False Gods (Sins of the Father 2)

“News flash,” I said through gritted teeth. “My wallet and my phone were both in Beatrice’s handbag when it went up into a mushroom cloud. Not that I have any credit cards I could have used in this situation, but still.” I rubbed my chin, staring at the keyhole like it owed me money. “Maybe I can call something out of the Vestments to help. You know, a narrow knife to poke between the door and the frame? Maybe. Hmm. Maybe a mace?”

That got me all excited. I loved swords, sure. They were my favored weapons when it came to a scrap. But maces had that special quality of being really, really useful for crushing things. I liked the feeling of having all the force of a miniature wrecking ball in my hand. Plus you have to admit, it’s pretty fitting, considering my nickname.

These were the times when I missed the Boneyard the most. Everyone had a role to fill, a part to play, because we were a team formed out of so many different specialists. Gil the werewolf and Sterling the vampire were good at breaking things and making people bleed. Carver, the boss I keep talking about, was a powerful, ageless lich who knew all sorts of magic, and could use his spells to scout ahead, scry, and pick up information, which would have been super useful for me and Florian just then. We didn’t even know who – or what – Gambanteinn’s keeper was supposed to be. And then there was Asher, my best friend at the Boneyard, an ungodly necromancer, but the sweetest dude you’ll ever know.

I eyed the doorknob again, wondering what Sterling would do. Punch through the wood with his fist, of course, and just deal with the splinters, because he didn’t do subtlety. I glanced around. The apartment plaza looked empty, at least. We’d timed it so that everybody would be at school or at work. I tensed my muscles, calling for a nice, blunt weapon from the Vestments, ready to bash the knob off the door in one clean, decisive blow.

But then the door swung open.

15

Florian’s shoes scraped against the ground as he backed away, but I didn’t move, content to present myself to the occupant of apartment 2F.

The consequence of which, apparently, was being exposed to the awful stench of his apartment. I thought my eyes were watering. It smelled like old food, and sweat, and stale cigarettes. A disheveled man shuffled towards the doorway, a cigarette hanging loosely from the corner of his stubble-rimmed mouth, black hair hanging in scraggly tendrils over his forehead, the rings under his eyes as dark and as deep as the defeated look that lived within his pupils.

“Can I help you?” he rasped. “I heard talking out here.”

“We,” Florian started to say. “We’re here to fix your, uh.” I loved the big lunk, but I often wished he would wait to finish his thoughts before trying to string them into words.

“Pipes,” I blurted out, quickly replacing the uncertainty on my face with another smile. I know, I know. I’m a grumpy bastard most hours of the day, but a little charm applied practically always did well for smoothing out the creases in everyday life. This wasn’t a crease, though. This was a big old wrinkle, and we had to hope that this guy had some leaky pipes that needed fixing.

Actually, hold that thought. I looked up and down his body, at the ratty slippers on his feet, the threadbare pajamas, the T-shirt with a too-wide neck and a bunch of little holes in it. Yeah, ain’t no one had fixed any pipes here in a long time. His apartment was in worse shape than his clothes. The poor bastard was never going to get his deposit back. No chance in hell.

He cocked an eyebrow at me, a glimmer of intelligence wavering in his eyes despite the fact that he looked very much like he hadn’t slept in days. “I didn’t call for any plumbers.”

“Oh,” I said, still smiling. “The super sent us. We’re doing a routine check of all the apartments on the first and second floors. Didn’t you get the circular?”

The man rolled his eyes, turned his back to me, then shuffled back into the apartment, gesturing for us to follow. “Don’t give a damn about no circulars. I just throw them in the pile.”

Said pile was a mountain of mail and loose papers, some of them coupon catalogs, the others sheaves upon sheaves of unopened bills. How this guy was able to live here without getting kicked out was anybody’s guess. I looked over my shoulder, checking on Florian, only to find him staring aghast at the inside of the apartment.

“Behave,” I said. “Be polite.”

“I am being polite,” he hissed.

“Your face really, really isn’t.”

Then again, it was admittedly a challenge trying to look past the state of the apartment. For that matter, it’d be a challenge to find anywhere to sit. Practically every surface was covered in junk, whether it was pizza boxes – not all of them empty, I noted with dismay – or crushed cans of cheap beer. I didn’t know what kind of funk this dude was in, but I was starting to feel worse for him.

“Florian,” I said. “You should probably start in the kitchen.”

I nudged my head at the filth of what used to be an area made for cooking food and washing dishes, now transformed into a toxic hazard. Florian stared hard at me with wide eyes, then shook his head vigorously. I nodded my head vigorously back. He shut his eyes, sighed, then relented, taking his sweet time to go around the counter separating the kitchen from the living area.

Just as well, because I needed some alone time with – what was this dude’s name, anyway?

“I’m Jason, by the way,” I offered. I held my hand up to my chest, because as bad as I felt for him, there was no way I was going to shake the hand that the man had just been using to scratch his nuts.

“Skeeter,” he grunted, without hesitation, or even attention for that matter. He stared dispassionately at a muted television, hitting the remote control at oddly regular intervals, never stopping or lingering on a single channel.

“Pleasure to meet you,” I said. “We just need to check on your water, and then I promise, we’ll be on our way.”

He shook his head, his eyes still reflecting the harsh blue light of his ancient television. “No, you won’t,” he said. “I know what you people are here for. You’re not going to leave me alone. None of the others did, not until they could take Gambanteinn away from me.”

I froze in place. “Were we really that obvious?” I said. A hard clanging sound drifted in from the kitchen. What the – was Florian actually doing some plumbing? Did he even know anything about it?

Skeeter waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the door. “Every few months someone tries to come in. At least you two were polite about it.” He smacked his lips, looking lazily up into my face, neither angry nor amused. “Or maybe I just caught you while you were trying to break in. Doesn’t matter. Everybody wants Gambanteinn. You don’t live in Valero with a sweet magical relic and expect to keep it forever.”

My eyes narrowed as I studied him. Standing above him like that made me feel like I still had an edge in the situation, at least physically. But I wasn’t liking where this conversation was going. Here he was, a crumpled man of forty, or maybe a really dehydrated early thirties, slumped into an armchair and grumbling little inanities. We could take him, me and Florian. No sweat. But first we needed to know where Gambanteinn was.