“You know as well as I do how long hate lingers in this part of the world. I can picture someone grabbing the blood-soaked uniform when he was just a trib and holding on.” Kanmi’s head lifted, and his eyes narrowed.
“Think you can track it?”
“Hard. Records from that long ago will exist, but gods only know how accurate they’ll be as to who was in the laundry at the time.”
“Might not have been them. Could’ve been his personal servants.” Adam gave him a direct look. “Keep thinking. We’re going to want to dig on this. This probably won’t be the only attack on him.”
“Baal’s teeth, there could be attacks on . . . ” Kanmi glanced at Bastet, and changed his wording, “. . . other people. Right now, in fact.”
“Yes. That’s what I’m going to be asking about. Among other things. Keep them all safe, Esh. Sig’s more hurt than she’s letting on.”
“Usually the case.” Kanmi pulled his lips back from his teeth briefly. “Don’t worry. There’s nothing the four of us can’t handle. And right now . . . I’ve got this.”
“About time you recognized that.” Adam’s grin was infectious, “Anything I can do for you before I get back to work?”
He considered it for a moment. “I think I’d kill for something to eat right now.”
“We’ve got a side of raw demon out there that we could get Matrugena to unstone for you.”
“No, that’s all right. Though I have to say, with it propped up on that hummock of dirt like that, arse up . . . it looks like it’s just waiting for a god to come down and fuck it in the ass.” Kanmi considered that. “Though that would have to be a pretty desperate god.” Another pause. “Maybe a Hellene one. There’s apparently nothing they won’t screw.”
Adam snorted at that one, before he moved out of range, heading for the front door, where Livorus, surprisingly, corralled him, and pulled him to the side, talking quietly and urgently. Kanmi was surprised as Bastet walked away without further questions or comments, her dark eyes narrow. But he knew he was going to have to handle this before the end of the trip.
He wasn’t looking forward to it.
___________________
By nine postmeridian, there were still red and blue flashing lights outside in the street, though it had grown dark. Thanks to the condition of the road outside—most notably, the two large cranes that had been moved in to try to lift a giant, three-thousand-pound statue gently onto a flatbed truck—it was evident that no one was leaving the neighborhood tonight. Adam had tried talking to the regional Praetorian commander about getting a helicopter in to take Livorus, his family, and perhaps Sigrun and Trennus with them, but the truth of the matter was, landing a helicopter in this neighborhood was out of the question. The streets were too narrow, the houses too close together, and none of them had roofs that could hold a chopper. Adam glanced out the window, and saw that the various neighbors were all still milling around, and watched the local newspapers and far-viewer reporters, who had shown up to get pictures of everything . . . though, at the moment, the gardia and Praetorians were stonewalling the reporters. This was a random attack by an unleashed and ancient demon, just a raw terror event. No, no one in particular had been targeted. This was a quiet neighborhood, where no one of any account happened to live.
Adam felt that he should be out there and dealing with this, except that Livorus had told him, explicitly, not to go back outside once the media had arrived. The regional Praetorian commander could come in to coordinate. None of the lictors were to go out. If they see you out there, they’ll have confirmation of my location. Let’s not give anyone that.
So instead, he was dealing with his family. Something he’d really prefer not to be doing.
His parents moved around, trying to make sure all of their new guests were comfortable and fed. Hospitality was an obligation. Even if all that was left in the pantry was a can of chickpeas, food needed to be offered. So, challah bread. Leftover cholent from dies Saturni. They’d already set out a number of dishes for their guests, and in expectation that Adam would be home for dinner, so there were little pots of hummus and pita bread, and his mother hastily turned on the stove to hard-boil eggs and warm up lentil soup and any other leftovers she could find in the freezer. And she’d even scrounged up hamantash for all the children; Livorus’ brood thanked her politely in Latin; Kanmi’s blurted thanks in Carthaginian; and Mikayel’s expressed gratitude in Hebrew, which left a delighted smile on his mother’s face for about ten minutes.
