“I DO NOT like this,” Val mutters for the third time, her voice low.
“Me neither,” Ravi sighs, his eye not wavering from the scope. The rifle is a cool, sturdy presence under his hands. Something he can rely on. Rare as it is for him to roll out his sniper skillset on hunts, he’s strangely nostalgic for his time in Israel. The simplicity of training and nothing else. Being so worn out each day he could slip into a deep, dreamless slumber.
Val rumbles a little under her breath like a building storm. Normally the angel is perfectly content to spend any time with Ravi in companionable silence—one of his favorite things about her—but he agrees the situation is less than ideal.
The pair perch on the second story of an abandoned big-box department store, a building slated for demolition in two months’ time. Scouting hours ahead of the rendezvous, they’d found this vantage point hidden by a defunct escalator with a clean line of sight down to the meeting place. The perfect position to keep an eagle eye on the proceedings.
It’s harder than Ravi expected it would be, staying on the sidelines while Harry and Nate are up close and personal with so many potential enemies. Even with Harry’s Chosen invulnerability and her recent training regimen, she’s still not ready for this kind of threat on her own. But as the most personable members of the team, she and Nate are the best options. One peek at Val’s eyes and it’s obvious she’s not entirely human, and if this information broker is as savvy as Nate’s vampire contact claims he is, the team can’t afford to take chances.
Through the scope Ravi watches the broker, a gentleman of Filipino descent approaching middle age and fighting it tooth and claw. Clothes too flashy, recent hair plugs, rings on every finger. The man gesticulates through a joke, and Harry throws her head back to laugh with him. Nate joins in, grinning wide. He’s leaned up against the broker’s desk, dragged into the middle of the dead mall in a parody of legitimate office space. Several men surround the trio, big slabs of hired muscle in identical plain gray suits and sunglasses.
The broker’s laughter fades as he eyes Harry with speculation. He falls silent, tapping a finger on the desk, one of his rings glimmering.
Something’s off; the guy has twigged. Ravi lines up a shot, breaths slow and measured. Kneeling beside him, Val glances at him and tenses. Her massive maul materializes into her hands.
Nate throws a nervous glance up at their sniper nest and thumbs his nose.
That’s the signal. In the space between seconds, Val disappears from Ravi’s side, a faint rush of displaced air the only sign she had ever been there.
Two of the goons are lined up right next to each other.
Perfect.
Ravi exhales and squeezes the trigger.
The first goon’s head shatters. Gray clay shards rain down as the golem collapses to the ground, limbs cracking sharply on impact. The angle on the second guard isn’t quite as clean, and the round exits through the cheek instead of dead center. That would have done the job on something with a brain, but the magical paper within the golem’s skull is a much trickier target.
However, Val appears in the next instant, and her maul finishes what Ravi’s bullet started, smashing the golem straight down to the chest like a pottery vase. Nate has already jumped out of range of the other goons, making way for the many blades of Harry’s urumi to snake out and take off a golem’s hand in two clean slices.
The broker swears and kicks away from the desk, twisting one of his rings. A shield of thickened air swirls in a wide arc in front of him, some sort of protection enchantment. His eyes dart from the trajectory of Ravi’s unexpected bullet to the ash-haired Amazon who teleported in front of him wielding a two-handed hammer as long as he is tall.
Having calmly locked another round into place, Ravi slides back the bolt and focuses on Harry’s one-handed foe. The shot clips a neat hole through the golem’s sunglasses, and the back of its bald head shatters. It drops like a puppet with its strings cut. Ravi tries not to smirk.
Two golems flank Val and close in, grappling with the haft of her maul, attempting to pull it from her grasp. She reels them both in and slams her forehead into one. The golem staggers, a wide crack splintering its face. Val grins and rams her fist into the crack. When she pulls it out, she’s gripping a long strip of paper. The golem falls lifelessly at her feet, and she turns her attention to the next.
Meanwhile, Harry holds her own, dodging a punch from a big clay fist and keeping her distance. All her dedicated training shows. She yanks one to the ground with the urumi and crunches her boot down on its head.
Nate sidles back into view, having taken care of the most important part of the plan, and slipped away to message Constance as soon as the fight started. To Ravi’s consternation, Nate has a piece of scavenged rebar he obviously intends to use as an improvised weapon. That hadn’t been part of the plan. The professor dives in behind an enemy wheeling on Val and takes a baseball-like swing, cracking the golem across the back of the neck. Chips of clay go flying. The golem spins around and swipes at Nate. He ducks out of the way, but just barely.
Always diving into danger, this guy. Ravi shifts position, sliding back the bolt and taking careful aim as the golem rears a fist back, Nate perfectly positioned to take the full brunt of the hit.
Blinking through the shattered pieces of clay, Nate tosses Ravi a grateful salute with a cheerful grin, as the headless body falls at his feet. Ravi shakes his head while racking in another shell.
