There isn’t a lot of time to process the trip to the Bahamas, or the fact that I met a god from Mount Olympus, because almost as soon as we’re back, we’re called for another council meeting. It’s at the safe house again, only this time more of the higher ups are in attendance. Sheldon, for one. Queen Keyara, Willow, Bryn, and Castillo too. Orpheus and Diarmuid are also present, as is Ulysses, Chiaki, Brianna, and Peter.
Brianna and Orpheus are the ones to recount the experience to the others. I suppose they rank higher than Peter and I do in their respective communities, but I’m fine with it. Brianna wants to help Henry too, and I’m relieved that she makes no mention of using the dagger to separate him from Erra. This isn’t the company to suggest that in, but I will make a note to ask if she’s talked to Castillo about it. He has enough resources that I think I could manage to try without the Order getting in the way.
“That’s basically where we’re at,” Brianna concludes. “We got Hermes’s book to decipher, and the dagger to find. Riley suggested we start in Iraq for the dagger.”
“Good idea,” Chikai replies. “Go back to the start of it all.”
Sheldon frowns, looking like he wants to reject the idea before he sighs and nods. “Very well. We can establish contact with the Order’s Cairo HQ, and go from there.”
“Given the potential affects this dagger may have on my kind, I think it best if we of the Courts focus on Hermes’s book,” Queen Keyara suggests.
“Agreed,” Willow says.
“We cannot afford to send too many anyway,” Ulysses says. “We’re getting reports of illness spreading through New York City. Nothing major yet according to the Technical Division…but it could be Erra’s blight. We may need all the resources we can get here.”
“I can go,” I say quickly. I need to make sure I get my hands on the Unfulfilled Wish.
“That works for me,” Castillo says and I silently thank him for the vote.
“Peter? Be a dear and accompany him,” Willow adds.
Peter’s shoulders slump. “Another sunny destination?”
“Work at night,” his coven leader says with a thin smile.
“I have doubts about you two,” Sheldon says. I knew he wouldn’t just let it go.
“I would be glad to accompany them,” Chiaki says.
Sheldon looks for a second as if he will deny her, then he nods. “Very well. I will contact the MENA division ahead of your departure so they can be ready for you.”
“The what?” Peter whispers to Willow.
“Middle East and North Africa,” Willow replies. “God, learn some culture.”
“I could go too,” Brianna offers. “Not like I’ll have reason to go to Egypt otherwise.”
“Bueno,” Castillo replies. “But then I will need you here.”
“Of course, as long as you need.”
“It is decided then,” Sheldon replies. “Let us arrange travel and accommodations.”
“The Technical Division can do that for everyone, if that works for you,” Ulysses directs the question to our supernatural allies.
Willow waves a disinterested hand while Castillo nods. With that determined, there is no reason for us to stick around here. As everyone gathers their things and makes for the door, I hang back when I notice Brianna and Castillo being slow about it. I don’t approach them in the safe house, but I do make sure I leave it with them. Castillo pauses outside the home and lights a cigarette, offering the pack to me and Brianna as well. She refuses, I accept and kiss my quitting record good bye.
“I know what you plan to do,” the alpha says, voice low and sounding more like a rumbling growl.
“I have to try,” I reply.
“Sí,” he agrees. “You do, but if that scarecrow looking mother fucker tries to hinder you at all, you let me know.”
I feel a shiver down my spine. “What…would you do?”
“Better you not know,” he says. “I have little patience for those who would put family at risk.”
He puts an arm around Brianna’s shoulders when he says this, and she leans into him. I remember her story about how she met the alpha and everything he did for her. It makes sense she would be counted among that number. I don’t know the whole story of Castillo and Henry while Henry lived with the werewolf. I don’t need to know the story, it’s enough to know that Henry touched another’s heart so fully that Castillo is willing to go against Sheldon to ensure we save him.
Would I do something drastic if Sheldon tried to keep the dagger? If he tried to use it only as a backup plan to kill Erra if the Sun Setter sword didn’t do the job, what would I do? I want to say diplomacy, but I’m not good at that sort of thing. I want to say I’d never really attack him…but I also can’t say I could ever let Henry go if the only thing preventing me from getting him back was Joseph Sheldon. I’m jumping ahead again, letting my mind race towards the worst-case scenario when I don’t have quite enough information to say that’s how it is going to be. Likely? Sure, but I can find a way to claim the dagger without murdering my boss. Hopefully.
“First a god,” Brianna says. “And now a trip across half the damn world.”
“Bizarre, huh?” I muse. “Hephaestus looked so normal, but if you looked at his eyes…man, those eyes have seen a lot. Reminded me of the Head Archivist here.”
“A pity there is not more time to learn of those times,” Castillo says. I wouldn’t label him the scholarly type, but then again…I don’t know him all that well to judge. “But time is something I rarely have an abundance of. I must get back to my works. Buenas noches, Mr. Averline.”
“Good night, Mr. Castillo.”
“I’m heading out too,” Brianna says. “Hit me up with the travel details.”
“You’ll probably get them before I do,” I say with a slight wince. “But sure.”
We part company and while I thought of going home first, I change my mind halfway enroute and take the train closest to Billy’s apartment. I haven’t filled him and Carver in since the night Erra poisoned me, and if anyone knows a good way to dupe Sheldon, it’s likely Carver. I walk from the subway to Billy’s place, climbing up the stairs and knocking at the door. It’s not a gross time of night to be counted rude, especially given current company, and I’m glad that Carver is still dressed when she opens the door to let me in.
“I have so much to tell you two,” I say as I enter. “About gods, weapons, and a chance for everyone to get a happy ending for a change.”
