by Nazri Noor
Beatrice opened her mouth to answer when Quilliam let out a braying laugh. “Mason Albrecht is buying something from the great Beatrice Rex? I didn’t know you could afford such luxuries. What did you do, sell a kidney?”
“That’s it.” Beatrice stamped her foot and pointed at the door. It flew open, the bell above ringing ominously. “Out, Quilliam. I asked you to play nice. I’ll put everything on your account. Thanks for your custom, now get the hell out.”
Quill flipped his hair over his shoulder and sauntered towards the door. “Always a pleasure, Beatrice,” he sang out, his voice laced with mirth and malice.
I glared daggers – no, full-on spears into his back as he disappeared through the doorway. “God. Why is he such an asshole?”
Florian shook his head. “Dunno. You gotta admit, though, the boy’s got style.”
“Traitor,” I shot at him. Florian shrugged apologetically.
Beatrice sighed and shook her head. “You know, it’s strange. People talk, and Quilliam doesn’t exactly have the squeaky-cleanest reputation in the underground. But he’s been nothing but pleasant to basically everyone I know. Present company exempted.”
“He’s a sociopath. He knows just how to behave to please and charm people.” I pointed at the empty doorway. “Didn’t you see how his personality just shifted on a dime? The guy probably strangles kittens for fun.”
Beatrice Rex’s eyes narrowed at me. “I’m starting to understand what he was saying about slander. Gotta admit, I’m impressed by how vitriolic you get around him. It’s like you aren’t at all afraid about his connections to the Seven.”
I slid my thumb across the side of my nose and sniffed. “I’m not scared of him.” Note how I referred specifically to Quill, and not the Seven. “He’s just a spoiled brat living in his mom’s shadow. Under her skirts. Whatever, probably both.”
“Whoever that is,” Florian said. “Remember what Raziel told us before? Quill’s parentage isn’t exactly public knowledge.”
Beatrice cupped her chin, humming. “Interesting, isn’t it? How everyone seems to know that he’s connected to the demon princes, yet nobody has a firm idea of who actually spawned him. How convenient. He might even just be making it up. Makes you wonder.”
“Oh. I may have one or two ideas.”
The three of us turned as one towards the sound of the new voice. There, nonchalantly poking at one of the handbags, was Maharani, chronomancer and a Scion of the Lorica.
“How long have you been standing there?” Florian asked.
She shrugged. “Does it matter?”
“I guess not.” I was too sick of arguing by then to give her any sass, plus a Scion wasn’t exactly the best candidate for sassing in the first place. “Then maybe you could enlighten us? Tell us more about jerk face and his parentage.”
Maharani smiled and spread her hands, a generous gesture. “I have all the time in the world.”
15
All the time in the world. “Very funny,” I said, groaning.
Though to be fair, the fact that a Scion was comfy enough to get all punny with me should have been reassuring. It was certainly a step up from “We’re always watching, Mr. Albrecht.”
Beatrice Rex tilted her head as she checked between the shelves and aisles. “Who’s this, now? Is there someone else out there with you?”
Maharani held a hand over her chest, bowing her head slightly. “My apologies. My name is Maharani. I am a Scion of the Lorica, and perhaps, in some ways, an ally to Mr. Albrecht.” She turned to Florian, giving him a small smile as she nodded in greeting. “Florian. It’s good to see you again.”
Florian beamed. “Same.”
He was always ready with the smiles, always eager to please and be someone else’s friend. It was a little reassuring, how his demeanor with Maharani was changed, more amiable. It helped to make him a sort of social barometer for how I was going to behave with her, too. If someone like Florian trusted her, then surely I had no reason to be a jerk myself.
Beatrice leaned one hand against her counter, cocking her hip. “Okay, spill. Did I violate some super obscure Lorica ordinance? Are you here to collect on something? You people have nothing on me. I pay my taxes, same as everyone else in the Black Market.”
