by E. A. Copen
The smell of fresh coffee wafted up and caressed my nose. Normally, I’d have been drooling, but seeing as how coffee was the only thing I’d had over the last day, it was all I could do to endure the sudden cramping protest of my stomach.
Emma pressed a cup into my hand anyway. “How’d you get here last night anyway?”
“Shit, Moses!” I told him I’d call him for a ride home. I hoped he hadn’t stayed up all night waiting on my call.
“Wait, Moses was with you all day yesterday?” She hesitated, doing the math. “Was he at Angola too? Shit, Lazarus! Was he hurt?”
I stopped myself from blurting out an answer. How could I tell her what happened without revealing Moses’ secret? Yeah, he just got shivved in the gut a few times. Don’t worry though. He’s an angel and he can take it. I couldn’t lie to Emma thanks to a spell that was already in place, but I couldn’t tell her the whole truth either.
“He’s okay. Tough old man. Don’t you worry about him.” I put my hand out and used the wall to guide me out of the bathroom, down the hall and back to the bedroom. A little awkward shuffling around and I found my jeans.
Emma’s footsteps stopped in the doorway. “We should bring him when we go to Angola, then.”
“Bad idea.” I shook my head and carefully zipped up my pants.
She shifted, her shirt rubbing against the door frame. Something about the movement told me she’d crossed her arms, though I couldn’t confirm that without seeing. I just knew. “Why not? He’s a crack shot and a good cop. Since he was there before, he knows the stakes, and the warden knows him.”
“This thing we’re going to kill? It’s a Titan, Emma. A thing so big and bad even the gods couldn’t kill it. They locked it in Tartarus where it’s been basically since the beginning of time. Remember the prison riot? That was the Titan controlling the inmates, making them attack us. It’s responsible for your murder-suicides as well. All your killers were connected to Angola in some way. That’s where it’s trying to come through.”
“Trying to come through?” Emma repeated. “And what happens if it does?”
“Pigs will fly, cats and dogs will get along, and politicians will turn into honest men. In short? Chaos, murder, and general end-of-the-world-type stuff.” My shirt smacked me in the face. Emma must’ve chucked it at me. I’d been feeling around for it.
“So that thing can control anyone? Feed on anyone?”
“No.” I struggled to put on my shirt. “It only eats magic, and it takes time to get into people’s heads, meaning it’s limited on who it can control to the people who regularly come in and out. Prisoners would be easier, but he’s probably been wearing down some of the guards too. We have to assume everyone in the prison is a potential threat.”
“All the more reason to bring our own backup,” Emma said.
She was right. I’d need more than just her to stand between me and an army of prisoners armed with improvised weapons. If the correctional officers turned on us, I’d need someone who knew their way around a gun. A few someones. Moses was the ideal candidate, except that he might wind up revealing himself to Emma if shit hit the fan. It sucked, but it wasn’t really my problem. Saving the world from a nightmare, magic-eating Titan had to take precedence.
“Okay, Moses is in. Who else? We need one or two more people. Normals who can handle a little crazy without making a big deal.” I fumbled with the buttons but finally got one.
Emma crossed the room. “Here. Let me. You’re getting them all crooked.”
“Thanks.”
She started at the top and worked her way down, the same way she’d unbuttoned it the night before. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine what she’d looked like. The night before came back to me in vivid, tactile detail. I built an image of her from the memory of smooth skin and sloping curves, from the salty sweet taste of her on my lips and tongue, the shape of her mouth from the soft, panting moans… Even the best image I could build was imperfect.
I blew out a breath and considered another shower, this one icy cold. “You know, when I get my eyes back, I wouldn’t mind a repeat of last night.”
Emma chuckled and finished with the buttons before stepping back. “How about next time you don’t show up half-dead? Then we could have some real fun.” She put my coffee back in my hands and planted a kiss on my lips with just a tease of tongue. “Drink your coffee. I’m going to go get cleaned up.”
Her footsteps retreated from the bedroom.
I stood where I was, sipping from the cup, feeling proud of myself. End of the world and Titans aside, things had turned out pretty good for me so far.
