by S. M. Reine
“Take one of mine,” Yatam said. “They are all beautiful and worthy of being adored. Put her in the garden and see how quickly your problems subside.”
A thousand slaves wouldn’t have been enough to fill the emptiness inside of Yatam. But maybe a mad god would get lucky. Maybe sometimes, just on occasion, He might forget that his wife was dead, and He might feel joy again.
VII
Choices and Promises
17
T he sun did not rise over Reno. The hospital remained smothered in shadow, and Lincoln had no idea where he could take Sophie that was safe.
But he had another idea.
“Wait a second,” he told Elise before retreating to an emptier corner of the operating room. He didn’t go far. Sophie was sleeping in Junior’s arms, and Lincoln was still too paranoid to let her out of his sight again.
Lincoln pulled out the ruby-studded choker that Yatam had given him. The last thing he wanted to do was call down the Father of All Demons, considering he’d last been seen with his deadlier sister, but he didn’t know what else to do. Through a series of yes-or-no questions with Junior, they’d learned that Motion and Dance was a wreck, its wards broken. The city was still quarantined, trapping thousands of innocents underneath the growing hail. He had to clutch the gem and hope he wasn’t making a mistake.
“Yatam?” he said, lifting the ruby like a microphone.
The air stirred beside him. Yatam appeared, sagging against an operating table. His splayed hands sent scalpels clanging to the ground. His hair hung in his face, and for a horrible moment, Lincoln wondered if it was really the brother instead of the sister.
He stepped back and grabbed a pair of scissors.
“You won’t need those,” Yatam said quietly. He lifted his head and let the hair fall back to expose his body. His skin was just barely translucent, his bones shadowy underneath the luminescent surface. “Even now, those would do nothing to me.” His knees buckled.
“Whoa!” It was reflex more than reason that made Lincoln lunge to catch him.
As soon as their skin touched, Lincoln’s head erupted in buzzing. His skin crawled with it. His fingers vibrated. Yatam got his footing and pushed Lincoln away. “Give me no pity. You’ve summoned me, so speak.”
“We need somewhere safe to regroup,” Lincoln said, sweeping a hand to indicate the others. “Suggestions?”
“I’ve a safe house,” Yatam said. “A heavily warded condominium gifted to me by a local admirer. It’s at your disposal.”
“I need directions,” he said.
“I can do better.” Yatam reached out to touch Lincoln’s shoulder.
Suddenly, both of them were on a rooftop.
Lincoln’s entire body rejected the impossibility of it. There was no way that he could have gone from a stripped hospital hallway to a finely furnished rooftop pool so quickly. Dead locusts floated on the surface of the water. Hailstones smaller than a fingernail made miniature waves and peppered Lincoln’s shoulders. His stomach twisted, and he threw up into a nearby planter.
By the time he wiped his mouth and lurched to the shelter of a gazebo, Yatam had relocated Elise, Junior, and Sophie to the rooftop too. It made Lincoln feel a little better to see that Elise got as sick as he did.
She recovered fast, whirling on Yatam. “Warn me next time!”
His gaze flitted down her body, from the snug leather over her thighs to her cleavage spilling from the black tank top. “Very well.”
Lincoln came up alongside Elise. “We got a problem over here?” He tried to casually put an arm around her shoulder.
She threw it off. “Don’t,” she said before stalking off to prowl the roof.
Yatam gave a low chuckle as she left. It was a warm sound, yet so much more sedate than the way he used to laugh thousands of years ago. The life had long since left his voice. “I like her.”
Lincoln couldn’t help but watch Elise go. He’d just been in the bathtub with her, yet she’d reacted like he was covered in boils like half of Reno. “I don’t understand women.”
“That is half your problem,” Yatam said. “Women are not a species to be understood and analyzed. Each of them is a unique person, as different from each other as you and I.”
“All right, Grandpa,” Lincoln said sarcastically. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“I’ve seduced women for over four thousand years. Perhaps you should keep my advice in mind.”
