For example, one overlapping area of expertise was death, and I’d recently learned that Odin was gossip-pals with Anubis, the King of Hell.
Odin was also associated with royalty and magic, and the big dumb wizard leaning on the table right now had recently declared himself a king. As if reading my thoughts, the one-eyed God smirked, casually flipping the Hammer in the air and then catching it by the handle. Again. And again. And again.
“You still have no idea what’s really happening, and it’s sad,” he said, frowning down at my hammer.
“Then tell me!” I demanded with unbridled frustration. “Your two fucking birds are on my Crest, so I know we’re tied together somehow, Odin. Just fucking explain why or watch me fail. These aren’t the old days. I’m not going to pay you fucking tribute or build you an altar to worship you devoutly,” I snarled, baring my teeth.
I realized the room was deadly silent, and that Talon was crouching down low, looking resigned to die fighting. But I realized… that I simply no longer had it in me to care. These gods were like grown men shouting at the TV screen during a football game, believing they knew the sport better than the men making millions of dollars per year on the field.
I wasn’t necessarily considering myself a pro athlete in that example.
But I was fucking doing the two-a-day practices and hitting the gym with all the other players on the team. I’d at least earned the right to sit on the bench, which was better than the spectators shouting at their TV.
A crazy thought began to emerge from my inner temper tantrum, and I decided to test it, settling my glare on Odin. “Let go of my hammer. Now.”
Odin caught the hammer by the large handle and regarded me in silence. “Your hammer…”
“Are you missing an ear, too?” I snapped. “Yes, my hammer.”
“You sure about that?”
I folded my arms. “I don’t see your name on it anywhere. Finders keepers.”
He continued to watch me, and I knew I was probably the only person who had spoken to him this bluntly in quite some time – perhaps ever. But… he was letting me. Just like I’d thought he would. Because… he wouldn’t be here without a purpose. Something helpful.
He leaned back into the chair and set the stone hammer down on the table, the hilt sticking straight up. “You’re under the impression that we don’t want to help,” he said, stroking his beard absently. “But we can only help under limited conditions. A personal favor or obligation. An allegiance,” he added as an afterthought.
I thought about his answer, and then about Anubis… Several things began to click into place. Nothing major, but like I had at last found the corner pieces to a puzzle.
I owed Anubis a favor. An obligation. All because… he had set me up. I’d learned that recently when I spoke to him in Hell. But I’d been unable to learn his angle. Combining it with Odin’s casual comment, however…
“Yes. You’re beginning to see a small part of it. That jackal is a ballsy, clever bastard, I’ll give him that.”
I sat down heavily, trying to wrap my head around it. “Anubis set me up to be the Guide to Hell, his emissary… So he could skirt around the rules. I’m obligated to him, which lets him help me.”
Odin nodded. “Not a lot of help, but enough to mention the Devourer. Perhaps a few other morsels.”
I frowned. “But… what if I hadn’t broken out of Hell?”
“That was the ultimate gamble. If you’d managed to kill Mordred down there, immediate problem solved – Anubis gets what he wants. But maybe you ended up freeing Mordred, but were stuck in Hell, unable to break out. That would have been bad, but Anubis would have at least been safe in Hell, with you as his Guide – Anubis gets what he wants,” Odin said, grinning wickedly. “Or maybe you do exactly what you did, proving our suspicions that you are a Catalyst… Anubis now has a path to help you, a tiny bit, which could make all the difference.” He slapped the table with a palm. “Anubis gets what he wants,” he said for the third time.
It hadn’t been a perfect plan, but it had been a decent one. “How are you able to help me, then?” I asked, eyes latching onto the hammer warily. Did we have some kind of bond that would let him play ball?
Odin snorted, eyeing the hammer in amusement. “I’m just narrating your story.”
I rolled my eyes. “Is that Mjolnir?” I asked, pointing at the hammer. Odin mimed zipping his lips shut.
“How do I defeat Mordred?” I asked instead, knowing it was futile.
“Anubis told you about the Devourer already. You need to take away Mordred’s souls. How’s that for help?”
