"Never, Mrs. Kaminsky." Charon put a hand to his chest and sketched a bow. "I am, as ever, merely your gallant guide. Sometimes it takes a bit of, ah, finagling. Finesse. Try it for me."
Her ghost turned, becoming immediately less distinct. The light shone clear before her, though Charon knew perfectly well he could only see it because she believed it was there. She walked forward, took a sideways step to the right, another forward, then one to the left. With a long sigh, she turned to wave and was gone.
Charon stood staring at the place where the vision had floated, chewing carefully on a claw tip. He'd told her she had to find the way through, and sometimes, with some human beliefs, that was the case. The problem was something had felt wrong about her passage through, nothing he could enumerate, but enough to irritate his inner senses.
Humans did make things harder on themselves sometimes. The difficulty was most likely barriers she had thrown in her own way. With encouragement, he knew beyond any doubt that she had managed without too much fuss and had crossed over. He gave himself a mental shake and dismissed the wisps of anxiety as weariness and a touch of lingering melancholy.
The Everlasting Glass
Chapter Two
Hey, it makes sense, Char." George swung his hoofed feet as he perched on the barstool next to Charon. "Meggie was your friend. You miss her. Of course the lonely shit ambushes you sometimes."
Charon raised an eyebrow at the faun. "Are you suggesting that I don't have any other friends?"
The Everlasting Glass was quiet that evening. Not shocking, since it was early on a Wednesday. The bar, tucked away in a basement location on a quiet Philadelphia side street, catered to immortals and carried illusions over the door that made it nearly impossible for humans to find. A group of mixed immortals had a card game going in the far corner, and others dotted the tables in ones and twos, but nothing like the raucous crowd that would pack the bar late on the weekend.
George raised both hands in protest. "Hey, no. Not me. But she was special to you. We all know that. Like more than just friends."
"If you're fishing, Georgie, you're apparently trying to do it with dynamite in a bathtub. Instead of fish, all you'll get is noise and mess." Charon sipped at his gin and tonic, his claws clicking slowly on the glass.
"Don't go all fearsome night denizen." George actually nudged him with an elbow, not something most beings would dare. "Not like a relationship. But everybody needs that one friend who understands them best. And isn't their boss."
"You're not really making me feel any better."
"Not what I do. You need somebody else for that. Like Dio or Ti. Why aren't you home, if you feel so bad?"
"His lordship and Ti are out celebrating… something. I can't remember what it was now."
Yasigi, goddess of dancing and beer, who was both barkeep and owner, worked her way toward them as she wiped down the oak bar top. Dark wood, crisp white cloth, darker skin, Charon lost himself in the lovely pattern of her movements until she stopped in front of him and rapped her knuckles on the wood.
"That's not like you at all," Yasigi said in her purring, honeyed voice. "You remember everything."
Charon glanced up at her, one of the few denizens of Everlasting for whom he had to look up. The soft globe of one of the bar lamps created a halo around her short-cropped black hair, and he twitched, a moment of half-realization, half-recognition that immediately slid away from him.
"Everything feels a little odd lately. Fuzzy, I suppose." He stopped to sip again. "Bunny-slipper brain."
"Pretty snow-skinned demon, I have to admit…" Yasigi shook her head as she moved on. "That's a weird-ass visual."
The card game in the corner got louder, with someone accusing Azeban of cheating. Again. It was predictable as rain in Portland when the raccoon god played cards. Why anyone agreed to play with him was a mystery, though it did look like an unusual card game, with little figurines and dice in the mix. Charon turned a jaundiced eye their way, and the players, mostly minor animal and plant gods, subsided to angry whispers.
"So you're sulking in a dirty bar getting drunk." George downed the rest of his beer.
"Hey!" Yasigi called from the far end of the bar, where she was serving fermented chlorophyll spirits to a couple of dryads. "My bar is clean!"
"I'm unwinding with a drink or two after work in a place where I don't have to worry about humans twitching around me," Charon said as he motioned for a second round. "Don't you think it's just the teensiest bit hypocritical? A Dionysian faun questioning someone's drinking habits?"