Lincoln grunted. He’d seen how Yatam treated Anat, at least. He knew how good Anat had felt when she was with him. How safe she was, how respected. Yatam knew something about that one particular woman, and maybe even four thousand years of women. But even Yatam didn’t know shit about Elise.
“Can you see Inanna now?” Yatam asked.
“She’s over by Junior.” The gargoyle was perched on the edge of the building—presumably a more comfortable stance for his large feet, which curled easily around the concrete half-wall. Inanna was watching Yatam from behind a wing. “She looks fixated on you.”
“She recognizes me.” Real life seeped into Yatam’s features, softening the skin around his eyes. “I always wondered whether that would be the case. I only ever knew part of her. There’s no telling if you have the same piece of Inanna’s soul my wife did.”
“Guess I do.” Lincoln scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I could say something to her.”
Yatam smiled faintly, only an echo of the way he used to smile at Anat. “Actions are far more meaningful than any words. Everything I do for you is given to her. You will understand that unity one day.” He bent toward Lincoln and brushed his lips over the man’s cheek. Their fingers touched for a fleeting moment. “You run toward battle and protect your friends. Anat would like someone like you carrying on her legacy.”
The air stirred. Lincoln had barely realized Yatam was touching him before the demon was gone, phasing across the city. He was left with a lingering feeling of confusion.
Elise was pacing behind an air conditioning unit, drumming her fingers on her hips as she walked. She kept glancing up as though she expected to see someone other than Lincoln. She looked frustrated when he approached. “Yatam is getting James and Betty, right?”
“Reckon so,” Lincoln said. He feared it might be the last time he’d be alone with Elise for a while. He had to clear the air. “About what happened in the bathroom—”
“Don’t be weird about it.” Elise pursed her lips thoughtfully. “As long as you’re here, until this fucked-up timeline gets fixed, we’re going to do this.”
Lincoln’s blood got warm. “You mean—”
“We’re having a relationship. Mostly sexual.”
“All right…”
“I said don’t be weird.”
“You’re not even letting me talk,” he said.
“I don’t have patience for words.” She gripped him by the back of the neck and pulled him down for a hard kiss that tasted like blood. Lincoln wished he could have stayed in that moment for an eternity. Hellfire beyond the protective roof of the gazebo, a Godslayer pressed against his body, his hands filled by her hair. It was everything he could have wanted. It was nothing he’d be able to let go.
Sophie felt as though she were lost in dreams for entire lifetimes. She soared over vast desert expanses, arms spread to float on the current. She was standing between the noble columns of the House of Maat, right beside Inanna and Anat. And then she was with her daughter again, holding the infant to her breast as she suckled.
She was trapped with the Traveler. Tied to a table. Her legs shoved apart.
Sophie awakened again with a jolt.
“No!”
The bedroom door opened. A torch shined around the corner, and Sophie winced, flinging her hand up to shield her eyes.
Once the green shapes in her vision faded, she realized Lincoln was holding the torch. His eyes were sharp as he searched the room for signs of attack. But there was only Sophie. Her heart was thundering.
Her mouth tasted like dried vomit. “Can I get some water?” Sophie asked.
Lincoln came in with a glass after a few seconds, shutting the door behind him. He sat on the side of the bed while she took a sip. “You’ve been asleep a while.” He pulled apart the torch, turning it from a handheld device into a standing lamp that shined in all directions. Lincoln set it on the bedside table. “Started to get me worried.”
“Is your brother okay?”
“Can’t much mess with stone,” Lincoln said. “The hailstorm’s not bothering him up on the roof.”
She glanced at the window, bordered in dual layers of black and white curtains. There was nothing outside. Just the black of a lightless night without electricity. “The roof of where ? Where are we?”