Rani shook her head and laughed softly. “On the contrary, I’m just here as a shopper.” She placed a bag on the counter, setting it down gingerly by the handles. “I think I’ll take this one. I could stand to have something more functional. I might be moving apartments soon, and this would really help. You know how it is.”
“Oh.” Beatrice blushed to the tips of her ears, her hand flying over her mouth, like she wished she could take back what she said. “I’m so sorry. I’ll just, um, pack that up for you. So sorry.”
“It’s quite all right,” Rani said, smiling. “Though I confess, I only came to shop. I wasn’t expecting to eavesdrop on such a curious conversation. For that, I apologize.”
“That’s the guy I was talking about,” I said, once again casting a finger at the doorway. “Were you around when he was being a dick to me?”
Florian coughed into his fist. “To be fair, you were both being dicks to each other.”
I shot him another glare, and he withered immediately, glancing away. Traitor.
Rani looked at the door. “I admit, I wasn’t around for the spectacle. I picked up on your discussion with Ms. Rex, however, and as I said, I might know one or two things about Mr. Abernathy that might prove interesting to you. We have a file on him.” Her eyes flitted between the three of us. “We have files on everyone.”
“Okay, that’s just creepy,” Beatrice murmured.
That much was obvious to me. The Lorica trained their watchful Eyes on everyone in the arcane underground, even if they wouldn’t admit it. I held my breath, my mouth slightly open as I waited for Rani to spill the beans.
“Quilliam J. Abernathy is suspected to be in his early twenties. Despite the Lorica’s desire to keep tabs on anyone and everyone who may be a threat, he eludes our best efforts at obtaining specifics on his data – and that includes his parentage.”
“Well, that hardly helps us.” I threw my hands up. “At least you’re admitting that you know he’s dangerous.”
Rani nodded. “Indeed. However, we have little evidence of actual criminal activity on Mr. Abernathy’s part. You cannot simply throw someone into the Lorica’s high security Prism without proof. My understanding is that he is a troubled young man. His upbringing might have been privileged, but it wasn’t without its dark moments.”
I raised my hand, shaking my head. “Oh, no. Nope. If this is the part where you give me his heart-tugging backstory, I’m not buying any of it.”
“Then I shall refrain from discussing the matter, as the Lorica also knows too little on the subject. I will, however, prove that our information network is far more reliable than you assume. It is certainly curious how Quilliam’s family is so influential, so much that even their true identity can be kept so secret. However, by a process of elimination, we have whittled the options down to a handful of suspects.”
Florian frowned as he listened, his face screwed up. “Why are you telling us this? I thought the Lorica was all about keeping its own secrets.”
Rani lifted her nose. “Because one hopes that, if and when the time comes, dear Florian, you and your friends will be willing to lend the Lorica your own strengths. There are many potential threats to this city. The state. No, even the nation. We may not see eye to eye on policy and other matters, but I believe it is prudent to form loose alliances. The others within the Heart might disagree, but I did not become a Scion without raising a few hackles.” The smile that played on her lips was self-satisfied, and more than a little proud.
“Okay, hit the pause button.” Beatrice lifted her hands. “The Heart? What is that, exactly?”
“It’s the Lorica’s ruling council,” I said hurriedly, eager to get back to Rani’s story. “You’ve got all the diffe
rent parts of the body – the Hands, the Mouths, the Eyes and Wings – and the Heart controls them all.”
“Excellently explained, Mr. Albrecht,” Rani said, this time the pride in her eyes reserved for me. I can’t lie, I felt a little tickled by her approval. “But to continue, again, we know that Mr. Abernathy is the son of one of the Seven. Now, this is mainly conjecture for now, but the Princes of Greed, Gluttony, and Sloth are too busy with their respective domains to bother spawning. Wrath doesn’t really concern themself with matters of procreation, which leaves one of the other three.”
I looked uncertainly at the others. It might have just been the little thrill of fear coursing through my blood, but the room suddenly felt just a little bit colder.
“Okay, hold up. I can’t believe I only just made that connection. Lucifer is one of the Seven. You’re saying that Quilliam could be the spawn of Lucifer.”
