“You killed my family, you lied to me, and you used me as your hit man to gain power,” said Sam, loud enough for the whole room to hear.
“And now I have that power,” said Lucas. He pointed one ringed finger at Sam, and a fiery shape with hot yellow eyes shot forth, flaming claws reaching for Sam. But before it reached him the thing’s flames dimmed and went out, its massive claws shrank to feeble rat hands, and its raging mad eyes showed surprise and fear before it dissipated entirely, leaving only a streak of smoke behind.
Lucas’s eyes widened. “You’ve learned more than I taught you,” he said, and spoke a phrase in Sumerian. From every direction a swarm of hungry ghosts closed on Sam, eager to steal his life. And again, as they felt the Mitum’s power they shrank back, and some cast furious looks at Lucas before fleeing.
Sam walked slowly forward.
“My boy,” said Lucas, trying to sound genial. “No matter what you’re planning to do, it won’t work. All the most powerful Apkallu in the world are gathered right in this room. You cannot hope to stand against us.” But as he said it he looked around, and the other robed figures in gold chairs looked back at him, silent and unmoving.
Sam didn’t stop walking, and nobody tried to stop him as he approached Lucas. As the Mitum’s effect reached the old man in the chair, Lucas sagged visibly, and his amused expression became serious.
“We can still work together, Samuel. I’ll make you my heir, you can help me reform the Apkallu. End the worst abuses.”
Sam grabbed Lucas by the front of his jewel-studded golden robe, and both of them understood the reality of the situation. Within the Mitum’s influence Lucas was no longer one of the seven secret Masters of the world. He was an elderly man in the hands of a younger one—a younger man who had spent the past couple of years channelling his rage and grief into obsessive physical exercise.
“Don’t do this. I know your name—your real one, that you don’t even know. Let me go or I’ll tell them all!”
That was when Sam started hitting him. Lucas never got the chance to speak again. Sam let the rage overcome him, reveling in it, roaring like a beast as he pounded the man who had made him. Lucas was weak and old. Sam was strong. He raised the iron club for the killing blow.
But then he let go of Lucas’s robe and stepped back, lowering the Mitum to his side. Lucas collapsed to the floor, but his eyes were open, watching Sam. He was just a terrified old man, badly hurt.
“No,” said Sam. “You lied and you egged me on, but it was all my doing. I’m not going to kill you. You may not understand why, but I won’t.”
Sam looked around. The throng of Apkallu were still there, gathered at the edge of the Mitum’s effect. Their faces showed a repulsive mix of fear and ghoulish delight.
His people. His family.
“Don’t quit now!” he heard Isabella squeal.
Sam raised the Mitum over his head, turning as he spoke to them all. “I swore I’d destroy your filthy little gang, and I’m going to do it. If any of you hurt someone, use someone, steal, lie—anything—I’ll be watching. You all think the bargain makes you immune from any consequences. But that’s not true anymore. I’m the consequences, now. You can’t touch me. None of you. I know all your secrets. From now on, I’ll be watching.” He looked down at Lucas. “You know my name, father. Go on and tell them if you want. It’s not going to stop me.”
Sam got out of the Egyptian wing of the Museum before anyone had the sense to call the guards, and left the building through a fire exit. The cordon in the park had orders to keep people out rather than in, and once past them Sam could vanish into the city.
* * *
On Christmas Eve he took a walk down Fifth Avenue, admiring the decorations and watching the crowd. He had a new identity in his wallet, and he hid his face with a scarf and sunglasses. The Mitum was heavy in his overcoat pocket.
He didn’t like being alone at Christmas, but there wasn’t much he could do about that. Everyone who had known him as William Hunter was either dead or hiding from him. Isabella would probably kill him if she could, as would his father. He could never return to his old life as Samuel Arquero—that name was now on the Most Wanted List, for murders of people Sam had never heard of. He had to stay away from Ash, for her own protection.
He was nobody now, and had to stay that way. His life was a series of anonymous rented rooms, temporary phone numbers, and constant glances over his shoulder.
His pace slowed as he passed St. Patrick’s Cathedral. Could he go in? Would it accomplish anything if he did? Could he obtain forgiveness? His list of sins was long and black. To fight monsters he had made himself a worse one.
Very well, then. He had chosen his path; he would stick to it. Until there were no more Apkallu at all Sam would fight them. Lucas had lied to him about being their enemy, but now he would turn that lie into truth. Let them know fear, for the first time in millennia.
His glance fell at random on a family heading into the church for the Christmas Eve concert. He had no idea who they were, but it didn’t matter. That family, whoever they were, would be what he fought for. His own family was gone, but he could try to protect all the others. He would be the monster who fought other monsters, so that they could live their lives undisturbed. That would be enough.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book would not exist without the help of many people, some of whom may not be aware they were involved until now. My daughter Emily was instrumental in finding me sources on Sumerian magic and supernatural beings. Kenneth Hite pointed me at some useful research material. The members of the mighty Cambridge SF Workshop contributed useful advice and criticism. And of course my wife Diane acted as first reader, sounding board, and provider of essential encouragement.
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