by SM Reine
There was no sign of the barbells, the weapons’ racks, the foam pads. The wooden floors had been polished. A single table was surrounded by candelabras with dancing firelight. A buffet table held ripe fruit, fresh-baked bread—many delectations that Fritz would find himself missing in months to come.
At the sound of the door closing, the members of the Genesis Convention turned to look at him.
Lady Tresor, white haired and austere.
Adàn Pedregon, grizzled, grumpy, and messier than an old money billionaire had any right to be.
The directors of the OPA, who should have been excited to meet the angel who had founded their organization. They only looked confused.
And Cèsar Hawke.
He had set the elaborate egg-shaped bomb on the table, undetonated. It was encircled by salt and ribbons—the kind that Cèsar used to disable dangerous magical charms. There was no way that Zettel’s bomb could blow within that circle. If it did, its magical burst would be contained. Fritz was sure of it.
Cèsar had decided not to use the bomb after all. He’d turned it over to the Genesis Convention.
For an instant, Fritz felt relief.
He believed that Cèsar had chosen his side.
Except that Cèsar was facing away from the members of the Genesis Convention. He had unbuckled his belt and dropped his slacks. He was mooning the powerful figures behind the Office of Preternatural Affairs.
It would have been funny if not for what he was showing them on his ass.
“That’s an Apple tattoo,” Lady Tresor said. Her eyes lifted to Fritz’s, startled. “Your aspis is a member of the Apple?”
“No,” Fritz said. And then, “Why?” Neither word was directed toward the members of the Genesis Convention, but to his aspis, who had to know what would happen now that he’d revealed himself as a member of a cult. He’d only signed the new contract a few days ago.
Cèsar didn’t get an opportunity to answer. His eyes had gone empty, and he pitched forward, falling onto his face without so much as a chance to pull up those goddamn pants of his.
He had lost his job.
And his memory.
Chapter 21
June 2015 — San Francisco, California
“And that’s it?” I asked.
Fritz shrugged. “That’s it.”
Night had fallen while they told me about their friend Julius Eagle. It was always dangerous to be outside these days—or inside, or anywhere at all, ever—but nighttime was an especially dangerous time. There was no distinguishing normal darkness from demon shadow once sunlight was gone. For all we knew, the Friederling X yacht was bobbing on a black sea of nightmare demons like they’d seen in Malebolge.
Suzy had brought out a gasoline-powered lantern, hanging it on the edge of the deck, and that gave me enough light to see how dramatic and pale the others looked.
“Then what?” I asked, looking between the three faces that were staring at me way too intently.
“My aspis was revealed to be a member of the Apple, a loathed cult, and the Genesis Convention considered me compromised,” Fritz said. “They cancelled the meeting. Makael never came. It’s possible that the Genesis Convention chose to convene elsewhere at a later date, but I’m not privy to it. My aspis quit willingly. He checked out. And he got me fired in the process.”
Suzy looked misty-eyed. “I’d be impressed by what a dick move it was if it hadn’t meant losing my boyfriend. It’s not like I can easily replace him with a vibrator during the apocalypse! God, he is such an asshole.”
“What about Gary Zettel?” I asked. I ran my hand over the lamp, feeling the reservoir on the back. It looked like it could hold about a liter of fuel. A whole liter. “What about the Focus for Helltown? What about…everything?”
“Zettel got arrested, and we neither know nor care what the OPA directors did with him,” Isobel said. “We assume it’s awful.”
“Sometimes dreams do come true,” Suzy said.
“What about the Focus?” I asked. “Did you guys fix Los Angeles?”
Isobel reached into a pile of life jackets and pulled out the glittering, burning diamond that had once protected Helltown’s borders. “We tried to get it to Helltown, but it was too late when we went back. The statues had fallen into the Fissure. So…finders keepers?”
“The point is that we can use the Focus to protect the yacht through apocalypse,” Fritz said. “All we need is for my aspis to be restored to us.”
