“Okay, okay,” Quinn said. “I can’t say that I blame you.” The elevator doors opened and the girl popped her head out to look both ways. To the right was a window overlooking the street they’d left a few moments before. To the right was a short hallway with six numbered doors. Theirs was 5-4. She hurried the others out, unlocked the door to her’s and Molly’s room and shut the place back up once everyone was inside. She turned the lock and fixed the chain then she dropped her bundle on the bed. Molly dropped the duffel next to Horus.
The room was as unimpressive as the rest of the hotel. It was a square with a window and no air conditioner. A bathroom was attached and the fixtures were from the 1930s. An etching of Tiamat hung over the bed. Molly sighed when she saw it. “Christ,” she said.
“Who was the architect of this place?” Ferley said. “Ivo Shandor?”
“Nice,” Henaghan conceded, and she bumped fists with the Tilted. Lately she was running with a very Ghostbusters-y crowd.
“This hotel gives me the willies,” Molly said, hugging herself. She sat down on the bed and the springs groaned.
“I thought you guys weren’t into willies,” Nate said.
Neither of the women had to say anything. Ferley flicked Nate in his ear and Nate cried out.
“What’s next?” Quinn said to the man with the gorgeous afro.
“As soon as I get word from my peeps, we’ll go over to the temple,” the Dharmin said. “They call it a temple, I call it a headquarters. ‘Temple’ sounds all robe-y and candle-y and chant-y. Although, to be fair, there are a lot of candles. And a fair amount of chanting. And a lot of people do wear robes.”
The redhead had been looking at Nate through his whole speech. She continued to stare once he was done. She said, “Uh huh.”
“Anyway,” Nate went on. “Ferley ain’t welcome for obvious reasons so I figured you and me’d go over and he’d stay here with your old lady.”
“Sounds good to me,” Quinn affirmed.
“Sounds good to me, too,” Ferley said. Then he meowed and kitten-scratched the air in front of him.
“Christ,” Molly said again.
The two men went out to get food. Quinn and Molly put the bundle and the duffel bag on the floor, kicked off their shoes and laid down on the rickety bed. “We need to talk,” the brunette said after they’d spent several moments staring blankly ahead.
“What about?” Henaghan said, returning to the world. “Now’s not a good time for a you and me discussion.”
“No, this is strictly a you discussion,” Molly said. “Specifically what a nut job you’re becoming.”
Quinn laughed, rolling over onto her side and rising up onto one elbow. “Hey, I’m not the one with night terrors,” she said. It was an ill-considered cheap shot and the girl blurted it out without giving it proper thought.
“Not cool,” Blank said, scowling.
“I know,” the redhead conceded, shrinking down. “I was being a dick.”
“You were being a dick. And you didn’t let me finish. Have you ever heard the expression ‘Pride goeth before a fall’?”
Quinn smiled. “I have, but I can’t take a saying seriously if it’s got an ‘-eth’ in it. It’s the very definition of pretentious.”
Molly sighed. “Fine. Ignore the -eth for now. Pay attention to what I’m saying instead of how I’m saying it.”
Henaghan’s smile diminished. “You’re right. I was still being a dick. ‘Pride goeth before a fall’. Who’s pride? Which fall?”
The older woman raised one eyebrow. “C’mon…,” she said. “Have you gotten a look at your own ego lately? A girl kills two moldy Babylonian gods and she suddenly thinks her shit don’t stink.”
Quinn sat back up again. “I think my shit don’t stink?”
“Yeah. I keep watching you. Blazing into situations where the bottom could fall in at any moment. Singing, ‘Look at me, I’m High Queen Quinn!’. That’s usually the scene in the movie right before High Queen Quinn gets the ever-loving hell kicked out of her. Yeah, alright, you’re a badass, you’re Batman, but you’re no good to me if you’re in an urn.”
“Is that Sheila talking?” the smaller woman said.
“Nope. That’s Molly all the way.”
Henaghan sighed. “So, what you’re saying is, ‘Check-eth thyself before thy wreck-eth thyself.”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” she said, meaning it inasmuch her swollen ego would allow.
Ferley and Nate returned with excellent hamburgers (unlike Quinn and Molly, they knew the city well), and the four of them ate . Nate still hadn’t gotten word from Resolute headquarters so he and Henaghan decided to go over there and take their chances. Before they left, Ferley and Nate stepped into the hallway and the two women held each other in a long embrace. “It’s gonna be fine,” Quinn said to her partner. “I promise not to wreck myself.” Molly nodded, Quinn exited and Ferley returned.
When Henaghan and Nate got to the lobby, they saw a familiar face—or at least Quinn did. Sitting at one of the marble tables (with a stained glass lamp all to himself), was Ephraim Zilberschlag. The old man was wearing casual clothes (or at least what the uber-wealthy considered casual clothes) and sipping tea from a china cup. When he saw Quinn he waved her over. “Give me a minute,” the girl said to Nate and then she took the seat on the other side of Ephraim’s table. She put the wrapped bundle on the floor between her ankles.
“Is that Mr. Horus?” Zilberschlag said.