“Safe, kinda,” Lincoln said. “It’s a long story, but I’ve landed in the company of the Father of All Demons. This is his place. He gave me this thing so I could summon him whenever I need help.” He lifted a ribbon from which a thumbnail-sized ruby dangled. “I used this thing to call him after we rescued you, and the Father of All Demons decided to let us crash at his safe house in downtown Reno.”
“Is the Father of All Demons named Yatam?” Sophie asked.
“Yeah, Yatam,” he said.
She had been dreaming of him so vividly. She could still smell the sea air against his skin and feel the weight of regret as her skin dissolved into ash. It couldn’t be coincidence. “How did you run into him?”
Lincoln shook with a mirthless laugh. “Would you believe he used to be married to a Remnant of Inanna?”
“Yes, actually. I’ve been having visions of a Remnant of Inanna from the past whose path crossed with—”
“A guy named Khet,” Lincoln said.
Sophie hadn’t expected that. “You’ve been having visions too?”
“Ever since we jumped back with the Traveler,” he said. “It feels real.”
“I think they’re memories. Or perhaps they’re a message.” Sophie sagged back against her pillow, staring up at the canopy as if she would find answers in the wood grain. “There must be a reason that we’re seeing Yatam’s wife. Did he seek you out because he misses her?”
“He’s not looking for his wife in me,” he said. “Yatam’s treating me like his kid. I think he just came looking because he was curious. Unfortunately, he’s not the only one who felt us appear. His sister’s trying to kill me because she hated her sister-in-law and apparently, she’s enlisted God’s help to try to stamp us all out.”
Sophie felt lightheaded. She could accept this information at face value from Lincoln. He was a reliable enough narrator, and they’d experienced too much strangeness together to discard even the most extreme experiences. Yet it was still so much to process. “You’ve been busy.”
“Sure, let it all out. Tell me what a moron I am for blowing the timeline.” The defensiveness was a thin layer over something much more disturbing—self-loathing. Lincoln had to know Sophie wouldn’t blame him for honestly made mistakes. He was doing a fine job blaming himself for everything in her absence.
She rested a hand on his forearm. “You’ve only done what you had to do.”
“Dammit, Sophie,” he said, pulling her into a half-hug. Lincoln smelled like leather. An odd change from his usual denim-and-soil aromas. “I’ve been missing you.”
“Surprisingly, I feel the same.” She let out a sigh. “It wasn’t the same returning to Omar. I don’t think I’m enjoying reexamining my early choices with an additional decade of wisdom on me.”
“Don’t kick yourself too hard. I bet I’d be dealing with the same garbage if I wasn’t too busy making new garbage.”
She lifted her head, and they spent a long, silent minute examining each other’s changed features. Lincoln looked completely dumbstruck at the sight of Sophie at this age. She was not so surprised by Lincoln. He was still very much the square-jawed and bright-eyed man with features nearly perfectly symmetrical—a characteristic humans had favored throughout history. But he had fewer lines, fewer scars, and very nice teeth. Sophie imagined that this young man had once gotten into a lot of trouble with young women.
“How old are you?” Lincoln asked.
“At this point in the timeline, I am fourteen years of age.”
“Damn.” He gestured to her body underneath the blanket. “How’d I not know about this? How many secrets have you been keeping from me?”
Sophie picked at the hem of the blanket with her fingernails, knees drawn toward her chest. “I wasn’t keeping it from you . I was protecting her from the entire world.”
“You telling me that you didn’t deliberately hide this when we were talking about your life?”
“You’ve no right to this kind of information about my life,” she said, and she almost regretted it when Lincoln looked so wounded.
“What’s her name?” he asked gruffly.
“Heleentje,” Sophie said.
He snorted. “Right.”
“Do you have a problem with that?”
“Naw, you’ve got it mixed up. I haven’t seen you look so…bright…as when you say her name. Not even when you’re marveling at the technical wonders of headlights.”
Sophie’s heart hurt even worse. Heat pricked at her eyes. She couldn’t talk.
