False Gods (Sins of the Father 2)

“I don’t know what you’re actually doing here, and truthfully, I don’t care. I just want the sword. You have it. Give it to me. Hand over Laevateinn.”

His forehead furrowed at the sound of the word. His eyes narrowed, one eyebrow raising, like he was trying to ask me something.

“I’m going to take my hand off your mouth, slow like. You say one thing – I mean one thing that sounds like a spell trying to happen – and I’ll knock your teeth out.”

Quill did his best to nod. I removed my hand. He sputtered and grimaced. “There are less aggressive ways to show me your affection, nephilim. I don’t even know where that hand’s been.” He stuck out his tongue, making faint retching noises.

“Shut the fuck up and tell me where you kept Laevateinn.”

He shook his head, chuckling. “If you couldn’t tell from before, I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about. What even is that? Lay-vah – levit – I don’t know. I truly don’t.”

Invisible gossamer threads cut into my skin, Arachne’s Veil of Surveillance all but yelling at me that we’d found the perpetrator. “But I was told – it was Loki’s sword. It’s the god of mischief’s sword. You’ve never heard of it?”

Quill swatted my hand away from his neck, then brushed at his clothes, as if he was concerned that I’d smeared too much of my poverty over him. “Look at me. I deal in spells and spell books. My whole thing is magic. Tomes, grimoires, scrolls, the works. Do I look like someone who needs a sword? I could kill you with a single word.”

My hand reared back, forming into a fist as I aimed directly for Quilliam’s mouth. His hands flew up.

“But I won’t. Geez. Just a joke. I wouldn’t do that to Wyatt. It’d be rude to leave a mess of your corpse.”

I spoke through clenched teeth. “You’re lying. Again.”

“Um. Mr. Albright? Mr. Abernathy?”

Our heads turned as one towards the sound of Wyatt Whateley’s voice. I gave him my best smile. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that Quill was grinning, too.

Wyatt’s fingers were in a tangle, worrying at each other as his gaze flitted from me, to Quill, and back. “Is everything all right here?”

I lowered my fist and backed away from Quilliam. “Quite all right. No problems here. We were just talking, is all.”

“Right,” Wyatt said, drawing out the word with suspicion. I shouldn’t have let my guard down, shouldn’t have let Quill get to me like that. “Only that the tome Mr. Abernathy wanted to purchase is now ready. Packaged and prepared, just as you requested, Quilliam.”

“Wonderful.” Quill’s voice was thrilled and positively musical. He swept past me, but not before staring daggers bare inches from my face. He didn’t move his mouth as he glared at me – not once – but I knew what that look meant. This isn’t over.

He had a point, though. Quill was the kind of mage who took pride in his magical talents. He was too full of himself to resort to anything less than an explosive show of arcane power. Swords and guns and bullets meant nothing to his agenda. But then why was Arachne’s veil tightening across my skull? It knew. He had to be lying.

I stepped back into the main room, watching as Quill gathered up a parcel wrapped in brown paper and string. Ugh. I didn’t like the idea of him walking out of this place having acquired even more power. Yet it did surprise me to realize that he’d kept his word. Quill didn’t attack us, almost as if he considered Wyatt’s home hallowed ground. Maybe it was all the artifacts.

Walking up to Wyatt and Sterling, I just caught the tail end of their conversation. “And I think that a fair price for the sword is this.”

Wyatt scribbled something on a little square of paper, then slid it across the table over to Sterling. I never thought I’d see the day, but when Sterling picked up and read the amount, his eyes went as huge as saucers. He sputtered, then choked.

“Oh. Oh wow.” Sterling’s eyes flitted from the scrap of paper to me. “I think we can arrange something to this effect. Jason?”

It took a second for me to remember that Jason was my extremely stupid alias. “Y-yes, Charles?”

“Run.”

In one smooth motion, Sterling smashed his fist straight through the glass case containing Mistleteinn, then grabbed it in one hand. I didn’t wait to check if he was bleeding. Wyatt was already screaming his head off by then, wailing, clutching at his hair as he saw the diamond perfection of his collection ruined.

Sterling and I ran abreast as we beat feet straight for the front door. Quilliam, as it turned out, was already heading to his car, rummaging around in his jeans pockets for the key fob.

“Florian!” Sterling shouted at the top of his voice. “The little one. Tie up the little one.”

I chanced a glance over my shoulder as Wyatt Whateley waddled out of the front door and hoofed it over the cobblestones. Within moments glistening greening tentacles had found their way from out of the garden, snaking at Wyatt’s ankles and restraining his wrists. I winced at the sight, despite knowing that Florian would never dare to tear this guy limb from limb, the way I’d seen him do to demons. Tears rolled down Wyatt’s face as we ran. I would have felt sorrier for him, but we needed Mistleteinn badly.

Sterling streaked ahead of me down the path, his vampire physique making him lightning-fast, and he went the far way around Quilliam’s car. Call it instinct, but I knew exactly what we had to do. I reached out to the Vestments, summoning my own sword – and Sterling and I each slashed a tire on Quilliam’s car as we sprinted past.

“No,” Quilliam screamed. “Not again, no, no.”