Pandora gave me a stern look. “If you don’t sign, we get evicted. Your call, but they’ve been perfectly good landlords for over a decade. I’m sure we can find another interdimensional unit if necessary, but your parents trusted this one.”
“What if they come in and rob us blind?” I demanded.
Pandora arched a brow at me. “Well, genius, looks like your parents overlooked that one. Brava.” She flipped back a few pages and stabbed a finger down. “They cannot physically, nor magically, set foot in here for any reason whatsoever without a guide—me or you—or express written permission from one of said guides. Or if we don’t pay as agreed and refuse to balance our accounts after a six-month period of no payments—in which case, we would empty the Armory of all property and run for our lives. But the funds are already set aside to be paid in full in advance for a twenty percent discount, so that’s not an issue. It’s iron-clad. Your parents were merciless with contracts.”
She handed me a pen, and I stared down at it for a solid minute, flipping the pages. “No changes to their original agreement?” I finally asked, warily.
“None,” she said waiting.
I stared down at the blank line, hesitant. Signing contracts—magical ones, especially—could be fatal. I realized there was one more page behind the signature page and flipped it.
I froze, staring down at it. My parents’ signatures on the original signature page block. I let out a breath, turned back the page, and signed.
“I want to meet them. Soon.”
Pandora nodded, folding up the paper in a deft trifold. “I’ll let them know.”
“Let’s go get a drink, guys,” I called out, motioning for Gunnar and Alex to join me. We were walking out the Door to the Armory when a thought hit me. “Hey, how are you planning on mailing that out?” I asked Pandora.
“I don’t need to. They’re in the neighboring unit.”
And the doors slammed shut. “Neighboring unit?” I demanded incredulously.
Gunnar scratched at his beard. “It’s beer-thirty, and I need another ice-pack, stat.”
Alex piped up casually. “You have an important meeting at the bar, and he’s probably waiting.”
I let out an annoyed sigh. I would look into this Last Breath business later. I had more important things to worry about. Like Anubis.
“I need all the drinks. Let’s go.”
Chapter 12
Gunnar had practically guzzled the first pitcher he got his paws on, not even bothering to ask what anyone else wanted before specifically ordering a pitcher for himself. And he finished it about the same time we finished our single beers.
I’d carried my satchel with me into Buddy Hatchet—ignoring the strange looks I received for carrying around what looked like a white lizard-skin laptop bag with medieval chains for a strap. The satchel was bottomless—my own little pocket dimension—so I used it to hold anything I deemed too important to leave lying around, and also too important to have locked away in the Armory where I couldn’t quickly grab it on a whim. Essentially, things I might need at a moment’s notice.
I’d shoved the three artifacts my parents had left to me as an inheritance inside, knowing how important they were for the future: my War Hammer that said Birthright on the stone mallet, the Hand of God that contained the essence of a Maker, and the Hourglass they had stolen from Fae that could control time between our worlds.
I’d already packed everything for my trip to Fae in there, just in case. Food, water, clothing, and medical supplies.
My Devourer, I had found, no longer needed to be carried. Much like Talon’s spear, I could now call it to me at will. That little trick had come about after I had officially become the Horseman of Hope in my fight against Mordred. If I put on my Horseman’s Mask, it was suddenly there hanging from my magical chain. Just like Death and his Scythe.
Watching Gunnar wave a hand at a bartender for another pitcher, I gave Alex and Achilles a frank look and jerked a chin at Gunnar. They nodded and urged the Alpha werewolf to join them at the hatchet throwing area for him to let out some aggression. Because Gunnar was still acting recklessly—even by my standards. Perhaps he really did need to get to Fae, to workout whatever was going through his head about becoming a father. Maybe a good old-fashioned killing spree in Fae was just what the doctor ordered.
He was acting almost like…a berserker Viking. At least compared to his usual self. I wondered how much of that had to do with him being an Alpha, or maybe just a werewolf. They were big on family, so maybe that instinct was fanning the flames, turning his excitement into fear and overprotectiveness. Dialing his paranoia and dominance streak up to eleven.