Emma let out a screech and I almost spat out my coffee. “Lazarus, you son of a bitch! You could’ve told me there was no hot water!”
On second thought, maybe things could be going a little better.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Emma drove me to a gas station while I chugged another cup of coffee. For this cup, we’d gone downstairs to raid Paula’s private stash. Emma said she had a big black box tucked away with some ground coffee claiming to be the strongest coffee in the world. Something called Death Wish. I brewed us a double-strong batch and split it between us. After fifteen minutes, I was already regretting it. My jaw had gone all tingly. Emma chugged hers down like it was water.
We arrived at the gas station and Emma put the Escalade in park. Paper rustled as she unfolded the list I’d recited for her earlier. “Are you sure this is all you need?”
I nodded. “I screwed the ritual up last time and he got all offended. He’s not going to let me live it down if I do it again.”
Emma’s seatbelt unbuckled. “Okay. Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
“So,” said Morningstar from the backseat when she closed the door, “your big plan is to wing it?”
“It’s worked for me so far.” I felt around until I found the cup holder and dropped the coffee cup into it. “Tell me you envisioned being done in by a magic twenty-sided die?”
“Not in the slightest.”
“Me neither, which is why it was so awesome. I mean, I’m pretty sure I died, but what else is new?” I sighed and ran a hand over my face. The tingly feeling was getting worse. Maybe I should lay off the coffee for a bit.
“Whatever happened to that thing anyway?” Morningstar’s voice took on a pouty quality. Guess he didn’t like having his defeat rubbed in his face.
“I still have it. It’s locked up somewhere safe.”
“It’s under your mattress, isn’t it?”
“No,” I lied, my voice going high. “Aw, what do you know? You’re just a hallucination brought about by my lack of quality sleep. This time tomorrow, you’ll be an unpleasant memory.”
“Somebody’s a little sure of himself.”
I folded my hands behind my head and hit the lever to lean the seat back. “For your information, I just got laid, and not by a crazy succubus this time, or a crazy fae. I am not letting a little hallucination of the Devil put me in a bad mood.”
“No?” Morningstar’s voice came closer. He must’ve leaned forward and stuck his head between the front seats. “How sure are you that what you brought back from Hell was the real deal? How do you know she wasn’t…tampered with?”
Ice water pumped through my veins. Loki had offered to make physical alterations, though I told him to stuff it. I tried to remember if I’d specified he couldn’t alter her soul either, but maybe it’d never crossed my mind. Could he do that? Could he change who she was fundamentally ? No. The Emma I’d been with for the last few hours was the Emma I’d known all along, wasn’t she?
Well, she had seemed a little different ever since coming back, but going to Hell would change anyone. She was just working through some trauma.
But what if she wasn’t? What if my hallucination knew something I didn’t?
The driver’s side door opened, and I rushed to push the lever and get my seat upright. It moved too fast and crushed my sore chest against the seatbelt.
“Who were you talking to?” The steering wheel creaked as Emma leaned in, presumably checking the back seat.
“No one,” I wheezed and backed the seat away from the seatbelt.
Ten minutes later, we pulled up to the Starbucks on Magazine Street, but Emma didn’t put her Escalade in park. “This Sandman guy you’re supposed to meet, what’s he look like?”
I rolled my head toward her and pointed to the sunglasses.
“Oh, right. Well, do you happen to know if he’s about five-nine, beard, old clothes, sleeps outside with a shopping cart? Because that’s the only guy I see around.”
“That’s him,” I said with a nod.
The gearshift clicked up into park. “I don’t trust him,” Emma said.
“You don’t trust him? You haven’t even met him.”
“Guy with power like that sleeps on the street and doesn’t own a decent pair of shoes? I don’t buy the act. This Sandman is trouble, Lazarus.”
I put my hand out, feeling for the door release. “Relax. He’s kinda jumpy and I don’t want you to scare him off.”
I pushed the door open and stepped into the street. Probably wasn’t my smartest move, judging by the car horn that blared the moment I took my first step. It scared me enough that I jumped back. Dammit, I forgot my cane.
