by E. A. Copen
“Yes, I do.” He squeezed my shoulder. “You’re the guy who led the defense of Summer against Shadow a couple months back.”
I studied his face again, but nothing came to mind. His soul was silver and not green, so he was human and not fae. It didn’t make sense that he would know about that unless he was connected to either court.
He pumped my hand with a grip that threatened to break bones. “I’ll tell you, that was a damn fine fight. Unconventional, but amazing to watch nonetheless. And taking on a Cat Sith by yourself? Color me impressed.”
“How’d you know about any of that?” I pried my hand free before he crushed it.
He gave a tight-lipped smile and a shrug, tilting his head to the side. “War’s kinda my thing. If the big red jacket didn’t give me away.”
I blinked. “You’re War.”
“Guilty, though I prefer Haru. Haru Nakamata.” He patted his side. “Normally, I have my sword, but you know...security’s a bitch. Gods. Paranoid bunch. Am I right? Like I’d come in here and wreck the best party in town for a little entertainment.”
That sounded like exactly the kind of thing someone whose power revolved around war would do. Switch a few drinks or insult the wrong god just to get a war started. Any kind of conflict would make him powerful in the same way that death did for me. Of course, I was judging him based on my opinions of the only other Horseman I’d met...and then killed. I didn’t go around killing people for the magic high it brought. Maybe he was a good guy.
And maybe the moon was made of Swiss cheese.
I nodded slowly. “Uh-huh. If it’s the best party in town, why are you standing here watching a bunch of crows play checkers?”
“This?” He turned sideways and gestured to the board. “Oh, that’s not checkers. It’s Go.” He put a hand to his face and leaned in as if to whisper, even though that was impossible, given the ambient volume. “Between you and me, they’re not really crows either. They’re Tengu, and it’s best to be polite. They’ve been known to play pranks on people who insult them.”
By pranks, he probably meant biting their heads off or something equally as bad, knowing the monsters from myth and legend. I didn’t know anything about the Tengu specifically other than that they were Japanese, and had trained the greatest swordsmen in the world. Haru was right; probably best not to piss off the crow-like demigods.
I did my best to bow. “Sorry.”
“There you are.” Emma suddenly stepped between two nearby partygoers and slid her arm into mine. “I was afraid she’d dragged you out of the party, and I’d be left here with them all on my own.”
“Hello, and who is this lovely lady?” Haru reached out to take Emma’s hand and bring it to his lips.
I didn’t like the way his eyes lit up, or the smug smile, and I definitely didn’t like the delighted chuckle that came from Emma. She was supposed to hate chivalry. She argued with me about holding doors open and pulling chairs out for her. Haru’s little display would’ve gotten me a kick to the teeth.
“Emma,” she said with a wide smile. “Emma Knight.”
Haru’s eyes sparkled. “If I have not spoken, it’s because I’m afraid I will awaken from this dream.”
Emma’s jaw dropped. “You read Jane Austen?”
“Of course. At the risk of sounding like a hopeless romantic, I’ll say I do prefer Pride and Prejudice over Emma, however. The verbal sparring between Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy makes the book.”
I tasted bile in my mouth. He was trying too hard. There was no way a guy whose primary profession was killing people sat around and read regency romance.
“I liked it better with the zombies,” I added, drawing a concerned eyebrow raise from both of them at the same time.
“An update was needed,” agreed one of the crows behind Haru.
The other one placed a white piece down and picked up three black pieces. “Indeed, but perhaps not that update.”
“Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it,” said the first. “I have your Netflix login.”
The second extended a big fan from his wrist and used it to knock the other upside the head. “It’s your turn, moron. Hurry up and play before I grow a beard.”
The first Tengu snorted and grabbed the fan away to fan himself. “You couldn’t grow a tailfeather, let alone a proper beard!”
A hand came down on my shoulder and I spun, ready to punch whoever’d grabbed me from behind. I pulled the punch at the last second. It was a mistake.
