I nodded, felt the familiar weight of the bullet and the soul within settle around me. I’d placed my trust in Langford, asking her to create a convincing fake of the soul cage. Something Nora could mistake for the real one in the event of betrayal. That Langford smuggled Wotan’s soul out, without being tempted to use it, justified my choice.
“Tell me about Thirteen,” I said. “What d'you find out?”
“A lot, and none of it happy news. My contacts assumed he was just some random sorcerer who showed up on the strip a few years back. Way I figured it, that makes him one of Wotan’s first apprentices. Someone outside the chain of command of whatever cult you disrupted down there with Roark.”
“What’s he been doing?”
“Nothing major.” Langford speared a French fry with her fork, chewed it while she thought through her notes. “Little things. Favors. The guy knows how to be discreet. Plenty of people have worked with him, or done some business. Nobody questioned where he came from, or who he served, because he avoided going big. Thirteen focused on consolidation, firming up his place on the totem pole without raising the wrong kind of attention. The only surprise...”
“He didn’t work with Sabbath?”
“Got it in one,” she said. “Any dealings he’s had with Sabbath’s crew have been through intermediaries. Side-stepping all confrontations with the big dog.”
“He worked through Nora?”
“A few times.”
I nodded. Swore. “He’s the bolt hole,” I said. “Wotan sent him here to establish a foothold outside his cult, someone capable of lying low in case hunters like Roark and me came poking about.”
“Which means he didn’t follow you here ‘cause he’s been here all along,” Langford said. “Hiding out here, same as you, only he’s done it for a fuck-load longer.”
“Any of your friends know where Thirteen lives?”
Langford speared another French fry, offered me a smile. “He’s got a mansion up on Tamborine Mountain, overlooking the city,” she said.
“Expensive place to nest.”
“Thirteen enjoys some extravagant tastes,” she said. “Unlike you, he seems to prefer blending in with the pricey end of town, rather than staying in squalor.”
“If he’s been here this long, he’ll be dug in,” I said. “It’ll take us too long to unravel his defenses, especially if Nora’s on site.”
Langford nodded. “You’d need an army to dig him out. The whole fucking place is teeming with cultists. I think the survivors relocated once word got out you were here.”
“Well then,” I said, “I guess we go get an army.”
“There’s only one worth getting around these parts.”
“Yeah, I know. That’s the bitch of it.” I dabbed my mouth with the serviette, left it crumpled on the brown plastic tray. “I don’t think Sabbath plays by the enemy of my enemy rule.”
“Sabbaths got nothing but enemies,” Langford said. “It makes life easy for him.”
THE NEW DEAL
I walked into the Casino with my head held high. The security team flagged me from the moment I crossed the threshold, reported my presence up the line to Sabbath. The demons responded with the efficiency of a well-oiled machine: Wesna and Randall appeared at either end of the bar, cutting off any means of escape. Wesna schooled her features, professionally neutral about the job. Randall grinned like a kid on Christmas, taking lead as they picked me up. The big demon wanted to know why I’d come back. Met the suggestion I was giving myself up with a snort of derision.
“I’ve got a plan to recompense him for the fuck-up with Nora,” I told him.
Randall gave me a disappointed sigh. “I thought you were professional, Murphy. This here? This is bush league.” He signaled Wesna, and they both stood up. Waited for me to join them. “Come on,” Randall said. “Let’s talk to the big man.”
They escorted me to the elevator, one demon at each shoulder. A trio of tourists fell in alongside us, but a snarl from Wesna convinced them to wait for the next car. Randall stepped in first, pressed the number for Sabbath’s suite. Wesna followed me in, planted a fist in my stomach as the doors slid shut. I doubled over, and Randall hauled me upright, exposed my ribs so Wesna could go to town.
By the time the door chimed on the twentieth, they needed to carry me out. My feet dragged as they carried me in, and the purple bruises on my chest made it hard to breathe.
Sabbath rose from the couch as we entered, scotch of glass in hand. Wesna and Randall dumped me at his sandals.
