As I walked into the waiting room, I realized that most of my shirt was covered in fish gunk. I probably stank. I was nose-deaf to fish smells anymore. This was going to be fun.
The Metis Foundation’s offices were as opulent as the building was out of place. While the outside screamed “antique,” the interior was as modern as it got—all glass and steel. Standing in the reception area always reminded me of being at an aquarium.
The reception area itself was about fifteen by twenty, with a steel-and-black-leather sofa to the left, a “floating” glass-and-steel stairwell leading up to a highly polished black door to the right, and a somewhat forbidding brushed-steel receptionist’s desk in the middle.
As I approached the desk, it was hard not to stare at the giant wall of glass that isolated what they call “the bullpen.” Inside, dozens of people swarmed around low-walled cubicles or open desks, but the massive bank of monitors and screens that occupied every inch of the three-story wall at the back of the room captured my attention. It was tiring just watching the constant human activity through the wall of glass. The camera feeds from all around the world, charts, graphs, and data displays made me feel old—I was born in an age when our greatest technological achievement was bronze. To make matters worse, everyone was dressed in business formal attire, and I stood out like a sore thumb.
Most of the people who worked there were just that: people. But a few were different. I knew of at least two Seelie Fae—a tall, blond female Elf and a male Yaksha—and several members of the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, the organization governing natural-born witches and wizards. I wasn’t sure what else Athena had working there.
I approached the fresh-faced, rigid, blond young woman behind the desk. I was there often enough that most of the people knew me, but this girl was new. Instantly, her face began to scrunch up in disgust, and she grabbed for a tissue. “Can I help you?” she asked, her eyebrows knitted in a forehead of deep furrows.
Smelling the way I did, I was guessing she thought I was lost. “I’m here to see ‘the boss,’” I replied, throwing air quotes.
She stared at me for half a minute before she finally reached for the phone. “Dere’s, ah, a man, here to see you,” she said into the phone, holding her nose.
Beyond her, in the bullpen, I could see a couple of younger employees who recognized me, stifling laughs as they watched. I beamed at them and nodded my head ever so slightly.
“Yes, ma’am. Yes. Right away.” She hung up the phone and gawked at me. “She said to go right ub.”
I jogged up the floating stairway to my right. The door at the top appeared to be shimmering black glass, but it was far more. I always wondered if it might actually be partly alive. Living or not, whatever it was, I doubted even the Pelian Spear or my swords could penetrate it. As I reached up to knock, the door slid open to reveal the Elf.
She was tall—over six feet, maybe six-one—and could easily pass for a supermodel except that her skin was so pale it resembled ivory, but warmer. Her hair was so blond it appeared white in some light, and she always wore it so that it covered her pointy ears. But what got me were her eyes, which were an intense shade of emerald green—the whole eye, not just the iris. And while I respected her immensely as Athena’s very capable right hand at the Metis Foundation, I lived to harass her like a sister. The fact that she didn’t understand any of it made it that much more fun.
She smiled as I walked in, and then she smelled me. “Whoa,” she said, nearly dropping the papers in her arms as she tried to cover her nose and step back at the same time. “Smells like you tried to mate with a sciaenid about five hours ago.” Elves: always precise, and no sense of humor.
“It was a white sea bass, and I was reviving it to let it go.” I narrowed my eyes at her and entered the room.
“Humans,” she said, shaking her head as she returned to her desk just inside the doorway. “The sciaenid is the race of croakers, including the local Atractoscions, or white sea bass as you call them.”
Her reaction to me was nothing new. I knew it came from her total lack of understanding of what it meant to be human, and not from animosity, and it was exactly the type of reaction I lived to elicit from her.
“They’re fish, not a race, Brey,” I said, dragging out her name to annoy her. Her name was Breygivila, at least the part of it that I knew, and she hated when I shortened it. “And I let it go.” I would have stuck my tongue out, too, but that was a little too childish.
Once I was a few feet into the room, the door silently slid closed behind me, giving me the illusion of being isolated and contained. On this side, the door behind me was currently crystal clear, as were the interior walls, with the exception of a single polished-black wall along the room’s far side, which partitioned Athena’s office from the space I was standing in. The whole forty-foot-long room fully occupied the small second floor of the building, and at the moment consisted of a broad, open space taken up mostly by a wide glass-and-steel conference table surrounded by a dozen chairs made of steel and black leather.
The clear wall gave a view directly down into the bullpen and to the wall of monitors beyond. This room always creeped me out because every part of the structure gave off a faint glow of energy as if it were alive, and I knew that it could somehow change its features, including its layout. And while the space was currently soundproofed, I’d experienced it set up so that we could hear everything going on in the bullpen below, too.
When I turned from harassing Brey, Athena was standing in front of me. She was wearing a white-on-white pantsuit that made her fiery hair—in a single loose braid over her shoulder—stand out even more. The monotone outfit also accentuated the preternatural perfection of her pale skin.
“Smells like you kept it in your pocket,” she said seriously, her nose wrinkled and her eyes squinting. “Artemis would be very disappointed that you let such a fine prize free after the effort of your hunt.” Athena can make an expression of abject horror seem attractive. “And it’s about time. Didn’t you check your phone messages?”