“So you seriously want me to go looking for Julius Eagle?” I asked. “After everything he did? He lied to you guys for years! He abandoned you!”
“Blowing out his memory was a very convincing apology,” Isobel said.
I blew out a breath. Pulled myself to standing. I looked out over the black water to the black form of San Francisco’s shore, and I thought about what the three of them were saying.
They had forgiven every wretched thing that this asshole had done to them. They wanted him back in the family, and they’d come all this way to look for him.
If I’d been a better person, I could have helped them.
I wasn’t that good a person.
“It’s end of days,” I said. “I’m not taking on any more cases. Sorry.”
Suzy made a disbelieving sound. “So that’s it? You’re just…not going to take our case?”
“Can’t,” I said. “Sorry.”
“We spent hours telling you what happened!”
“Hours of my life I can’t get back. I appreciate the ride, the water, and the chips,” I said. “Can’t remember the last time I ate something that didn’t taste stale. It’s nice and all, but I’ve gotta go.”
Fritz was looking at me.
His expression was completely unreadable.
I felt worse than if he’d started yelling at me.
“Drop me off at the pier over there,” I said. “I want this lamp as payment too.” I patted the reservoir of fuel. It would finish filling my tanks at home, and leave Halle’s bottle of gasoline as back-up.
“You won’t help us, but you’ll make demands? That’s rich,” Suzy said.
“No, you’re rich, and I’m surviving,” I said. “Look, it doesn’t even make sense that you’d want to get this guy back. Even his apology was a dick move. You said it yourself. You’re not missing out on anything.”
Fritz finally looked away. “Drop Mr. Hawke off at the pier.”
“God, fuck the both of you,” Suzy said.
But they did drop me off at the pier.
Before I could climb over the railing, Isobel caught me in her arms. Her skin was cold. A side effect of wearing a halter and shorts in wet, chilly San Francisco. “It was good to speak with you,” Isobel murmured into my ear. Her hands snaked briefly along my belt.
Then she pushed me. I climbed out.
The yacht emanated enough light to clear the nightmare wisps off the end of the pier. I stood on the edge inside the protective glow of the lantern and watched them float away.
They barely waited to get out of earshot before the yelling started. Suzy was shouting at Fritz, getting up in his face, jabbing her finger in his chest. She kept pointing toward the pier—toward me—and then at him again.
Isobel seemed to agree. She was waving her fists.
Fritz was serene, placating in his posture, occasionally shrugging.
A swell of waves carried them into the fog. They were receding slowly. Given luck and a determined breaststroke, I had a few more seconds to change my mind.
Then the fog thickened, the light dimmed, and they were gone.
Halle and her kids were the last refugees I’d needed to get onto a boat. There were still other folks in San Francisco—I wasn’t the only person who loved squatting in a three thousand-square-foot condo for free—but they hadn’t reached out to me for help, so they weren’t my problem.
Getting home involved sneaking through alleyways that even the demons didn’t bother with. Brutes were too broad shouldered to fit beh
ind San Francisco’s sagging old buildings, and the nightmare wisps couldn’t reach me with the lamp burning, so it was the least eventful cross-city travel I’d enjoyed in months. I got home within the hour.
I was occupying an ocean view penthouse a little distance up the coast. I’d bounced around places before that but this was the nicest. The plumbing wasn’t backed up as badly, so it didn’t stink. It had dusty wooden floors, huge windows overlooking the wharf, and enough storage space for my weapons.
Did I mention I have weapons?
These weapons came in the form of floodlights and portable generators. It hadn’t been easy to scrape the equipment together. I’d had to punch a lot of looters, let me tell you. It had been harder still to get fuel, so I’d had to siphon it ounces at a time from abandoned cars.
The lantern from the yacht filled the final reservoir as I’d hoped. Halle’s Coke bottle stayed in my pocket.
Once I dumped the lantern fuel into the tank, I stood back, surveying my penthouse’s space.
Two hundred gallons of fuel.
A dozen floodlights.