Morningstar pushed my fist down. “Really? How many times do I have to come back for you? Try to keep up, you two. I’m trying to introduce you to the final member of your team. You’ll want to hear the rules, too. Stop wasting my time.”
“Hey, Morningstar.” Haru grabbed a tumbler full of a clear liquid from the table and swallowed it. “If you’re planning on getting in the arena, you might want to pick a less pretty body. That one looks like it can only bench a pair of feathers.”
Morningstar rolled his eyes. “Charming, as always, War.”
Haru shrugged. “I’d tell you to call me Haru, but it’d be weird since your daughter was screaming my name last night.”
“Must not have been that good.” Khaleda stepped up beside Morningstar, one of her signature black daggers in her hand. “Considering I don’t even remember it.”
Haru grinned ear to ear, looking her up and down. “Oh, trust me, baby. You’d remember it. Apologies. I didn’t know this germ had managed to breed. Clearly, you take after your mother.”
“Careful, Horseman.” Morningstar’s eyes flashed red.
“Or you’ll what? Sic your Pale Horseman after me?” Haru chuckled and looked at me, running a hand through his perfect hair. “I think I can take him.”
“Oh, I don’t work for him,” I clarified. “Outside of the arena, Morningstar can fight his own battles.”
Morningstar adjusted his jacket, buttoning it once. “Stick to what you know, Haru. I don’t get out of bed for a fight with young twats like you.”
Haru’s eyes blazed. “What’d you say to me?” He started forward, but found a fan blocking his way.
The Tengu who had seized it earlier tilted his head slightly so that one beady black eye focused on Haru. It was enough to make the Red Horseman step back with an apology bow. “In the arena then. I look forward to seeing what you can do, Lazarus. May the best Horseman win.”
I nodded to him and followed Morningstar away from the table, feeling Haru’s eyes on me all the way.
Chapter Six
Emma made a disgusted face. “You’re kidding? This thing is going to be on our team?”
“Aw, don’t be like that, Emma. I think he’s adorable!”
She looked at me with her nose wrinkled and mouth slightly ajar. “He’s a three-headed Doberman the size of a cow.”
She wasn’t wrong. The three-headed dog stood before us panting like a good boy. His right head jerked back and forth every so often, following the movement of a fly zipping through the air. The head on the right growled at a chicken clawing the ground while the middle head focused on us, ears perked like he was waiting on a treat.
“He’s a big baby,” Khaleda said, “unless he thinks you’re food. Watch.”
She walked over to the chicken and picked it up. The thing went crazy, clucking and screeching, wings flapping everywhere. Suddenly, all three heads were focused on the chicken, big drops of doggie drool dripping from the corners of their mouths.
“Katse,” Khaleda commanded when the big puppy started getting antsy. She held the chicken for a full minute while the dog drooled, demonstrating its obedience. Then, with another command, she released the chicken.
Three large dog heads chomped the air all at once. One clamped onto the chicken’s head and neck while another got its feet. The third did its best to bully the other two into giving up the entire bird. The poor chicken got ripped apart and gobbled down in less than three seconds.
Bloody feathers floated through the air
while Khaleda beamed and cooed. “Good boy! Good boy, Spot!”
I winced. “You named your dog Spot? There’s not a spot on him.” A dog like that deserved a more forceful name like Brutus or Igor.
“He’s not a dog,” Khaleda said scratching the heads behind the ears one by one. “He’s a Hellhound. Aren’t you? Yes, you’re such a good boy!”
Morningstar paced forward to stand in front of Emma and me. “The tournament requires five people per team, each with a specific position. Spot will take the brute position. Lazarus, you’ll be my mage.” He tilted his head, considering Emma. “That leaves the blade and ranged positions for you and Khaleda. How are you with your gun, Detective?”
Emma shrugged. “Best shot in the precinct, but I haven’t been to the range in a few months.”
Morningstar smiled. “With what I have in mind, you won’t need to be accurate. Just fast and frugal.” He twisted to call to his daughter. “Khaleda, dear, the artifacts?”
Khaleda stepped away from her dog and went to a pile of familiar-looking boxes near where Spot was tied up.