"Yeah, well, Lord Dio's drinking is his superpower," George grumbled. "You drinking is all kinds of wrong."
Charon downed the second gin and tonic at a single go. "Much more wrong—wronger?—if I drank at home, fuzzy butt."
"Yeah, yeah. No tempting Ti." With a wriggle of the aforementioned fuzzy butt, George hopped from his barstool. "I'm going home before someone blames me for whatever's happening here."
George was near the door pulling on his human clothes for the walk to the train station—baggy jeans, T-shirt, and the specially altered sneakers he could stomp his hooves into and pretend he had feet—when Azeban got up from the game at the back of the room.
"Hey! It's not my fault none of you can keep track of rules or cards or dice or any damn thing." Azeban spread both hands as he backed from the table, his black-ringed eyes wide in too-obvious offended innocence. His fellow gamers muttered and shot dark glances his way, but no one started any real trouble. With a little skip and a grin, Azeban hurried over to the hooks to retrieve his coat and hat. He plunked George's Homburg on the faun's horned head while he was there. "Don't forget your cover, Georgie."
"Thanks, Az. I'd tell you to be good, but that's a losing battle." George shook his head as he stomped out and let the door slam behind him. Ti called him Oscar the Faun sometimes. Tonight, Charon had to agree.
Azeban whistled between his teeth as he slid into his coat and jogged over to the bar to settle. He left a couple of twenties on the bar top and patted Charon's shoulder. "Hey, how's it going, big bad?"
Charon held back a sigh and seized Azeban's wrist before he could turn away. "Put it back, Az."
"Put what back?" Dark eyes blinked at him from within their black circles, all guileless innocence. The black raccoon mask on his cheerful, youthful face always made it look like he was a goth kid out for some fun, but of course it wasn't makeup, and that innocent face was a well-practiced mask.
"The wallet. My wallet. Az. For Styx's sake, you know better."
With a sheepish, crooked grin, Azeban reached slowly into his inner coat pocket and retrieved Charon's wallet. He placed it on the bar and shoved it toward Charon. "Um, ha. Right. Can't fool you. Sorry."
"And now George's."
"But I didn't—"
Charon held out his free hand. "Please. Spare me the song and dance. I've had a trying day, and you're determined to tug on my last nerve, aren't you?"
"Heh. Okay." Azeban's smile fell as he put George's wine-red wallet into Charon's outstretched palm. He leaned into Charon and rubbed his shaggy head against Charon's shoulder. "I was just playin' around."
Not smiling at him was harder than it should've been. Difficult to stay stern and intimidating when the little miscreant offered snuggles. "Of course. Now run along, little procyonid, before I run out of the little bit of amusement I have left tonight."
Azeban offered him a jaunty salute and a laugh before he scampered out. A caw and a flap of wings greeted him on the street, and Charon wondered idly why he hadn't brought his crow friend inside. Speaking of nonverbal friends, Nike was home on her own. It was probably getting late, and he should head back before she decided her doggie self had been abandoned and she began eating furniture legs.
He reached into his vest pocket to check the time and swore softly. Twice-damned little god stole my pocket watch.
Azeban couldn't help a tiny swagger as he strolled down toward South Street. For ni
ght denizens, the best hours were still to come, and he wanted somewhere a little livelier than the Everlasting on a weeknight. He twirled the pocket watch on its chain, snickering, while Kaukont stepped back and forth on his shoulder in an agitated fashion.
"Caw!"
"Fine, fine, I'll open it. Goes with him, doesn't it? All sleek and high-class and scary-sexy. Don't give me that look. The ferryman is so sexy." Azeban stroked the silver case engraved with delicately intertwined bones.
"Caw!"
"You think he'll really be mad? I mean, I'll give it back. Eventually. Not like any pawnshop would take something so unique. Nah. Char can take a joke. It'll be fine." Azeban waved off his companion's beak clacking. "Of course he'll be annoyed. Mildly ticked off."