“I like a happy ending,” Billy replies. “Too many stories go the dark and gritty route, but hey, avoiding depression is also cool.”
“Sit down, Riley,” Carver says, and it may be the first time she’s ever referred to me by my first name. It’s like Billy said during my first visit though, we don’t need the same formalities we had while working together.
“Thanks, Betty,” I venture, taking a seat on the sofa and half expecting her to snap at me. She looks completely unfazed, and there must be something to what Billy said about her not being that bad lately.
"Tell us the story already!” Billy exclaims, joining me on the couch.
I tell them everything I think is important, focusing mostly on the trip to the Archives and to the Bahamas to speak to Hephaestus. I finish with the plan to go to Iraq with Chiaki and company to find the Unfulfilled Wish, and about my worries that Sheldon will learn of my plan and make sure I can’t use it for Henry’s sake.
“Mm, no, he wouldn’t let you,” Carver agrees. “Not if there was a chance that Erra would go free in that case. You know him.”
“Yeah, yeah. He thinks it’s the right thing,” I mutter, frowning as I remember Carver justifying Sheldon’s quick orders to slaughter werewolves in South Boston a couple years ago. “Why spend a little bit of time helping anyone when you can just go on a killing spree?”
“He is not the villain you seem to think he is,” Carver says, unimpressed.
I decide not to argue. I don’t have the energy for it, and truth be told…I don’t think I have enough evidence to really support my case. I don’t agree with Sheldon’s methods, and I never will, but I also never thought he did anything out of malice or to sate some secret blood lust. He does what he thinks he has to do, solving crises in the quickest way to avoid more losses.
“He is a dick though, we can all agree on that,” Billy adds.
“Amen,” I reply.
“There is also the question of these weapons,” Carver continues undeterred, but I see the faint hint of a smile in the corner of her mouth at Billy’s comment. “Hephaestus forged the Sun Setter, but never had a chance to test it against Erra. The same could be said for the Unfulfilled Wish. If the dagger was made by Erra’s ‘lost children’ who is to say it would work on him at all?”
“He sounds like the type of arrogant bastard who would just assume it would never end up in the hands of an enemy,” Billy replies. “This is an ancient deity, who from the sounds of it knew a hell of a lot of knowledge people otherwise would never obtain, built an empire, attacked other empires and cities, and was such a devastating figure that the Order of Cerberus was created just to stop him.”
“Yeah, Hephaestus mentioned that back then only these beings were really connected to the True Source. We’ve seen mages who are attuned to it,” I think of Elena again, her manic eyes as she tried to reach Paradise to bring her daughter back to life. Frowning, I try to focus on the present. “But Hephaestus mentioned none of the ‘gods’ were mages. They were never human.”
“He gave them his fire,” Carver says quietly, repeating what I told her from the Archival text. “He gave them knowledge…”
“What do you got, old girl?” Billy asks.
“Say humans were not connected to the True Source at all back then, as Hephaestus’s words imply,” she continues. “But that Erra showed them how. Perhaps his lost children were the world’s first mages.”
“How though? How would he give them the means?” I ask, feeling floored.
“If he was once in Paradise,” Carver replies.
“Fuck…”
“It all comes back to Paradise,” Billy sighs. “He starts there, leaves or…is expelled, something. Wreaks havoc on the world, gets trapped by the Order in a relic for thousands of years, and now he’s free from the relic. Which means…his next step is probably getting his ass back to Paradise.”
“I think expelled,” I say, focusing hard on that night in the Archives, on the passage Chiaki translated. “It’s what he told the lost children, he was lost too or something to that effect.”
“Who would expel him though?” Billy asks.
“Something more powerful?” I guess.
“God, god?”
“Jesus, I don’t know how to handle that…”
“It is speculation at this point,” Carver interrupts. “He may have left Paradise to expand his influence through war, that is part of his nature.”
I wish I knew all this before I’d gone to Erra’s penthouse. I wish I could ask him about it now, but I don’t think he’d let me up there again. If he did, I don’t think he’d let me leave this time. Muir may know, he still has to be the target. No one has a bead on what Erra is doing in his day to day, but he must be leaving the penthouse now and then. We could set up a stakeout, wait for him to go and launch an attack on Muir and capture the Fae. Then again…the penthouse probably has a lot of fortifications, but we could observe Muir and the moment he steps away from it, the Order could swoop in and grab him.
“How do I make sure I keep the dagger?” I ask.
“Tell Sheldon you’ll shove it up his ass if he really wants it so badly,” Billy suggests.
The utter nonchalance of the statement makes me laugh, while Carver shakes her head.
“Use your connections,” she says. “Tell him you want to make sure the dagger is legitimate and bring it to the Head Archivist. Or, that you have the best chance of approaching Muir to apprehend him given your previous encounter with him and Erra.”
“That could work,” I muse. “I haven’t told him about my intentions with the dagger. The only other ones who know are Brianna, Peter, and Orpheus. Bri won’t say anything…I’m kind of worried Peter might let something slip though, and I have no idea if Orpheus will say anything.”
“The Unseelie Knight? Not likely,” Billy replies. “They only play ball with the Order because the Seelie Court does and they don’t want an outright conflict.”
“This is beyond the differences of the Courts,” Carver points out. “But if he did not say anything during the council, he may be keeping it quiet.”
I don’t have any alerts telling me to get back to the office, suggesting that Sheldon is waiting to yell at me again. Of course, if he does figure out what I’m up to, I can count on him firing me. As long as I have the Unfulfilled Wish before that happens, fine. I’ll lose my status as a Centurion for the chance to put things right, no question.