Adam tried to scarf down food while dealing with the various gardia and Praetorians coming in the door, and their questions and concerns. And pressed, in turn, for information on what was actually going on all over the city. He’d been told that someone had taken a shot at a high-ranking Chaldean woman who happened to be in the city today—Erida Lelayn. Which was the name of the Chaldean negotiator that they were supposed to be meeting with Livorus tomorrow, along with a Median negotiator named Kashir Maranata. Lady Lelayn was in the city, ostensibly, to look for a high-ranking Roman husband, to improve relations between the Empires in that fashion. “Is she alive?” Adam had asked, tightly.
“Yes. Was taken to the hospital for a minor graze to her arm. Her bodyguard is swearing vengeance, throwing his weight around, and generally being a pain in the ass to the local gardia.”
“Any other attacks?”
“We had ghul rise near another hotel. It’s been a busy damned day.”
“You’re telling me.” Adam had rubbed at his face. “I need a secure location for the propraetor. I’d really like it before morning.”
“We can move him to the governor’s house.”
“Nice and secure, but everyone in creation will see him go there.” Adam exhaled. “All right. Best we can do for now. How soon can we have the road cleared?”
“If your ley-mage gets out there and flattens the road back down, maybe two, three antemeridian.”
“Done.” Adam had turned around and almost walked right into his mother . . . and sighed as she noted, gently, but insistently, “Adam, please. I know you’re busy, but you can take a break, can’t you?”
“Not really, Imah, but thank you for feeding us all—” Adam really wanted to duck what he could feel coming.
“That’s hospitality. And you are not listening to me, young man,” she said as they walked back into the living room area, where Livorus and a few of the others were camped out. Adam couldn’t help but notice that his father was staying well out of this conversation, and had, in fact, set up a chessboard—a game that was also called shah. Livorus disliked the game, but was giving Maor a run for his money at the moment, with Kanmi watching the proceedings from the chair beside them . . . while carefully incising each bullet Adam had given him with symbols and mystical energies. His brother, Mikayel, was in the room, slouched in a chair at the far end of the room, watching a far-viewer. An electric model, it was monolithic, square, and housed in a wooden cabinet. Sigrun and Trennus were both reading near the atrium window, dividing their attention between the chess game, the books in their hands . . . and looking up, occasionally, when the words in Hebrew grew too heated. As they were, now.
Adam’s mother put her hands on her hips, and looked up at him, and demanded, “Would you at least talk to Nahal and her family? They’ve gotten to see a lot about you today. They’re impressed, in spite of your temper earlier—”
Adam’s lips compressed to a thin line. He didn’t want to think about anyone watching him do his damned job. “I’m not here to impress them, Imah,” he said, curtly. “And we’ll be out of your hair by about two, three at the most, I think.”
“Adam, please, talk to her. I think she’d make you a wonderful wife, and you need that stability, that structure—”
“You don’t seem to understand,” Adam said, for what felt like the fifth time, with as much patience as he could muster. “I talked with her for a half an hour earlier, while you were cooking. That told me everything I really needed to
know about her.”
“Nahal’s a sweet girl, Adam. Why won’t you give her a chance?” His mother was upset.
“You know, I have really had it to here with all the Hebrew,” Trennus muttered, raising a hand above his head and waving, vaguely.
“Now you know how I feel about all the Gallic you and Sig speak,” Adam shot back, without turning.
“A sentence or two once a week is one thing. This has been nonstop, and all of it has been arguing,” Trennus retorted. There was a fizzing sensation in Adam’s head, which seemed vaguely familiar, but he was, unfortunately, heavily distracted at the moment.
“What can you possibly say about the girl, that’s not just complaining to be complaining?” Mikayel asked. “She seems sweet.”
“Have you ever noticed, that when the only word someone can come up with to describe a woman is sweet, it’s actually code for vapid?” Adam returned, holding onto his temper. “She’s my age, almost twenty-six, and acts no older than sixteen. She has a four-year degree in art history, and you know what she’s done with it?” He paused. “Nothing. She could be a graphics designer for an advertising firm, she could be teaching art in a school, or she could be a museum docent. She is, instead, a shop clerk who sells lingerie. And, from what little I can decipher between the giggles, she gets a discount there, so half of her paycheck goes back to her employer every week. The other half of her paycheck appears to be dedicated to making stained-glass sun-catchers based on Nipponese themes. Oh, and apparently, she’s a Nipponophile, or would like to be. Though she doesn’t, apparently, speak the language. Or any language besides Hebrew and a smattering of Latin.” The fact that the girl had chattered about dressing up like a geisha and going to parties with her friends, who all dressed the same way, had set Adam’s teeth on edge. He suspected that she knew very, very little about what a geisha actually was. She just liked the image. He, on the other hand, had at least visited Nippon, while on leave from his Praetorian work in India. He knew precisely what a geisha was, and he didn’t romanticize it any more than he romanticized the ‘brides of the city,’ in India.