I blinked, then glanced down at my lap. “I almost got an erection,” I said with all the excitement of a potato.
He grinned ever so slightly. “I doubt Mordred wants them anymore, anyway.”
I blinked. “What?”
“Well – and I’m just thinking out loud here – but if I was a recently freed soul, I would probably want my own freedom, not a new master. That’s just my personal opinion, though.”
My eyes darted to the Round Table between us. “That’s why Mordred wants his father’s stuff…”
Odin shrugged absently, and then his massive war spear, Gungnir, suddenly appeared in his fist as he slammed the butt into the floor. The spear hummed with menacing power, the ancient wooden haft carved with crude runes, and the blade itself was wide as my head, not glistening or shining, but an almost slate gray color.
And in the center of the blade was a liquid, yellow stone. “That’s a Devourer!” I blurted.
Odin nodded. “All the big kids have them. And no, you can’t have it.” He sniffed the air curiously, ignoring the agonized look on my face. “It smells like blood in here. A coppery scent,” he added, sniffing his hands before leaning down to sniff the table. “Did you bleed on this?”
I was too busy staring at Gungnir and Odin’s Devourer, thinking furiously for a way to persuade him.
Talon cleared his throat. “No, he didn’t injure himself. Just fell unconscious.”
I realized they were speaking about my recent flashback, and finally peeled my eyes from Gungnir, wondering why the hell we were talking about blood. I didn’t smell anything.
Odin climbed to his feet, his lip curling in disgust as he considered the table again. “Maybe it just needs a good cleansing. It is ridiculously old, after all.” He wiped his palms on his pants since he had been touching the table. Maybe he had sensed Carl Ass, since the Elder liked to lounge naked on the table in his spare time.
“What do I have to do to hire you?”
He stopped. Then turned. “You wouldn’t like owing me a favor. I would break you. I am not a kind god,” he said in a very somber tone. Then he was walking away, calling out over his shoulder. “You can keep the birds. They’re on your Crest after all…” he added, way too casually.
Then he left. No fanfare. No flash of light. Just gone between one step and the next.
Chapter 41
I sat at the Round Table, thinking furiously, attempting to use the flowing metal stream circling the center of the table to clear my head. I glanced at the War Hammer occasionally, but kept dismissing it at some inner feeling that it wasn’t part of the solution. Mordred had already seen it, telling me It’s empty, now before leaving me behind in Hell. So he obviously wasn’t threatened by it.
My cellphone chirped in my pocket and I checked it out of habit, eager for any kind of distraction. It was an email from Othello. I felt a slight burst of excitement as I read the details.
Quinn MacKenna’s phone number and address in Boston.
And Othello had said she had a knack for finding things. I doubted she would be of any immediate assistance, but figured it was better to get the ball rolling earlier rather than later. She might be able to find a Devourer for me. I tried calling the number, but it went straight to voicemail. I tapped my fingernail against the Round Table, thinking.
Maybe I could just swing by. It wouldn’t take long, j
ust a quick introduction.
“Stay here and watch my satchel,” I told Talon, checking the address on my phone, getting a street view from outside Quinn’s apartment. I found a nearby alley as Talon began to protest, but I held up a finger, cutting him off. “Just do it, Talon. I don’t want to take it with me, and I can’t leave it lying around.”
Talon nodded stiffly as I climbed to my feet. I ripped open a Gateway right on the spot, stepping through to the dark streets of Boston, distantly surprised, and alarmed to find that it was dark on the East Coast. No one saw me enter the alley, so I didn’t waste a moment, walking right up to the apartment building and strolling inside, pretending to talk on my phone in case there was security.
I checked my phone and made it up to her apartment door before slipping my cell into my pocket, straightening my shirt, and knocking. Politely.
No one answered, so I knocked again. Louder. Still no answer.
I considered leaving, but I was already here, and didn’t feel like wasting time. So I picked the lock with a little bit of magic, letting the door swing open to make sure it wasn’t warded or anything. Nothing shocked, burned, shot, or otherwise injured me, so I strode inside.
