Morning Star (Sins of the Father 3)

Hell, I’d even have lots to split with Florian, who deserved every damn penny for putting up with my mood swings, helping me out, and even willingly brewing an entire batch of presumably tasty wines for Dionysus before Quilliam appeared to blow the whole lot up.

Ugh. Quilliam. My mouth curled into a sneer, and I didn’t even notice my fist slamming into my open palm until the impact made a smacking sound. Just the thought of the guy made the idea of wringing someone’s neck an incredibly entertaining proposal.

Quilliam J. Abernathy had gotten both me and Florian into trouble enough times, and sure, maybe it was my fault that I kicked his precious book into oncoming traffic and totally destroyed it, but hey. The fucker deserved at least that much.

The door to Abel’s shop swung open just then, the entrance bell tinkling as another customer walked in. I stayed focus on Abel’s hands as he carefully piled Loki’s gold into his own supply of chests and counted out the money he owed us, but they froze in place when footsteps approached from behind me. Abel looked up, staring just past my head, and his mouth broke into a huge grin.

“Why, if it isn’t Master Quilliam himself!”

My blood curdled. Nope. No, no, no. It couldn’t have been that easy. Rather, it was just so unfair that Florian and I could be so unlucky. Granted, the Black Market wasn’t exactly a gigantic shopping complex, but weren’t there other places for Quilliam to visit? Both my hands tightened into fists.

“Abel, it’s been a while,” said that familiar, syrupy voice. Then, in a more mocking tone, it continued: “And well, well. Florian and Mason. Fancy meeting you here.”

My feet were heavy as I turned in place to meet Quilliam’s eyes. I thought of how much gold I would give just for the chance to erase the smirk from his stupid lips. I resisted the urge to reach out to the Vestments for a special present I could deliver right into his face. A mallet, maybe, or every jagged sphere of the morning star I’d learned to love so much.

And there he stood, unharmed, just as I suspected, from the flame spell that backfired on him back at the warehouse. Quilliam greeted me with his infuriating smile and a sweep of his eyes from my head to my toes, the kind of thing meant to remind you of how little you were truly worth.

“Mason Albrecht.” Quilliam’s irises glowed orange for the barest fraction of a second. “It’s so very good to see you again.”

6

“You might want to reach out to the Black Market’s enforcers, Abel.” I pushed my hands into my hips, giving Quilliam a sharp look. “A known criminal has just walked into your shop.”

“Criminal?” Abel laughed. “Oh, perish the thought. Master Quilliam and his family are valued customers here at Abel’s

Appraisals. They’ve been coming for years.”

“Criminal?” Quilliam echoed. He folded his arms. “Humor me, Mason. Exactly what crime am I guilty of?”

I scoffed. “Wow. Do you really want to make this a whole thing? Where do I even begin?”

Florian walked up next to me, folding his own arms, which made his muscles bulge and only highlighted how he was probably twice as thick and strong as Quilliam could ever hope to be. He stood there, stalwart, towering, and smoldering. What a champ.

“You blew up all those wines I made for the Amphora.” Florian’s voice was never that deep or angry, but I could tell that Quilliam detonating his hard work had left its mark on him. “You almost killed us.”

Quilliam pushed a finger under his chin. “Oh, did I? Name the time and the place. Where is the evidence that I attacked you or your alleged wines?” He waved his hand dismissively. “This is all just nonsense. Show me a witness.”

Florian gaped, grasping for straws. I raised my hand and pointed it straight in Quilliam’s face. “What about the time you tried to kidnap me? Eh? When you attacked me with a squad of twelve demons?”

“And who was there to see what happened? Who can you call upon to testify that I did, in fact, act in a way that would have violated the arcane underground’s precious laws?” Quilliam smirked in a way that made me want to punch his teeth out. “Next thing you’re going to tell me is that the only witness was the demon Prince of Greed.”

I snarled. “You’re so full of shit, Quilliam, I swear to – ”

“But before you continue with your pointless rant – perhaps there has been a spate of magical crime in California lately. Why, just a few weeks back I was attacked by some ruffians on the street. Two men slashed my tires with enchanted swords, and one of them kicked a very rare and very, very expensive grimoire right out of my hands.”

I stood frozen to the spot. Florian glanced at me very briefly. Behind us, Abel breathed heavily as he shuffled through more dollar bills.

“You know, one of the men looked very much like you, Mason. I’d have to check to be sure. Good thing I had a witness on hand. A man by the name of Wyatt Whateley, a collector of artifacts and antiquities who lives over in Silver Lake, down in LA. The incident did occur outside his home, after all.” Quilliam rubbed his chin as he tilted his head, his teeth seeming so sharp and pointed when he grinned. “Does that ring a bell?”

Checkmate, I thought. How was it fair that the jerks of the world had everything stacked so conveniently in their favor? In my mind, I saw a morning star, and Quilliam’s bloodied face, then myself behind bars.

From somewhere behind me, Abel cleared his throat softly. “Mr. Albrecht? If you’re quite finished berating my long-term client, your cash is ready.”

I turned around shakily, taken aback by Abel’s frankness, but he was right. He was just a guy trying to keep his business afloat, after all. “Sorry,” I said. “Right. It’s just, your client and I here have some history.”

Abel smiled again. “As do we, Mr. Albrecht. Young Quilliam here drops by every few weeks or so to peruse the selection of tomes I’ve accrued in the meantime. There’s always one or two witches or wizards in need of some quick cash willing to turn in a few scrolls, a journal, perhaps even a personal book of shadows.” He adjusted his glasses, then shook his head solemnly. “Of course, so very few of them ever find the money to buy back what they’ve pawned off to my business.”

“Wow.” Florian stepped closer, placing his hands on the edge of the counter as he perused the books Abel kept lined up on a shelf behind him. “But these are powerful mages you have to deal with. If they can’t pay to get their books back, haven’t any of these people attempted to reclaim them with magic?”