The information broker looks to have had enough, deciding that it’s well worth abandoning his bodyguards to make a getaway. Keeping his magical shield in front of him, he starts backing away toward the exit.
An animal growl rises, loud enough that Ravi can hear it up on the second floor even over the scuffle of battle and the crash of breaking clay. The broker startles and begins to turn around when a huge brindled wolf tackles him from behind.
He hits the concrete with a yelp, his magical shield dissolving. Gently but firmly, the wolf sets white fangs against the back of his neck. The broker’s hands twitch, slyly trying to activate another magic ring, until Ravi’s next shot digs up a chunk of the floor next to his head. After a muffled curse the man spreads his hands out on the ground, wide and harmless.
The team smashes through the remaining golem bodyguards in short order. Ravi makes his way down the escalator with his rifle slung over his back. There are only a couple of enemies left near the perimeter. He puts on two knuckledusters, recent acquisitions to his arsenal, one shining silver and one dark iron. A pair of efficient combo hooks take care of the last two golems. Ravi brushes clay dust off his lapels and joins the team, slipping the knuckles back into the specialized pocket on his shoulder holster opposite his 9mm.
Still wolf-bound, the broker lays belly down. Val crouches to pluck the rings off his unresisting fingers.
“You shall get these back if you cooperate,” she says serenely. “This is not a theft.”
“Constance gets a look at them first,” Ravi insists. “Any darker enchantments are forfeit.”
The broker’s Savannah accent is thin and quavering. “Take whatever you want, just maybe get this wolf off me?”
Harry sits on the edge of the man’s desk, urumi draped casually across her knees. “Mr. Guinto. Calvin. Cal. Can I call you Cal? Look, like we said before you got all Mister Veiled Threats, we only want some info. We’re even willing to pay for it. And the only thing we ask in return is a little discretion.”
The broker laughs weakly. “Hey, I am the soul of discretion. You don’t get to live as long as I do in this line of work without knowing when to keep secrets.”
“And when to spill them,” Ravi counters, crossing his arms.
“Haha, yes, exactly.” Calvin swallows. “So, get this wolf off me, and we can talk.”
Harry nods at the wolf. “What do you think, doll? This is your show.”
The wolf releases the broker’s neck from her jaws. He flips onto his back and starts scooting away, only gaining a few inches before the wolf suddenly becomes a smiling, braided brunette in a brightly patterned bohemian dress straddling his lap.
With a concerned tut, Constance pats the man’s cheek. “Terribly sorry about that, my good fellow. I did not draw blood, did I?”
“Uh… I’m fine?”
Constance helps him up and guides him back to his chair, sweeping away a clay foot to clear a space for him to sit. “I am quite sorry about all this fuss, good sir. You see, I have been seeking information on a particular demon for quite some time, but to no avail. Perhaps you can help me? I’d be most grateful.”
Nate chuckles, leaning in toward Ravi. “You know what they say about sticks and carrots,” he mutters, pitching his voice low for Ravi’s ears alone.
Placing the idiom takes Ravi a second, but when he does, he huffs in amusement. Constance is all carrot. Or more accurately, a stick cunningly carved and painted to look like a carrot.
Calvin Guinto sits back at his desk, gathering his dignity around him. He adjusts his clothing and folds his hands, frowning briefly at his bare fingers. He aims up a tight, nervous smile. “Happy to help, folks.” Harry still perches on his desk, and he eyes her with new appreciation. “So, you are the Chosen, huh? Rumor has it there’s another one running around now. You’re paler than I expected. Normally you’re supposed to all be a little more, uh, tanned.” He jerks a thumb toward Ravi, as if he’s a perfect melanistic example.
“Not here for me, Cal.” Harry pushes to her feet, coiled urumi shrinking down into a silvery coin she slips into her pocket.
“Right! So, wolf lady, tell me about this demon.”
As if gathering her thoughts, Constance presses her palms together in front of her lips and closes her eyes. When she speaks, it’s with a lyrical rhythm, as if telling a fairy tale.
“Long ago, there was a wicked man who summoned a demon to serve his whims. Of course, things didn’t go as this man had planned, and the cunning demon did slay him as soon as it learned how best to trick him.
“This demon was then set free in the world, to hunt as it pleased. It took the form of a comely fellow, to lure its victims, and set about wreaking much mayhem and havoc in subtle, nefarious ways. Never outright, but in secret, causing chaos from the shadows. And all the while, he would kill folk, horrifically, supping upon youth and innocence as if it were a fine wine.
“I hunted him for many a moon. A slippery quarry, aye, but Constance Shaw can be slippery too.” Constance favors the broker with a wink. “We played quite a game of cat and mouse until I enlisted the help of the very best of my many cousins. Able was a fine and virtuous man, well-versed with the blade. Together we cornered the demon, had him trapped and desperate as a fox beset by hounds.”