“Hey, are those what I think they are?” I asked.
“If you think they’re the boxes from the last Black Bazaar, you’re correct.”
Khaleda grabbed the smallest of the rectangular boxes and handed it off to Morningstar.
I frowned. “Osric said they were full of useless junk.”
“Of course he did,” Morningstar said, sliding the top of the box off. “To him, they were. The iron content is much too high in most of these to have been useful, and the things that don’t have any iron...well, suffice it to say he would have no clue how to use them.”
Morningstar pulled a gun out of the box. It was a revolver with a silver barrel and a polished white handle. Beyond that, I couldn’t tell you much about it. As a convicted felon, I wasn’t supposed to be in possession of a firearm, and I’d never liked them much to begin with.
“Do you happen to be familiar with Der Freischütz, Detective?” Morningstar asked, turning the gun over in his hands.
Emma shrugged. “Should I be?”
“Only if you have an interest in operas from the early German romantic period.” He spun the gun and held it out to Emma, grip first.
She took it, looking it over like a child inspecting a Christmas present.
Morningstar jammed his hands into his pockets. “Der Freischütz tells the story of a marksman who was given seven magic bullets. Six of those bullets would strike wherever he willed them to with perfect accuracy.”
“And the seventh?” I asked.
Morningstar smirked and met my gaze, a familiar darkness settling around his eyes. “As part of the bargain he struck, the Devil retained control over the seventh bullet. When the German fool tried to weasel his way out of the deal, the final bullet backfired, killing him.”
“No way.” I grabbed the gun from Emma’s hand and held it back out to Morningstar. “I’m not letting you hand her the one instrument that ensures you win and I lose.”
He rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. There will only be three rounds, and she only has to fight in one. There is no possible situation in which she would use all six bullets. Even if there were, I have no reason to abuse our contract.”
“But if she dies in the arena before you win, you still collect her soul, right?”
Morningstar pursed his lips. “According to the terms of our agreement, yes.”
I shoved the gun at him.
Emma snatched it out of my hands and gave me an incredulous look. “Without this gun, I’m screwed. I might be screwed even with it, but at least I have a chance.”
I ground my teeth. “Which is why you shouldn’t have volunteered.”
“Would you rather me use my sidearm knowing Moses is a better shot than me?”
She had a point. I just didn’t like it. Morningstar’s gun would give her the advantage she’d need to stay alive. So long as she only fired six shots and not seven, he wouldn’t have the opportunity to screw us over. I just had to make sure she didn’t fire the seventh shot.
“I have a gift for you as well, Lazarus.” Morningstar gestured for Khaleda to get another box.
Khaleda brought him a long, thin box. He slid the lid aside with more care than he’d used with the gun box, acting like it contained a nuclear weapon. Inside was a gnarled bit of wood with a hook at the end. A simple shepherd’s staff. Unlike with the gun, he didn’t reach in to touch it but held it open for me.
I reached for the staff and stopped when a shock of pure magic bit at my outstretched fingertips. It felt like reaching through a raging lightning storm to grab a tornado by the tail, if the tail were made of cobras. The magic snapped at my skin, biting and chewing until blood appeared on my fingertips. I gritted my teeth and let the magic claw its way over my hand, up my arm and rake over my skull. It crawled over me, head to toe, the magic as alive and aware as I was. I felt it prick at me, inside and out, with the strange feeling it was judging me. The magic surged to a deafening roar inside my skull, threatening to turn my brain to mush.
Then, it just died with a whimper. My hand passed through the invisible barrier that had kept me from touch the staff, and I wrapped my fingers around warm wood, drawing it out of the box.
I lifted it to the closest light, examining it. “What is it?”
“The Rod of Aaron.”