I had completely forgotten to turn my phone back on at the boat. Oops.
She entered her office through a doorway that just appeared in the shiny black wall, and I followed. Her office was stately but simple, anchored by a bizarre desk that combined elements of stone, steel, wood, and glass. Her chair resembled a steel throne and looked about as comfortable as an iron maiden. Luckily, the two leather chairs opposite her desk were not as severe.
“Ah, no. Sorry. And that’s probably why Artemis doesn’t fish with me,” I replied. “Besides, what’s so urgent? Somebody steal the Fork and Knife of Jamshid now?”
I sat down with a flop in one of the chairs, which I had no doubt was made of some exotic leather that cost more than most people made in a year. I was tired and hungry, and Athena’s briefings had a way of taking forever, but her intense, irascible gaze and the terse set of her lips told me this thing was far from over.
“Octivius and Dechion are dead,” she said, reaching across the desk for an elaborate letter opener. “We found what was left of them earlier today outside of New York. They didn’t make it far after they picked up the Cup from you. And yes, the Cup is missing again. So let’s go over everything. Again.”
I was dumbstruck. While I didn’t know them well, Oc and Dec were part of Athena’s most elite unit of Spartoi, specifically formed from dragons’ canine teeth. No mortal could have stood up to them and survived, let alone killed them. And to kill them while they were expecting trouble would take someone or something powerful. While I wasn’t a fan of the Spartoi’s simple tactics and lack of ability to improvise, I hoped Oc and Dec at least died swinging.
When my eyes refocused on her, Athena was pointing the letter opener at me. It was carved from the claw of one of the dragons she’d killed and whose teeth likely included the canines that formed
Oc and Dec and made up the bulk of her army of Spartoi. It was probably sharp enough to peel shavings off the stainless steel parts of her desk. I got the point. She wanted to make sure I wasn’t forgetting anything.
She didn’t actually need me to tell her what I knew, but she really did try to stay out of my head as much as possible. I had to remind myself that these detailed debriefings helped me maintain that aspect of our relationship, so although tedious, they were worth it. I spent the better part of the next few hours going over every single moment of my time in New York, from the places I’d gone to the people and creatures I encountered. I also mentioned that I had Ned chasing down a lead in Brooklyn.
“I want you back in New York as soon as possible to follow up any and all leads that might develop with regard to the bombing and theft, and I don’t want you working alone on this,” she finally said.
“Aw, come on,” I protested. Having Oc and Dec killed had spooked her enough to want to saddle me with a couple of her oversized goons. “How long have I been doing this now? I don’t need a babysitter. Your Spartoi are tough, but they’re blunt instruments. Not the sharpest sticks in the pile—no offense. I don’t need some lumbering hulk hanging over my shoulder, scaring people while I work. If I have to, you know I can call in backup. Hell, Abraxos and Duma can reach me within minutes anywhere in the world.”
I knew Athena would have issue with my first choice of support. Duma and Ab were brothers and probably the most trusted allies I had. But they were Peri, legendary and deadly Anseelie Fae. Both the Seelie and Unseelie Courts considered them traitors, and most races would turn them over instantly or report a sighting just to avoid diplomatic issues with either court. I didn’t care. If I needed help, they’d be the ones I’d call.
She stared hard at me for a few silent minutes until I relented. “Okay! If you are so inclined, have your guys on Ready Five,” I said, rolling my eyes. I acquiesced just to move things along. Besides, Ab and Duma’s help aside, having an army at my beck and call might be useful in a pinch.
Athena placed the letter opener on the desk, sat back, and tented her hands with her index fingers resting on her chin. To my surprise, she actually backed off.
“Maybe you’re right. I’ll hold them off for now, but remain in constant contact on this. Clearly, as you feared, the Kalku wasn’t the worst thing after the Cup. I could well imagine there may even be several parties interested in its recovery.”
Damn. I was going to have to cancel my charters for the next few days at least.
CHAPTER 17
I returned home and started to reassemble my gear. In addition to my usual complement of firearms and edged weapons, I pulled out the Pelian Spear. I didn’t know if I’d need the spear or not. At eight feet long, it was more of a battlefield weapon than a close-quarters one.
It was originally a gift to Achilles’s father, Peleus, from Hephaestus, Athena, and the centaur Chiron and—like my swords—in the right hands it could penetrate anything. More importantly, a victim who was impaled upon the spear was pinned to this world, which was particularly useful when I was dealing with dimension-hopping Protogenoi or other teleporting creatures. And it called to its wielder, so it could always be recovered. Unfortunately, it was unwieldy to travel with in public, so I used a special PVC tube covered in fishing-tackle-manufacturer decals and destination stickers so that I could pass it off as a fishing rod when I had to bring it along.
I spent several hours going over my supplies, down to all the straps and buckles and making sure I had charged batteries for my flashlights, cell phone, and handheld GPS unit. Once that was done, I packed everything into two duffels and decided to grab some sleep for a few hours before I left for Brooklyn. Maybe I was being a bit obsessive, but given the nature of the things I’d gone up against, retrieving the damned Cup the first time, and the fact that two of Athena’s best Spartoi were killed for the thing, I felt it best to be overprepared this time.
