by Nazri Noor
“What? Oh, that.” She flipped her hair, using the same hand to make a grand flourish around the store. “I’m updating my product line. Why stick to fabrics, you know? Leather goods are lovely.” She steepled her fingers together and grinned. “They can command hefty prices, too.”
“I mean, nothing wrong with diversifying,” I said, stepping over to one of the less dangerous looking handbags. Why anyone would want to own a purse that hissed and bared fangs at you was anybody’s guess. “That’s how it works, I suppose. Gotta charge what you’re worth, build your brand, because it’s all about selling your talent.”
I figured a little healthy dose of sucking up couldn’t hurt too much, especially if Florian was leaving me to fly solo, and I was right. Beatrice batted her eyelashes at me and made the friendliest smile I’d seen on her since we walked in.
“Color me surprised, but okay, you definitely get it, Mason.” She placed a hand on her chest, shutting her eyes and lifting her nose for full, snobbish effect. “I offer top quality goods that also happen to be exquisitely enchanted, and on top of that – ”
“Holy shit,” I cried out. I’d just flipped over one of the price tags on a pink leather bag. Beatrice’s face screwed up with displeasure, and any good will I thought I’d built up went straight down the toilet. I couldn’t help myself. “Nine hundred dollars? For this thing?”
Beatrice folded her arms, shook her head away from me, and harrumphed. “That thing is crafted from the finest stuff. The very finest. Genuine dragonskin, to contain its extremely potent and extremely powerful enchantment. I have to pay for raw materials, hello? Plus I have to pay my partner. I mean, hello?”
My eyes connected with Florian’s for a moment. He looked even more anxious and crestfallen than ever. “Sorry,” I said. “Partner?”
“That’s right. My business partner.”
The way Florian sighed in relief, you would have thought that he’d just discovered oxygen for the very first time.
“This entire line is a collaboration,” Beatrice continued. “I don’t know the first thing about tanning or leatherworking, but if you want someone who can make a wallet that’ll bite your fingers off, then I’m your girl.”
“Who would want – ”
“And besides, maybe this’ll lead to you getting something a little more practical than a magical jockstrap,” she said, leering at me, going full Beatrice, all the friendliness and charm in her lips replaced by a wicked, curved smile. “Maybe we can make you a harness instead.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “What’s with you and dressing me up in really lewd hypotheticals?” I smirked back, mirroring her expression and using her best weapon against her. “You like picturing me that way?” I said, leaning on the counter, flexing for her benefit. “Got a little crush, Beatrice?”
Beatrice Rex flushed bright red, from her neck to the tips of her ears. If she was blushing from anger or embarrassment, I would probably never know. All I cared about was the satisfaction I got from stopping her right in her bratty tracks. But the blood drained from her face as she regained her composure, and she tucked her hair behind her ear, smiling smugly to herself. Uh-oh. I didn’t like that look at all.
“Speaking of dressing you up,” she said, resting her chin in her hand, her elbow planted lazily on the counter. “There. That’s the bag I’m lending you boys.”
I followed her finger to the exact same bag that she’d pointed out, a little leather cylinder with a couple of loops dyed in the prettiest, perkiest pink the world has ever seen.
“You’re joking,” I said.
“Nope. Take it or leave it. I’m not letting you borrow any of the others in the dimensional storage line. Too much risk for me.”
“We’ll take it,” Florian said, an eager, simpering smile on his face.
I glared at him. Beatrice gave me a grin as evil as the Devil himself.
“What’s the matter, Mason?” she purred. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of wearing a little pink. It’s not like I’m trying to embarrass you or anything.” She flipped her hair and tittered. “Not very much.”
“I can carry it,” Florian said, brushing past me, obviously in some sort of rush to get out of the store and far away from Beatrice.
“No, I’ll take it,” I said, threading my fingers through the handles, testing its weight in my grasp. It was very light, really, despite all of the gaudy metal clasps Beatrice had slapped on for ornamentation. I dropped my wallet in, then my cellphone, pursing my lips in appreciation when the bag’s weight didn’t change. “Not bad. Nicely done, Beatrice.”