“It is,” Henaghan replied, her tone humorless. “What’re you doing here? I’ve been here less than an hour.”
The old man smiled. “You have a very particular magical signature. Easy to track.”
That’s right. That was a thing. Darren Taft had used a similar technique to track Quinn to a motel in the desert. The girl had never tried it. She hadn’t had cause. “If I wouldn’t just hand over the statue to you before, what makes you think I’ll do it now?” she asked the executive.
Ephraim pulled a folded paper from his jacket pocket. As he did, he glanced up at the ceiling. “Tiamat,” he said. “Interesting choice of venue.”
The redhead took the paper as he offered it. She opened the letter and scanned it. “What is this?” she said.
“It’s a… promissory note. I even went to the trouble of passing it through both my lawyer and my accountant before bringing it to you. Do you see the figure on the bottom? That’s your monthly stipend should you decide to give Horus to me and return to Los Angeles without any further questions. We even worked out a way I could pay you quietly and out of my own money. Should this arrangement ever see the light of day, you will be a former affair cum extortionist. Isn’t that delightful?”
“Yeah, it’s a real hoot,” Quinn said, folding the letter and handing
it back to him. “I probably would’ve taken this deal had you offered it to me during my first visit.”
Zilberschlag looked at her, waiting for her to elaborate.
“New information has come to light,” Henaghan said. “I’m here for a reason. Did you know the membrane between the Planes has an extra layer? A layer put there by the creators of the statues? It was designed to keep the Asura out of our world and now it’s breaking down. I intend to correct that problem.”
Ephraim looked at her for a long time, his blue eyes flashing. Finally, he laughed. “I’m seventy-two years old. I’ve literally never heard that story.”
“I’m sure there’s a lot you haven’t heard,” Quinn replied. “Doesn’t make any of it any less true. Anyway, do you think they’ll be a strong need for your product when the Old Masters come back? They don’t seem like cinephiles to me.”
The studio boss stopped short. His expression was easy to read. What if she’s not pulling my leg? He sat back in his chair. “You strike me as being cut off. I bet if I told you you’re becoming something of a celebrity it’d come as a surprise. One doesn’t do a thing like you did—killing two Asura and living to tell the tale—without becoming noteworthy. I’m afraid, in my zeal to be rid of Mr. Verbic, I created a monster. Funny thing is, and maybe this just occurred to me, Hollywood was built by monsters. People with outsized appetites and questionable morals. I’m a monster myself. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be where I’m at. If I may be so bold, I think I’m King Monster right now. In fact, I’m going to take off the qualifiers. I am King Monster. Why not say it? I earned it. But here’s the thing: How many people at one time get to be King Monster? I bet you know the answer to that question. I bet you can see where this inevitably ends up.”
Quinn looked at him with her eyelids at half-mast, bored. “Are you done? Was that a fun speech to give? Did it make you hard?” She looked at her watch. “Let’s dial back the focus. I got work to do. I would say, ‘Let me put this right and we’ll talk after, but I decided you’re not getting the statue. Ever. I’ve run into too many people lately who wanna lay claim to this thing and you’re all assholes. Some of you are King Assholes. Go back to L.A. You can thank me afterward for saving your bottom line from an alien invasion. But I forgot… you’re not into gratitude.” She stood and walked over to Nate. She didn’t look back to see if Ephraim was watching her go.
“Who was that?” Nate said.
“Ephraim Zilberschlag. Head of Celestial Pictures.”
“No shit?” the Dharmin said, stealing a backward glance himself. “God, I love the Tickler movies. Did you see Tickler 2? That shit’s so scary it’ll turn you white.” He looked back at her, realizing his mistake. “Oh, sorry. No offense.”
“None taken,” Henaghan said, smiling. “I think.”
Nate wove them through the streets of San Francisco. It was cooler than it was in Los Angeles, but still pleasant. Quinn had a sudden premonition of success. If she could quickly do what she came to do (even though she wasn’t sure yet how it would be done), she could return home and relax. Hopefully, it’d be another six months before the next major disaster.
Finally, they arrived at 600 Montgomery Street and Henaghan looked up. “You’re H.Q. is in the Transamerica Pyramid?” she said, flummoxed. The building they stood in front of was world-famous, a fixture in the city’s skyline.
“It is,” said Nate. “Or more correctly, underneath it.” He walked into the lobby. Quinn, bundle in hand, followed. Two security guards, seemingly in the employ of Transamerica, nodded when they saw Nate. They knew him. Nate nodded back and went over to a nondescript section of the wall on the left side of the lobby. A framed sign showed the emergency evacuation routes for the forty-eight story building. A fire extinguisher sat inside of a metal and glass case beneath it. That entire section of the wall disappeared when Nate approached it, revealing a door and, beyond it, a concrete hallway. As soon as the girl and her escort passed through the door, the illusory wall reappeared behind them.
“Fancy,” Quinn said.
