False Gods (Sins of the Father 2)

I sprinted at the spinning whirlwind of nothing, taking a running leap as I set my sights on its heart. The centrifugal pull of the void only made me move faster, adding more power and weight to my blow as I lunged forward and slashed at the pulsating sphere. Imagine my shock when the sword from the Vestments not only passed through the orb, but cleaved it in two.

The two halves of the sphere of annihilation fell away, then faded into nothing. I looked around, my breath coming to me in huge gulps as the air around us filled with smoke. The fires that escaped from the detonation had reached far enough to burn nearby trees and bushes, but the smoke was rising above the limit of the protective dome Quilliam had conjured around us.

But wait. Quilliam. He was nowhere in sight. The books he’d used to attack me had either disappeared with him or been burned into ashes by the same explosion. His force field was gone, which meant the choking smog had somewhere to go. We could breathe. But that also meant that we were exposed – our camouflage was down. I wondered how we looked to onlookers,

of which there was a slowly growing number. There we were, one dude with a golden medieval sword, another on the ground encased in gleaming, red-hot armor, and a third who – oh.

Oh God. Where was Florian?

I cursed under my breath, my hand squeezing harder around my sword until it slipped from my grasp, slick with sweat. It clanged against the ground, then disappeared.

Raziel was still on all fours, coughing, but his armor was gone. That left just the regular version of him, which really wasn’t very regular at all considering his addiction to designer clothing. He was wearing a thick mustard turtleneck over leather pants, an insanely impractical outfit for the weather we were having, and proof of just how out of touch Raziel was with normal human life. He was going to be fine, though. Angels could reconstitute themselves even if they died on earth, and Raziel wasn’t just some rank and file celestial. He was the angel of mysteries, and that held some cachet.

No, I was more concerned about the mortal members of our party. I rushed over to check on Florian. He was ancient, and resilient, sure, like an old oak tree – but that didn’t mean that he was invincible.

I learned the distinction a long time ago, back at the Boneyard, when the lich who served as my employer explained the difference. Immortality only meant that you lived a really long time, potentially forever, never dying from illness or old age. That didn’t mean an axe through the neck, or in this particular case, being burned alive wouldn’t drop you dead, though.

“You okay there, buddy?” I clapped Florian on the shoulder. He looked dazed, but none the worse for wear.

He gestured vaguely at the ground and at the blazing pillar of fire near him, what used to be a tree. “I threw up a shield just in time. Made one from vines. But. All my wine.”

I squeezed him by the shoulder, giving him the best sympathetic smile I could muster. “I know, man. I’m so sorry.”

“But I worked so hard on them,” he mumbled, his shoulders sloped and rounded.

Sighing, I clapped him on the back even harder. “It’s going to be fine. We’re going to work something out, okay? It doesn’t mean that we’ve lost the contract with Dionysus or anything.” I wasn’t so sure I believed that myself when I said it, but he had to hear us out. We really, really needed that money. It was the best way to ensure that we would avoid this exact situation in the future. If the entities, hell, if some asshole like Quill could track me down so easily, it meant that my friends and I would always be in danger.

Florian looked down at his hands, then up into my face, his eyes slowly widening. “Oh. Uh-oh. Beatrice’s handbag.”

I slapped myself in the forehead. “Oh no. Oh, shit. So on top of losing this entire stock, we owe Beatrice nine hundred bucks, too?”

“Mason, I told you,” Raziel groaned, picking himself up off the ground, an uncharacteristic smear of ash dirtying his cheek. “I told you to become a doctor, didn’t I? They make so much money. But did you listen?”

I rounded on him, snarling. “Don’t you know how long it takes to study to become one? Oh my God, Raziel, you’re one of the smartest people I know, but you don’t even understand the first thing about being human.”

He blinked at me, his hands held up, palms forward. “Okay, whoa. ‘Thanks for saving my life, Raziel. Thank you for sacrificing the structural integrity of your bespoke leather trousers.’”

“Shut up. You shut right up. Do you know how long I was sick after I went flying that one time? Why didn’t you warn me that that was going to happen?” I noticed I was breathing harder, my skin glazed with sweat, but Raziel was giving me the sort of hurt look you see from a puppy who just wants another treat. Damn it. Damn him. I stomped my foot and folded my arms. “And fine, thank you, I guess,” I said angrily. “Thank you for saving my life.”

“May it not be the last time your friend does so,” said a voice from behind me.

I balled my fists, ready to confront the plucky normal who thought it was their place to butt in on our conversation, only to come face to face with a woman swathed in brightly colored silks – a sari. I noticed the tiny hourglass she wore like a pendant around her neck, mainly because it was glowing with pale yellow light.

I glanced over my shoulder to check for Raziel, knowing how flighty he could be. True to form, he was already gone, leaving just me and Florian to deal with the new stranger.

“And who are you, exactly?” I said, scowling at the woman, my body still way too full of sass.

“A good friend, Mason Albrecht, or a new enemy. My name is Maharani, and I am a Scion of the Lorica.”

Shit.

The Scion snapped her fingers once. The hourglass at her throat flickered, then the world around us went silent. No – it stopped completely. The fires weren’t moving, just static, like great amber sheets of glass. The rubbernecking pedestrians froze in place. Even the smoke stayed curled close to the ground, like huge gray ghosts locked in time.

Great. Just great. We had ourselves a chronomancer.

12

Maharani had the power to stop time, which was terrifying enough under regular circumstances. My old employer at the Boneyard had told us about chronomancers, a rare breed of mages who could control the ebb and flow of time as easily as a child might manipulate the sand in an hourglass.