“Let’s hope we even get to the dagger,” I sigh. “I have a horrible suspicion that this is not going to be a smooth trip.”
“Hey, at least you’re prepared for the suck,” Billy says.
“Silver linings. Have you heard anything about people getting sick around New York City?”
“Yes,” Carver replies heavily. “So far no one has died from it, but mundane news reports liken it to a new virus.”
“Because we weren’t under enough pressure,” I groan. “Okay. Well, I’m sure the Techies will get the flight and stuff figured out as soon as they can.”
“Be careful over there too,” Billy adds. “Shit still hasn’t settled, so don’t go sight-seeing.”
“Damn, there goes my entire plan.”
“Bill has a point,” Carver says.
“I know, I know. I was kidding. All right, I’m going to head home and get some sleep. It’s going to be a long flight and I can never sleep on planes.”
“Fingers crossed you aren’t sitting next to someone with bony shoulders. Definitely not good for an impromptu pillow,” Billy snickers.
“You could pretend to not be enjoying this so much, you know?”
Billy points to the air above his head. “You can’t see it, but I swear there’s a halo floating right here.”
“Uh huh. Good night, Billy, Betty.”
“Good night, Riley,” Carver replies while Billy waves.
It takes longer to arrange this trip than the one to the Caribbean did, since we’re dealing with another headquarters of the Order. I know next to nothing about Cairo HQ, I don’t even know what sort of peoples they deal with. So, because I have the time, I do a little research so I don’t get caught unawares and make a complete ass of myself when we get there. The records that Omar from the Technical Division gave me reveal that there are Djinn in that part of the world, as well as the Buraq – a winged horse, ghouls, werehyenas, and something called a nasnas, which is essentially a man with half a head and torso, one arm and one leg, and a lamb tail. Despite only having one leg, it is said to hop with great agility and I am really hoping I don’t see it during the trip because it sounds like nightmare fuel.
Apart from research I spend the time at headquarters trying to focus on smaller tasks to fill my shift. I am unsuccessful in this endeavor, and end up killing time by looking busy or wandering around. No one stops to talk with me, and I can assume it’s because of Chief Glass. It hurts, but I don’t try to engage any of the other Centurions because if they want to give me the cold shoulder, so be it. I have more things to focus on anyway. If they don’t get over it…maybe I can transfer to another office and be done with Boston.
It takes three days for me to get a notice to report to Sheldon’s office. I grimace, because he hasn’t spoken to me either but that’s been a blessing. Gathering my patience, I go to the elevator and ride it to the top floor. His office door is open, so I walk right in.
“We need to be well prepared,” he says.
“What, does the Cairo office have such a bad reputation too?” I ask.
Sheldon narrows his eyes. “The Order only has a small regional office in Iraq. I would assume you have at least some notions of the turmoil that has occurred in that country over the last few decades.”
“What does that have to do with this mission?”
“Your entitlement is disgraceful,” Sheldon replies. “For a time, there was no safety in the mundane world and that permeated into the supernatural. Many were forced to do what they could to survive, and it has not recovered enough to expect the balance we enjoy here.”
I like to think I’m not blind to the world beyond Boston, but maybe he has a point. I would even say as much if it’d come from anyone else. I only grunt a noncommittal response and turn the conversation back to business. “What would you recommend we bring?”
“Your enchanted blade, a combat suit, vitality potions, a couple repair kits, whatever long range weapon you’re most proficient in. Your flight leaves from Logan tomorrow morning—”
“What about Peter?”
“It leaves before sunrise, which you would have known if you didn’t interrupt me. You will be flying to Heathrow, where you have a layover for a few hours, and from Heathrow you fly to Cairo.”
I don’t even want to tally how many hours it’s going to be of stress and bad vibes. Maybe he sees it in my face, because Sheldon actually smirks instead of glaring at me.
“First class, Mr. Averline.”
“What, seriously?” I ask with a grin. “Oh, thank Jesus.”
He quirks a brow.
“Er, thank you. I mean it, I think I would have lost my mind in economy.”
“I would hate to give you more reason to act out,” Sheldon replies. I can’t tell if he’s joking, but I decide to take it as one so I don’t get irritated. “Gather your gear and go home for the night. Make sure you are at Logan’s departures early.”
“All right, next I see you I’ll have the answer to our problems.”
I go to the armory before leaving HQ. I already have the blade with me from the Bahamas, but I go to get everything else now. The combat suits are tactical, comprising a long sleeve shirt, long pants, and boots, all in black. While they look plain – more like a henley shirt and work pants combo – they are heavily enchanted to raise a Centurion’s defenses. I might as well be wearing state of the art Kevlar in this thing. The potions are next, and I grab the flasks they’re in and put them in a small tote bag. They won’t heal a wound like a potion in a game would heal hit points, but they will give the wounded a burst of adrenaline that is potent enough to finish a fight, or to retreat. Repair kits are also enchanted and meant to maintain weapons and armor. We don’t have anyone like Hephaestus on hand who could do it for us. And finally, I grab a 10-mm handgun. There’s an assortment of ranged weapons though, like bows, crossbows, slings, and more. I never really took time to learn the others, and the various ammo we carry is enough to counter most enemies. With everything in the tote, I head out of headquarters to make my way home. Should any nosy subway riders try to peek into my bag, they’ll just see an assortment of everyday items.
I pack as soon as I get home, and then take a shower because I know myself and I know I will wake up at the last possible minute because this flight’s timing is criminal. Once I’m washed up and ready for bed, I try to will myself to fall asleep. When that doesn’t work, I mentally plead with my brain to stop with the racing thoughts. I get anxious about the time I’m losing that should be spent resting, and eventually toss and turn until the alarm goes off. If I slept, I don’t think it was more than an hour or two, and I’m groggy and grumpy as I get dressed and grab my carryon again. I call for a taxi as the trains won’t be operating yet, and chug as much coffee as I can while waiting for it to arrive.