Enough cables to choke a whole Hell dimension filled with brutes.
“This is gonna be spectacular,” I murmured at the empty room.
I’d stuck the floodlights behind broken couches and between crooked shelves. They would drive out every last shadow once turned on.
“I hope it will be spectacular. If it’s not, I’m gonna die, and it’s gonna suck. Also, I’m talking to myself. Why am I talking to myself?” I’d been alone for months. Maybe I’d cracked.
No. I knew the reason I was talking.
I hadn’t missed having company until I’d spent a few hours in the bay with Fritz, Suzy, and Isobel.
Darkness weighed heavily against the outside of my window. It looked too dark to be nighttime. It was like someone had dropped black velvet over the glass.
The storm of demons had descended.
Now I was preparing for the biggest fight of my life alone.
I couldn’t stop thinking about the Friederling X bobbing out on the water, up and down, its faint light retreating into a silken fog. I could have gone back. They’d have let me stay.
“Sure, they would have let me stay,” I said, pulling my curtains closed. I didn’t wanna look at the darkness outside the window anymore. “But nothing’s changed. They think it’s changed, but nothing’s different.”
I headed down the creaky stairs, heart pounding. My pocket felt weirdly heavy from the Coke bottle—too heavy.
So I pulled the Coke bottle out to take a look, and the heaviness remained.
There was something else in my pocket.
I reached in and pulled out an oversized diamond that seemed to contain internal flame, just like the one described by Fritz.
The Focus.
“Oh, fuck me,” I said.
I remembered how Isobel had stolen an opportunity to hug me before I got off the ship, how she’d touched my belt. She’d been slipping the Focus into my pocket.
But why?
A voice spoke up from behind me. “I almost think you wanted me to come back for you.”
I whirled.
A blond guy stood in my doorway, arms folded, an expression akin to disapproval on his face.
Fritz Friederling had followed me home.
Chapter 22
I lifted my hands to my shoulders in a gesture of surrender. “I didn’t steal the Focus. Swear to God.”
Fritz pushed off of the wall, sauntering into the room. He must have been following me a while. He pulled out a matchbook labeled by the gas station around the corner from my place, and he made a half-smoked cigar appear.
“You don’t smoke,” I said.
“Typically, no.”
Typically, Fritz Friederling was on yachts with leather seats, drinking cognac alongside beautiful women.
Typically, he was not stalking innocent detectives throughout the mildewing skeleton of San Francisco.
He lit his cigar and inhaled. “Nice wards you’ve got here. Very elaborate. They look like the kind of wards that you’d need something like the Focus to strengthen.”
I glanced around the room. It was empty except for the warding circle I’d created exactly underneath the room with the floodlights. A circle this complex took a lot of space. I’d spent months hurrying through it, trying to make sure it’d be ready in time for the demons to arrive.
The Focus would have definitely made all that go much faster.
Slowly, I kneeled down and put the Focus on the floor between us. “I’m serious. I didn’t steal it. Isobel put it in my pocket.”
Raven-black disappointment flitted over Fritz’s expression. “Then you really weren’t asking me to follow you.”
“Shit, you’ve gotta run.” I glanced out the window, verifying it was still dark before dropping the blinds. They fell in broken horizontal slats.
Fear was filling me up. Ink dripped, drop by drop, into a Cèsar-shaped glass.
The demons were getting closer.
“Why should I leave?” Fritz asked. He wasn’t moving to pick up the Focus. “I belong here as little as you do.”
I didn’t even have time to argue. I lobbed the Focus at him, and he caught it.
“Just stay out of my way and don’t get into the circle.” I hurried to close my wards using salt and cinnamon. As soon as the walls slammed shut I sneezed. Power rose around me, silent and invisible and choking in its strength.
Easily the best ward I’d ever cast.
This was only the first phase of it. Breathing was gonna get really hard in a few minutes here.
For now, staggering into the stairwell was enough distance to allow me to stop sneezing. Fritz grabbed me by the sleeve. No direct skin-on-skin contact.
