Chapter Three

“There have been a rash of murders happening in Styx.

Head Reaper will do nothing. The rebels must stop this.

We have no choice. Innocent Stygians are dying!”

—Message to the rebel cells

For a moment, I didn’t know what to do. There were more people in this one section of the Mile-High City than all of Quebec combined. Would the crowd be a benefit or hindrance for me? Did I get on my hands and knees and crawl to keep hidden? What in the hell could I do when there were people everywhere and massive floats streaming through the city streets?

I was learning to make big, life-altering decisions on a whim, but this parade had me perplexed. The best I could do was shove my way through the masses of people all vying for a good view of the floats going by. Children congregated near the front. Shorter adults fell in line behind the kids. Bursts of red and gold streamers flew overhead as the revelers celebrated. Dancing dragons surrounded the floats that were covered in bright, happy colors, and women dressed in traditional clothing for the Chinese celebration of winter solstice waved to the crowd. Everyone was full of cheer and contentment.

I, on the other hand, was just trying to outrun my own horror-film stalker.

Desperate to find someplace safe, I ran for a small opening between two children. It would be enough for me to jump the low barricade that kept the revelers off of the street. I could dart between the floats and fade into the crowd on the other side. Just when I was about to leap, a hand grabbed mine. My whole body tensed. It felt like ice tore through my legs, causing them to go rigid from either fear or…worse, an Eidolon’s death-grip.

My eyes met Hui’s, the teenager from The Koffee Klatch. He recognized my panic. The cold I felt from his touch was just my body crippling in fear, not the icy chill of an Eidolon. Once I calmed a little, I realized that Hui’s hand was warm, exactly as a Scrivener’s would be. I flooded with relief to be connected to this Stygian and even more relieved when he pulled me through the crowd toward a float covered entirely in red satin. He lifted a bunch of fabric hanging down from the podium on the top of the float and told me to climb underneath. I didn’t ask questions. I slipped inside the cramped space that just barely fit the both of us between the float’s platform and the dangling silk. Hui followed me. Panting, we tucked our knees to our chests and waited as the float carried us away.

After a moment to catch my breath, I looked at the kid. He faced forward, staring into the red curtain draped in front of us. He seemed to be avoiding my gaze. Maybe he was uncomfortable. Maybe it wasn’t every day that a rebel Master Scrivener blew through his corner of town, running from Styx’s most powerful Eidolon.

Outside, there was cheering and the thud of massive drums. Outside, our little safe haven was loud. Between us, there was too much silence, so I said, “Thank you.”

He gave a subtle nod and then, with a sidelong glance, he said, “How did you get that Deathmark?”

I laughed because I couldn’t help myself. How in Hades could I tell Hui the truth, particularly when all of Styx believed Head Reaper Marin was still alive and kicking? I didn’t want to scare the kid. Clearly, I needed his help.

“A really awful Scrivener gave this to me,” I said.

Hui’s brow knitted. “Why would they do that to you?”

“Because I was trying to do what’s right.” Cryptic answers seemed the best diplomacy.

“What happened to the other Scrivener? Did he get away with it?”

It was only now that I realized we were still holding hands. Hui’s grip melted into mine. I knew I was safe with him at my side and, I suspected, he felt similarly about me. Why else would he have helped me? I squeezed his hand to let him know we were still connected.

“No, he didn’t get away with it. But he’s why I need Xiangu’s help,” I said, returning to my mission to get the Deathmark removed. If Hui was her pupil, then he was my only connection to her right now. “Will you help me find her?”

…

The shop where Papa, Delia, and I had agreed to meet if we were separated held an interesting and colorful collection of prayer beads and flags, books on Buddhism, and various other objects that seemed appropriate to this touristy area of Denver. Fortunately, the shop was far from the parade, but that didn’t provide a ton of comfort knowing how skillful a hunter Brent was. I would never relax or go on vacation or sleep through an entire night so long as he was after me.

I approached a collection of gold-plated Buddhas with round bellies and brimming grins. This was the best place to stand guard and hide as I waited for Delia and Papa.

The shop owner stared at me without inhibition. His eyes were heavy. He wanted me to buy something or leave. When I refused to look his way, he cleared his throat.

“What does it mean?” I pointed to the wall of Laughing Buddhas.

“He is a symbol of joy and supreme happiness,” he said without a smile or a fleck of supreme happiness of his own.

I stood face-to-belly with one large, reclining, laughing Buddha. “I could use a little joy right now.”

“You can if you pay for it.” His message was clear.

“I need to think about which Buddha I want first.”

Nested between boxes and a case of jewelry was the shop owner’s small television. I hadn’t had much time in the past month to actually sit and watch TV. Computers at local cyber cafés provided me with updates from Styx’s headquarters. But something about the broadcast intrigued me.

“Take your time,” he replied, “but not all day.”

“I don’t have all day.” I tried to be discreet as I edged toward the television, listening in as a voice rattled on about “grim news” and “terrorists.” This wasn’t a human speaking, although their rhetoric these days was filled with similar key phrases, a firm reminder that the thinnest veil separated our worlds. Similarities were to be expected.

While humans saw their own cable or streamed shows on their televisions, Stygians could only see programming from Styx through those same sets. Without special rigging like my Interceptor, a science project of mine that had gone forgotten on the roof of the Château Frontenac, there was no method to overriding the broadcasting system Marin had set into place long ago. So now, even if I had wanted to watch human television and all its doom and gloom—you know, presidential elections, shootings, Kim Kardashian’s hindquarters, blah-blah-blah—it wouldn’t happen.

