Death And Darkness

by E. A. Copen

  “Pony, where’s this coming from?”

  He held up a hand. “Let me get it out. I don’t say it enough, and it needs to be said. You got a good heart.” Pony raised his head and offered a small smile. “I’m proud of you, son.”

  The words punched me straight in the gut, hitting harder than Darius’ thugs ever could’ve. My throat constricted, growing too tight to even get words out. Even if I could speak, what could I say to that? Pony had never said anything like that before. Why would he say it now?

  A thousand possibilities raced through my mind. The return of his visions had made me suspect the cancer might be back, but he didn’t want to talk about it, so I didn’t ask. I’d always thought he’d tell me when he was ready. What if this was his way of saying goodbye?

  Remy cooed. No, he wouldn’t have taken Remy for me if he expected something to happen to him. He might’ve been a bastard, but he cared about her. Maybe he was just feeling a little nostalgic.

  Every man everywhere lived his life hoping to hear those words from his father. So few got the opportunity. It was one of those things that just never came out. Either fathers died before they could say it, or thought it was understood, or they were assholes. Pony wasn’t my father, but he was the closest thing I’d ever really had. Since I’d gotten out of prison, I’d worried a lot over the state of our relationship. I guess we were better off than I’d assumed. He didn’t hate me for going away. After everything I’d done, all I’d said, all the wrong choices I’d made, he still thought I was a decent person.

  I cleared my throat forcefully. “Thanks, Pony. That means a lot.”

  The words felt cold, sterile, not good enough to acknowledge the moment that had just transpired. Yet there was nothing else to say. If I said anything else, it’d sound corny and stupid.

  So, I just flipped up the collar of my coat and went out the door into the rain.

  Paula’s bar was a rundown old wooden building on the edge of a high-crime neighborhood. The sign was simple black lettering on faded brown wood with no neon to light it up in the dark. Anyone not looking for the place would drive right on by. Only locals seemed to know about it, and Paula didn’t tolerate any troublemakers. That kept the place from getting too crowded. That and the tiny parking lot.

  I’d once rented the apartment upstairs. After I helped the Summer Court defeat the Shadow Army in Faerie, I decided it would be a bad idea to live under the same roof as someone who belonged to the Shadow Court, which Paula did. Not that she’d ever do anything to me. She was a good person, despite being born into a crappy fae court. Still, my being there might’ve caused her trouble, so I moved out. I hadn’t been back since.

  It was early enough that the parking lot was still mostly empty, which wasn’t unusual for that time of day. I identified a couple cars and trucks belonging to the regulars, plus a black Benz with rental plates and not a spot of mud on it. Weird. Tourists usually stuck to the Quarter. Paula’s was too far out for most of them to find unless they’d gone looking for it. Even if they did, anyone who could afford to rent a Mercedes wouldn’t be drinking at a dive like Paula’s. I saw the car and immediately felt uneasy.

  Moses’ beat-up old sedan was parked near the door in the handicap spot, not surprising given his knee. I parked near the Benz and got out to case it. As a rental, I didn’t expect it to have any clues about who was driving it or why they were at Paula’s, but it never hurt to check. As expected, the car was empty of everything except an old-fashioned leather bag.

  I leaned in for a better look and pressed my hand to the window only to immediately pull it away. There was enough magic leaking out of the back seat to make me think twice about trying to have a peek. Whatever was in that bag felt practically radioactive.

  There was another wizard in the bar.

  For a second, I considered that it might be Josiah. He was an out of towner, which meant he’d need a rental to get around. He might also have a creepy magic bag in the back seat. How would he know about Paula’s, though? If it was him, he’d probably made a mistake with the Benz. He’d come across as a serious asshole on the phone. If he was a rich asshole who liked to flaunt his wealth and status, the regulars at Paula’s would eat him alive.

  The sound of shattering glass made me spin around just in time to see one of Paula’s regulars, Marco, go through the window. Marco was a big guy with several assaults under his belt. Since none of them had happened at Paula’s, she let him hang around, but everyone agreed he was trouble. I was surprised he’d behaved himself the few years he’d been drinking there.

