by S. M. Reine
He turned to the second page. James stopped a quarter of the way down.
24 - Events precipitated by the birth of JF’s offspring (V2:134:12) catastrophic; will lead to ‘unraveling’—BFU.
25 - UP: RA - Explore destruction of offspring as PM.
He read that line again. Events precipitated by the birth of JF’s offspring.
JF’s offspring.
The line was embedded in observations about his studies of paper magic (lines sixteen through twenty-three) and the date the Union suspected that he and Elise bound as kopis and aspis (line twenty-six). Both of those had occurred well in the past.
“I don’t have offspring,” he said, as if that would change the words on the page.
His hand found his cell phone. Stephanie was on speed dial as number three.
“Hello, darling,” she answered, voice curt. “Can I help you?”
“I was wondering if…” He trailed off. Cleared his throat. “Did you get the blood work?”
“Not yet. Darling.”
Alarms squealed in the background of the call. That was never a good sign. Common sense told him to hang up, but now that he had her on the line, he had to ask. “I have a strange question.”
“Stranger than wanting a karyotype test?”
“I suppose not.” He hesitated. “Are you… pregnant?”
Stephanie gave a short laugh. “You have developed a strange sense of humor, my love. No. And if such a thing were to happen between my IUD and the condoms, it would likelier be the son of God than yours.” Her voice softened a barest fraction. “If you would like to have children, I’m happy to have that conversation in the morning, when two of my patients are not coding. Is there something actually important I can help you with?”
He forced himself to laugh, too. “Sorry, Stephanie. I didn’t mean to bother you.”
“Okay. Talk to you later. Kisses.”
“Yes,” he said faintly, and he hung up.
Line twenty-three seemed bigger than all the other lines on the page, as if it was bolded and enlarged with flashing arrows aimed at it. JF’s offspring. His eyes dropped to the next line. Explore destruction of offspring.
And to think that James had believed the Union might have friendly intentions.
He closed the book, returned it to his pocket, and fully intended on getting in his car to leave. But he didn’t move.
Instead, he picked up his cell phone again and scrolled through the contact list. He was meticulous about keeping his contact information intact over the years, even when he and Elise had been living out of one backpack between the two of them, so he still had the phone numbers for his former high priest and priestess. He still had the phone number for his friend, Grant, who he hadn’t spoken to in about seven years.
He also had the contact information for his ex-fiancée, Hannah Pritchard.
Before he could think too much about it, James hit the button to dial her number. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or not when it turned out to be the number for a pizza delivery place in Boulder, which was, unsurprisingly, closed for business after midnight.
After hanging up, he double-checked his contacts. James hadn’t spoken to Hannah in so long that he didn’t have her email address, but he did have an email for the high priestess of the coven.
James drafted a short message on his Blackberry with a subject line that said “ATTN: Hannah,” and hit send.
8
Elise paced the length of the manager’s office in Craven’s with an unlit cigarette between her first two fingers. She had been trying to call Anthony for an hour and hadn’t gotten a response.
When she got his voicemail again, she flung her cell phone to the desk. The back popped off. “Goddamn it,” she growled, patting her pockets for a lighter.
Neuma hurried in, wearing a baggy t-shirt over her leather stripper gear, which made her look like she had just rolled out of bed. Considering that her idea of breakfast involved an hour of messy sex, she probably had. “What’s wrong, doll?”
“Nothing,” Elise said reflexively. She immediately amended it to, “Everything. I need you to get two teams together—one prepared to excavate a collapsed cave, and another with very bright lights and big guns to help me comb the Warrens.”
“Diggers and a search party. Right. Big teams?”
“As big as you can get, and as fast as possible.”
“Will do.” The half-succubus frowned. Her plump lips made the expression seem more like a pout. “Only problem is, the sun’s rising. We’ve pretty much only got whoever’s in Craven’s right now.”
“Then shut down the casino and get everyone equipped. Have Lock’s hardware store send us what we need—he owes us. They’re late on last month’s tithe.”
“We’ll lose a lot of money if we shut down.” At Elise’s look, Neuma’s held up her hands in surrender. “All right, all right.” She tucked the shift schedule for Craven’s under her arm and began searching the filing cabinet. “It’s going to suck getting anyone to volunteer, though—the last two never came back from dumping Zohak.”
“They ran away?”
“No, I mean, they went missing.” She pulled a Rolodex of phone numbers out of the drawer and perched herself by the desk phone. “Them, and the guy I sent searching for them. He called me to say he found tire tracks before his phone died. I think someone snatched them.”
Elise didn’t have time to worry about three employees. They were just demons anyway. “I don’t care what it takes to get people moving. Bribe them, threaten them, whatever. Are you calling Lock?” Neuma nodded, pinning the phone against her shoulder. “Ask him to bring his guys with the equipment. We can use the extra help digging.”
“Will do. What are we looking for when we get down there?”
She spotted a lighter that had been hiding under the Rolodex and took it. “Anthony. My boyfriend got lost in the Warrens.”
Neuma blinked those heavily lashed eyes. “Oh, no, he didn’t.”
Her thumb paused on the igniter. “What?”