At four in the morning, a pounding on my door awakened me. I figured if it was someone I needed to worry about, they probably wouldn’t have knocked, so I just plodded to the door and answered it. Even before I flipped the light on outside, I could tell by the portly outline and the shadow of the enormous bushy beard that it was Ned. He was wearing a black Hawaiian shirt decorated with images of old woody-style station wagons, surfboards, and pink-and-green flip-flops, and it was completely unbuttoned around his prodigious belly. He also had a six-pack of beer in one hand.
“I have got to get you a cell phone,” I said, yawning, and wandered into the kitchen.
“No way, man,” he said as he entered the house, glancing around outside before closing the front door behind him. Once he was inside, he switched the outside light off and then peered again through the peephole and rechecked the locks. “With those things, anyone can reach you anytime they want.”
“That’s the point. So why are you here?” I was not happy about being woken up, but I knew Ned wouldn’t have done it if he didn’t have what he thought was a good reason.
“Got news, dude,” he said, finally joining me in the kitchen, popping open a can of beer. “You know what a Lar is?”
I clenched my jaw, exhaled heavily through my nose, and crossed my arms over my chest, and he shrugged in response.
“You mean the old protector spirits that used to guard Roman cities?” I asked. “No, never heard of them. Seriously? Is that what you woke me up to ask?”
“Sorry, man. Didn’t know what you knew, dude. Anyway, apparently, Brooklyn has one, a powerful one. Some of the old Italian families still keep it going through regular food offerings and the upkeep of its shrine. My contacts say if it happens in Brooklyn, the Lar knows about it.”
“How do I find it?”
“Holy Cross Cemetery. Its shrine is at the entrance on Tilden. Bring something nice.” He winked at me.
I was contemplating whether the information was worth being woken up for but decided it was just Ned being Ned. “Great. Anything else I should know?” I sighed.
“Yeah, man. I’m gettin’ word of some heavy hitters moving in the same circles as you, lookin’ for that Cup.” His voice softened. “I heard they even ripped apart a couple of Athena’s personal-guard dudes. I’m gettin’ bad vibes, man. Lots of bad vibes. I say we go down to Fiji for a while and lie low till this mess gets sorted. I know this sweet little bay that has some tasty waves on the south side. Even has some bonefish, too, dude. Be better for your health, ya know what I mean?”
“I’m aware of what happened to Athena’s men. But those bad vibes you’re getting are exactly why I can’t just run off, nice as that sounds.”
“Suit yourself, man,” Ned said, shrugging. He downed the beer he was drinking, burped, and opened another can and just stared at me.
Ned knew I would never shy away from any fight, no matter the odds. But more importantly, he knew I would stop at nothing to get that Cup back before more people died.
“What do you know about these so-called ‘heavy hitters’?”
“Not much,” he replied, taking a long pull on the can. “Way I heard it, some terrorist group outta Iran is lookin’ for it, and they got some kinda Paran help. Word is it’s them that killed Athena’s guard dudes. Also heard tell a powerful thaumaturgist was behind the original theft.” Ned burped again and exhaled deeply.
“Aw, man—seriously,” I said, fanning the beer smell away. It took me a few seconds to get enough breath back to continue. “Terrorists working with Parans, huh? Maybe Agent Wright was on to something. And a powerful magic user makes sense, given the nature of the explosion.”
“Who’s Agent Wright?” he asked, raising his eyebrows as he opened yet another beer.
“No one you need to worry about,” I replied, encouraged by the thought that Ned’s information might just give me a legitimate reason to keep working with Sarah. �
��Just stay low, and I’ll catch up with you when this mess is over. And hey, watch my boat, will you? Any beer you find is yours.”
After finishing the rest of his six-pack, Ned flopped onto my couch and began snoring instantly. Unfortunately, my mind was now racing, and I was wide-awake at quarter of five. With the three-hour time difference between here and New York, I figured I might as well get moving.
I drove back out to the casino parking lot east of San Diego as the sky began to lighten and walked down to the little valley to find my usual gateway to the Telluric Ways. I pulled the warm Way Stone from my pocket, opened the portal, and stepped through. I exited outside the Mexican village then opened the next gateway into Central Park.
From Central Park, I caught a cab to Brooklyn. On the way, I called Agent Wright and left a message letting her know I was back in town and asking if she’d made any progress. With not much else to go on at that point, I was hoping that a lead on the bomber might give me some insight about whomever he worked for.
I knew nothing about modern Brooklyn, so on the long and expensive ride, I asked the cabbie for a hotel recommendation. He suggested a bed-and-breakfast off Rutland near Prospect Park. In a place as old as Brooklyn, that kind of lodging was likely to be home to one or more brownies, which could prove useful. And if the place had been a home for some time, its threshold would be particularly strong. Many nonhumans couldn’t cross over a home’s threshold without an invitation. Most people were familiar with that aspect of vampiric lore, but it applied to much more than Strigoi and Moroi. If a house protector such as a brownie was also present, it could reinforce that threshold like a supernatural electric fence. It would be an extra bonus layer of protection.
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