  Marco pushed himself up, bleeding from the head, let out a pissed off growl, and leaped right back through the broken window.

  Shit. I sighed. Better go rescue my specialist.

  A glass shattered against the door frame above my head when I pushed open the door. I ducked on instinct and took in the scene. Two stools at the bar had been overturned. Several tables and chairs between the bar and the window were overturned. A cue stick lay snapped in two on the bar, which had several puddles and overturned glasses. The jukebox blasted a one-hit-wonder by Dexy’s Midnight Runners while a skinny-as-a-rail dark-haired guy took a punch to the gut from Marco.

  Paula and the two bouncers stood behind the bar, arms crossed, watching the fight unfold. They weren’t interfering, which meant skinny guy probably deserved it. Since the skinny guy was also the only person in the bar I didn’t recognize, I reasoned he must’ve been my specialist. Figured he’d go and pick a fight with the biggest guy in the bar.

  Judging from the damage and the crackle of spent magic in the air, he’d smacked Marco with a spell and knocked him through the window. I didn’t blame Marco for being pissed, but I couldn’t let him beat up my only chance at saving both Nikki and Emma.

  Marco punched the other guy in the nose and drew his fist back for a second strike.

  I rushed in and grabbed his fist before he could swing. “Chill, Marco, before you break something.”

  I didn’t see Marco’s other fist until it was too late. The punch felt like he’d knocked my head off my neck. I swear I felt my spine shift. It left me stumbling into a table, where I couldn’t do anybody any good.

  Apparently, I was the distraction skinny dude needed to get the upper hand. Marco turned to him and got a good boxing-style one-two jab. Having done a little boxing myself while in prison, I recognized the form immediately. Marco didn’t stand a chance. The cross strike landed perfectly between the jaw and temple. The bigger man fell like a tree, crashing into a stool on his way down.

  “Fuckwit,” growled the skinny guy in a heavy Aussie accent. He drew a thumb over his lower lip, wiping away the blood.

  Definitely Josiah, then. Damn. I’d been hoping I was wrong.

  I shook my head clear and stood, nudging Marco’s foot away from me. Of all the things I’d expected to do that day, getting into a fight with an idiot like Marco was at the bottom of my list. “I take it you’re Josiah Quinn?”

  “A minute, mate.” He turned back to the bar and dropped a couple of bills. “Sorry for the mess.”

  One of the bouncers started forward but Paula put out an arm, stopping him and glaring at Josiah. “This a friend of yours, Laz?”

  I finished checking myself. Aside from getting my gong rung, Marco hadn’t done much damage. “Not if I’ve got to help foot the bill.”

  The curtain in the hallway that led back to the bathroom parted and Moses stepped out. He was still dressed in his work suit and the navy fedora he’d been wearing when we first met. Moses eyed the bar and raised his eyebrows. “What happened out here?”

  Paula ignored him and waved toward Marco where he lay napping on the floor. “Vince, Brady, take out the trash.”

  The bouncers finally stepped away from the wall.

  Moses shook his head and sat down at the far end of the bar. Since I wasn’t quite ready to deal with Josiah, I went and sat with Moses.

  Paula eyed Josiah as he picked up a tumbler with two fi
ngers of whiskey in it and sipped from it. “You know, if I wasn’t fae, I’d thank you. I’ve been trying to find an excuse to kick that asshole out for years. I was hoping it wouldn’t come to a fight, though.”

  “If you didn’t like him, why let him drink here?” I asked.

  “Because his money was good and, if you can’t tell, this place ain’t exactly raking it in.” Paula picked up the bills Josiah had left on the bar and frowned. “Doubt this’ll cover the window.”

  Josiah glanced over his shoulder at the shattered glass. “No worries. I’ve got it.” He downed the last of the drink and got up from his stool.

  Moses and I exchanged a look and swung around on the stools to watch.