“I saw him pass through Eloquent Blood a couple of hours ago. I asked what was up, and he said he was going home.” Her smile faltered. She covered the receiver with a hand. “That’s not good news?”
Elise lit the cigarette and took a very long drag. It wasn’t enough to calm her down.
“I still need the diggers,” she said, flicking the ash into the tray and heading for the door. “As fast as you can.”
Outside, the morning seemed darker and colder than it should have been, and Elise didn’t think it was because the nights had become so long.
Anthony went home?
She dropped her cigarette in the can outside the door to her apartment building before racing upstairs.
Elise slammed into the living room. Even with the curtains open and the eggshell walls, it felt like the sun had to fight to brighten the furnished apartment she shared with Anthony. It was always dim and gloomy—always. And aside from their combined laundry spread across the floor and the dirty dishes covering the counter, it was also completely empty.
“Anthony?” she called, checking the bathroom. Empty.
Elise stormed into the bedroom.
The door bounced off the wall when she opened it, rattling in the frame, but her boyfriend didn’t wake up. He was in bed, sheets tangled around his hips, with a very distinct snore coming from his mouth.
Sleeping.
The urge to rip him out of bed was overwhelming. She tightened her hand on the molding by the door until the wood creaked.
Part of her had thought—had hoped—that Neuma was lying. Anthony would never have gone home instead of following her into a fight. It was cowardice.
But there he was. Sleeping.
She left the bedroom door open and wore a path in the carpet between the kitchen and the bathroom door, arms folded tightly across her chest. The light through their window, which was barred on the outside, didn’t seem to pass through the doorway. She could ba
rely make out Anthony’s shirtless form in bed.
He flipped over without waking up. His hand flexed, and relaxed.
Anthony had been having nightmares. He told Elise about them, once. He said that he was dreaming about the gateway, and the things he had seen on the other side—the things that had happened to him when Elise and James were fighting Mr. Black. She didn’t want to know about it. That conversation had a way of spiraling inevitably back to Betty.
Elise kicked a pair of jeans out of her path and turned, walking back to the other wall again.
Was his fear of the city really enough to make him run? After everything they had done together? Zombies, stealing a semi from a dozen guys with submachine guns, facing down the Union…
She really wanted a smoke.
As if her thoughts disturbed him, he rolled over again and flung an arm off the side of the bed. His chest was soaked in sweat. His hair was plastered to his forehead.
She tore open the knife drawer. Contemplated the paring knives. Slammed it shut again.
After weeks of exploring the higher levels of the Warrens together, there was no way he could have gotten lost. He must have been trying to run. To escape the fight.
And while he slept, Nukha’il was at Yatai’s mercy in the ethereal city.
The heat in her gut grew until she couldn’t contain it anymore. Elise stalked into the room and flung open the drapes. Feeble yellow sun splashed over the bed. “Get up.” Anthony mumbled and pulled the pillow over his face. She jerked the sheets off of him, and he pulled his knees to his chest reflexively. “Hey! I told you to get up!”
Anthony peered at her from under the pillow, eyelids puffy and his eyes red. “What?”
Elise swept his jeans and shirt off the floor and flung them at him. “Get out of bed. Get dressed. And get out of my apartment.”
He sat up slowly. “Elise…”
“You heard me!”
He put one foot in his jeans, and then the other, pulling them to his knees. “Are you…kicking me out?” he asked, and his voice was suddenly very clear. Tension corded his shoulders.
Was she kicking him out? Elise almost laughed.
She slammed out of the bedroom to the kitchen. The apartment was too small. The walls were too close, the roof was too low—everything was too goddamn dark . Elise began stuffing things into a backpack without thinking about it—the daggers she had laid out on the kitchen table for sharpening, her charms, a couple of old photos from the walls.
Anthony stumbled into the doorway, jeans unbelted and shirt hanging from his hands. “I think the stress is getting to you.”
“Stress isn’t getting to me,” Elise snapped. “You’re getting to me.”
“Excuse me?”
“The Warrens. Last night. Why did you run away?”
He looked puzzled. “I didn’t run. I got lost.”
“Look, Anthony, I’ve got one job that matters in this territory—just one damn job. I have to protect the gate. I promised the ethereal and infernal delegations that I could handle it. And what happens the first time the gate is threatened? You get lost .”
His eyes widened, and his mouth worked soundlessly. It took him a good ten seconds to find words. “It was dark.”
Was there anything else Elise wanted out of that shithole? She couldn’t lay any claim to the furniture. Everything belonged to the landlord, from the couches to the television. The plates belonged to Anthony—he could keep them. All she had were clothes and weapons and the bicycle that was chained outside.
That was all that remained of her life.
“You know what? Don’t bother leaving.” She leaned into the bedroom to grab a handful of clothes out of her drawer and jam them into her backpack. She forced the zipper closed. “I’m sick of this place anyway.”
Anthony reached the door first. He slammed his hand into it to keep her from escaping. “You can’t seriously be angry at me for what happened last night. Come on, Elise, you’re—”
“You don’t know anything about what I feel!”
Her own volume shocked her. The shout tore from her chest, ragged and harsh. She faltered. Almost dropped the backpack.