Mikayel folded his arms across his chest, and stared at Adam. “You’re honestly complaining because our mother found you a girl good-enough looking to work in a lingerie store?”
“No,” Adam replied. Objectively speaking, Nahal was decent looking. Dark hair, dark eyes, clean skin, generous figure. The problem wasn’t her appearance. “She’s pretty enough, I suppose. Doesn’t really matter, though. What I’m saying, is this: Her family somehow deferred her year’s required service in the JDF. Then her parents paid for her to go to college, and they’ve all treated it as a finishing school instead of an education. She’s gotten a college education, but instead of finding a profession, she’s still a shop-clerk at twenty-six. She clearly has no imagination. No aspiration. No determination. That’s a person who’s going to be a shop-clerk for the rest of her life.” Adam paused. The words were stark, and he knew it was probably unfair on such a short acquaintance, but this was the truth as he saw it. “I’m saying that I’m sure she was sweet when she was sixteen and she’s sweet now, and she’ll be just as sweet when she’s thirty-six, forty-six, and fifty-six, and that she’s going to die a very sweet old lady . . . who will never have had an interesting thought in her life. And she’ll have filled her days with a variety of completely useless hobbies involving making decorative items that no one actually wants, instead of doing or making anything that actually matters.” Adam exhaled. “So, yes. She’s pretty. She’s insipid. She’s vapid. And anyone who thinks I could spend more than ten minutes around her without putting a bullet in my own brain obviously has never met me in their life.” He gave his mother a direct look with those words. “Imah, you like her because she’s . . . easy. She’d never tell you no, she’d give you grandchildren, and I’d be bored out of my skull for the rest of my natural life. No. No more shidduchim, you understand me?”
“You really do think you’re better than everyone around you, don’t you?” Mikayel snapped, as their mother winced. “It’s not as if you have a degree in anything besides killing, yourself.”
Adam glared at his brother, and for an instant, all he could visualize was hitting his brother hard enough to loosen teeth. Adam had been poised to go back to school for an engineering degree in the hope of working in the space program when the Praetorians had called. He didn’t have a formal education yet, no, but he spent a solid chunk of every week reading everything he could on space, astronomy, jet propulsion, rocket propulsion, physics, and chemistry. His hands trembled with the need to control his anger. “You know what? You’re right. I don’t have a degree. And you’re right about this, too. I do think I’m better than someone who will, clearly, never be anything more than she is today. Never grow. But consider this.” He met his brother’s eyes. “The only reason you’re currently in possession of your teeth is because you’re family. Consider that before opening your mouth again.”
As he took a breath to calm down, the exhalation hung as mist in the air in front of him, and he blinked, startled. The room was cold, and Adam suddenly realized that Kanmi and Trennus were on their feet, looking at Mikayel, eyes steady, expressions . . . blank. Sigrun wasn’t bothering with blank. She’d gone to actively hostile, but hadn’t risen—not yet, anyway. Livorus had raised his head, and his eyebrows were elevated, as well.
“Oh, gods,” Trennus muttered, in the mellifluous notes of his native Gallic . . . which resounded, in Adam’s ears, in Hebrew. Lassair’s translating. Harah. This can really only get worse, can’t it? “They’re actually trying to set him up with an arranged marriage? How archaic.”
“Not to mention, demeaning to both the man and the woman,” Sigrun added. The words were in her native Gothic, the sound of them a lash in the room . . . but they were translated as well. “Last I checked, Adam was freeborn, not a slave.”
“Now, now,” Livorus murmured. “My own marriage was arranged. And I’ve three wonderful children as a result of it.” His glance towards the other room, where Poppaea and his children were resting, spoke volumes, however, and every one of his lictors’ faces went stony. Unreadable.