Fortunately, the driver is as not ready for today as I am and doesn’t try to talk with me. Unfortunately, the driver’s cologne is so potent that I can’t doze at all on the way to the airport. I’m feeling a headache coming on by the time I get out of the vehicle at Terminal E, and take a few deep breaths before I head inside. Even at this time it’s busy, but I zone out as much as I can while I check in and then go through security.
I follow the signs to where the gate is, the ambient noise of the airport a dull thrum in my sleepy mind. Messages about security and leaving bags around, gate changes, names summoned to gates. Nothing to do with me, so I press on until I reach the northernmost part of the terminal to where my plane will be leaving. Chiaki is already here because of course she is, but I’m thrown off by her attire. I’m used to seeing her fashionably dressed. This morning, she wears athletic pants and a loose t-shirt with cushy looking sneakers and her straight black hair hangs freely over her shoulders.
“Morning,” I mumble.
“Good morning,” she replies. “There is a Starbucks nearby.”
I must look as tired as I feel. “Any Dunkin Donuts?”
“I’m sure there’s one somewhere.”
“Cool, I’m going to look for that…still got plenty of time.”
I’m an hour early, which is unprecedented for me so there is a silver lining to not really sleeping.
“You can leave your luggage,” she offers. She also has a carryon, just enough to be practical and not enough to require checking the bag.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
“Thanks.”
I head off to find my preferred brand of coffee. I end up needing to walk to Terminal C for it, but it’s well worth it when I see fresh Boston Cream donuts being set in the display. I order one, but thinking I should play nice, I change it to four before I start making my way back to Chiaki.
“Donut?” I ask as I sit down nearby. “It’s fresh.” When I see the small crease form in her brow, I take one of the treasures from the bag and hold it out to her. “A little sugar never killed anyone.”
“I would hardly call this a little,” she replies. “Thank you. I think.”
“Don’t tell me you’ve never had one.”
“I’m not overly fond of desserts.”
“It’s not dessert, it’s breakfast.”
She’s not convinced, but she at least takes a nibble from the donut. I decide I can’t just sit there watching to make sure she eats it like a parent waiting for their kid to eat vegetables, and dig into mine with gusto. That sweetness with the chill of my cold coffee is improving my mood and pulling me from that grumpily groggy state.
“Were you able to sleep at all?” Chiaki asks once I look less menacingly grumpy.
“I don’t even know,” I admit. “You seem like you did.”
“Yoga and breathing routines do wonders,” she replies. “Remind me to send you some when we get back.”
I don’t tell her that I’ve tried doing breathing exercises and only got angry when I could not immediately feel the alleged relaxing effects. I smile instead and murmur a thanks, and I’m grateful when I notice Brianna’s face in the crowd as she comes towards us, so I can use her as a means to change the subject. I hold up the Dunkin Donuts bag as soon as she drops into the seat next to me.
“How do you eat this shit first thing in the morning?” she asks.
“Why wouldn’t I start my day with consumable happiness?”
“Gimme it,” she says, dipping her hand in the back and extracting one of the Boston Cream’s. “You got one for Peter?”
I blink and realize that he won’t be able to eat it. I was too tired to think straight and I hurriedly grab it to eat it myself. “Nope, I was being a glutton.”
“You can have the rest of mine too,” Chiaki says, all but dumping the remains of her donut into my hands. “Good morning, Brianna,” she adds.
“Hey,” Brianna replies.
They may not know each other very well, but I’m sure Brianna remembers Chiaki being one of the few Centurions trying to save her pack in Southie. The werewolf lets out a yawn, stretches, and leans back in the hard chair as if anything could make it remotely comfortable.
“I wish we were going back to the Caribbean,” she sighs.
“You and me both.”
We had a chance to bond during our day at the beach. Sharing music from our phones while we were lounging on the sand, shooting the shit, and avoiding talk of work or impending doom. At one point while we were swimming, she threw a wad of seaweed at my face and the ensuing battle helped release a lot of pent-up aggression between the two of us. I don’t think I can call her a friend, but I do like to think we’re heading that direction. She nudges me suddenly and shows me her phone. She’s got her Instagram open and is scrolling through stupid shit. The short clips make me laugh and it feels good, laughing. There hasn’t been much of that lately. “Girl, get in here,” she says to Chiaki, gesturing towards the empty seat on her other side. Chiaki concedes and moves and joins us in watching human stupidity caught on camera.
“Good morning, says the vampire…who should never utter such words,” Peter’s voice interrupts our videos and we look up to see our disgruntled nocturnal ally.
He is wearing a thick hoodie, with the hood drawn up and over his hair. Instead of his backpack, he is dragging a carryon behind him. Somehow, he looks even paler than usual, and I hope it’s the hour and not growing hunger. The last thing we need is for him to lose control 30,000 feet in the air.
“So, the Middle East,” Brianna muses while Peter grumbles and sits by us. “Not a place I planned to visit, if I’m being honest.”
“There’s lots of history there though,” Peter says through a yawn.
“Duh, and I’m sure there’s lots of awesome places too, doesn’t change the fact I don’t really care to see them. I like the tropics, the desert not so much.”
“With luck we’ll handle this as quickly as we did Hephaestus,” I reply. I’m not that hopeful though, because we knew where we were going when we sought Hephaestus. This time we may have an idea of where to start looking for information on the dagger’s whereabouts, but we don’t have a clue where it may actually be.
