Morning Star (Sins of the Father 3)

Artemis took a half step away from Loki, unsheathing a dagger from her hip in one smooth motion, poising it at his throat. “I’m not your sister, you clown. And this city has seen enough of your tricks for one lifetime.”

Loki ran one finger down the length of his cheek, pouting. “Oh, but you do wound me, Artemis. Are we not of the same breed, you and I? We may come from different corners of this loathsome planet, yet on earth we remain gods. Ancient, unyielding, and powerful.”

Like an idiot, I slipped myself between them, forming a barrier between trickster and huntress, despite knowing that I was like a sheet of rice paper between two dueling gales.

“The goddess is different, trickster.” This time it was Maharani who spoke, her tone cold, stiff. “She is willing to help the progeny of those who worshipped at her temples in days long passed. And you? You are content to sow chaos wherever you step.”

Loki rolled his eyes and chuckled. “When you’ve lived as long as I have, you seek out more and more exciting ventures.” He squatted down on his haunches, reaching out to pet Box, then recoiling hurriedly when he snapped at the god’s fingers with razor teeth. “The creation of life, perhaps, or as in the Prince of Sloth’s case, it seems, the snuffing out of it.” He got back up on his feet, pushing his hands into his hips and thrusting out his chest. “And what are you going to do about it anyway, Scion? Arrest me?”

He said the word “Scion” with all the spitting satisfaction and violence of a curse. Maharani bared her teeth, but said nothing. Beside her, Royce glared daggers into Loki’s skin, but the god was right. On both a magical and mundane level, Loki was far, far too powerful, nigh untouchable.

But not, as we had all assumed, entirely useless.

“There,” he said, raising his head to the sky. “There is your demon prince.”

I followed Loki’s finger where it pointed, high up to the tallest skyscraper in Central Square, in all of Valero: his own offices at Happy, Inc.

“I’ll only ask once, Loki,” I said. “Will you help us in this fight?”

He smirked at me, shook his head, then snapped his fingers, an ornate wooden seat appearing just behind him. “I think not. This is far too entertaining for me as it is.” He crossed his legs as he sat on his spectator’s chair, his eyes sweeping up and down my body as he gnawed on the edge of his thumb. “I prefer to watch, if you catch my drift.” Loki winked. My insides shuddered.

“No point talking to him,” Maharani said. “He won’t help.” Royce mumbled something to the same effect. Artemis grumbled.

“Oh, fine,” Loki said, pulling something that jingled out of his suit jacket, then tossing it at me. I caught it in both hands, a set of keys. “Take the elevator up to the rooftop gardens. That’s where you’ll find both Belphegor and your friend. I can feel it in my bones.”

I looked down into my hands, scowling at the keys attached to a small, silver figurine of a wolf.

“Of course,” Loki added, “you could always make it more interesting.” He folded his fingers together, resting his elbows in his lap, then his chin on the backs of his hands. “You’re practically an angel, are you not? Why don’t you just flap your wings and fly up there?”

Fly? I looked at him, mouth parched, then up at the building.

“Prove that you’re worthy of carrying your father’s name, nephilim.” Loki chuckled to himself, leaning back into his throne. “Prove that you are indeed the son of Samyaza.”

24

My throat was dry, and I knew exactly why. It was a stupid dare from a god known for his proclivity for deception, yet there I was, wondering if I could actually sprout wings and fly myself up to the gardens. It was the shortest way from point A to point B, and wasn’t it part of my birthright, after all?

But the last time I took flight I ended up being sick for days, chucking up my guts and burning with fever. I clenched my teeth, as well as my fingers, the archangel’s sword still warm in my hands. Flying would be fast, but it’d also ruin my body again. How could Loki be so wrong and so right at the same time?

Maharani closed her hand around the back of mine, leaning in to whisper. “Don’t listen to him. If misdirection was one of the deadly sins, Loki would become the prince of its hell instantly. Focus on the task at hand.” Then even more quietly, she added: “You – you have flown on your own before, haven’t you?”

The god waved his hand lazily. “Yes, yes. On the task at hand, like the Scion says.” He seemed totally comfortable where he was, the legs of his chair already twined over with Sloth’s terrible red vines and blossoms. “Look at that, he really is on my rooftop garden. I was right.” He cupped his hands over his mouth like a megaphone. “Don’t trample the peonies, now, Belphegor.” Loki leaned back in his chair and chuckled. “Silly demon.”

See, that’s how it worked with entities. Fickle, vapid, never caring, except when they did. Artemis had always been one of the good ones, lending a hand to humanity whenever true danger presented itself. It was her failing, the very reason the other gods of moon and night revoked their support of her and took away so much of her original pre-Paradise domicile.

But some entities aren’t just fickle. Some are assholes, too.

Loki was right, though. A familiar crimson glow was emanating from the peak of Happy, Inc. headquarters, the same color that marked Belphegor and his demon magics.

“Nephilim,” said a familiar voice from on high. I couldn’t make out where Belphegor stood, exactly, but the crimson light of his power pulsed with every booming syllable. “Come and see. Use your wings and fight. Come and see.”

My grip tightened even harder. “What the hell is up with these entities wanting me to fly so badly?” Not that it would have been a huge deal, apart from that little problem of me never having done it since the day I got airsick and puked my guts out.

“Flying or no, doesn’t matter. You don’t need wings when you’ve got a Wing on hand.” Royce stretched his arms, his joints popping as he rolled his neck from side to side. “Everybody come close. It’s time to confront that crimson asshole.”

I crowded closer to Royce with Maharani and Artemis, pursing my lips and tutting to call Box over. Loki twiddled his fingers at us in a silent, smirking goodbye. I glowered at him in a silent, scowling echo. We each grabbed a length of Royce’s coat – with Box bundled up at my feet, resting on top of my shoe – and he snapped his fingers.

Suddenly Loki, Central Square, the massive carpets of crimson flowers were all gone, replaced by the bone-chilling air and sweet scents of the corporation’s rooftop garden. For whatever reason, none of Belphegor’s blooms were to be found up here, the ground instead a woven mat of horrible, slithering tendrils, very