The bar was a cool concept, especially for East St. Louis—which had a stigma for friendly strip-clubs and all-night bars. The back wall was a line of targets and the patrons could rent a bucket of hatchets or other throwing implement—but come on, everyone was going to pick the hatchets—to hurl at a target. Each throwing booth was set up with a list of fun drinking games one could play. Bouncers were plentiful—what with all the tools of destruction flying around—but overall, the place had a calm vibe to it.
Even though a Valkyrie ran Buddy Hatchet, she catered to Regulars and Freaks alike, not that any of the Regulars knew that. Surprisingly, we seemed to be the only Freaks in attendance, as far as I could tell. Which was for the best since I was sitting across the booth from Anubis, the King of Hell. He had chosen a latte-colored flesh-suit of a handsome man with long black hair that grayed out at the temples. He wore jeans, alligator loafers with no socks, and he was obviously allergic to buttoning the top half of his dress shirt. Maybe it reminded him too much of a collar.
“Did you…” I leaned closer, inspecting his glistening, hairy chest, “oil your chest hair?”
He studied me in silence, ignoring my comment as he drummed his fingers atop the table and considered my retelling of events about the fight with Mordred. I had laid it all out for him, even though I was certain he’d already heard the highlights of the fight. I’d explained away my delay in speaking with him afterwards by telling him that I’d been trying to track down Mordred to finish the job, but had been unsuccessful so far, so I was planning on heading to Fae in the morning to find out what he was up to. And I hadn’t wanted to leave before talking with him.
And none of that was a lie.
Because you really couldn’t lie to Anubis without a whole lot of effort. And if I put in a whole lot of effort to lie to him, he would know I was putting in a whole lot of effort, which meant I was definitely lying about something.
So I played it straight. Close to the chest, maybe, but straight.
I heard Gunnar roaring triumphantly over the hum of the other nearby patrons, and saw he was attracting a small crowd. Probably just women swooning over his biceps more than his hatchet hurling abilities. Anubis took a sip of his mead, murmuring his approval. “Our agreement still holds,” he finally said, almost begrudgingly. “To be honest, you did much better than I had anticipated. Especially with only one Devourer.”
I tried not to let my relief show, but I did close my eyes and dip my chin in gratitude, because he was definitely doing me a favor. And that deserved recognition. “Thank you.”
“Who gave you the idea to go to the Dueling Grounds? That was quite ingenious.”
I took a long pull of my mead, licking my lips after. It was a strange drink, but I was getting used to it. “No one. Cheat like a bastard to win like a king,” I told him. “I knew I didn’t have the strength to stand toe-to-toe with him, or the time to find another Devourer, so I sought an alternative. My time and ability were limited, what with some handicaps I recently discovered. Handicaps you helped me discover by throwing me into your lava ocean.” He didn’t react, so I mimed rolling waves with my hands and then fanned my face. “You know, in Hell.”
“Yes. I picked up on your meaning from your hand gestures,” he said, rolling his eyes. “It was the easiest way to show you the severity of yo
ur affliction. Merely telling you wouldn’t have been enough to persuade you. You needed something more…extreme.”
I nodded bitterly, accepting the truth to his statement. “I know that you set me up so that no matter which way I pivoted, you had something to win. Some way to benefit. Because you’re a schemer,” I said, careful to keep the last word an observation rather than an accusation.
Anubis frowned at me. Then he squinted suspiciously. “Odin talked. That sneaky bastard.”
I shrugged, making sure the satchel was secure at my feet. Part of it poked out from beneath the table, but it meant it was closer to me than Anubis, so I left it. “Odin didn’t tell me anything I hadn’t already heard you say, he just used less lava to make his points.”
We both looked up suddenly as Gunnar roared even louder, demanding more beer. The crowd around him was noticeably larger, but they were all laughing good-naturedly. What the hell was up with him?