“You’re a stubborn son-of-a-bitch,” Sabbath said, showing off his teeth, and the smile set off something primal inside me, the same way my instincts knew to fear grinning sharks and serpents with exposed fangs. “I made you a deal in the spirit of generosity, Keith, and you come back to me after spitting in my face a second time? I promised you a world of pain. I promised you’d see what your own innards.”
“Learned my lesson about Otto,” I said. “Won’t make—”
“No,” Sabbath said. “I’m not interested in what you’ve got to tell me.”
Then he settled into one of the big leather lounge chairs and held his drink in place. Sat there with the sun sinking into the mountains behind him, sipping from his bourbon while Randall and Wesna did the work. They took turns. Randall kicked off the proceedings with a straight right to the face, the impact tight and hard against the point where the jaw and my skull come together. Wesna bludgeoned the soft part of my belly, kept working it until I spat blood on Sabbath’s tiled floor. I attempted to make a show of it. Tried to stay on my feet and meet Sabbath’s glare, to prove he couldn’t break me.
Sabbath cracked a grudging smile at my bravado, but we both knew there wasn’t much backing it up. “You two, go to town,” he said.
Wesna and Randall threw me to the ground and kicked ten kinds of shit out of me. Sabbath nestled into the couch to watch, enjoying each bloody cut and groan.
I lost track of time pretty damn fast. Maybe I blacked out a little. Maybe I didn’t. It’d been light outside when they started, and now the windows behind Sabbath were dark. I know because Randall was down on one knee, jerking my head up by the ears so I could meet Sabbath’s stare.
“You’re not allowed to die yet, Murphy.”
I held a strange hope he was wrong. They’d beaten me hard, but all my internal organs were still inside me. They just wanted to be sure I’d be conscious when they started cutting.
Sabbath’s cold eyes studied me, calculating his next step.
My next move was easy. I passed the fuck out.
* * *
I came to as someone attempted to force water down my throat. My lips wouldn’t cooperate, too swollen and bloody. My attempt to cough the mouthful up triggered more activity from the other. Strong hands hauling me upright. A deep voice giving orders. “Come on, asshole. Drink.”
I opened my mouth to object, but all I managed was a moan. And moaning hurt. Worse, it gave the asshole with the glass an opening to force more water on me. I swallowed. Gagged. Wished I could go back to the dark, sleepy place where I’d been for god knows how fucking long.
I processed my situation, on instinct. It didn’t take long. Pain, followed by more pain, and then the queasy blur as my nervous system was overwhelmed. Prying my eyelids open stung. Closing them hurt too, but at least I didn’t want to hurl.
The glass was at my lips again, and this time the pangs of thirst broke through the haze of suffering. I forced my bloodied mouth to swallow before they drowned me. The first mouthful went down painfully, the taste of iron on my tongue. The flavor lingered after the water pulled away. Blood, I figured. A missing tooth.
They’d dropped me somewhere warm and humid. My skin coated in a slick, stickier layer after several hours of perspiration.
“—need to rehydrate,” the voice was saying, glass back at my lips. “He ain’t decided to kill you yet, and that’s a tiny fucking miracle. Don’t give him the pleasure of dying on him no
w. Drink the damn water, Murphy.”
I risked opening my eyes for a minute. Wesna’s face emerged from the spinning blur. She’d taken off her jacket, rolled up the sleeves of her shirt.
“Try to stay awake,” she said. “You may have picked up a concussion.”
I tried to nod, but pain shot through my jaw. I mumbled a soft, “Hurts,” into the air.
“‘Course it hurts,” Wesna said. “We had orders to hurt you. Randall, he took it personally. Man really doesn’t like you. Think he might have broken your nose.”
Soon as she mentioned it, I wanted to try sniffing and see how big a mess they’d done to my nasal passages. I forced myself to ignore that instinct, to take steady breaths through the wreckage of my mouth. Your instincts mean shit when you’re beaten to all hell. After a certain point, your body just forgets how to avoid suffering. It assumes the pain is everywhere, so it falls back on the familiar instead of the smart.
“Sabbath,” I mumbled.
“Sabbath ain’t done with you.”