“Ulysses thinks that Cairo HQ will know where it is,” Chiaki says. “At least to narrow down our search considerably.”
“However it turns out…I’m going to live it up on the flight,” Peter decides. “We have full recline seats, that’s fucking awesome. And it looks like I have a window seat, so I don’t have to worry about bursting into flames because my seat mate wants to look at clouds.”
“Small victories,” I say innocuously.
“Why didn’t you just stay behind?” Brianna asks. “The Fae did because of the risk of the cold iron.”
“After finding out the Moliere Coven was wiped out so easily, the others have been kinda anxious to settle things before Erra decides to barbecue more vamps.”
Since it seems Erra could destroy any of us with relative ease, I can understand the reasoning. We spend the next forty minutes or so talking until our flight begins calling for boarding. We’re all in the same boarding group, and I take my seat next to Brianna while Chiaki and Peter settle in across the aisle from us. As comfortable as the seat turns out to be, I’m on edge. We’ve been moving a lot, but it feels like we haven’t made a lot of progress. What is Erra doing? Does he know? Is he watching us just like we’re trying to watch him?
As much as I appreciate the spacious seating, I can’t relax when I claim my place. I’m certain Erra is plotting another blow. What if he releases his blight on par with what happened in Margadh Sióg? That was an accident too, from the sounds of it, but if he put intent into that poison…how quickly would it spread across New York? To Boston? Across the U.S. and beyond? We could get these weapons and it could mean nothing if the world is already akin to one you’d see after a nuclear fallout.
“You aren’t scared of flying are you?” Brianna asks, looking at me skeptically.
“I don’t like it,” I admit. “Wouldn’t say I’m afraid of it though. Why?”
“You look like you’re about to go in meltdown mode.”
She would know what that looked like…the state she found me in the Market those years ago after Billy died was one of my lowest points.
“It’s not that. I’m thinking about how much time we have with everything. While we’re off searching for magical items, who knows what Erra’s going to do?”
“We don’t got much choice but to keep doing what we’re doing,” Brianna points out. I envy her practicality. “We can worry about what shit’s heading for the fan, or we can focus.”
“You should’ve been a motivational speaker.”
“Who says I’m not that for the pack?”
“Are you really?”
“Dumb ass.”
“You know I regard that as a term of affection by now.”
“Damn, I don’t want to know what kind of fucked up relationships you had if that’s the case.”
“You’ve never met my mother.”
Brianna smiles wryly. “That bad, huh?”
“A true beast.”
We share a quiet laugh, even if I’m not joking. The engines hum loudly, the plane begins to taxi towards the runway and we’re treated to another safety routine. Chatting with Brianna brought me back from spiraling, and as the plane speeds up and takes off, I know I’ll be able to sleep. Once we’re given the go ahead to enjoy the luxury of first class, I recline my seat back and shut my eyes.
I dream of Henry in the dark. He looks so vulnerable and alone, so out of place even if logic says he’s safest in the darkness now. I reach for him, trying to shout his name but it’s muffled, like the air pushes back against my voice and shoves it down my throat. He sees me and he smiles, his hand raising to grab hold of mine. Then his fingers turn red, and catch fire. His eyes widen in pain as flames race up his arms, over his torso, over his entire body. He’s screaming, but I can’t hear it, and as I launch myself forward, I find myself hitting an invisible wall. I pound on it, ram my shoulder into it, punch and kick it and headbutt it to no avail. I cannot break it and I cannot save him. I’m screaming, but I can’t hear it, I feel tears streaking down my face in rivulets. I do hear laughter. It’s Henry’s voice, but not. It’s Erra’s stolen voice.
I wake with a violent start. The plane is dark, most passengers are trying to make up for the exceptionally early start to the day. Brianna is asleep next to me. My heart is pounding and I’m covered in cold sweat.
“Are you all right?” Chiaki asks. Since she is seated across the aisle from me, she would have had to be blind to miss my jolted awakening.
“Bad dream,” I mutter. I feel tears on my face and try to make it look like I’m rubbing sleep from my eyes rather than drying them. “Must have been too much sugar.”
“Riley...” she is about to dig deeper, but perhaps senses my apprehension. Instead she stretches her hand across the aisle to give mine a reassuring squeeze. “If you ever want to talk, let me know.”
A couple hours later we’re at Heathrow Airport, stuck waiting on a layover that’s not scheduled to depart for another three hours. The nightmare lingers in my mind and I withdraw from the group, plugging in my headphones and playing music just loud enough that I can’t hear them without serious effort on their part. They get the message and leave me alone. The waiting is agony, I force myself to sit in place because if I start pacing all that energy is going to come out of my racing thoughts and into my movement and the last place I want to behave erratically is an airport. Especially in a foreign country.
Eventually that time passes and we’re boarding our second flight that will take us all the way to Cairo. This time I’m next to Chiaki while Peter and Brianna are a few seats behind us.
“So, is there a main headquarters in Iraq anywhere or just Egypt?”
“There are quite a few regional offices in Iraq, Cairo is the head office overall though.”
“Of the Middle East?”
“Of the entire Order.”
I gape at her. I knew there was an overall head office somewhere in the world, but for whatever reason my mind always thought Rome. There’s a mysticism about main HQ, because no one in the Boston headquarters has been there. At least not that I’m aware of.
“How did you know that?” I ask.
“Mr. Sheldon told me before we left.”
“Huh. Of course he did. Is it very different from ours? I mean, apart from culturally.”
“I can’t know for certain,” she answers. “I was told that much of it is in the in-between of the mundane realm and another.”
I raise a brow. “Another? The Fae’s?” I doubt anyone can hear our quiet murmuring. If they do, they’ll probably think we’re a couple of D&D fanatics or something.