Emma rushed around the front of the Escalade to my side. She grabbed my arm roughly. “You almost got hit, you idiot.”
I gave her my best attempt at a charming grin. “You know, I think it’s hot when you get all pissed off at me.”
Emma made an exasperated sound and yanked me toward the sidewalk.
Wheels squeaked and plastic rattled. The smell hit me and made my eyes water. That wasn’t fair. Bastards shouldn’t have been able to react to smell if I couldn’t use them to see.
“So…” The Sandman smacked his lips. “You showed after all. Wasn’t sure I should expect you. Where’s Samedi?”
I needed to summon him but didn’t have rum or my tarot deck on me. There was more than one way to skin a cat, as they say, and I knew how to get under Samedi’s skin.
I cleared my throat and withdrew my arm from Emma’s, holding my hand out. She slid the handles of a plastic bag over my fingers.
“You’re gonna summon the all-powerful Baron Samedi with shit you bought at a Seven-Eleven?” The Sandman sounded doubtful.
“And coffee. Emma?” I turned to Emma.
“Don’t look at me,” she said. “I drank mine.”
I blinked. The whole thing? She ought to be as wired as a chipmunk on meth. Instead, she was the very picture of calm. I was starting to believe Emma was Superwoman.
“I’ll go get yours,” Emma offered and darted away.
While she was busy getting the coffee, I sank to the curb to examine the contents of the bag. I went down a little harder than I meant to and winced when my tailbone hit the cement. The smooth plastic of the bag was cool against my hand. Something else crinkled at the bottom of the bag. I closed my hand around it and felt out a long, plastic package with two distinct items inside. With a frown, I brought out the package and sighed.
“Peach cigarillos?” the Sandman plucked the package from between my fingers. “What’s them for?”
“I told her a cigar.” They were close, but definitely not the same thing. The Baron wasn’t going to be happy, but he had to appreciate the effort, right?
“These are great.” Plastic rattled as he worked at breaking open the package. “You got a light?”
I fished a lighter out of the bag but didn’t hold it out to him, instead offering an empty hand, palm up. “I need one of those. They’re not for you, man. They’re for Baron Samedi.”
“Damn.” He put one of them back in my hand.
I gestured for the other with my fingers. The Sandman sighed and gave up the second one. I put one of the cigarillos in my mouth.
Emma came back just as I was lighting it up. “Tell me you haven’t acquired a taste for those things.”
Smoking was a nasty habit as far as I was concerned, one I never wanted to take up. But when I was in prison, cigarettes were one of my many avenues of survival. They were small, easy to hide, and as a non-smoker myself, an easy item to turn a profit on. I couldn’t deny their usefulness in certain situations, even if I detested the things.
A cigarillo, however, was not a cigarette. It was a small cigar, which Pony sometimes smoked when he was around. Make no mistake. Both were awful for you, full of cancer-causing carcinogens. Difference was cigarettes were meant to be inhaled so you could get the nicotine in your bloodstream. With cigars, you hold the smoke in your mouth. Guess you’re supposed to taste it or something. Not my cup of tea.
The cigarillo didn’t taste like a peach so much as a flaming peach pit wrapped in dead leaves. I was not a fan, but the cigar had to be ready to go according to everything Pony had taught me about summoning a Loa. In a real formal ceremony, there’d be drumming, dancing and a lot more details I didn’t have time to mess around with. This would have to be close enough.
“No. I actually hate these things.” I reached blindly for the coffee and wound up grabbing her leg.
She pried my fingers free and wrapped them around the cup. “Then why are you smoking it?”
I gave one more good pull on the cigar. “That’s how magic works. A good ninety percent of it isn’t battle-ready stuff. It’s ritual and symbolism. Baron Samedi is a magical being, so to get him to show up, I’ve got to have the right ingredients. Well, I don’t have to. It’s just considered polite. Since he’s doing me a favor, I don’t want to piss him off. Hence the cigar, coffee…” I put the cigar aside and pulled the last ingredient from the bag, a large plastic bottle. “And rum.”