With exquisite care, he undid the latch and opened the watch to reveal the stunning face done in onyx and mother of pearl. "So, so beautiful. I just wanted to look at it for a little. Charon will forgive us, 'cause he needs to believe he's one of the good guys, you know? Lord Hades gave him a job and a conscience, poor thing. Stuff I'll never have."
"Creh-ker?"
"Oh, both. Neither job nor conscience. They marked me, rings around my eyes and tail, but they can't change me. I'm just bad."
"Crrrrrreh-clack!"
"What? No! I'd never hurt you. You're my bestie." Azeban closed the watch with a frown. "Oh. I guess that is sort of a conscience. A semi-conscience. Get it? Ha! Nah, I know, I know. It's not like I knock over puppies and steal carts from homeless little old ladies. I can be not-mean and still not have a conscience."
"Cehk."
"Yeah, well, a lot of what I say is bullshit. You don't have to be rude about it."
Kaukont ruffled his feathers, fluffing himself up into a black puffball. The claws gripped his shoulder tighter, and Azeban prepared to be scolded, but Kaukont had gone still, staring out into the streetlight-puddled dark.
"Kau? What's wr—"
Azeban… Azeban… why haven't you come?
The tight, sick feeling running up his spine made him stumble. How did she find him so fast? He tried for brave, but his stomach shook in panicked tremors. "Really don't feel like it. Didn't like the game you wanted to play. I really didn't."
You will come. I command it.
"Ha!" Even the laugh came out strangled and desperate. "I'm not commandable, your scariness. You can't make me come to you."
Oh, but I can, little raccoon. I can.
Azeban reversed direction and ran back uptown, racing for the 30th-Street Station. Obviously, it was time to skip town again. He just had to keep ahead of her, and eventually she'd get tired of the game. She had to, right? Pick another chump to play with? Please, please, by all the holy waters, let her get tired of him soon.
Charon's armchair sprawl was inelegant and graceless. Three gin and tonics made it difficult to care. Perhaps at his height, with his ancient status, his inhumanness, he should have been able to handle more, but he so rarely drank. Nike lay with her big boerboel head on his knee. She was big enough now to do that. While she had been overjoyed when he'd returned home, her gaze kept darting up at him with a worried doggy frown.
"I'm all right, little girl." Charon ruffled her ears and stroked her lovely, smooth fur. There really was nothing more soothing than petting someone with fur. "Everyone has bad days."
He felt the ripple of power several stories down long before Lord Hades reached the door, knew the moment he had pulled his Viper into its assigned parking space. While he could have located his lordship at any given moment, anywhere, he needed to search consciously for him or for any immortal. In close proximity though, by virtue of the profound strength of his aura—Charon picked that up automatically from several hundred yards away. Lesser auras were more of a whisper in the psychic milieu, but still pinged his short-range. A useful talent, since Charon wasn't big on surprises. On being surprised, he had to correct himself.
"We should get up," he said to Nike. "They're home, you know."
Neither of them moved until the lock in the condo's front hall snicked, and the door opened. Then Nike scrambled up and bounded off with a soft whuff.
"There's my girl." Lord Hades's fond greeting to his Earth-side dog sounded oddly strained.
I really really should get up…
But Ti's face suddenly filled his vision, shaggy blond hair hanging down as he peered at Charon. "Hey. You don't look so… Aw, man. You're trashed, aren't you? I still know gin when I smell it."
Charon gave a languid wave. "Three drinks is hardly trashed. I'm just motivationally challenged this evening." He finally swung his feet off the ottoman and sat up. "You're home early."
"Himself doesn't feel so great." Ti grimaced and strode back to the hallway to help Lord Hades out of his coat. "And wouldn't let me drive home. Even though I can drive and I would've been careful and it wasn't that far."
"Ti, love, please," Hades murmured. "Not now."
Guilt swamped Charon and brought him out of his torpor. His lordship leaned against the wall beside the closet with the heels of his hands pressed against his eyes. Charon should have been there to open the door, to take his coat and help him with his shoes if he wasn't feeling well. Something was wrong here, and he'd been wallowing like a lazy slug feeling sorry for himself.
He skipped walking in favor of teleporting to Hades's side. "My lord? What's happened?"