“Nothing but the best for me and mine,” Nate said and they walked down a hallway lit, at intervals, by bare bulbs. They took several turns and Quinn was lost by the time they reached a service elevator. Nate raised the metal door and they both got in. The Resolute pressed an oversized button with an umber light inside and the box began a noisy descent.
“You still haven’t heard anything from these guys?” Henaghan said, hugging Horus to her body.
“Not a peep,” Nate said. “We’ll know more just as soon as this elevator opens.”
When the elevator stopped, Nate raised the door. They were looking into an immense room (it reminded Quinn of the chamber in the Natural History museum where they kept the dinosaur skeletons). In front of them were twenty or thirty men in long robes. Embroidery around the necklines depicted stylized raven heads interlocked. All of them raised their hands and sent blasts of fire and ice into the elevator. Henaghan dropped her bundle on the metal floor and flew backward into the wall. The mingled effects of the magic and the hard impact, left her reeling. She slid down and her chin come to rest on her chest. Still conscious, she could see the Dharmin in front of her and she saw them part. Through them, came a wedge of Hexenjäger led by Uriah Yellen. With him was Matt Abrigo. The man with the ruined face was carrying a grenade launcher at waist-height. He fired it and, instead of a grenade, a net unfurled and ensnared the redhead. The fact the net was made of magic dampening fibers would’ve been enough but Yellen pressed a button on a tiny remote and the net became electrified. Quinn spasmed and shook.
Before she lost consciousness, Henaghan heard Nate say, “What’re y’all motherfuckers doing?! Can’t you at least let me get out of the way first?!”
This time Aisling knew for certain she would die. The outcome wasn’t tied to the fortunes of war. It was tied to her tired body and what it had been forced to endure. It was time.
As she sat on the uncomfortable wooden throne, listening to the din of song surrounding her, she thought back over her days. How far she’d come. What she’d lost. The clouds opened up, echoing her melancholy. Rain poured down, drenching man and woman alike. Good, she thought. The earth will be soft when they dig my grave.
She’d spent nearly her whole life leading men. Not just leading but protecting them as well. Guarding them from harm the way her mother had once stationed herself over her sickbed. Aisling was revered but she was not loved. She’d torn down the Asura and their capital. She’d founded a new city and fostered learning and a simple life. She’d called the city Iarmailt in the language of her people. Heaven. Home of the gods. But she was the only god that lived there and her worshippers were uneasy in their worship.
Under the Asura, Channeling maya was for men. Even the Jihma, the ones that had started the revolution against their ancient masters and used their mysticism to make Aisling what she was, clung to that dogma and resented her for being their deliverer. As the rain plastered her red hair to her head, she looked through the torrents of water at the Channelers who’d come together to change the natural order. It was a necessary thing, but as Aisling looked at the men, she saw little boys at play. Makers of magic, yes, but also creatures consumed with a sense of their own terrific importance. As Aja, the woman could see the universe’s ever-shifting patterns and she knew that no single entity in a single place and a single time was anything more than a link in a chain. The other links were versions of the same man or woman performing slight variations on a theme.
Aisling couldn’t fool herself. She knew full-well that even she was nothing more than one of those hapless links. She would perform her slight variation here today and she would die. That was what the universe expected and that was what she would provide. To make a romance of her actions would be meaningless and sad.
More than anything else, Aisling was exhausted.
Quinn woke up, thirsty and sore. She had no way of knowing how long she’d been out, although she assumed it’d be
en a while given the severity of the assault against her.
She’d finally done it. She’d gotten stupid and paid the price. Now she was in a cell with bare walls and a cot without a mattress. Of course the statue of Horus was nowhere to be seen. I deserve this, she told herself. Six months of believing your own press and this is exactly the kind of thing you get.
The Resolute and the Hexenjäger had handled her in precisely the right way. They caught her by surprise and hit her hard. Henaghan could’ve taken on one of those Channelers—hell, she could’ve handled any ten of those Channelers—but she couldn’t do it with them coordinating and striking at her unaware. The addition of the Hexenjäger at the end was the icing. In her mind, the girl flashed back to Brian DePalma’s The Untouchables. The one with Kevin Costner as Eliot Ness. Throughout the film, Ness and his posse develop a reputation as being untouchable. Until the bad guys catch one of the posse in an elevator by himself. They kill the poor schmuck and write “touchable” on the wall using his blood.
“Fuck,” the girl said, sitting up on the cot. That was a mistake as it turned out. All the blood rushed from her head and she very nearly passed out. She quickly laid back down. “Touchable,” she muttered to herself. Unable to move, she went back to thinking. What were the Resolute doing working with the Hexenjäger? Weren’t the Hexenjäger also working with Simone Gros? How had she not seen Nate’s double-cross coming? Why was her world suddenly shrinking so much? Was there anyone she knew who didn’t secretly know everyone else she knew? Was Molly Blank a secret Asura spy?
She stopped herself. Molly wasn’t anything of the kind. If Quinn had one point of focus in her life, her partner was now it. And she’d let Molly down. By charging into this and getting herself captured, she’d let Molly down. Suddenly, she didn’t care about the statues or the mesh protecting everything. She just wanted to see Molly again.