“You’re probably wondering where the ladies are,” Fritz said.
“I’m not wondering,” I gasped as I staggered upstairs. “Bet they’re sunning themselves in bikinis and rubbing baby oil on each other’s titties.”
“Belle and Suze are—“
“Shh, Friederling, don’t tell me otherwise. Oil. Titties. Bikinis.”
“Yes, oil on titties clad in bikinis,” he said. “Whatever they’re doing is of no concern to you, Cèsar. I didn’t tell them I was coming back.”
“Bet they noticed when you dived into the Bay.”
Amusement played over Fritz’s mouth. “It’s not unusual for me to run off.”
The fear hitched.
It was getting harder to breathe, and this had nothing to do with the wards. I was glutted on anxiety. There wasn’t much room left for rationality, sanity, or anything else Cèsar Hawke enjoyed when he wasn’t being preyed upon by demons.
“You better slip out the back.” I parted the blinds with my forefinger and thumb to peer out at the street again. It was getting darker than dark, deeper than night. “I’m about to have infernal company and you don’t gotta deal with it.”
I could feel her in my throat, in the blur of my vision.
“I’m not going anywhere.” Fritz followed me upstairs and helped himself to my refrigerator, like he expected it might be working.
“You know, we don’t do demons in San Fran the way you do out on the ocean,” I said. “We’ve got actual demons here. Big ones.”
One so big that she’d survived banishment in Malebolge. She’d spent the last two years preying on people in the Bay Area to regain her strength.
Her fear had been radiating over California nighttime for months. More than once I’d been forced to go searching for clients because they’d been too paralyzed by fear to enter the streets. And the storm of nightmares hadn’t been in San Francisco at the time; they’d been in Napa, Sonoma, clogging up the wine country.
It was my fault that this nightmare demon was coming to San Francisco now that she was strong.
But Fritz Friederling looked untouched by the fear. “I left out part of the story,” Fritz said, moving from my lightless refrigerator to the cabine
t.
“Please tell me it involves bikinis too,” I said. I barely got the last word out before fear smashed me in the face. I pressed my back against the wall. My hands were getting sweaty on the Desert Eagle.
“I told you about how I rewrote the contract for my aspis,” Fritz said, checking the sell-by date on a can of tuna left in the back of my cabinets.
“You didn’t rewrite it, if I remember what you said. It was an agency thing. They redid all the contracts after the Breaking.”
“That’s what I’d told my aspis,” Fritz said. “In truth, the OPA had much bigger worries than contracts for trivial employees like my aspis.”
I wasn’t so afraid that I couldn’t get a little bit affronted. “I mean, aspides have special skills, very technical. Not trivial.”
“I rewrote that contract personally,” Fritz said. “Only my aspis signed a new employment agreement. Oh look, Strawberry Fresca.” He’d found a couple bottles under the sink.
“I don’t like strawberries much,” I said.
“The new contract had no clause to wipe my aspis’s memory.” Fritz used the counter to open the bottle and gave me a very serious look over the Fresca’s lip. “He would have had a couple days of amnesia. You would have had a couple days of amnesia. But there’s absolutely no reason for you to think you don’t know me. Your kopis.”
“Oh goddammit,” I said.
Fritz shoved the Fresca at me. “Drink the damn soda.”
“Fuck you, Fritzy.”
“Call me that again,” he said, “and I will shatter this glass soda bottle on your head.” He held his free hand out toward me. Obviously he wanted me to take his hand.
Because we were partners.
Kopis and aspis.
Fritz and Cèsar.
And no, I hadn’t lost my memory after I got fired for being a member of the Apple.
Not for long. A couple days was an understatement—it had been closer to a week before I’d started to feel like myself again, and another week after that before the clarity of memory returned, and maybe a whole month before I was sure I’d gotten back to normalcy.
“Did you seriously know this whole time?” I asked. “That I remember?” And then a worse thought occurred to me. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Do Izzy and Suze know?”