She frowned at me, clearly annoyed that I wasn’t very bothered about having to go around town toting a pink – well, tote. “Then why were you making such a fuss out of not wanting to carry the thing in the first place?”
I held the bag up against my shirt. “Well, at first I thought it wouldn’t go with my outfit. But then I realized it wouldn’t go with anything, anyway.” I made sure to look her in the eye, relishing the opportunity to be just as petty. “It’s kind of hideous, if I’m honest.”
Something gleaming and metallic whizzed past my ear. I dodged at the very last second, adrenaline rushing through my veins. I had my nephilim reflexes to thank for the fact that I survived that day. I didn’t know that Beatrice Rex, or any person on earth, for that matter, could throw a pair of knife-like shearing scissors quite as hard and as accurately as she did.
6
I chugged the last of my iced latte like an animal, relishing the coolness and the faint sweetness of milk spilling down my throat. It was a hot day in Valero, like I said, and having Beatrice’s exceptionally gaudy bag pressed against my skin didn’t help. Who knew leather was so clammy and hot? Gave me a newfound sympathy for women, I’ll tell you that much. Well, women and people in the S&M lifestyle.
Florian reached across the coffee shop’s table. “I can take that if you want.”
I hugged the bag closer to my chest despite the sweltering heat. “No,” I growled. “I’m carrying it. It’s the principle of the thing.”
Some dude in a tie threw me a sidelong glance as he walked past our table, giving Beatrice’s bag the stink eye. I glowered at him, and he looked away hurriedly. Hey, a man should be allowed to carry a pink leather pocket dimensional handbag. I looked down at it in my lap, frowning at its garish ugliness, wondering when I’d lost my mind and fallen into the habit of defending Beatrice’s questionable fashion choices.
We were at Human Beans, one of my favorite cafés in Valero, hidden away in a grimier part of town. Great spot for people watching, and even better for overpriced coffees – which, granted, I shouldn’t have been spending on considering the sorry state of my finances, but shush.
“So,” I said, narrowing my eyes at Florian. “You want to tell me what happened back at Beatrice’s shop?”
He sniffed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
My eyes went huge. I raised my shoulders, bending over the table. “Dude. You were supposed to be our trump card, the master seducer. We could have sweetened the deal, convinced her to actually give us this – this horrible thing, instead of just lending it to us.”
I lifted it above the table, holding it pincer-style in my fingers, like a dead fish. Surely, somewhere out there in the arcane underground, someone would pay a few hundred dollars for this abomination. Although, again, it had my stuff on the inside and still weighed nothing. Beatrice was talented, sure. Maybe her leatherworking partner just had really specific tastes.
“You left me hanging back there.” I put the bag back in my lap, leaning into my chair, folding my hands behind my head, and sighing. “Last time you saw Beatrice you practically charmed the socks off of her. What the hell happened?”
Florian stared at his untouched café mocha and said nothing.
I bent in closer, speaking just above a whisper. “Is it an age thing?”
“No, of course not.” Florian’s eyes darted left and right, like he was watching fo
r anyone that could hear. “It’s just – I’m only getting comfortable with admitting what I really am to people, and now there’s the pressure of her finding out I’m not really a dryad.”
“Then don’t tell her you’re an alraune. At least not yet. Florian, you two haven’t even been on a date yet. You can’t already be thinking about big secrets. What’s next, planning the wedding?”
He chuckled humorlessly, scratching the bridge of his nose. I rubbed the back of my neck, my skin still damp with sweat, and grimaced. I had to hope that Florian wouldn’t throw my perpetual singlehood in my face. I was eighteen, never been in a relationship. The hell did I know, right? Well, compared to a dude who’s been asleep in the ground for centuries, fucking plenty, I’ll tell you that.
“It’s just, it’d be weird to start this with a lie,” Florian continued. “You know? I mean, she’s so young and all. Would it even work?”
I smacked my hand on the table. “So it is an age thing. She’s twenty-five, you’re four hundred. So what? It could work.”