“Deal—”
“The prospect of a deal’s off the table,” Wesna said. “You’re out of things that Sabbath really wants, Murphy. Not sure you can offer anything he’s interested in.”
I smiled a little, even though it hurt. Whispered, “Soul,” before I lowered myself back to the warm tile floor. I closed my eyes again, focused on my breathing. Wesna put her glass down. Leaned so close her breath warmed my cheek. “You offering us a soul? You really dumb enough to do that?”
“Yes.” I didn’t need to watch her reaction. Wesna stood and brushed her hands. I heard her boot heels clip the tiled floor as she exited.
I hurt worse than anything I’d experienced before.
Somewhere along the line, I passed out and let the darkness wash over me.
* * *
I woke up in Sabbath’s lounge room. They’d washed the sticky blood away so I wouldn’t stain the leather couch, patched up the worst of my injuries to keep me from passing on. Daylight streamed through the window. Sunrise. I’d been out of it for twenty-four hours or more. My body had become a fragile cardboard figure, stiff and unbending and easy to break. A demon loomed by the couch, watching me like a hawk. The moment he registered that I was awake, he disappeared through the doorway. A few moments later, Sabbath appeared. He wore a white suit with a bright carnation in the pocket. Wesna stood at his shoulder, hidden behind dark sunglasses.
I tried to lift myself off the cushions. “How long?”
“About three days.” Sabbath crouched, angled forward like an eagle preparing to dive “I’m impressed with your resilience. Most people don’t bounce back after Wesna and Randall beat them.”
I nodded slowly. It fit. My stomach bulged with the empty, hollowed-out sensation that came from too long without a meal. “Hungry,” I said.
“I’m sure you are.” Sabbath folded his hands on top of his ample belly. “Question is, Murphy, do I waste food on you? No milage in feeding a mutt if you’re planning to take it to slaughter in the morning.”
I nodded a little to acknowledge his point. “Most people feed the dog ‘cause it’s humane.”
“Like I’ve ever given a shit about humanity.” Sabbath’s thick tongue wormed its way across his lips. “So Wesna says you’re willing to sell your soul. Tell me, Keith, is that true?”
“If the deal’s good enough, I’m open to it.”
“If the deal…” Sabbath grinned, delighted. “And where are you going to receive a better trade for your pitiful, blackened spirit than you’d get through me?”
“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you.”
“Then don’t toy with me, Murphy. I kept you alive because Wesna thinks you’re sincere, and I’m a businessman before anything else. That sack of meat you walk around in… all those instincts, all that physical memory. It’s an appealing package, even before we take into account the little pleasures that come from having your soul to torture on a rainy day. What do you want?”
“Not here,” I said.
“Here,” Sabbath said. “You’re not in a position to argue. Make your pitch.”
I hung my head, tried to affect an air of vulnerability. It wasn’t hard. They’d beaten me bad enough that I couldn’t do much to fight back, and I’d never been the kind of bloke who waded into a punch-up.
“Nora Otto’s been working with a cultist named Thirteen,” I said. “A sorcerer, a new player in town, trained by the guy I shot down in Adelaide. They’re trying to bring Michael Wotan back. I’d like your help to ensure Wotan stays dead, and whatever curse he’s set upon the world is contained.”
“And in exchange?”
“You get what you wanted,” I told him. “Otto’s eliminated. It neutralizes another potential threat before they establish a foothold. When I die, however that happens, my soul is yours to play with and my body’s a vessel your demons can fill.”
He rose, standing over me. “I like you desperate, Murphy. It makes you… amusing.”
“Do we have a deal?”
“Not yet.” Sabbath’s long stride ate the distance between the couch and the door. “On the plus side, you may have earned yourself food.”
* * *
The worst part of negotiating from a position of weakness is the waiting. When your opponent has all the leverage, they’re not in any hurry to give you an answer. They’ll stretch the hours out and let you time dwell on your position. Try to make you realize exactly how little power you have in the situation, hoping you’ll rationalize down your expectations. In any negotiation, whether it’s for a used car or the state of your soul, it’s the person who’s willing to walk away who has the real advantage.