Maharani nodded slowly, her face grim, her voice taut. “Heaven forbid.”
16
My hand swept through my hair, fingertips tugging lightly at the ends as I tried to get my heartbeat to settle, to stop my blood pumping so rapidly.
“That’s the best we’ve got?” I said. “And even if we know that Quill is a mama’s boy, that’s useless information, considering how the princes change their skins and bodies as often as they change their clothes.”
Rani tapped the side of her nose. “Exactly. And the uncertainty of his heritage poses a little bit of a problem as we have no way of telling if he has inherited any of his demon parent’s abilities. We are very much aware of his competence with magic. He is a powerful magus, no question. But the boy’s real strength is in his unusual connection to arcane literature.”
“He sure loves his books,” I said, mentally reliving the delight of kicking Quill’s tome under the tires of a truck.
“A bibliophile in the most extreme sense. We suspect that he has something of a photographic memory, at least when it comes to tomes and grimoires. That type of retention means that he has the potential to very quickly grow his stock of spells for as long as he has access to books of magic.”
Florian nodded. “We’ve seen him summon his books out of thin air. He doesn’t just use them for reference, though. It’s like they amplify his magic. He can project spells from them, so each book becomes its own mobile flamethrower.”
Beatrice gasped. “Like an armed drone? That’s pretty damn terrifying. And a little awesome.”
“But I still find it so bizarre that he can be so personable with people,” I said. “With Mammon, back when it was pretending to be both of the Rodriguez witches, for example, or with that Abel guy who runs the pawnshop.” I gestured at Beatrice. “Even you said that he’s never been anything but pleasant.”
“That is a fair point.” Rani shrugged. “But people will say and do anything to get what they want and need. Perhaps we should consider ourselves fortunate that Mr. Abernathy has not yet shown a knack for taking things by force.”
“Hmm.” Beatrice rested her elbow on the counter, then her chin in her palm. “Actually, isn’t this where you and Quilliam first met?”
I nodded. She was right. Quill had approached me with an offer of work, the little job for the Rodriguez witches meant to be a trap to weaken me and make me an easier target for abduction. A nephilim kidnapping, I guess.
Rani looked between us, her eyes slowly widening. “Is that so? Very interesting. It appears that Ms. Rex’s shop is a sort of stage, a setting for – well, for something. I don’t believe it is mere coincidence for so many of you – for so many of us to be bumping into each other here.” Rani picked at a loose bit of packing string sitting on Beatrice’s counter, twirling it around her finger. “I dare say that our fates may be intertwined in some way.”
Beatrice bit her lip as she watched Rani wrap her finger in string. Florian and I exchanged silent glances. Was this just some weird Scion quirk of an older, more experienced sorceress going around being cryptic and mysterious, or did Maharani really mean something by that?
The bit of twine fell from Rani’s hand when she unclasped her fingers, going limp on the counter. “Of course, that could just be me rambling. The ravings of a lunatic, eh?” Rani cast her eyes across the room, smiled at the three of us, then swept towards the door, tucking her new bag under the swirling silks of her sari. “Farewell, friends. Perhaps the threads of fate will bring us together again someday.” She laughed, her voice tinkling like the bell above the doorway.
We were quiet for some moments, the others no doubt dwelling on the same thoughts I had about what had just happened. In any other context, in conversation that involved regular human beings, that might have just been some lighthearted sentimental statement. But we were talking about a woman who could control time here. What if she could see through time as well?
No one discussed any of that stuff after Rani left, her words and sweeping declarations long gone, but cloying and lingering in the air like a strange perfume. Instead, Beatrice turned our attention to the whole reason Florian and I had shown up, and the thing I’d been wanting for so long.
“Here’s the bracer,” she said, running her fingers across the lid of a long cardboard box, its surface stamped with her workshop’s logo in embossed gold foil.