“Well, no,” he stammered. “I’m – uh, I’m actually just under a hundred years old.”
My lip turned up. I could feel my eyelids drooping as I squinted at him, the suspicion building in my belly. “Wait. You told me last time that you’ve been alive four hundred years.” The numbers were too much for me to comprehend. I could hardly think in terms of decades, much less centuries. But the news flash here was that Florian was lying to me again.
“Look,” he said, trying to head me off. “I didn’t mean to lie to you about that. I thought telling people I was much older would help explain why I’m so confused, why I don’t know enough about the modern world. It’s weirder admitting I was born more recently. I’m only just beginning to understand things because I’ve been asleep most of the time.” He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “You know what? You’re right, this is pointless.”
I folded my arms. “First it was the alraune stuff, which, granted, I understand. I’m not new to the concept of being uncertain about my own parentage. But why would you lie about your age, to me of all people?” I frowned at him, leaning in closer over the table. “What else have you been lying about?”
“Excuse me,” said a hoarse, almost cracking voice from behind us.
I shook my head at Florian. Saved by the bell, I wanted to tell him. But we had to deal with the interruption first, which, I hadn’t noticed until then, included the fact that the day had gotten just a bit darker, as if a cloud had passed across the sun. I turned around, taking my cues from the shocked look on Florian’s face, and understood why. The man standing behind me was so tall and so broad that he blotted out the sunlight, at least from where I sat in the coffee shop.
“Can I help you?” I said, trying to piece together if I knew him from somewhere. I didn’t mean to be so snotty, and thinking back, I didn’t have to be. He was offering a nice bit of shade from the sun, and – I realize this sounds weird – it felt like his body was radiating cold air.
Wait.
Something was wrong. I reached out to the Vestments for support. Human beings, no matter how large or weird they looked, didn’t run cold and crisp like people-sized cans of refrigerated soda. And this dude was wearing a suit, just like Sadriel’s angels, but he didn’t look very much like them. He was just as huge and muscular, sure – probably even bigger than her bodyguards – but his hair was white and slicked across his scalp, his cheekbones and jaw protruding at powerful angles. This was someone else. This was something else.
“You will come with me, please,” the man said. There was something about his accent I couldn’t quite place. It was vaguely European. Germanic, maybe?
I kept my eyes trained on the extra large stranger, my other hand clasping my – sorry, Beatrice’s handbag, damn it – and quietly, I imagined the haft of a dagger sitting in my hand. “I’m sorry,” I said carefully. “But I’m just out here enjoying a nice cup of coffee with my good friend.”
Florian and I locked eyes as I said that. He’d acted fast. He’d already kicked off one of his shoes, putting his bare foot in the soil of a nearby potted plant. Weird to see, and comical, to most, but if he triggered his nature magic, then all hell would break loose. He could tangle this fool up in vines and tear him apart, or I could drive divine steel between a couple of his ribs and end the fight right there. No sweat. But I knew what Florian was thinking. We were in a public space occupied by normals. Lots and lots of innocent, defenseless normals. We couldn’t just violate the Veil like that. I had enough heat on me already.
The man’s face barely moved when he spoke again. “I am afraid that I must insist.” His massive hand, nearly the size of my face, landed on my shoulder, and I nearly cried out at the freezing cold of his fingers against my bare skin. Sorry. Too bad for the arcane underground and the Veil that separated us supernaturals from the normals. This was a matter of life or death.
I clenched my fingers as the dagger from the Vestments appeared in my hand, then drove it up into the tall man’s belly. He didn’t grunt, nor did he react at all when the blade bounced harmlessly off his stomach, which was as hard as friggin’ steel. I wasn’t expecting that. My hand twisted from the speed of my blow, and the dagger flew from my fingers, fading into dust before it even hit the ground. If the giant man was amused by my shock, he didn’t show it.
“Florian, run,” I shouted, dancing out from under the man’s arms as he tried to lock me in a bear hug. I prepared to take off in the opposite direction, only to find a second, exact copy of my exceedingly large attacker.