Sabbath’s crew left me in a bare, stifling office near the back of his suite. It should have been a nice place; the walls were painted a light shade of sand, the floorboards were dark and polished to a sheen. Instead, they gave the room a terrible symmetry that didn’t quite belong, and the only things that broke it were the red leather couch and my shuffling, aching body.
I did three slow laps, getting to know the lay of the land. The door was locked and solid enough to discourage kicking it down. With the beating they’d put on me, and the noise it would make, they’d be on me before I burst free.
They’d moved me off the casino grounds. The corner window looked over the Broadbeach mall, where a brass band played in the gazebo. Harried shoppers hustled between stores and an abundance of restaurants. The scents of working kitchens proved distracting, given my hunger. A mouthwatering melange of Thai food, Indian, Yum Cha, and American barbecue set my stomach growling.
I finished walking the perimeter of the room, retreated to the red couch to wait.
Wesna unlocked the door and slid a plastic bag full of takeout through the gap. My mouth watered when I caught the rich scent of butter chicken, but I didn’t crawl for it immediately. You can’t accept gifts from the Other. First rule of doing business. Don’t agree to a drink, don’t eat their food, don’t do shit that could leave you beholden to them.
Me, I was long past that stage. Whatever hooks I’d let Sabbath get beneath my skin, they would not get in deeper by eating curry. I resisted because there were strong odds of Wesna or Sabbath watching the room, paying attention to how I acted. I forced myself to stay on the couch, ignoring the food for a couple of minutes.
Then, when the rumble in my gut became an ache, I let myself give in.
I ate fast, eager to fill my empty stomach. The food sat heavy, a stone weighing me down, and I dragged my ass back to the sofa to digest. Stretched each limb, testing where the limits of my pain and how far I could push myself.
Wesna didn’t lie—they’d been real careful to leave me functional. My jaw hurt like hell after the beating Randall put on it, and my ribs were a black mess of bruising. But nothing had been broken, which meant I’d heal in days instead of months.
Faster, if I broke down and tapped the Gloom to help, but I preferred not to do that. The price was too damn high.
* * *
Sabbath reappeared after sunset. Wesna followed on his heels, passed the boss a can of Coke. He popped it open and held it to me, waited for me to take it. I stared at the drink, stared at him. “It ain’t poisoned,” he said. “That wouldn’t be smart.”
I took the Coke and swallowed. After a long day in the pressure cooker Sabbath called an apartment, the chilly bite of the cola against my teeth was pretty close to heaven.
“I don’t buy it,” Sabbath said. “Sixteen years, Murphy. That’s how long I’ve wanted to get my hands on you, all that time dreaming about paying you back for all your little betrayals. In all that time, the one thing that galled me was the knowledge your soul was safe. Even as a teen, you were smart enough to guard that and refused to let me have it.”
“And now I’m here, all grown up, offering it to you on a platter?”
“Precisely,” Sabbath said. “It’s not the kind of move you make, Murphy. As Wesna is fond of saying, it seems… unprofessional.”
“Me and professional stopped talking a couple of weeks back,” I said. “The moment we fucked the Wotan hit.”
“Please, I don’t believe that. If you parted ways with Danny Roark, he’d come after me with both guns blazing. It’s the only way to save your life. So you’re playing a long game, Murphy. I can taste it.”
I nodded, then winced. My jaw still ached. “Ragnarök,” I said.
“The twilight of the gods?”
“My guess is that’s an imperfect translation, given it came from your side of the Gloom,” I said. “You know how these things go. Some ancient entity has a vision about destroying the world, tries to project it into the brains of some dumb shit vikings. They interpret it as the end of the gods, because they don’t have any other word for it.”
“I assume you have a point, Murphy.”
“That same thing, in the deep Gloom, courted Michael Wotan,” I said. “He was trying to kick off Ragnarök when me and Roark put him down, ‘cept we fucked the job and his cult seems to think everything’s on schedule. One of the possible ends of the world is coming, and I kinda doubt it’s the apocalypse your kind wants to win out.”
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