So many emotions roiled inside of her. Guilt at what had happened to Nukha’il—an angel who had no choice but to obey her every word. Fear at what would happen if the darkness got inside the gateway. Longing for James’s company. Anger at Anthony for screwing up her plans. And all of it knotted into her intestines, gripping her and rocking her and making her eyes burn.
“Wait,” Anthony said. He laughed mirthlessly. “Are you trying to break up with me ?” The look on her face made his laughter abruptly cut off. “Jesus. You don’t think of it as breaking up, do you? You don’t even think of me as your fucking boyfriend. We’ve lived together for two months. We’ve been dating for half a year …”
“You are my boyfriend, Anthony.” After a beat, she added, “You were .”
“You know what? Good. I’m so sick of putting up with your bullshit—treating me like I’m some kind of asset, like I’m another demon at your goddamn casino. You only want me because I can fire a shotgun. I didn’t want to leave because I had nowhere to go. But now I don’t have to worry about it.”
He sat on the couch. And then he smiled.
The corner of a white book caught Elise’s eye, peeking out from under the couch. It was Betty’s wedding album.
She scooped it off the floor and headed for the door.
Anthony’s footsteps thudded behind her as he vaulted over the table to slam his hand into the door, shutting it again before she could get into the hallway.
“The hell do you think you’re doing, Elise? That’s mine.”
“It’s Betty’s.” He grabbed it, but she didn’t let go.
“And I’m her cousin.”
Bitterness spiked through her heart. “They didn’t ask you to spread her ashes, did they?”
The hurt in his eyes was worth it. His fingers slipped. But it only made him fight harder for the album, and Elise had to drop her backpack to keep her grip.
She won the fight, but he stepped between her and the hall.
“Betty would have been disappointed in you,” Anthony spat. “She thought you were a hero. She thought—”
Elise lifted the album. “Don’t you speak another word.”
He fell silent, hand outstretched as though he expected her to throw it.
She opened the cover and removed her favorite picture—a photo of Betty in her wedding dress with a long train and white flowers in her hair—then shoved the book into his chest.
“Don’t come to Craven’s again,” she said, shoving the picture in her back pocket. “I’m done with you.”
He didn’t stop her when she flung the door open again. Elise shouldered her backpack and marched to the elevator, down the stairs, and into the harsh light of early morning.
A shadow passed over the sidewalk.
Elise didn’t think anything of it, at first. It only temporarily dimmed the sun. The breeze that followed was chilly enough to penetrate the foulest of moods, so she hugged herself tighter and quickened her pace. She kept expecting to hear Anthony calling after her, and she wasn’t sure she could keep it together if he caught up with her—her temper was too short, exhaustion dragged too heavily on her, and she desperately wanted to crack some skulls.
Sunlight crossed her path again, and then faded. She punched the button for the crosswalk and squinted up at the sun.
But there was no sun. There were no clouds, either.
Something massive and gray filled the air, like a lens a shade darker than the sky had slid over the city. It shimmered and pulsed.
The traffic light changed to allow her to cross the street, but Elise didn’t move.
Whatever was in the air darkened again—just a fraction. She glimpsed a street paved with white stone. She saw what looked like the roof of her apartment building, too, as though it had been reflected on the air.
And she thou
ght she saw a tall white gateway.
As soon as Elise realized what she was seeing, it was gone again.
The sky was blue. The sun was climbing over the hills, rapidly warming the day and making the ice turn to steam as it melted.
But there was no mistaking what she had seen: a mirror image of downtown Reno, inverted so that the tops of the buildings reached for one another.
Elise glanced around, but nobody else seemed to have noticed. A man in a white tank top, oblivious to the cold, jogged past with his pit bull trailing behind him. A car cut a turn too close and bumped over the opposite sidewalk, making a woman shout and wave her fist. The other cars moved along totally undisturbed. People were too absorbed in their lives to notice that anything had gone awry.
Maybe she had imagined it. Maybe it was the stress.
Then her gaze met with that of a man sitting in a parking lot on the other side of the fence. He had a sign that said “lost my job, please help,” a shopping cart piled with trash bags, and wide eyes filled with fright.
“Jesus Christ,” he said. “Did you see that?”
The glorious moment where Elise hoped that she was going crazy was instantly shattered.
For a few seconds—a few utterly impossible, mind-breaking seconds—the ethereal city, and its entire parallel dimension, had faded into view above Reno.
The manager’s office was empty when Elise arrived.
She kicked the enchanted closet door. “Let me in!”
The hinges whined with annoyance as it opened. Elise ducked in, removed the trash bag that encased her falchion’s twin, and shut the door again. She ripped open the garbage bag before she could think too much about what she was doing.
What lay inside was not the falchion that Elise had tenderly cared for all those years. The ichor had eaten into the metal, coalesced, and hardened; the blade had become the same material as Zohak’s skin, like shining obsidian. The symbols she had carved into it as a teenager were distorted.
Elise swallowed hard before removing it from the bag.
What used to be leather wrappings around the hilt had crumbled into dust. It felt strange in her hand, but it had a good heft to it, and the edge looked sharp enough. She didn’t dare test it.