“Not theirs,” Chiaki sighs. “Duat, which…is the underworld of ancient Egyptian mythology.”
I stare at her and she frowns, obviously not enjoying the intensity of it. “Are we about to run into more old deities?” I ask in a hiss.
“I don’t know, Riley,” she admits.
I see a flight attendant coming down the aisle and raise a hand, ordering a strong whiskey.
We reach Cairo five hours after departing London. I feel groggy (some of it’s the multiple drinks I ordered over the flight) and ready to collapse into a bed. Or a couch, or the middle of the airport will do. I force my feet to keep me going through customs, unable to stop the brief anxiety when they look me and my passport over like they’ll somehow know and deny me entry or lock me away somewhere. It doesn’t happen, I’m waved through at the same speed as everyone else going through.
It’s night time here, which is good for Peter, but it’s still hot. Almost 100 degrees hot and I find myself hoping the underworld will be cooler.
“This is so cool,” Peter’s saying as I join him and Brianna at the baggage claim. “We’re in Egypt!”
“Not a big traveler?” I ask him.
“I’ve never been out of Massachusetts before all of this,” he replies. He looks antsy, like he’s ready to bolt out of the airport to explore another new location. “Why did you have to bring a full suitcase?” he asks as more come trundling slowly onto the belt.
“Because I have self-respect and know what I need to have a comfortable time away from home,” Brianna scoffs. “Anyway, I can see my bag so quit crying.”
“Pft, I’m not crying,” he mutters after her as she heads over to collect her luggage. Her bright yellow suitcase is definitely easy to spot and likely still would be by the ISS once we stepped outside.
“Are we all ready?” Chiaki asks, her phone in hand. “Our driver is waiting for us.”
We head outside and Chiaki points to a man wearing dark clothes holding a white sign with Arabic written on it. Seeing us approaching, our driver greets us in accented English and leads us to a black Lincoln town car. We get our bags in the trunk before getting inside; Brianna up front with the driver, and me, Peter, and Chiaki in the back.
“Where are we going?” I ask. Not that I know the city, but I can already see that the streets are congested and I’m curious how long we’re going to be stuck in this car.
“Al-‘Arafa,” the driver replies automatically. Then realizes we have no idea what that means and adds “City of the Dead.”
"Awesome!” Peter exclaims. “That sounds badass!”
The driver’s mouth pulls downward into a frown. “It is under imminent threat,” he says darkly.
Peter’s enthusiasm dwindles. “Uh, from what?”
“The government. They want highway, and plan to demolish al-‘Arafa to build it. Despicable.”
“I thought I read somewhere that there’s a lot of people living there,” Chiaki points out.
“They don’t care,” the driver grunts. “Or about the entombed.”
“That’s shitty,” I say genuinely. So much for letting the dead rest. “Are they at least taking care to move the bodies?”
“Why should they care?” the driver asks. “They don’t care. Our president just wants modern Cairo, erase history, build it how he wants, be viewed as divine like days of old.”
His accent gets thicker as he gets worked up, and his English trails off to Arabic as he continues voicing his frustration.
Chiaki looks worried. “That may complicate things,” she mutters.
If the Order headquarters are in this part of Cairo…what does that mean for it? I want to ask, but I don’t think the driver is part of the Order. He has made no mention of it or the strain headquarters must be under while dealing with this. I do understand Chiaki’s concern, because despite the power and resources the Order of Cerberus has, there are limits. A country’s government probably being one of them.
As we get away from the airport, the car stops more and more often in the traffic. I can see Brianna shifting uncomfortably up front as cars come swerving in front of our own. About three minutes later, it seems she can’t take it anymore when she exclaims, “where the fuck are the lanes?!”
“Eh,” the driver replies dismissively. “No need, just have to be aggressive.”
I try to imagine navigating a busy city with no traffic lanes. I also can’t seem to logic out how intersections work. Some have traffic lights of course, but some of them it seems like the one who gets farthest along is the one with the right of way. If it isn’t dodging and weaving the bedlam of cars going every which way, it’s paying mind to the pedestrians who just cross where they will. We nearly hit three people down a single road, but our driver assures us that pedestrians don’t have the right of way, so we’d be fine.
I lose track of how long we’re in the car, probably not that long, but it feels like ages. Eventually our driver stops the car though and beckons us to wait a moment. “You sure you want me to leave you here? Not the best time to wander.”
“Yes,” Chiaki says. “Thank you so much for getting us here,” she hands the driver an impressive wad of money.
“Wada’an…farewell. May Allah’s protection be with you.”
I don’t know what I was expecting when we got here, maybe a walled off cemetery, but instead it’s more like the city just continues with much older buildings. “Are these houses?” I ask, looking at the square-shaped structures.
“Probably mausoleums,” Chiaki replies. “Let’s go.”
It’s quiet here, the sound of downtown Cairo is distant, a mere murmur, and what traffic is here is considerably light. There’s an energy to this area too, I feel it as soon as we set off down a dirt road between two rows of mausoleums. I peer into a square cut out as we pass one, and see a marker in the dirt. The tomb is square-shaped, with what looks like two thin headstones on either end. There’s two of these in the space I see, but we are walking at a brisk pace and not for sight-seeing.
“You know,” Brianna says after we have been walking for ten minutes. “It probably would have made more sense to get dropped off right at the door of wherever we’re going,” she says, her luggage trundling along behind her. “Instead of dragging all this shit with us.”
“You’re the only one dragging anything heavy,” Peter teases.
