False Gods (Sins of the Father 2)

Sterling was no stranger to excess, but it felt like he had a near limitless supply of currency. He was generous about it, too, paying for the group whenever we went out to eat. If I had to guess, he was doing something similar to how Loki had worked things out for his own corporate empire. Multiple identities, that is, inheritance passing down between the same person under a different name. Absolute decades worth of compound interest on top made it so that they never wanted for anything.

But borrowing the money just wouldn’t feel right. This was something I had to earn for myself. I wasn’t a kid anymore, and despite no one on planet earth asking me to prove that, I had to establish it for myself. I was going to pay for that stupid enchanted leather thong or whatever it was with my own two hands. Or with Florian’s.

Granted, I felt a little bad about using him to brew up the stock we meant to sell to Dionysus, but the plan was always to pay him back, even if it meant owing him for the rest of my nephilim life, however many years that was.

Sterling’s fingers kept hovering near the switch to open the driver seat windows. The guy loved to smoke, having nothing to fear from tobacco’s terrible effects, but even he knew that we shouldn’t be smelling up a rental, especially one this snazzy.

“How much does this Beatrice woman want from you again?”

I winced. “Well, considering how much she dislikes me, I’m worried she’s gonna bump up the price some more. I don’t like it. But last we checked, she wanted ten grand.”

Sterling whistled. “Ah. Yeah. That’s got to smart. But you do what you gotta do, eh?”

I nodded. “Loki promised to pay me the full amount, with a bonus for returning all three weapons. Gambanteinn’s hanging out back at Artemis’s domicile. So Mistleteinn is supposed to be with this collector guy we’re visiting.”

Someone in the greater Los Angeles area, according to the slip of paper I found in Arachne’s fortune cookie. A man by the name of Wyatt Whateley, who lived in the Silver Lake district. Pricy place, which probably meant security systems, or even hired muscle.

“And the last sword?” Sterling looked away from driving long enough to stare me in the eye.

I turned over my shoulder, locking gazes with Florian, who only nodded at me encouragingly. “According to Arachne, it’s with this dude named Quilliam. Bad news all around. He tried to capture me and take me to one of the prime hells. Long, long story.”

Sterling’s fingers flexed and squeaked excitedly as he gripped the steering wheel even tighter, his fangs gleaming with wet glee. “Sounds like a fight. One of the prime hells, eh? Is he a demon, then?”

“That’s the thing. We aren’t really sure, haven’t properly figured him out. I do know that he’s a magus, though. Likes to use elemental magic.” I frowned as I looked down at my lap, finding my hands already bunched into tight fists.

“What’s a magus, exactly?” Sterling asked.

I shrugged. “Like a sorcerer, I guess, only more of a jerk.”

“Gigantic asshole,” Florian said. “Just colossal. Almost killed us recently.”

I cracked my knuckles, unsurprised to find myself grinning just as happily as Sterling was. “The good news is that a mage is just a mage until you get up close and snap his neck. Then he’s just another dead guy.”

Sterling guffawed, his laughter filling the car. “Are you serious? Wow, Mason, that’s so violent. You used to be a bloody marshmallow. Soft, cute, sweet. And superficial.”

“Very funny,” I grumbled. “I’ve always been like this. I guess being with you guys helped me chill out a little.”

“Oh, I don’t need reminding,” Sterling said. “First day you joined the Boneyard, you wanted to rip Dustin’s head off. Hell, even I was scared of you.”

Florian bent closer to the front seats, suddenly curious. “Why would a vampire be so scared of a nephilim?”

“Holy light and all that.” Sterling waved his hand and gestured, like he was pretending to cast a spell. “Divine magic. It doesn’t mesh well with being undead, you know? I don’t like the whole smiting thing. Hurts a fucking lot. And if the thing that does the smiting is powerful enough – ” He dragged a finger across his throat, making a croaking noise.

“Good to keep in mind if I ever have to fight like a million zombies,” I said, chuckling. “Speaking of Dustin, though. Any news from him?”

Sterling shook his head, solemn out of nowhere. “No. Dead silence. He performed the ritual, then disappeared. It’s been months, and not a peep. But he saved the world, and that’s that.” He turned his head slightly towards me, one eyebrow raised, then looked back at the street. “You haven’t asked about Asher, I noticed.”

I sighed. I hadn’t meant to gloss over that, but I was curious, for sure. Asher was the closest thing to a best friend that I ever had. “Sorry, man. I thought – I don’t know, this sounds sappy as hell, but thinking about him makes me sad.”

Sterling grunted, like he disapproved, but he shook his head and acquiesced. “I guess I understand that. He misses you, you know.”

I collapsed against my seat, sighing agai

n. Florian’s eyes were burning into me, I could tell. I owed him an explanation. “Asher Mayhew was another friend from the Boneyard. We had so little in common, but we’re the same age, and when you can talk about video games there really isn’t much else you need to bond over. Good guy, had the sweetest heart. You’d never have guessed he was a necromancer.”

That was the Boneyard for all of us: a safe haven, a home for all the misfits. Asher had been through a lot in his short life, living on the streets for too long a time, then being kidnapped and imprisoned by a druidic death cult.

And none of that hardened any of his edges. The guy could raise the dead, summon enormous, jagged walls of ivory from beneath the earth. Fuck, he could jettison huge shards of bone from his body, using them as swords and spears. But he was always just a load of laughter and light, the Boneyard’s own heart, almost its mascot, if you didn’t count Banjo.