Her face falling with sorrow, Constance pulls a thick plait over her shoulder and strokes it. “But cunning and vile this demon was, and aye, ruthless. Once I beheld my bloodied cousin fallen before me, I…I cast a banishment that went awry, and perhaps sundered time just a little. And that demon is here, now, in this city, killing again.”
Ravi knows the look in her eyes well: guilt. Guilt in knowing you’ve unleashed something you can’t take back. Set something terrible in motion despite your best intentions.
Yeah, he knows that look.
Calvin sits back and puffs out his cheeks. “Wow, good story. Okay, that’s something to go on. Uh…when did this happen?”
“In the year of our Lord 1215,” Constance says.
He stares at her.
Nate makes a sympathetic noise in his throat. “Yeah, she’s from medieval times. We know it’s a lot.”
“Please, I’m an info broker in the occult black market. I’ve seen way weirder shit. It’s just… That exact year—1215?”
“Aye.”
The broker leans as far back in his chair as he can manage. “Fuck me running. You’re talking about Hartnell?”
It’s as if Constance has grabbed a live wire. Her cheeks redden, and even her hair seems to frizzle slightly. “Aye! Know ye the churl’s name?”
“This… You can’t… Are you all fucking with me right now?” The broker glances around in disbelief.
Palms flat on the desk, Constance leans forward with an intensity she rarely shows. “You know of him? Speak, man.”
“Know of him? Know of him? Know the Heart’s Last Knell? A fucking Demon Prince? That’s the guy we’re talking about?”
Everyone exchanges blank looks.
“He’s the what now?” asks Harry.
Calvin throws up his hands. “Are you kidding me? Hartnell the Lost Prince? Who without warning or reason abandoned his entire underworld demesne, leaving all that power unclaimed and sparking a full-blown war in the hells?”
“There has long been a war in Hell,” Val says dismissively, which is certainly news to Ravi.
“There has?” Nate asks, bewildered.
Val’s shoulders twitch in what might be a stoic shrug. “Demons are avaricious, power-hungry things. Beings of chaos that war amongst themselves as readily as they seek to cause devastation in this plane.”
“Okay, sure, but geez, Val,” Harry says, ruffling her dark hair. “A massive war in Hell seems like a pretty big deal. Why didn’t you ever mention it?”
“Nobody asked.”
“Val, buddy, we are going to have a chat about you volunteering information.”
The best way Ravi’s found to communicate with Val is to ask her a direct question. “How long has there been a war in the hells?”
“Eight hundred and one years.”
“So…since 1215.”
Constance takes a step back. “I can’st… I cannot have banished a demon prince. Such a thing is well beyond my ken.”
“Apparently not.” Calvin looks Constance up and down as if hugely impressed.
“Tell us how to kill it,” Ravi barks.
“Right, right. Well, there’s the normal anti-demon stuff, to smoke them out of disguise. Holy water makes ’em sizzle a bit but not much more, and they don’t like prayer, though your mileage may vary depending on the demon. I’m sure y’all know there’s like a zillion different types of demons. Some you can kill with mundane means. But the usual way folks deal with them is making an old-fashioned demon trap with salt and blood to summon and banish them back to the hells. I’m sure the sorceress supreme here knows how.”
Nate holds up a finger with a polite cough. “Slight divergence, but is it capital-h Hell, or the hells, plural? Which is correct?”
Harry snorts. “Writing a paper, Doc?”
“Duh, Harry, of course I am, are you kidding? I’m going to write a textbook with all the stuff I’ve learned kicking with you guys.”
“Both are correct,” Calvin says. “It’s semantics. A religious distinction.”
“We call it Naraka,” Ravi offers with a shrug. “Different hells that wicked souls are temporarily sent to before punarjanma. Rebirth.”
Val states, “No one human belief is a full and accurate portrayal of the overlapping and interwoven tapestry of the nature of the unseen universe. There. That is volunteered information.”
“Thanks, Val,” Harry says dryly.
Calvin shakes his head. “But look, demon princes are tough. They’re not run-of-the-mill imps and devils and such. They’re smarter, powerful, harder to take down. The princes of hell all have their own weaknesses that they keep secret, even from each other. That might be a way to go, if I may offer a helpful suggestion. Might be able to enlist another demon to assist. The enemy of my enemy, kind of thing.”
Ravi snorts, looking to Constance, a little surprised and alarmed that instead of outright refusing, she looks like she’s giving the suggestion careful consideration.
“Have ye nothing more? Where to find him, mayhaps?”
“Look, I just learned this last minute that this demon prince is still alive and kicking, much less here in my neck of the woods. So no, I don’t know where you can find him. But!” Calvin perks up, looking brightly from face to face. “It’s helpful to know he’s a prince, right? Lots of literature written about them. I don’t specialize in that stuff myself, but it’s out there.”