The suspense, I thought. The drama! But even though I tried not to take things so seriously, I still held my breath when Beatrice lifted the lid. There, resting on a puffy felt cushion, was a strip of brown leather, all but unremarkable to the untrained eye.
Yet if you looked at it from a different angle, you could just make out the faint gleam on its surface as light struck the leather, the sort of odd iridescence you’d see from oil on water. Blink once, and it was gone. It was probably the shimmerscale’s doing, bending and warping just enough of reality to sustain its illusion.
Beatrice lifted the bracer, its ends drooping heavily with their brass closures. “Stick your arm out. Come on.”
I did as she said, marveling at the intricate designs embellished in the leather. The curlicues and lines didn’t tell any particular story or evoke a specific pattern, yet they still drew me in with their beauty. I had to admit then that maybe not everything that Beatrice and the Fuck-Tons collaborated on was loud and gaudy and bright. This was understated, rustic, like a relic from a different time.
Beatrice snapped the ends of the bracer shut as I studied its ornate engravings. I jerked when the entire length of leather grew warm, then wrapped tighter around my wrist. Within moments it felt like it had melted against my body, fusing with my skin, and mere seconds later, it had completely vanished. I turned my forearm back and forth, my mouth hanging open as I stared.
“Oh wow.” Florian leaned closer, similarly fascinated. “Where did it go? I didn’t know it was supposed to be invisible.”
Beatrice smirked at us both, barely containing the haughty laughter building in her throat. “We figured that Mason would want this to be inconspicuous, something that an enemy couldn’t just rip or burn off his body. They can’t destroy what they don’t even know is there.”
I was still staring stupidly at my arm, finding nothing but my skin and the faint little hairs growing out of it. “I can’t even feel it. It’s like it just disappeared completely, not just out of sight.”
Beatrice beamed triumphantly. “I’m a genius. Say it.”
I gaped for a moment, then got my thoughts together. “I mean, I’ll say that the Fuck-Tons are more talented than I thought.”
“Say it, nephilim. Tell me I’m a genius.”
“Fine,” I said, sighing. “You’re a genius. You’d think that sinking ten grand down your pockets was reward enough.”
Beatrice flipped her hair over her shoulder, laughing heartily. “You clearly don’t know me well enough. I want the whole world, or nothing at all.”
17
Time to head home, we decided. The Black Market was just as dark by night as it was by day, with no real way to tell the two apart unless you had a wat
ch on you.
Despite the darkness, I always thought that I was pretty good at keeping aware of my surroundings. It kind of comes with the territory when supernatural entities are constantly trying to crawl up your butt for the most random reasons.
That was precisely why I struggled so furiously when a pair of slender yet unreasonably powerful arms wrapped themselves around my chest, like their owner was trying to put me in some kind of lock.
I yelped, instinct taking over as I kicked at the air, and when that didn’t work, slammed my elbow into my assailant’s stomach. The arms let me go as my attacker doubled over, wheezing, the air smelling of cigarettes as his breath came out in labored puffs. My hands flew to my mouth, and my apologies came in stuttered gasps.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. Dude, Sterling, are you okay?”
Sterling, our good old vampire friend from the Boneyard, waved his hand at me as he clenched his forearm against his stomach, his hand pressed across his chest. “That’s Uncle Sterling to you. And I’m – I’m good.” That last part was added at the tail end of a wheeze.
Florian tutted. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that, especially not Mason. He’s had a day.”
Sterling frowned as he greeted Florian. “Nice to see you too, tree man.”
“Florian.”
“I knew that.”
“Wait.” I frowned as Sterling composed himself. “How did you know to find me? Don’t tell me you’re still using that scrying ring you stole off of Carver?” What the hell was the point of getting an enchanted bracer, then?
“No, no, vamp’s honor.” Sterling held up three fingers in a salute. “Carver got super pissed about me nicking his ring. He’s changed all the locks, but don’t you worry. I’ll figure them out. I just spotted you out here and thought I’d say ‘Hi.’ I wasn’t expecting to get smashed in the stomach, that’s for sure.”