I closed the door behind me, latching the deadbolt I had tricked open, and studied the place.
It felt… nice. Not classy or rich by any means, but well lived-in, like an old pair of sneakers that fit perfectly. I checked the rooms, making sure I was alone, and then scanned the counter to verify it really was Quinn’s address. I found some mail confirming Othello’s details, but nothing overly useful. I wasn’t here to steal, spy, or otherwise inconvenience her, so I sat down on a recliner in the living room, taking a minute to relax.
Not having an army of friends waiting on me, sitting in a place where no one else would know me, felt… surprisingly refreshing. I took a few minutes to just process everything I’d learned, even rehearsing what I would say to Quinn if—
The deadbolt jiggled as someone unlocked it. Bingo. I crossed my legs and set my hands in my lap.
An extremely tall red-headed woman entered the apartment, juggling an armload of stuff. I studied Quinn MacKenna in silence, recalling our serendipitous encounter not long ago in an Uber. I’d been in a rush to meet up with Callie and had commandeered her ride. She hadn’t been pleased, but I’d talked her into giving me a high five before I let the driver take off.
And upon contact with Quinn’s hand, my power – my magic – had just sizzled to nothing. As I studied her, I couldn’t get a feel of anything special about her. No waves of power or anything, so how had she nullified me so easily? If I could sense no power on her, how had she neutered me, magically speaking?
And what did she have to do with Alucard? The seed Othello had mentioned her trying to steal? Or needing an army of wolves to come to her aid? I’d sent Gunnar over with his pack, knowing I could trust him to be discreet, but… why had this slip of a girl needed a pack of werewolves? My werewolves.
And my sparkly vampire.
Now that I thought about it, Alucard had definitely cranked up the monster vibe after spending time on the East Coast. Was that because of this tall woman in front of me?
“Fuckin’ Faelin’ bastards,” she muttered, flicking on the lights and kicking the door closed.
“I know how you feel,” I said, unable to help myself.
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ!” she yelled, ducking into the bathroom.
I blinked at her reaction, and her foul mouth. Then I smiled, giving her a moment. Well, that had backfired, which made perfect sense, really. A strange man just hanging out in her living room, of all things. “Sorry. I couldn’t find the light switch,” I lied.
She poked her head out to assess me, and I remained still, letting her see I wasn’t a threat. I knew pretty quickly that she recognized me, primarily because her lip curled back in a snarl.
“And just how long have ye been sittin’ in me apartment in the dark, ye fuckin’ loon?” she demanded.
I forced myself not to burst out laughing at both her intense accent and her penchant for bad language. “Not long. Maybe a couple of hours,” I lied, just to see how she reacted. “It’s a nice place,” I added, taking in the decor. “A good place to collect my thoughts. The last few days have been murder.” I turned back to her, letting her see the exhaustion I felt.
Quinn regarded me in silence. “Get out,” she finally said.
I arched an eyebrow. Well. I hadn’t expected that. Sure, she would be upset, but to kick me out of her apartment, obviously recognizing who I was… That was ballsy. I realized my curiosity was definitely growing, and that I needed to get a better handle on the situation. “Listen, I just wanted to offer you a job, that’s—”
“I don’t t’ink ye heard me, so I’ll say it again. Get. Out.” She stepped out of the bathroom and tossed a bundle of clothes on the kitchen counter, then she set something on top of it in a very deliberate manner.
I blinked, recognizing the glass marble. Where had she gotten one of my Tiny Balls? Othello must have offered her some party favors. I realized that accusing her of stealing my stuff after breaking into her apartment wasn’t the wisest pathway to earning her friendship, so turned back to her.
Now that Quinn was in the light, I realized she had been beaten to hell, covered in cuts and scrapes, and looking like she hadn’t slept in a few days.
“What the hell happened to you?” I asked, my eyes widening.
She grunted, reached under the sink, and pulled out a sawed-off shotgun. Then she very calmly pointed it at me, not a single tremor in her movement. She had no problem with guns. “Get the fuck out.”