“Where is Heleentje in the future?” Lincoln asked. He said her name all wrong.
“I don’t know. Once Tristan found out that Omar had fathered a child by me—when Elin was already eight years old, mind—they took her to another location for safekeeping.” She emphasized her daughter’s pet name, hopefully easier for Lincoln’s drawl. “They told me that they would return once they could hire new guardians to handle two Historians. Until then, it was safer for her to be secreted away.”
“She’s a Historian too?” Lincoln asked.
“It’s a genetic gift, usually assigned by magic. Once I entered my elderly years, an infant niece, nephew, or cousin would have been designated to replace me, and the information would have been transitioned to her fully.” Sophie had no recollection of the moment she’d become the Historian, but she understood that her grandfather had passed it onto her. He had gotten it from a grand-aunt, and she had gotten it from her aunt.
“So that’s the Precept you broke,” he said. “You made another Historian. I don’t get why that’s such a bad thing.”
Sophie massaged her temple with her fingertips. “The Traveler and I discussed this while I was being held captive in Northgate’s library. The Traveler gave me a fairly elegant explanation of how multiple stress points were likelier to cause fractures, or make things unravel faster, or…” She shook her head. “I understood it at the time, but everything is so much hazier now.”
“I take it that the ten plagues appearing when they shouldn’t is gonna qualify as another stress point.”
“To say the least.” Sophie shuddered. “What do you mean about the ten plagues? The cars stopped—the dead cattle—surely you don’t mean that...?”
“That’s exactly what I mean. God’s not real original in his punishments when he’s annoyed. And he’s real annoyed at Elise.” He looked so exhausted. And guilty, too. “This isn’t supposed to happen. Any of it. She’s not ready to fight Him.”
“Without the Traveler—” Sophie began.
“We don’t know it’s dead,” Lincoln said. “It’s probably faded away to heal. It’ll come back, and then we’ll be able to fix this whole thing.”
“Even if it comes back, it won’t want to take any risks. It will try to kill Elin again.” She squared her shoulders and drew in a breath to fill her with what little strength she could muster. “Lincoln, I think we’re trapped here. Permanently.”
The door opened again, and a
pleasant-faced blond woman sidled into the room. “Knock knock! Is it okay if I come in?”
Lincoln was staring at Sophie so hard it was like he’d gone deaf. The implications of being stuck must have been sinking in. Then he jolted, woke up, and faced the door. “Sure, come on in,” Lincoln said. “Sophie, this is Betty. She’s…well, she’s a witch I’ve gotten to be acquainted with.”
Betty had a sunny smile and long legs. She looked at Lincoln in the way Sophie would have expected—which is to say, like their relationship was brewing trouble. Lincoln hadn’t mentioned carving his way through hearts in Reno, but Sophie was somehow unsurprised to see it. “I brought food in case you’re hungry,” Betty said, entering the ring of light cast by the lantern. Everything about her was warm-toned, gold hair, peach skin, brown eyes. “Hey Linc, Elise wants to talk with you.”
“You be okay if I leave?” Lincoln asked.
Sophie made herself smile. “I’ve lived without you this long.”
“All right. I’ll be back.” He rose, leaving the women on their own. It didn’t escape Sophie’s notice that he left the door open wide.
Betty had brought some kind of boxed cereal and dried fruit to Sophie. “Sorry, it’s not much,” the woman said bashfully. “With the electricity out, everything a pregnant lady should be eating is spoiling. But better the preserved stuff than nothing at all, right?”
Sophie had little appetite, but Betty looked so concerned about her that she took a nibble of dried plum. “Thank you. Have you any children of your own?” If Betty knew what pregnant ladies should be eating, then it seemed likely she had one or two running around.
“Oh gosh, no,” Betty said. “I’m not responsible enough for kids. I can’t keep a goldfish alive.” She glanced out the open door. Lincoln and Elise were talking quietly beside another camping lamp set up in the kitchen. “I had an abortion once.”