“One research binge coming up,” Nate says before Harry can even give him a significant glance.
“Of course,” the broker continues, “word is that the Chosen One can kill anything. Even a demon prince.”
Harry just gives Calvin a polite smile. She’s got a hell of a poker face.
“If you do find anything,” Calvin says, “and you need to get your hands on something not easily procured, I’m your guy. Not just info, I can get you all kinds of things; I’ve got the magic touch.” He snaps his fingers, then pauses for a beat. Everyone stares in bemusement. Frowning, he looks down at his bare fingers. “Shucks, I forgot. That was supposed to make sparkles. Well, if that’s all…”
“Not quite, Cal. One more thing.” Harry motions Constance aside and nods to Ravi.
Ravi takes a deep breath. “Know anything about chronomages?”
Calvin slumps, crestfallen. “Brother, I could way easier get you a unicorn. Do you want a unicorn? They’re annoying assholes, but I can get you one.”
“Chronomages.”
The broker sighs. “They’re rarer than seers. Rarer than telepaths, or somamancers, or almost any wild magic talent out there. The available information is sketchy at best. Legends say there can only be one chronomancer on earth at a time, and they can only go so far back and forth in the timeline or else they bump into each other and unmake reality. Either that, or lots of them do get born, but they don’t survive their powers developing. They pop themselves into a wall that didn’t used to be there in the past, or whatever.”
Interesting, but not particularly useful. “Any info about specific ones?”
Calvin rocks his hand from side to side. “Well, there used to be rumors. Old rumors.”
“How old?”
“Roaring twenties, I’d say. Rumor had it there was this one guy who employed a chronomancer. He was some kind of big-shot crime boss in Paris. Not mafia or anything. Unaffiliated. They used to say if you crossed him, you’d be erased from existence.” Calvin twiddles his fingers, adopting a spooky tone.
“Sounds like a bogeyman story,” Nate says.
“Yeah, well, that’s pretty much all there is about chronomages. The rumors could be true, but who knows for sure. Not me, man, and I know as much as anyone. Well…” The broker stops, screwing up his face in thought.
“What?” Ravi takes a step forward, unable to check his impatience.
“There’s this one lady who claims she worked for that bogeyman guy. She’s living in New York these days. I’ll get you her address. Maybe she’ll help you.” He rifles through a thin drawer for some paper and starts scribbling.
Ravi gives the broker a narrow look. “Off the top of your head, you just happen to remember the address of some little old lady in at least her nineties?”
“Firstly, I remember everything, friend.” Calvin taps his temple. “Steel trap. Secondly, she’s not a little old lady. She’s a vamp.” He finishes writing with a flourish and hands the paper to Ravi. The address is in Manhattan, which makes things easy. There’s a Trust branch in Manhattan, and Ravi has been there before. “That’s all I got. Y’all are tough customers, and I mean that literally. Busting up all my expensive golems and asking for two impossible things.”
“At least we pay well, right, Cal?” Harry tips a handful of loose diamonds onto the desk.
His eyes go as wide as saucers.
Constance sets the broker’s rings one by one along the far edge of the desk. “Almost all of these appear to be harmless enough. Mostly for defense and spectacle, though this one is a nasty bit of work.” She holds up an understated ring of simple titanium. “A black bit of magic to permanently erase memories, I’d wager.” She spins the ring in two opposite directions along some hidden seam. “Hark, it can be set for different durations. That’s quite clever.”
Calvin gestures at Ravi and whines, “Ah, c’mon, this guy’s walking around with a sniper rifle. I can’t have one little non-lethal offense spell in case of emergencies?”
“Get a nice, clean, evocation enchantment instead,” Constance suggests, again wearing her usual chipper demeanor. “Fair enough to shoot lightning or some such in self-defense. This can sunder memories. Mind control magics are a perversion of free will. Most unsavory.”
Ravi glares sidelong at the broker. “Hmm. Maybe we should take him in after all.”
Calvin laughs brashly. “Take me in? What are you, the magic polic—” His humor drains away, along with all the blood in his face. “Oh fuck. You’re Trust.” He glances past Ravi to Harry. “So that old nugget of wisdom is true, huh? The Trust and the Chosen One, a package deal kind of thing?”
“Discretion, Cal,” Harry reminds him with a wink.
“Do I look suicidal? I’m a helping helper, me. Plus, hey, fistful of diamonds. Consider my lips sealed.” Calvin gazes yearningly at his rings but doesn’t make a move toward them. “Any chance you need a CI? That a thing you Trusties do, work with us seedy underbelly types on the down-low? I’m way more useful out here than in your wizard prison, or whatever you have for people like me.”
Harry quirks a brow at Ravi. He sighs, swallowing a grumble. “We can talk.”