Hints of coconut filled the air when I twisted the top off. I wrinkled my nose and almost gagged. Malibu. I’d rather drink shoe polish, but beggars can’t be choosers. “Bottoms up.” I choked down a big swig and set the bottle aside. “Now for the easy part. Let me know when he shows up.”
I slapped my hands on my knees and pushed myself up on wobbly legs, mostly because sitting had made them go numb. With my hands cupped around my mouth, I shouted his name into the sleepy streets. “Baron Samedi! Baron Samedi! Baron Sam—”
“I heard you the first time.” The Baron’s cane clicked along the street at an even pace with his measured footsteps. He walked like a man who had all the time in the world would, at a pace that had frustrated many in grocery store aisles. Samedi stopped in front of me, though the cane clicked an extra time as he set it in front of him. I imagined him placing both hands on the top of the polished skull and leaning forward as he often did. “I suppose I should appreciate the effort. Coming from you, this is more than I expected, Lazarus.”
“The coffee is good,” I promised.
Glass scraped over concrete as he lifted the bottle. Samedi gulped down a bit of the rum before shaking the bottle and putting it back down. “Better than the rum, I hope. Though I have accepted worse, usually it was only because of extenuating circumstances.”
“It’s six in the morning! Where do you expect me to get good liquor at this hour?”
Baron Samedi puffed on the cigarillo and sighed. “You slept above a bar.”
“Yeah, a bar run by a faerie. On the salary you pay me, I can’t afford to buy rum from her.”
“What do you see in this idiot, machè?” asked the Baron, addressing Emma. At least, I think he was.
“I see a good man trying to make a difference,” she answered firmly. “When was the last time you got off your high horse to help?”
Samedi slammed his cane into the concrete, making me jump. “Do you know who I am?”
Emma stepped forward. “I don’t give a damn who you are. You want to point fingers? I say put up or shut up. He’s done more for this city than anyone I know, and he shouldn’t have to take crap from you over it. In fact, I’d say you owe him.”
The only sound for a minute was passing cars on another str
eet over. I held my breath. Samedi was no pushover. He’d held me in a very painful spell once before, the memory of which was still fresh enough to make my skin sting when I thought of it.
Samedi chuckled. “Where did you find this one? I like her.”
I let out the breath I was holding.
“We should get on with this,” said the Sandman. He must’ve shifted closer as the smell of body odor was suddenly stronger. “My mantle for his. Twenty-four hours. That’s the deal on the table. This time tomorrow, everything reverts back as it was. Are we all in agreement?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“Provided we’re not all food for a Titan,” Samedi mumbled. “I agree to your terms, Sandman.”
I waited for something to happen, but nothing did. “Er, how am I supposed to…?”
Samedi sighed. “Shake on it.”
Right. I thrust my hand out toward where I thought the Sandman waited, not sure what to expect. When I took on the Pale Horseman mantle, I’d experienced every death possible in a matter of seconds. The experience had given me nightmares for weeks afterward. Being shot, stabbed, drowned, and otherwise murdered would do that to a guy. I hoped the Sandman mantle was gentler. I mean, his primary job was sprinkling sand in people’s eyes so they’d fall asleep. How painful could that be?
The Sandman’s grimy gloved fingers closed around mine and squeezed. Power surged up my arm like an electric shock and struck my heart, forcing it to a standstill. Pain overloaded my brain and I sank to my knees, hand still firmly in his grip. It buzzed over my skin, vibrating with magic like the stings of a thousand bees. It felt like my skin was melting off my body, crawling down my arm and attaching itself to him instead of me.
Another magic blanketed me from above, a soft, quiet magic, black magic. Not black magic in the sense I would normally use the phrase, but I got a sense of color from it that was difficult to explain. It was the backdrop to a starry sky, the darkest creeping shadow on a nighttime wall, the color you might see if you closed your eyes in a dark room. It slid over me like a cold sheet in a warm room, and wrapped around me, replacing the skin I’d shed.