“Sorry, there are wards against that sort of thing,” Chiaki explains. “But we’re nearly there. You see that ahead?” she points to a domed building, ancient and beautiful. “The entrance is there.”
“What is that place?”
“The mausoleum of an old sultan,” Chiaki says.
No wonder it looks so impressive, more so when we get closer to it. The only problem is…it looks like a ruin, not the headquarters of the Order of Cerberus. I glance at Chiaki, but she doesn’t look concerned so I assume this is…normal. I wish I was given the same brief though, so I could skip the feeling of being in the wrong place.
The entire complex stretches on into the dark, but right in front of us the entrance looms as three massive arches cut into the stone. Over the left and the right arches, there’s a large circular cut out and slightly higher and above the middle arch a final circle. This is set into a large trapezoid shape with intricate engravings in the sandstone walls. A lot of it is Arabic calligraphy, I can understand none of it, but I gawk anyway. Above this entrance is the dome itself, what light is available here reveals that it is a dusky gold color. What waits for us inside, however, it pitch blackness.
“Okay…” Chikai says quietly and walks up to the center arch and lays a hand out to it. Even though it should be empty space, I can clearly see her hand presses against the darkness, as if pressing against a door. She closes her eyes and she mutters under her breath. I take a few steps closer to listen, but she is speaking Arabic.
The arch pulses with a brilliant blue-white light and the darkness parts to reveal the interior. It is not an old ruin; it looks like an expensive lobby. Marble floors, white and pristine. Occasionally there are circular shapes painted into it, golden bands with intricate designs resembling floral abstracts in royal blues and silvery accents. A crystal chandelier illuminates the massive space, and beneath it is a sitting area. The floor there is lower than the rest of the level, and there are cushions built into the half walls formed by the lower level. I notice another narrow cushion on the floor adjacent to the wall to form a low bench, and an obsidian table in the middle of the sitting area. There is a woman sitting here, and she gets to her feet as we walk inside.
“You must be the delegation from the United States,” she says.
“Yes. I am Chiaki Ito this is Riley Averline, Brianna Walker, and Peter Smith.”
I look at Peter and he frowns and whispers, “I don’t want to hear it.”
“Welcome,” the woman says. “I am Rehema al-Watani. Come.”
She gestures for us to follow her through the great entrance hall. We pass through another arched doorframe, which opens to another spacious room. There are art pieces here, old instruments and weapons set in display cases, pots and sculptures with dates going back thousands of years. “Is this place…a museum?” I ask.
“Yes,” Rehema replies. “It is important to remember our history.”
I wonder what the mundanes see when they walk through the arches without knowing the password. Is it ruins? Shadows and echoes of what is here for us?
Rehema stops in front of what looks like a modern eyesore in the midst of all this history. It’s a cube, about eight feet tall, and made of reflective material. We see ourselves in its sides, save for one which has an opening. Rehema steps inside the cube and we follow. It shows the room in odd angles, a gimmick for us visitors, maybe, until Rehema whispers in Arabic and another flash of blue-white light engulfs us.
When it fades, we are no longer in the opulent mausoleum. We are in a darker place now, it’s cold and makes my skin crawl despite there being no visual threats. My pendant is vibrating again as I take in my surroundings. It’s like an ancient city underground, far more organized than the market back home. Grand buildings are part of the walls, their faces chipped and chiseled into magnificent columns and arches. Stone bridges connect everything to a huge, central hub where standalone buildings are. These look more modern, almost like the tall apartment buildings in a major city. We are standing on stone, but the floor falls away on all sides save for one of the connecting bridges. I peer over the edge and I see murky smoke below. It twists and writhes like a snake, one in its death throes. Something about it unsettles me greatly and I take a step back.
“We’re in Duat,” I say.
“What?” Peter asks.
“The underworld.”
“Yes,” Rehema says. “Fear not, the dead know to leave us be.”
“What the fuck?” Brianna asks. “This would have been nice to know before we got here!”
I see two figures coming from the central hub, heading our direction. “They will take your things,” Rehema explains. “You see that building?” she points to one of the ones which has its entrance carved from the wall. “You will stay there while you are here.”
“Are we going to like…lose years off our life the longer we stay down here?” Brianna demands.
Rehema chuckles. “Of course not, habibti, I’ve been here for over a decade and I look young for my age, if I dare say so myself.”
“Depends on how old you are,” Peter says.
“You have no class,” Brianna sighs.
The two figures are middle-aged men. They carry themselves like soldiers and I assume they are fellow Centurions. Not the friendly sort, however, as they take the three carry-ons and one full suitcase without so much of a hello.
“I know you must be tired,” Rehema says. “And you will be shown to your rooms soon, but our head Incantator wishes to meet with you first.”
I stifle the groan that wants to escape me, and try not to pitch the idea of this Incantator waiting for a few hours. Rehema leads the way across the bridge, in the wake of the men with our luggage. When they cross, however, they head towards the left while we continue down the center strip of the hub.
I can’t get a sense of how big this place is. As we make our way further inside, I can see far distant buildings looming in the shadows. Despite that, nothing echoes. Our footsteps seem to fade to nothing as we move forward, our voices trapped in the bubble of our company and extending no further. Looking at my companions, I can see that they are also feeling the disquiet. Rehema is used to it, she must be, because she’s chatting away like we’re meeting in a bustling downtown center.
She leads us into one of the buildings. The building is tall and rectangular, with floor-to-ceiling windows that makes its face reflect the similar building across from it. It looks like an office building when we get inside, there’s a front lobby with desks, a sitting area, elevators. I even spy a table with a Keurig and all the necessary items for coffee.