  Glass crunched under Josiah’s work boots as he strode to the window, shaking his hands out. He stretched his arms out in front of him, fingers spread wide, and exhaled before barking a single word. Magic whipped out of him in invisible threads, the power strong enough to make me wince. Even if I were standing in a graveyard, I didn’t know if I could match that kind of raw power. Hundreds of shards of broken glass rose and spun, suspended in mid-air. Josiah flipped his hands over. The glass pilled itself back into the window frame, glowing red. It twisted and contorted in place, melting to fill the cracks. With the snap of his fingers, Josiah recalled the magic like a yo-yo. The pull of it almost yanked me from my seat.

  He turned back to the bar, the picture window behind him as good as new. “No need for applause, mates. It’s what I do.”

  Paula stared at him, her mouth hanging open.

  Moses removed his hat and placed it against his chest. “Lord Almighty, did he just…”

  “Yep,” I said.

  “Could you’ve done that?”

  I shook my head. Not even on my best day. That wasn’t my area of magic. Even if it was, I wouldn’t throw spells around that casually, especially something that took that much power.

  I studied Josiah as he came back to the bar where Paula poured him another drink on the house. In my time, I’d met a lot of wizards, warlocks, and whatevers, but I’d never felt power quite like that except in the presence of a god. Could Josiah be a god of some kind? Just to make sure, I switched on my Soul Vision for a peek at what made him tick.

  Early on as the Pale Horsemen, I’d deduced that the color of someone’s soul could tell me what kind of creature they were. Fae registered green, humans silver, and gods gold. Souls sat in the center of the chest, right about where most people feel strong emotions like loss and heartbreak. Tiny tentacle-like appendages stretched out into the rest of the body. There were exceptions to that rule, but they were few and far between.

  Josiah was an exception. He didn’t have a little, tentacled ball of soul stuck in his gut. It was everywhere, surrounding him, flowing in and out of him like a living aura. If I couldn’t see the man underneath, I would’ve thought he was some kind of weird golden ghost. I’d never seen anything like it. What the hell?

  “I hate to say this, Laz,” Moses started, “but maybe we ought to postpone our conversation. It seems you’ve got other business on your mind.”

  I turned back to Moses, who wore a worried mask. “Sorry, Moses. This whole day has been weird. How about we reschedule?”

  He nodded. “Another time, then.” Moses stood and placed his hat on his head. “Enjoy your stay in New Orleans,” he said, addressing Josiah on his way out.

  Josiah waited until the door closed behind Moses. He lowered the glass and pretended to study its contents. “D’you have my money?”

  Here goes nothing. I opened my coat and got out the envelope I’d gotten from the bank, sliding it down the bar to him.

  Josiah picked it up and frowned. “Feels a bit light, mate. You got another coming?”

  “Nope,” I said and stood. “I’ve got something better.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Josiah drew his hand over his face and left it over his mouth as if he were trying to squeeze his lips together. We stood out in the parking lot next to my car. The rain had turned into a cold mist that chilled me to the bone.

  “What do you think?” I asked.

  “What do I think?” He blinked, shook his head, and gestured at what I was offering him with one hand. “I think it’s a fucking feather, that’s what.”

  “Not just any feather. A sphynx feather.” I dropped it in his hand. “And I can throw in a box of expensive cigars. Something dragons.”

  “Wouldn’t be Gurkha Black Dragons, would it?” Josiah closed his hand around the feather and lifted it in front of his face with a frown.

  “Probably.”

  He wrinkled his nose and sighed.

  “Come on, man. It’s pure gold. Gold still spends, right?”

  “Spend it?” Josiah clutched the feather to his chest. “Fuck me, you’re about as bright as a dipstick, aren’t you? No wonder you called me.”

  He tucked the feather inside the trench coat he wore. When he brought his hands back out, he had a pack of cigarettes. Rather than having any discernable brand, this box had the image of a corpse foot printed on it with a toe tag. Accompanying that was a message in bold white letters: SMOKING KILLS.

  Oblivious to the heavy-handed message, he lit one up. “Where’s the girl with an Archon problem?”

  “In Hell.” I checked the time on my cell phone. I was due to meet Sybille in an hour, which meant I’d have to cut things short with Josiah.