Anubis grunted, turning back to me. “Teaching was never my strong suit. Since you are such a clever boy and found an alternative way to take back the Nine Souls from Mordred, I don’t think you need to worry about finding a second Devourer for your cat. It would definitely be a benefit—Devourers are worth their weight in ichor if you can find one—but it’s no longer necessary. If Mordred consumed the last Soul for himself, it looks like you’re aimed directly at a brawl. And…of all the schemes I set up, that definitely wasn’t one I considered,” he added unhappily, taking another sip of his mead. “Speaking of Devourers, where is your pussy—”
“Meeeeoowwww,” a sultry voice purred from beside us. I jolted like a frightened rabbit and saw a stunning, fiery-haired, middle-aged woman in a skin-tight red dress flashing a suggestive smile at us from beside our table. Her skin was as pale as marble, reminding me of milk. “Did you two just order room service?” she asked with a dark grin. “Because I can do service like no other.”
I burst out laughing at her brash pick-up line. “Wow. That’s a bold—”
She cut me off by sitting down beside me and placing a very warm palm very high on my inner thigh. “Boy, fortune favors the bold.”
Anubis had stopped breathing and stared at the woman gripping my inner thigh. The only motion from his side of the table was his hand shaking as he held his pint of mead.
“Down, boy. She’s not a fire hydrant,” a new voice teased Anubis. I looked up to see a tan man with sand-colored hair wearing a burgundy suit and bronze ascot. He was chuckling amicably at Anubis. The King of Hell did not peel his eyes away from the woman gripping my thigh—more specifically, he did not peel his eyes away from her cleavage
The woman tittered like chiming glass, and I picked up the scent of cigars and leather.
“Come now, Dear,” the man said, holding out his hand like a gentleman.
The woman sighed, working her naughty fingers across my thigh like she was playing the piano. “Oh, Darling. How many times do I have to tell you? It doesn’t work like that. Foreplay is involved, of course.”
I felt my ears burn at the double connotations.
Then the man looked me right in the eyes, and I gave him perhaps the most awkward smile I had ever attempted—since his lady seemed intent upon braiding my inner thigh hair with her wiggling fingers. Except…he didn’t look the slightest bit territorial. He turned to appraise Anubis and finally gave a shrug. “What a coincidence. There are four of us. Shall we go play?”
Sweet Jesus. Was this really happening? Anubis now looked about to choke on his own tongue. “We were kind of in the middle of a meeting.”
“It looks like there is enough meat to go around. I have quite an appetite.”
I coughed, feeling my ears burning hotter, and that was before her fingers began inching towards my wild west like she was reenacting the Lewis and Clark expedition to establish trade partnerships with the natives—in my pants.
“I think we’re all set,” I told her frantically. “It’s been a long night.”
She pouted her lush lips at me, coyly. “What do you think I came here looking for, sailor?”
Good lord. I needed another beer. “Nice ascot, man.”
“I know,” he said, pruning it lightly with his fingertips.
“Would you like a White Rose?” the woman asked me.
“Um, sure,” I said, hoping it would get her hand away from my Thunderdome.
She leaned in close, practically touching my ear as she squeezed my thigh. “Then you should go find it,” she said in a breathy whisper.
Chapter 13
Before I could reply, she was suddenly standing beside the man again. The two of them blew a kiss at us before sashaying towards the front door, on the hunt for…bolder prey.
Anubis let out a shuddering breath—the first sound I’d heard him make in quite some time. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”
“I know! Can you believe that?” I croaked, glancing over my shoulder to watch them exit through the front door. My leg still felt hot from her pleasant palm and friendly fingers.
“I thought they were locked down to Kansas City!” Anubis hissed.
I turned to look back at him, my smile faltering. “Wait. You knew them? Why didn’t you say anything, you weirdo? I’ve never felt so outclassed in flirting banter…” I said, shaking my head.
“There is no such thing as friendly banter when it comes to Darling and Dear,” Anubis snarled, his eyes a million miles away. “How did I miss this?”
I stared at him, my mouth falling open. Darling and Dear? As in, the ones who had made my satchel and sent me that random bondage gear? I had been dying to meet them. Why hadn’t they simply introduced themselves?
