Fallen Reign (Sins of the Father 1)

I scratched the bridge of my nose. “Will they give me ten thousand dollars?”

The man’s laughter was musical, and it had the oddest effect of immediately putting me at ease. “Ten thousand is conservative.” He draped one arm across my shoulders, leading me out of the atelier. “Come on. Let’s get you a new pair of undies.”

9

Granted, it wasn’t exactly the most auspicious start. The man had heard everything that Beatrice and I discussed, up to and including the part about a snug pair of enchanted bikini briefs being my best protection against the darkest – and brightest – supernatural powers of our known earth.

But the more Quill talked, the more I found to like about him. At least he was being direct, forthright, especially when it came to matters of his name. I tapped the table just to the side of my latte, the drink that Quill had offered to buy. We were back out in the real world of Valero, having a casual, simple getting-to-know-you at one of those artisanal, hip coffee places that I hated to admit that I loved so much. Poor nephilim, expensive taste. Just my luck.

“So,” I said. “What kind of a name is Quill?”

He chuckled, taking a quick sip of his own coffee – an Americano, I noticed. “It’s short for Quilliam. Quilliam J. Abernathy.”

I laughed, then cut myself off abruptly, not meaning to be rude. “Sounds like the kind of name that crazy rich people give their kids. You live in a castle, don’t you? What are you, like, a bazillionaire?”

“Not at all. My parents were just really bad at picking something I could spell and write easily.” He waved his hand and cocked his head. “Joke’s on them. Now I’m the best magus I know.”

“Sorry. Magus?”

“Think of me as someone who specializes in magical scrolls and books.” He tapped the side of his head and grinned. “Knowledge is power. Quite literally, as I’m sure you’re aware. Just how things work for people like us.”

“Cool, cool.” I rested my chin in the palm of my hand, one eyebrow raised. “What’s the J in your name stand for?”

He furrowed his forehead. “It stands for ‘just drop it.’ Never you mind. I’m not proud of my middle name. But that’s enough chitchat, I think we’re as acquainted as we should be.” He clasped his hands together, resting his bottom lip on the tips of his steepled fingers. “Let’s talk business.”

“Ten thousand dollars, you said.”

He raised a finger. “I said that it was a potentially feasible fee. There’s a distinct possibility that you could earn even more.”

I slapped my open palm against the table. “I’m in.”

Quill blinked at me. “I haven’t even told you the nature of the job.”

“Don’t care,” I said. “Well, I mean, within reason. I don’t have to kill anyone, do I?”

Quill rubbed his chin, his eyes going distant as he considered the question. “Actually, that depends. The main objective of the job is for you to retrieve something. An artifact.”

“Go on,” I said. “I’m familiar with this kind of racket.”

I really was, too. Back when I still lived with the boys of the Boneyard, our boss – the lich – liked to send us out on missions to locate and extract valuable magical artifacts and relics. Sometimes it was specifically to keep dangerous objects out of the hands of people who didn’t know what they were meddling with. More frequently, though, it was to add to his growing collection of curiosities – for research, as Carver liked to put it. I narrowed my eyes as I waited for Quill to continue. In some ways, he did remind me of Carver. Maybe it was their shared interest in finer clothing. Far likelier was the fact that Quill was similarly very interested in the acquisition of arcane power.

“I’ll give you the elevator pitch. Your potential client, Leonora, has had something precious of hers stolen. And judging by what you did to help Beatrice Rex back there, I’m inclined to believe that you’re the kind of guy who would be good at retrieving wrongly stolen possessions.”

“That’s a fair assessment. So why are you helping her, exactly? And don’t say that you’re doing it out of the goodness of your own heart.”

He flinched convincingly, placing a hand over his chest. “Oh, you do wound me, Mason. It’s because Leonora is far past her prime. She’s still well in control of her faculties, but she can’t exactly go traipsing around the Black Market hoping to run into able-bodied young would-be thieves, can she?”

I nodded. “All right, point taken. And I guess you can’t just walk over to the job board and put up a notice looking for a cat burglar.”

Quill tapped the side of his nose. “Exactly. You’re catching on.” He picked up his coffee, draining the rest of it in one long, deliberate sip. Soft, brassy jazz music filled the silence as I waited for him to finish. “So,” he said, setting the empty cup back down. “Are you interested? Will you come and meet her with me?”

I shrugged. “At this point, what have I got to lose? Like I said way, way earlier: I’m in. As long as I don’t have to kill anyone.”

He threw his arm over the back of his chair, crossed his legs, then filled the air with his easy laughter. “Like I said, Mason. That all depends. Finish your latte, then we can drop by and see her.”

I thought that Quill meant we were going to Leonora’s house, wherever that would be in Valero. I was imagining quaint lodgings, a comfortable one-bedroom apartment that a senior might enjoy, or even a huge mansion filled with doting servants. As Quill and I stepped out of our hired rideshare, I realized that I hadn’t at all entertained the possibility of going to a retirement home.

“Aww. Oh, man. I wasn’t expecting this at all. It’s making me kind of sad.”