  He pulled the cigarette from between his lips and squinted at me. “I’m sorry. I think I misheard you. You want me not only to exorcise an Archon from a living human but a living human in Hell? All for a measly eight grand and an ugly feather?”

  I shrugged. “Pretty much.”

  He stared at me a minute. “Well, bugger.” He put the cigarette back in his mouth.

  “Hey, man, we’re still within twenty-five feet of the door. It’s illegal to smoke here. You’ll get a ticket.”

  Josiah continued to smoke. His loss. If the warning on his carton didn’t get him and the law didn’t either, he wasn’t going to give it up. I took solace in the fact that we wouldn’t be spending much time together. The smell made my stomach turn.

  I put my hands in my pockets. “So, can you do it or not?”

  It was his turn to shrug. “Assuming you can get me to her, and assuming I can bring my bag of tricks, it’s a piece of piss.”

  “I’m going to assume that means easy.” I sighed. Keeping up with the lingo was going to wear me out. Maybe I should’ve hired a translator.

  “Right, then.” He pushed past me and opened the back of his rental Benz to grab his bag. “Let’s go.”

  “Whoa, chill there, Hugh Jackman.” I put a hand on his shoulder.

  He spun and somehow managed to grab my arm during the move, twisting it behind me in an armlock. “First, don’t touch me. Ever. Second, Jackman? Really? That’s the best you could come up with?”

  I winced. He had a good lock on me. Rookie mistake. I should’ve known better. “Well, you’re no Hemsworth.”

  He let me go.

  I stumbled away a few steps before turning and rubbing my arm. “Anyway, we can’t get to her yet. I have to get through these seven gates, and it’s going to take five more nights.”

  “Who told you that?”

  I opened my mouth and closed it abruptly, thinking. What if there was a faster way? Someone would have told me about it, right? Maybe not, especially if it wasn’t safe. Then again, spending every night dead wasn’t the safest choice either.

  “Well,” I started slowly, “it was Lucifer Morningstar who took the body. He ran off with the soul of a good friend of mine and went straight to his domain. I’ve been told the only way his Hell is accessible is for me to collect these seven keys and go through seven gates over seven nights. But if you know a faster way, a way that will take us straight to Morningstar, I’m all ears.”

  He finished with his cigarette and stomped out the butt before answering me. “She’ol.”

  “Ble
ss you?”

  “That’s the name of the place Morningstar rules.” Josiah’s cloudy gray eyes pricked at my skin. It was like he was looking at my soul. Guess I finally knew what other people felt like when I flipped on the Vision.

  I shifted my weight and looked away, wishing I had an umbrella or something to fidget with.

  “There’s no way to get there directly,” Josiah continued, “not as living souls still anchored to the body. At least, not for your average necromancer—but you’re not average.”

  “Neither are you. I saw your soul. What are you?”

  His face went blank. “You go around asking that of everybody who comes halfway across the world to help you? Typical American. Does it matter? You paid me. I work for you, no questions asked. Let it go, mate.” He closed the car door and leaned against it. “Point is, there’s a bloke down there that owes me. I can get you there, and it won’t take five days. It’ll take three.” He held up three fingers.

  Three days was preferable to five, especially considering what I’d learned from Osiris and given Emma’s condition. Morningstar was well on his way to breaking her. Once that happened, he’d be free to send her soul for processing. She’d move beyond my reach. I was all for anything we could do to speed the process up.

  I crossed my arms. “Problem is, I’ve already paid a witch to watch my body for the next couple of nights.”

  “Aces!” He grinned and adjusted his coat. “She can help. Were you on your way to meet her? We’ll go in my car.”

  In Australia, they drive on the right side of the road, but Josiah complained he wasn’t used to American traffic laws. Rather than take a cab like any other foreigner, Josiah had hired a chauffeur named Mike. While Josiah was in the bar, Mike went down the street to the liquor store on the corner and bought a copy of every newspaper and tabloid they sold.

  Mike was a stocky guy with a square chin and a receding hairline he covered with a flat cap. He looked like he’d be more at home behind the wheel of a taxi in New York than a Benz in New Orleans and drove like it, too.