Fallen Reign (Sins of the Father 1)

“Mason Albrecht,” Dionysus said, making a rotating hand gesture, as if to tell us to get on with it and move the conversation along. “The nephilim. Yes, I’m familiar. There’s been a fair bit of chatter about you in the arcane underground of late.” He winked at me, his wreath and the black curls of his hair bobbing in time with the motion. “The gods talk, you see. They gossip. I heard it through the grapevine.”

God of wine. Grapevine. Very clever, I wanted to say, but again, there was no point risking offending someone who could potentially become a new ally, or, at the very least, someone who could enable us to pacify our landlord for another month.

“I don’t really have much of a reputation to precede me,” I said, looking away as I rubbed my shoulder, lowering my chin just a little, as if to show submission. What little I knew of gods told me that they enjoyed flattery, that they liked to have the upper hand. I was happy to give Dionysus that if it meant that our conversation would go more smoothly. “It’s Florian here who has all the goods, and the talent. He’s great with nature magic. Comes with being a dryad.”

Dionysus’s eyes trailed from Florian’s head to his feet, then back up again. All the while, his perfect smile never wavered. “Yes. A dryad, indeed. Please, show me your magic.”

“With pleasure.” Florian reached for his own glass of water, supporting its base in one hand, twiddling his fingers over the rim. At first it looked like he was just waggling and gesturing at random, but tiny things started falling out of the palm of his hand and his fingertips, sinking into the glass. The water itself was spinning, the way it might in a blender.

It was happening too fast for me to figure out, but I thought I caught glimpses of petals, little berries, and seeds falling into the frothing whirlpool. The liquid itself had changed in color, taking on a reddish hue, very much like wine. The churning died down, and the foam on the liquid’s surface settled, leaving a ruby-red glass of something that, even from where I was sitting, smelled like an orchard on a summer day.

I ventured a glance at Dionysus’s face. The god was grinning from ear to ear, clearly thrilled by the spectacle.

“Very impressive,” he said, bending in to peer more closely at the glass, setting down his own goblet on the table.

Florian stretched out his hand, offering the glass to the god. Dionysus accepted it eagerly, lifting it up to the light to observe the fruit of Florian’s labors.

“Beautiful clarity,” Dionysus said. “No visible impurities. Wonderful color.” He lifted the glass to his nose, sniffing gently, his eyes going wide with surprise and delight. “It smells remarkable. What is in this?”

Florian folded his hands behind his head, leaned into his chair, and winked. “Trade secret,” he said.

I was expecting the worst, but Dionysus only laughed, apparently charmed by Florian’s bravado. “Very well. I shall taste it.” He brought the glass to his lips, stopped short, then lifted a finger. “But if this is poisoned, I suppose you wouldn’t mind very much if I ordered my maenads to rip your bodies to pieces, eh?”

Dionysus laughed. Florian laughed, too. I sat there in silence, trying very hard not to piss myself. But when I saw Dionysus’s lashes fluttering as he tilted the drink past his lips, his throat bobbing as he swallowed the entire glass in one long, uninhibited gulp, I knew that we’d won.

“This is,” Dionysus started, stretching out the moment for emphasis. “This is absolutely sublime.” He kissed his fingers. “Superb. Very nearly as good as something I could make myself, in fact.”

Florian’s grinned from ear to ear. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“I will purchase your entire stock for my bar.”

My jaw dropped. Good thing Dionysus wasn’t looking at me then. I was pretty sure my eyes were lighting up with dollar signs.

“That’s fantastic,” Florian said uncertainly. “But about that.”

“How soon can you have fifty bottles ready?”

“Ah,” Florian said. “We currently have zero bottles.”

“But we can fix that,” I stammered. “How about this. Florian produces as many as he can, and we’ll bring them over. I’ll personally deliver the – ”

“My dear nephilim,” Dionysus said, casting a hand around his empty bar. “We are revelers, drunks, and savages.” Then, holding his other hand to his chest, he added: “But we’re not animals. I refuse to begin serving a new product to my customers without assurance that I will be receiving a steady supply. Frankly, your complete lack of preparation in this area doesn’t fill me with confidence. What is the point of doing business with you if you cannot guarantee stock? Please. Prove that you can refine your process. Generate fifty bottles of this delicious brew, and we will speak again.”

“I could make ten, fifty, a hundred.” Florian folded his arms, frowning. “But what guarantee do we have that you’ll honor our bargain?”

Dionysus laughed. “Must I repeat myself? I am a god. This is a business. We will honor our end of the deal. We aren’t animals, as I said. We won’t simply offer our customers just anything that might affect them quite so negatively. Do I look like my name is Circe?”

“Fine,” Florian huffed. “Fine. Fifty bottles of the good stuff.”

“To be delivered to the Amphora before the end of the month. You will be paid then, the same as the rest of my suppliers.”

My ears quirked. That wasn’t soon enough. We needed money yesterday. “Um, sorry to interrupt you guys, but is there any way to get an advance on that?”

The look Dionysus gave me was frosty, but his voice was even colder. “Absolutely not. I run a business, Mason Albrecht. Not a charity.” He sighed, rolled his eyes, then dug his hand somewhere inside his shirt, which, I should have mentioned, was open down to his navel. How he stored anything in there was anybody’s guess.

Dionysus pulled out a small suede pouch, extending it towards me. I accepted, doing my best not to mention anything about how warm it was.

“What’s this?” I said, weighing the pouch in my hand. “It’s very light.”