I swore, pounding my fist into the table. “Goddamn—”
“Touch my hatchet again, and I’ll rip your arm off!” Gunnar roared, loud enough to drown out every other sound in the bar. I jumped to my feet, sensing that the crowd around the closet-werewolf had grown noticeably larger—and no longer seemed as friendly.
Anubis cursed. “He’s about to shift, which means I’m leaving. This city is fucking ridiculous.” I glanced back at him to realize he’d already made good on his word, leaving his half-empty glass of mead behind. Fuck.
Achilles and Alex were already dragging Gunnar towards me as I scooped up my satchel and flung it over my shoulder. I waved at the crowd behind him. “Sorry, guys. He didn’t mean it. He’s going through a rough patch.”
“Then maybe taking him to a bar wasn’t the best idea,” someone shouted out angrily.
I nodded, rather than making an example of the prick. Because…he had a good point. And I couldn’t just swat him upside the head with a current of magic. That would be as bad as Gunnar shifting.
“Hey! That’s Nate Temple!” someone shouted excitedly.
“When are you meeting Mr. Dredd again?”
“How is the Round Table Initiative going?”
I pursed my lips, waving a hand as if I hadn’t heard, and turned my back on them to look like I was too busy taking care of my too-drunk friend. This was bad. So bad. Because Gunnar was panting, swearing, and struggling against Achilles and Alex, demanding to be released so he could go teach them a lesson.
Achilles was gritting his teeth as he glared at me over Gunnar’s shoulder. “Get us the hell out of here!”
Alex nodded. “He obliterated the target. Literally. Then he snapped the haft of a hatchet over his knee.” He jerked a chin at Gunnar’s arm, which he was trying to hide from the crowd. It was covered in white fur, meaning Gunnar had already partially shifted.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Gunnar,” I hissed, getting right up in his face. “Defiance, man. Fucking Defiance. Calm down or this will go viral by midnight! Let’s get out of here, and you can shift at Falco.” His lone eye latched onto me, and he visibly shivered, blinking rapidly. I could smell the beer on his breath, but it looked like he had at least heard me, no longer threatening the crowd at the top of his lungs. “Good,” I encouraged him. “Ju
st breathe. We only need to get to the parking lot, and I can—”
A booming explosion erupted behind me, and the concussive force slammed my forehead into Gunnar’s jaw, knocking him out cold, and sending Achilles tumbling to the floor buried under the Alpha werewolf’s deadweight. Luckily, Alex had managed to let go in time and was staring over my shoulder incredulously.
“Where is Nate Temple?” a basso, thunderous voice demanded from the source of the explosion.
I ignored the stars in my vision from headbutting Gunnar and put my best Clint Eastwood face on. Then I slowly, casually, turned to look. A bear of a man with a wild, tangled, chest-length beard, and even gnarlier long, reddish hair, stared back at me from the now permanently-open doorway. His beard was bundled together at the tips with silver bands of some kind, making him look like he was chewing on the head of a dirty octopus. He wore primitive leathers and a fur cloak, and his boots also seemed to be made of leather and furs. His face was scarred, and his eyes crackled with flickers of light.
I sniffed with disdain before smirking over at Alex. “Looks like Hagrid went to Burning Man,” I told him, pointing a finger at the newcomer.
The man snarled, stepping through the shattered doorway and into the bar, ignoring the falling wood and drywall as he elbowed the broken door from the lone remaining hinge. “You…” he growled.
“I,” I growled right back, theatrically mimicking his exact tone and posture.
Someone in the back let out a nervous laugh, but the rest of the room was eerily silent.
I needed to try to keep him off balance long enough to gather my wits from smacking skulls with Gunnar. I had no idea how the blow had knocked him out. It must have been the perfect storm, because I’d seen him take harder hits than that dozens of times throughout our life.
I was pretty sure I knew exactly who this asshole was—and I wasn’t very excited about the next few minutes. But what happened next wasn’t really up to me. He’d already made a big entrance so obviously had a point in doing so, and I wasn’t sure I had the stones to tell him to cut it out. I didn’t see anyone else stepping up, though…
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