Now I want to pitch the idea of a coffee break, but Rehema is already stepping into one of the elevators. I sigh and resign myself to exhaustion as I come in last. We head up to the sixth floor, the elevator chiming merrily when we reach our destination. A long corridor awaits us with offices to either side, glass walls letting us see inside each. While the building itself looks completely modern, these offices are anything but. Ancient bookcases line the far walls, some of them have large cauldrons in the middle, or ornate writing desks that boast an assortment of bits and baubles. In one of them I see what looks like the Milky Way Galaxy moving slowly in the center, the walls and floor covered in astrology charts.
“Here we are,” Rehema says, gesturing us into an office to the right side of the hall.
It’s one of the few we can’t see into from outside. Not because it has solid walls facing the hallway, but because there are heavy drapes hung up to block our view. It’s stuffy in here, I decide as soon as I’m across the threshold, but there are plenty of things to look at.
The walls and drapes are a dark teal, casting a solemn gloom to the office. The bookcases are a nice terracotta that complement the teal, and each of the shelves are laden with either heavy tomes, or all manner of bottles holding I don’t even know what inside. There is also a flat desk in the center of the room, boasting a brass telescope, a crystal ball, and a white mouse. The mouse looks up at us, its little nose snuffling and then goes back to wandering around the desk.
At the far end of the room there’s an arched window, and staring out of this window is another woman. She turns to us when we get situated and smiles lightly. She has a round face, with dark eyes that look almost black, and a small pout of a mouth. Her nose is beak-shaped, the left nostril pierced with a star earring. She has thick black hair that is bound into a messy bun at the nap of her neck and is wearing a pale cream lace maxi dress.
“Ahlan wa sahlan,” she says brightly. “Welcome, welcome! My name is Bennu ‘Abd al-‘Aziz, it is a pleasure to meet you.”
“Thank you, the pleasure is ours,” Chiaki replies.
Once we’ve introduced ourselves, Bennu looks around her office and then laughs apologetically. “Sorry, I don’t entertain many visitors here so I don’t have chairs.”
“I think we can make do,” Chiaki smiles. “You wanted to meet with us?”
“Yes,” Bennu replies. “I wanted to see your faces, learn your names, that way I can make sure you are well cared for while you are here.”
“Is there any danger to being here?” I ask.
“Danger?”
“Since we’re…in the underworld?”
“It’s a very orderly place,” Bennu assures me. “We’ve been here for a long time without incident. Stay out of the obvious areas and you’ll be fine…the obvious being the places the dead congregate. Leave them be and they leave us be.
“This is our main building here, and it is where I would like to meet with you after you had a proper rest so we can plan the next stage of your trip. It would be easier for you to traverse Duat to Iraq than to continue using mundane means.”
I had been somewhat worried about how Cairo HQ would treat our supernatural companions, but so far, they don’t bat an eye at the presence of a werewolf and a vampire..
“How did you even get set up here?” Brianna asks.
Bennu smirks and shakes her head. “Save your questions, please. You may ask whatever you will when next we meet. Just forgive me if there are some answers I can’t provide. I will adhere to our rules on classified material.”
Brianna’s responding smile is thin. I hope Bennu isn’t going to give her more reason to distrust the organization as a whole, but lately I can’t say I have much hope. I can’t help but think about the Inquisition now and then, and how quickly Agent Clement was willing to let my memories be eaten for information.
“Incantator, thank you for taking the time to meet with us,” Chiaki’s voice is smooth, professional, and polite. “If I may…perhaps this is a good time to break so we may rest.”
“Yes, yes, of course!” she exclaims. “Rehema, show them to their rooms, will you?”
“Of course,” Rehema replies.
I’m too tired to try asking questions as we head out of the building again. I’m also too tired to give in to my doubts about this place. Something feels off, but then…what was I expecting? It is the underworld. It’s more than that though, but I can’t put my finger on it. Maybe the Stepford Wives-esque vibe I’m getting from Rehema and Bennu. Maybe they’re just trying to be polite and I’m too used to the brusque city manners of Boston. Or America in general.
We cross the large plateau of the central hub, heading in the direction of the rock buildings set to the west. Bypassing the bridge we took to get to the hub, we cross another one, the one the silent Centurions took with our luggage. There are four bridges for each direction, but I can see winding paths in the rock face that connects the various stone buildings to one another. Those pathways keep going down, down, into that murky darkness far below. As much as it disturbs me catching sight of that smoky gloom, I also feel strangely drawn to it, my curiosity so great that I find myself planning a means to sneak down there. Just to look.
The building we enter doesn’t have a door; the great columns that line the entrance leave large gaps that open to the interior. It’s all stonework inside too, a steely gray color for the walls, floor, and ceilings. Other colors are from additions; rugs, shelves, plants, lights, and while I’m getting medieval adventure vibes, it doesn’t feel drafty and dilapidated so that’s a plus. Rehema beckons us forward and leads us to a spiral stairway that leads up to the second floor. There is a large landing overlooking the first-floor entrance hall, and then a long corridor stretching into shadow. Along the corridor are doors, not unlike the set up in the Incantatores’ office, although these open to bedrooms.
“Ms Ito,” Rehema says, after opening the first door on the right.
I peek in and nod appreciatively. It’s a large room with an ensuite bathroom, the room has a big four-poster bed, a fireplace, two armchairs set before the fireplace, a bookcase, a record player, and a stack of records set nearby, and windows overlooking the central hub. Unfortunately, when Rehema opens the door to my room, I see there isn’t a real window. My room faces the wall and thus, it’s only the frame of a window with some ornate drapes around it. Otherwise, it is the same as Chiaki’s and I decide I can get over the brief disappointment easily thanks to the large bed just waiting for me to collapse into it.