They were all aware that Livorus and Poppaea had separate bedrooms, and exceedingly separate lives. They were cognizant that the propraetor and his wife only ate dinner together once a week, with their children, on dies Solis, if he happened to be in Rome. They understood that Livorus didn’t speak to Poppaea about political matters. And while he’d talk to any of his lictors about current law-making efforts with perfect cordiality, it was to Sigrun that he tended to unburden his mind about sociopolitical and historical issues. And they all knew perfectly well that when they were abroad, Livorus had no qualms about visiting licensed brothels. “My dear wife frequently spends whole weeks at a time at a spa near Pompeii,” Livorus noted now. “She’s become quite the sponsor of aspiring artists, and throws a wonderful dinner party, when required. She has nothing to complain about, and neither do I. What more could someone ask from an arranged marriage?”
Adam realized that a year ago, he’d have taken those words at face value. Now, however, he heard the dryness, the irony, in the propraetor’s tones, and winced, internally. Livorus knew precisely what his marriage lacked. Love. Passion. True companionship. Livorus was conveying, indirectly, approbation and approval to Adam. Stay your course.
His own father, at this point, raised his head from the chessboard, and turned to look at Abigayil. “Leave the boy alone,” Maor told his wife. “He’ll get around to it in his own good time, and right now, you’re practically driving him towards a vow of eternal bachelorhood. Let it go.”
Adam appreciated the intervention on his father’s part, and was mildly surprised by the fact that Trennus and Kanmi both stayed on their feet, watching Mikayel as his brother shrugged, his expression alternating between insult and annoyance, and finally retreated, leaving the room. Only then did Trennus and Kanmi sit back down again. His mother only wilted in on her
self, turning to face his father, saying, “I didn’t mean it like that!”
“Abigayil,” Maor said, gently, in Latin, “I think we’ve aired enough of the family’s dirty laundry for one night, don’t you?”
Lassair, on Trennus’ shoulder, gave a birdlike trill, the first actual vocalization from the spirit that Adam had ever heard, and he shot her a dark look. “Yes, and thank you for that, featherpate.” He wasn’t going to call her by her name, not in front of his family. He wasn’t entirely thrilled at having his home life seen in this light.
Trennus reached up and put two fingers to Lassair’s beak . . . and the bird mock-nipped at his thumb. “I’d apologize for her sense of humor,” Trennus noted, smiling, “except that until recently, I hadn’t realized that she had one.”
All things grow, Trennus. All things strive. Those that are worth knowing, at any rate. The phoenix’s voice was surprisingly saucy.
“It’s . . . all right.” Adam grimaced. “I’m sorry, everyone. I never let personal matters get in the way of the job. You know that.” His eyes were locked on his fellow lictors.
To his surprise, Kanmi was the one who spoke up, calmly, “It’s all right, ben Maor. We all have to be so deep in the propraetor’s life, that it’s . . . better, and certainly more convenient, if we leave ours at the door when we come to work in the morning. I’ve done the same thing with every job I’ve ever had.” His smile was faint, and didn’t quite reach his eyes. “When we get the propraetor’s family to a hotel, I’ve got a couple of stories for you, if you want to hear them. Maybe over some arak.” He shrugged, bowed his head to the others, and withdrew from the room. The chill lessened as Trennus and Sigrun withdrew in Kanmi’s wake, each of them lightly resting a hand on Adam’s shoulder as they left the room.
___________________
Trennus, for his part, started packing up his belongings. The house had felt warm and welcoming at first, though the constant arguing had certainly put him on his guard. He was used to a certain amount of boisterous yelling from his own family. Five brothers and two strong-willed parents had made for a loud home; he’d been shocked at how quiet his ley-mage master’s house had been when he’d moved in with old Senecita. Not to mention, how much easier it had been to read and concentrate without the constant distractions. Now, however, the warmth had been replaced by pure awkwardness. As such, he started sweeping grimoires into his bags with practiced gestures, making sure that each volume was locked shut with its leather bands snapped closed. Tossed his silver knife and his steel combat one in, as well; he’d had to clean the steel one after cutting open his hands earlier . . . and looked around for the rest of his things.
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