I almost dropped it. I might have been rusty on Egyptian and Norse mythology, but Pony made sure I knew the Bible from cover to cover. The Rod of Aaron was real Old Testament magic, the kind used for smiting monsters. Moses had cast it before Pharaoh and transformed it into a serpent. When a group of Israelites got uppity and God had to put them down—with a pillar of fire, and by letting the Earth swallow them—Aaron’s rod was instrumental in settling the revolt that came after. Some scholars even argued it was Aaron’s rod, not Moses’, that was used to part the Red Sea. It became a symbol of authority, Aaron’s badge of office. And when he died, it was supposedly placed inside the Ark of the Covenant and lost along with it.
I would’ve said I wasn’t worthy of wielding such a powerful, mythical weapon, but I’d felt the magic in the staff judge me and approve. The only reason I could touch it was because it had already decided I was. Who was I to argue with that?
“I think the grip is made of bone,” Emma said next to me.
“Human bone,” Morningstar specified.
Khaleda dropped to her knees with another box marked with her name. A moment later, she lifted a simple, white-handled dagger from the box.
“Carnwennan,” Morningstar said with a smile. “The dagger of one styled Arthur Pendragon. It will shroud its bearer in shadow. It should be especially deadly in your hands, dear daughter.”
Khaleda’s eyes glowed with excitement. She rose, gripping the dagger, and disappeared in a cloud of black smoke only to reappear a few feet away in yet another cloud of smoke. “Amazing!”
“You’re welcome.” Morningstar turned back to us. “Of course, these weapons are only on loan to you for use inside the arena. If you try to take them more than one thousand feet from wherever I’m standing, a homing spell will activate and the objects will automatically return.” He tipped the box for me to replace the staff.
I met his eyes. “Noticed you don’t want to touch this.”
He frowned. “The rod doesn’t approve of me. I nearly lost a hand the last time I tried.”
I considered smacking him with it. One good hit and maybe I could knock his soul right out to squish.
He narrowed his eyes at me.
I placed the rod back in the box. Until I knew for certain what it’d do, I couldn’t risk it, not while Emma’s soul was still on the line. Once that was taken care of, it’d be open season.
Morningstar slid the lid closed over the rod while Emma put her magic six-shooter back into its box. “The tournament begins tomorrow. I’ll be expected to sign my team in before noon Earth time, so if you’d all kindly meet me at the address I’
m about to provide to you prior to that, I won’t have to send someone to get you.”
Emma glanced around. “Didn’t you say there were five people on the team?”
“I did.”
I got what she was saying. “There are only four of us.”
“The fifth member of the team serves as the tactician,” Morningstar said with a smug smile. “He decides who fights in which rounds, draws lots for the qualifying round, settles disputes, and has a chance to design the arena for any single match his team is not participating in. I will fill that role.”
“Always were a micromanager,” Khaleda grumbled.
“I prefer to think of it as hands-on work,” Morningstar replied. “In any case, I have no plans to set foot in the arena. I’ll manage from afar.”
He put the box down and clapped his hands together. “Now, you two had better get home and get some sleep. I want you well-rested for tomorrow. There will be a lot to take in.”
“Great,” I said, taking Emma’s hand. “Show us the way out, and we’re gone.”
“Gladly.” He clamped his hand on my shoulder and the other on Emma’s.
I blinked and we were back on Emma’s porch. Rain fell in sheets over the empty driveway while the storm raged above.
“Son of a bitch!” Emma growled against the rumble of thunder. “That fucker stole my car!”
Chapter Seven
The power was still out, so I went around lighting candles while Emma called to report her missing car. When she was finished filing the report, she called the power company to get a time estimate for when power would be restored.
Not knowing what else to do with myself, I wandered into the living room, candle in hand, and just looked around. Most of the time, when I was at Emma’s, we went into the kitchen to chat. Neither of us ever stayed still long enough to do much else. Life kept us busy, pulling us in opposite directions. The photographs on the shelf above her TV were proof of that.
I picked up the largest photo and studied it. It must’ve been taken at Emma’s academy graduation judging by the cap and gown. The worry lines that had aged her were gone, and her eyes were bright and weightless. I’d never seen her smile so big. Her hair was pulled back away from her face in a tight bun, and she wore the standard blue uniform of every police officer, complete with a black tie and white gloves.