Just like Sadriel’s bodyguards, it didn’t matter that these guys were enormous. They moved with the speed of someone half their size. I didn’t even manage to let out a proprietary “Ah, nuts.” The last thing I saw before I blacked out was the massive fist connecting with my face.
7
It was cold when I came to. Well, colder, at least, and for the first time that day I regretted my decision to wear a tank top and shorts. It was dark, and the two goons had dumped me in some kind of chair. A comfy one, it felt like. I smacked my lips, wondering why my head didn’t feel like someone had caved it in. Really, it was almost like waking up from a deep, dare I say, refreshing sleep.
Then I yawned, and an electric, stabbing pain shot through my face. I yelped, agony shooting up my jaw as I clutched it and doubled over. So that’s where the fucker punched me. I blinked back tears, gritting my teeth, praying and waiting for the angel half of me to kick in and help my cells regenerate.
“Oh, goodness,” said a voice, this one soft and smooth as silk and honey.
It was a familiar one, too, and my heart lurched when I realized who the giant men had taken me to. I bit down hard, fighting away the pain, refusing to show that I was succumbing to it. Just a bruise, I thought, just some busted up bone and muscle. I was going to be fine. I leaned back, gripped the sides of my chair, then slowly forced my eyes open, hoping I was wrong.
Nope. I knew that shit-eating grin anywhere.
The room I was being held in was brighter now, softly lit by a single, swinging incandescent bulb hanging from the ceiling, like I was in some kind of interrogation. The light made my jaw hurt even more somehow, but I held on, my fingers digging into my armchair.
Across from me, sitting in a copy of said armchair, was the man with the silken voice. He smiled at me, wearing a suit that could have been his second skin, his dark hair swept up and out of his face, his eyes glinting with mild amusement. I grimaced, then groaned.
“Loki,” I grumbled. “Great. Just great.”
He chuckled softly, still smiling. “And it is a pleasure to see you once again, nephilim.”
I rubbed the side of my jaw, my hand betraying my attempt to look like a big, strong man. “That little kidnapping attempt really wasn’t necessary. That punch really fucking hurt. It was like being hit in the face with a bowling ball.”
Loki shook his head and tutted, looking to one corner of the room w
here, I just noticed, a small squad of his extra large employees were standing. “I must express my disappointment, gentlemen. I told you to be very careful with this one, didn’t I? Mason Albrecht is our guest, not just someone you club on the head and throw into a burlap sack.”
Sack? I clutched at myself when he said it, concerned about Beatrice’s bag, but it had been sitting in my lap all along. I sighed in relief.
“Sir,” one of the huge men said, his voice shivering. “I swear, I will do better in future. Please, don’t – ”
Loki waved his hand. “It’s fine. Pray, don’t make this mistake again, but for now – it’s fine. But do apologize to our friend Mason here.”
The man folded over and bowed, which was nearly comical when the bowing man in question was over seven feet tall. He was terrified. I shook my head at him, but what else was I going to do? “Yeah, whatever,” I grumbled.
Loki waved one hand again, resting his chin in the palm of the other. “You may go. All of you. Please.”
The men lumbered out of a door towards the back of the room, the shuffling of their feet and the commanding echoes of Loki’s voice giving away the size of it. We were in a warehouse, somewhere. I could just make out a pallet of crates in the corner.
“You run a tight ship,” I muttered.
“That? Oh, it’s nothing.” He buffed his nails against his jacket, smiling smugly. “It’s been a while since I’ve made an example out of any of them, because it really isn’t necessary. Frost giants are very obedient, once you show them who’s boss.”
That explained a hell of a lot, the size of them, first off, and the radiating chill of their bodies. But Loki’s comment made me think back to Sadriel and how she’d bullet-penned one of her own men right in the face. Funny, how that worked. No matter where they came from, no matter their cultures or origins, the entities really only wanted one thing: power. I dug my nails into the leather armrests, watching, waiting for Loki to tell me exactly how he was planning to use me for his own ends.