All I had ever used the Interceptor for was to watch hockey. Well, that and interrupting a live Stygian broadcasting to plea for Brent’s life, which was why I had moved it from my place to the roof of the Château.

I recognized the Stygian news reporter from when she’d stand in for Marin on the rare occasion he wasn’t available due to an obligatory poop break or to dole out justice to lawless thugs like me. Like Marin, the newscaster possessed the same theatrics necessary to captivate a world of cynical Stygians.

“It is with great relief that Head Watchman Alistair reports from Quebec City that there were survivors in this latest attack on Headquarters,” she said, flicking her blonde hair over her shoulders. “What we can be sure of is that Head Reaper Marin is indeed alive and healing from the injuries that he acquired during the unsuccessful terrorist attack.”

My heart crept into the back of my throat and then convulsed when the newscaster delivered Marin’s falsified fate.

“Is that the one you want?” said the shop owner.

I became aware that I was clutching a gold Buddha, one small enough to tuck in my jacket pocket. I set the trinket on the glass countertop as I kept my attention on the television.

“The Head Watchman has asked for Styx’s patience as he and his team search for the perpetrators. He later added that Head Reaper Marin wants the terrorists brought to justice immediately, and he is giving Styx one week to bring him the leaders of the terrorist movement, Scrivener Dormier and Eidolon Hume, or he will mandate martial law.”

The shop owner gazed, pointedly, as I stared slack-jawed at the television.

“I’ll take this one.” The tiny gold Buddha with the quirky smile appealed to me and my pocket book. I had no use for a souvenir, but if this laughing Buddha stood any chance of bringing me joy and supreme happiness now or in the near future, I saw no reason not to bring him along for the ride. I slapped money on the counter and tucked the newest member of the fugitive squad into my jacket pocket.

The timing of the return of my allies was impeccable. Dudley trotted ahead of Papa, who was covered in sweat. Delia appeared to have barely exerted herself. She sported a collection of bracelets that I hadn’t seen on her before our split. So she went souvenir shopping? The woman’s dedication never failed to amaze me.

Papa threw his arms around me, a way of saying “thank Hades,” and quickly eased off when he spied the staring shop owner.

“Wasn’t sure splitting up was a good plan. Glad you made it, Babygirl.”

“Glad you three did, too.”

“How did you get away this time?” Delia asked, playing idly with her new bracelets.

“With a little help from Scrivener Hui, I escaped through a parade nearby.”

Delia stopped picking at her jewelry. “The kid at the coffee shop who kept staring at my boobs?”

“Yep, that’s the little pervert. He said he’d help me get to Xiangu,” I added.

Delia and Papa exchanged uncertain glances. They didn’t trust this lead, I could tell. It was too easy, too soon into our visit to Denver. With the shop owner eavesdropping, I wouldn’t tell them about the Stygian newscast asking for Brent’s and my heads or martial law. They’d find out soon enough.

“Are you sure this kid isn’t leading you into a trap?” Delia said. “Marin keeps calling you a terrorist. So not everyone thinks you’re out to save Styx. What if he’s setting you up, Teacup? I don’t like this. I think we should pursue other outlets.”

“I agree.” Papa folded his arms across his chest. “We need more evidence Hui actually can get you to Xiangu.”

Part of me was crushed to hear them speak of Hui as an undependable lead. The kid had helped me escape Brent and Neema. He had risked his own hide for mine. Didn’t that afford some level of trust? Then again, not all was ever as it seemed. Our experience with Chadwick the Eidolon proved that even an ally couldn’t be trusted. I wouldn’t let myself fall into that place again, not when it could mean the lives of those I loved.

“Look, Hui might be the only lead we’ll get. I don’t have a lot of time. Brent’s already here. I may not be around tomorrow to follow any other leads.” My heart was pounding, not that it ever slowed to a calm, measured pace. But right now, it was running so high, I could feel it beat against my ribcage. This was no way to live.

“Enough grim talk. Check these out.” Delia stole her chance to tout her best deal of the day, a pair of gold earrings shaped like tiny fans with delicate dragons etched on them. “This lady vendor threw them at me when I stopped to look at her wares. She said I looked beautiful in them.”

“I’m glad you got a souvenir out of all of this,” I said, wishing that Delia wouldn’t turn the subject from my impending death to her most recent acquisition. Then again, I felt my heart rate slowing, easing into a healthy fat-burning pace of 130 beats per minute. Oh, if only I cared about decreasing the size of my hips and thighs right now.

“Is that why you got that precious fat man that you stuffed in your jacket earlier? You wanted a souvenir, too?” She pointed to the bulge in my right pocket.

“You mean Buddha?”

“The fat man.”

“This female Eidolon with the dreadlocks…?” Papa started.

“Neema,” I answered.

“Neema, right,” Papa said, backtracking to more critical subjects, ones that sent my anxiety skyrocketing. “Hui said she works for Xiangu?”

“So he says.” I wrapped my fingers around “fat man” hiding in my pocket.

“We should find this Neema. She will be our link to Xiangu, not the kid.”

“Well, but see, there’s a problem. Neema doesn’t seem to like me very much.” I burrowed my hands deeper inside my pockets. “I don’t think it’ll be easy to convince her to take me to Xiangu. Hui is our best bet. Unless!” I said with excitement, realizing that my allies hadn’t heard from me in weeks, “Neema and Hui might be the missing pieces we need to ensnare Brent.”

“No!” Delia and Papa said together with matched skepticism.

“Come on, you two. Let’s get Nicodemus, and I’ll tell you my thoughts.” Holding the Buddha tightly in my grip, I peered out of the shop to make sure the coast was clear of Eidolons and parades.

“Whatever your thoughts are, it’s a no,” Papa groused.