False Gods (Sins of the Father 2)

Sterling tapped his foot against the marble floor and snapped his fingers impatiently. “The wares, man. The wares. We talked about this.”

Recognition washed over Wyatt’s face. “Oh my goodness. Are you Mr. Devereux? Mr. Charles Devereux?”

“Yes.” Sterling never missed a beat. “Exactly. And I’m here to see the goods.”

The gamble paid off, then. Quill was here to buy something off of Wyatt, who apparently liked to collect and keep precious things, but not so much that he would turn his nose up at an opportunity to turn a profit. The good thing about this was that we would potentially get the sword without a fight. The bad news was – well, it was Quilliam.

“I thought you would have more of an accent. I didn’t expect you to sound so – I don’t know, British.”

“Oh, it’s been a while since I lived in Loosey-anna.” I nearly stomped on Sterling’s boot just then, and he just shot me this wild-eyed look that more or less said “The fuck was I supposed to say?”

Improvise it was, then.

“And this is my young associate.” Sterling pulled me closer, slinging one arm across my shoulders. I tried not to flinch over how it felt like someone had dumped an ice pack on my back. “Introduce yourself to the nice gentlemen.”

“Of course.” I didn’t even bother with an accent, they could come to the conclusions they wanted. “The name’s Jason. Jason – Albright.” Nice. Nailed it.

Somewhere in the back, I thought I heard Quilliam snorting.

“Oh, my manners,” Wyatt said. “And this is Mr. Quilliam J. Abernathy. He’s just here to pick up a book. I should have everything in order soon, gentlemen.”

“Well, hurry,” Sterling said, tapping his boot even faster. “We don’t have all d

ay. Jason and I are here to acquire Mistleteinn, and then we’re off. It’s a long drive down to San Francisco.”

I blinked at Sterling, mildly impressed at the sudden backstory he’d cooked up for us.

“Mistleteinn?” Wyatt wrung his hands. “The sword that once belonged to the draugr Prainn? Mr. Devereux, I thought you were interested in that vase we communicated about. A whole email chain, it was.”

“Yes, yes, but I think I’ve changed my mind. I would much rather purchase the blade instead.” He cast his eye among the glass cases littering the room, somehow lucking out on the only one that contained a sword, then swept over to it dramatically. “Look at its majesty, how it’s so – so rusty and broken.”

Wyatt Whateley followed after him with tiny steps, his little eyes already glimmering with the promise of a sale. I left them to it, my feet carrying me unerringly towards Quilliam’s side of the room, almost like I wasn’t even in control of them anymore. I glared daggers at him as he taunted me with a cocked eyebrow. Somehow the two of us ended up in an alcove, out of sight of both Sterling and Wyatt Whateley.

Quill tilted his head at me and grinned. “Well, well – Jason Albright. Fancy meeting you here.”

“Can it, Abernathy.” I spoke in a low, rough whisper. “How many times have you fucked us over now? Don’t think you’re going to get away with your bullshit again.”

To my annoyance, he ignored practically everything I said, simply folding his hands behind his back and peering past me. “And who the hell is this? Your sugar daddy?”

“Shut up, Quill. You’re here to steal that book, aren’t you? You should pay for that, you fucking asshole.”

“I’m a regular customer here. Wyatt Whateley is one of my best sources for new – ah, shall we say, scholarly acquisitions. Of course he’s going to be fully paid. Dear Mason, you must have me confused for someone poor. ”

I glowered at him, my nails digging into my palms, ready to throw one or two punches upside his smug, snide face.

28

“Wait a minute.” Quill cocked his head, pressing the end of his finger in the hollow of one dimple as he grinned at me, an exaggerated play of mockery. “You’re not actually planning to buy that old sword, are you? As I recall, you’re still in the poor house because neither of the Rodriguez witches actually had money to give. And then there was that unfortunate matter. The accident with your entire stock of bootleg wine spontaneously combusting.”

I stood on the balls of my feet, scowling, barely able to hold myself back. “You blew up our goods and you fucking know that. It wasn’t an accident. You attacked us.”

Quill waved his hand and chuckled softly. “Details, details. Semantics. Just words. What are words at the end of the day, after all? How much power do they truly give us over the universe?”

My eyes went wide as I understood what he was planning to do. One word, two words, a phrase. That was all he needed to blow up this entire house. No way was I going to let him. Before I knew what I was doing, I’d shoved him up against a wall – and slammed my hand over his mouth. He grunted into my palm, his eyes going dark with anger as he realized what had happened.

“You listen to me, Abernathy.” I bent in closer, just to communicate exactly how serious I was about delivering on my threats. “One false move, and I crush your windpipe.”

He just rolled his eyes and grunted again, which only made me angrier. Settle down, I told myself. I didn’t want to go all Christmas tree in there, though even if I did, all the incandescent lighting in the Whateley house would at least hide the fact that I was an angry human lightbulb.