I narrowed my eyes at her, growing angry. How dare she? She knew Othello, so what the hell was she doing pointing a gun at me? “You don’t want to—”
“Now!” she barked.
Suddenly, the front door busted open. She swung her gun to the door, but not fast enough to stop the tall, broad, dark-skinned policeman charging at me like he was trying to sack a quarterback. I let him get pretty close, building up his speed, committing to his decision. Then I flung up an invisible wall of air, watching as he slammed into it. I casually flicked my wrist, sending him sliding across the floor where he couldn’t hurt himself again. “He one of yours?” I asked. “If not, I can take him off your hands…”
“You heard what she said, you prick,” the policeman said, rising to one knee. “Get out.”
“Jimmy!” Quinn snapped. She knew him. Interesting. “I’ve got this under control. I don’t need your help.”
“It didn’t sound like it from out there,” Jimmy said, jerking his head towards the open doorway.
“And so ye decided to kick down the damn door? It was unlocked, ye big idgit!”
I grinned. Idgit? Boston was growing on me. The locals were fascinating.
Jimmy began to hang his head, realizing he’d overreacted, but I had a thing or two to say, “Not very bright, this one. I recommend sending the defective ones back.” Jimmy’s head popped back up in a snarl, and he lunged at me. I batted the Regular policeman away with a tired sigh – mildly impressed that he obviously wasn’t scared of being abused by my magic. I absently picked a piece of lint off my shirt. “Batteries definitely not included.”
“I swear, if ye don’t get the fuck out of me place right now,” Quinn snapped, to both of us, “I’ll—”
But Jimmy lunged at me again, surprising me so much that he actually managed to catch my shirt in – a fucking claw – tearing a hole through the fabric. I dodged a second swipe, ducked, and struck a blow of my own, sending the apparently not a Regular Jimmy flying backwards on a small fireball. The man collided against the wall and fell to one knee.
Except he didn’t look anything like the Jimmy from a moment ago.
He was now over seven-feet-tall, covered in silver and black fur, and his pointed ears almost touched the ceiling. He was thinner, but with longer limbs, as if he’d traded his bulk for length. He kind of looked like
a fox.
I grinned hungrily, eager to hit something after the last twenty-four hours. “Oh, good. I was starting to feel bad for beating up on a Regular. Let’s see if that bite can keep up with that annoying bark.” I called up my whips, one of fire, and the other of crackling ice, letting the tips rest at my feet.
“Oy! Take it outside!” Quinn yelled.
Jimmy yipped, hunkered down to all fours, and prepared to leap at me. I flicked my wrists, drumming my whips against the floors, taunting him.
A golden light suddenly burst through the room, blinding us all.
“Did you know that someone is home in three out of every ten burglary cases?” a strange voice asked.
“What the fuck was that?” I snarled, blinking rapidly.
“Nate Temple. Master Temple. Would-be King of St. Louis.” the voice was matter-of-fact, as if reading from a database. I whirled towards the voice, still blinking, and noticed a potted plant, of all things. “The Rider of Hope. The Fifth Horseman.”
“Allegedly,” I growled, wondering what the hell was going on.
“Catalyst. Murderer. Friend. Son. Father…no…” the voice drifted off, her tone changing to something softer, gentler. “No. Not father. Tell me, Master Temple…when did you last see the boy?”
I froze, my whips winking out. Alex… was the plant talking about Alex?
I didn’t even hesitate, ripping open a Gateway on the spot, ignoring the crackling white fire as I lunged through back to the Drop Zone outside Chateau Falco, hoping to find Alex sparring. I let the Gateway wink shut before the dumb fox got any more stupid ideas. Because right now, I would have simply killed him.
I scanned the dark lawn, looking for…
My son.
But no one was outside. “ALEX!” I roared, panting as I bolted for the mansion. I didn’t know what that stupid plant had been referring to, but Pandora believed Alex to be important, and all I’d been able to think about was that maybe Mordred had snatched him up in my absence.
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