"Nothing's happened, Char. Just a headache. Perhaps I shouldn't have had the scallops."
Gently, Charon eased an arm around that broad back and urged him forward. "Perhaps not, my lord. Aspirin and bed, or do you wish to go to your palace?"
The palace was nearly a code phrase, but both Hades and Ti would understand. Was this a minor annoyance, or was Hades compromised badly enough that he needed to return to his own domain to recover? If it was the second, something besides scallops had to be involved.
"Aspirin, please, if someone would be so kind. Bed. Yes."
Charon wanted to be relieved as he helped his lordship to bed and Ti scrambled down the hall for aspirin, but he'd known Hades far too long, centuries upon centuries. The lord of the Underworld would deny pain until it overwhelmed him, continued to dismiss it as nothing until most beings would have been brought to their knees. The chances of this being just a headache, as in a garden-variety one, were slim to none. No, seafood didn't always agree with his lordship. Sometimes it disagreed with him rather violently, but that had usually manifested with, ah, different physical symptoms.
Maybe it was the scallops. An irritating voice at the back of Charon's mind kept insisting it was something more.
Arrivals and Vanishings
Chapter Three
It wasn't one of the most memorable skylines or even a big downtown, but when Azeban stepped off the train in Wilmington, auras crowded his mind. He dared a deep breath and let his lungs expand fully, aware in their grateful expansion how shallow he had kept his breaths, how small he had tried to make himself since he had run from Philadelphia.
He helped Kaukont out of his coat and back onto his shoulder. For some reason, the humans didn't like loose birds on their trains, and he sure as shit wasn't going to put Kaukont in a cage to please them. He liked humans and liked living near them, but they could be so weird.
This middling, not-that-special city was under the protection of a powerful death lord. That made it special. Why this city for this god and not Athens or Thessalonica, he didn't have a clue and didn't care. Less-powerful immortals reacted to cities protected by death lords like moths to porch lights, drawn to them as if the god's protection extended to them. Not necessarily, of course, but Azeban hoped to lose himself in the relative crowd. He could tell the location of every immortal in a city—his GPS for the deathless, Coyote called it—but he'd never heard of anyone else having the ability.
Besides, he could return Charon's pocket watch more easily from here. Nothing wrong with snagging two crayfish with one paw. Before any other business though, there was a more pressing matter.<
br />
"You hungry, Kau?"
"Crrah."
"Yeah, I'm starved too." Azeban pulled his hat lower as they passed a police officer outside the train station. "You want bought or tossed?
Kau ruffled his feathers and ignored the question in favor of preening his wings, so he didn't care. Azeban considered while he crossed the street. Having humans wait on him was fun, and he did have cash. The waiting part wasn't though. Some nights he preferred the freedom to forage. He followed his nose north a few blocks to the first grocery store, went around back to the Dumpster, and found it unlocked. Oh, rapture! Grocery trash was the best.
He needed a box to stand on, and the alley was friendly enough to provide. Carefully, so it wouldn't clang, he lifted the lid and let out a trill of pleasure. A feast lay spread out for him—nicely wrapped chicken and beef just a day past expiration, packages of old cookies, bruised apples—oooh! A bag of shrimp. Beautiful. They could gorge. The step-stool box became a table. A newspaper snagged from the train became a tablecloth. No candle this evening, but they had moonlight to make the meal special. The alleyway smells didn't bother him in the least. He'd smelled worse.
Azeban put his shades away, retrieved one of his knives, and shared out some apple, beef, and shrimp for Kaukont in small pieces before he began devouring his own portion.
"Nothing like dining al fresco," he told Kau with a cheerful grin. Kau gave him a little mutter in response, polite since he was eating.
A human wandered into the alley muttering to himself, one of those humans who looked like he hadn't had his own burrow in some time. Azeban was happy to share what he could. He'd taken too much out of the trash, anyway. Only the apples and cookies though, since humans couldn't eat raw meat too well. Shame, that. Maybe a cat or three would come by later to finish. The human didn't stay long, just took the food and shuffled away again.
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