Chapter Twenty-Eight #2
“Gods on the morning news. Angels and demons at a concert. Now that I look at you, there was a human at that show…”
I did my best to keep my shoulders back and my composure unruffled.
“It was orchestrated,” I said. “We needed people to believe in angels, gods, and demons. We needed them to see, to believe, and to witness Heaven’s weakness all in the same moment.
We took the angel down. I’m gambling by coming to you. ”
I followed my gut. Apep didn’t want to be told anything about the world. He didn’t want to hear my answers. His ears would remain open only if I kept my finger on the pulse of things.
I wished he would speak, but the hope was futile.
Thump-thuh-thump, thump-thuh-thump, thump-thuh-thump.
I had to calm down, or he’d pick up on my anxious energy. At the very least, I had to appear like I had my shit together. So, I did what the nervous did: I rambled.
“I’m not taking down gods,” I said. “I’m dismantling all semblance of order. Not alone. Not through deities. Not through men. Not through destiny.”
I kept him on the line. I saw the moment the lure snagged on his mouth, reeling him in further as he asked, “Through what, then?”
“All of it, and none of it. I have numerous pantheons behind me. I’ve strategized to scramble the humans to rally behind pagan gods across the realms. I’ve refused to give in to prophecy. If someone is going to be the antichrist, it’s not going to be an infant.”
He lifted the clear liquid to his lips and held it on the precipice of sipping. The overhead lighting caught against the glass and mirrored the twinkle in his eyes as he waited. “Because?”
“Because a baby can’t accomplish what I can.”
The skin around his eyes crinkled in a smile as he threw back the colorless liquid. He moved into the kitchen, asking, “What do you drink?”
I had been so breathless in my duel to the death that I hadn’t anticipated a move toward normalcy.
I toggled between skins as I looked for the version of me that could adapt.
I was relatively parched. I went through the piece of my gut that decided he’d respect honesty, and I asked if he had a beer.
Another smile told me I was making progress.
He opened the fridge and bent over his options. “Ale? Lager? Stout?”
I thought of serial killers once more, but this time, my mind flitted to their victims. Survivors had one thing in common: they made the enemy feel understood.
Feed into his ego. Don’t startle him. Let him know you’re on the same side.
Do whatever it takes to get out alive.
“Do you have anything blond?” I asked, perhaps on a whim. I had rolled the dice time after time in a bid for establishing my comfort, and it had paid off. I needed him to know that he and I were teammates, whatever it took.
He plucked two brown bottles from somewhere in the depths of his refrigerator and popped off their caps before I’d seen him procure a tool.
He handed me one, and I took my cue to sit beside him near the counter in the dark, unwelcoming shadow of his home.
I understood that in this moment, I’d tackled whatever predecessors led to the boss.
Each move required presence. No past. No thoughts of my friends. No failure.
I kissed the bottleneck and had to actively prevent myself from sighing. Gods, I loved a good beer. This was the sweetest grain—an impeccable blend of hoppy, fruity, and fermented. I cast him a side-eye. “Sorghum?” I asked.
He lifted his brows. “You know your drinks.”
“The beer that dreamed of being a cider.” I smiled. It was the only grain that was sweet without trying.
Another win.
Maybe we really could be teammates. I, the Bride of Hell, and he, the sun-eater, might have one heck of a meet-cute as to how we became friends over some big misunderstanding. We’d laugh about it over our second round of beers. It would be fine.
Thuh-thuh-thump, thuh-thuh-thump, thuh-thuh-thump.
Everything was going according to plan. So why couldn’t my nervous system get on the same page? We were winning.
I didn’t have to fake my enjoyment of the drink.
I took two sips for courage before saying, “I’m not the first to come looking for help regarding the end of the world.
It’s your area of expertise, after all.” I paused again, stopping on several clichés.
But I hope I’m the one to win you to the cause.
I hope you see the truth in me. I hope… None of them would win me favor, and I knew it.
He waited expectantly while swigging his beer.
In the obscured shadows of his living room, I asked the only question that mattered.
“What will it take for you to join me in Heaven’s takedown? ”
That was it.
Some things came in threes. Bad things? Good things? Magic? Whatever it was, I’d landed the victorious blow. Whatever he’d been holding between us crumbled. He revealed all of his cards as he said, “I don’t want to invest in a cause that’s doomed to fail.”
It was time to close the deal, nerves be damned.
I set down my beer and did what I did best. I sold.
“Heaven’s oldest adversaries are Hell and the Phoenicians.
I have a good punch of the Nordes and a handful of the Greeks.
The Kami in Japan are stirring. We’re working with Celts, and now, maybe you could even sway some of the lower-level Egyptian deities.
Ones who want change in your pantheon.” I stopped the moment his expression glazed. “You’ve seen the humans,” I pressed.
The dimming light in his eyes reignited.
He was older than time. He was too old to care, too ancient to bother with frivolities. He was no young god. He was not flashy or trendy or shiny. He was a titan. He didn’t need trends. It was all or nothing.
“Apep,” I said, testing his name. I spread my hand bare as I said, “You dared to take on the universe. You want to swallow the man in power? I want that too.”
He turned away from me ever so slightly as he sipped his beer. Once. Twice. He drained it before getting to his feet. He fetched two cold, unopened bottles from the fridge and pocketed the opener. “Come,” he beckoned.
I brought the dregs of my beer with me as I followed him down the hall.
He flipped on lights, at first illuminating a rather unimpressive living room.
The next corridor was partially shadowed until we reached the second bank of switches.
He flipped on whatever mattered as we continued into one set of rooms, then another, then a room I didn’t quite understand.
There were utensils. Something like vehicles.
It may have been a shop. A workroom. A shiny, interesting, incomprehensible amalgamation of tools and parts and things that looked very, very expensive.
“I’ve been working on establishing myself,” he said simply.
“You’ve done a fine job,” I replied.
His shoulders rolled forward, but his laugh was inaudible as he advanced. We reached a third bank of outlets before he paused. “The others who came. They were yours?”
I knew a trap when I saw one. Denying them would do me no favors.
Owning up to them would concede to spying on him.
My skittering heart gave up on a recognizable beat.
I took a steadying breath and plastered on a smile.
Matching his evasiveness, I asked, “That depends on who arrived and their intentions. I inspire many. I control only myself.”
This time, his smile looked like a present.
Thank you, Maribelle.
My lips met the bottle again, draining it to conceal whatever remained of my thoughts as I toasted the piece of me that allowed me to navigate impossible situations. She wasn’t me, and yet she was. Somewhere, deep within me, Marlow-Maribelle knew how to talk to this god.
Apep flipped on a light and revealed a perfectly normal study, save for its lack of windows and the blank, closed door on the far end.
There was nothing exceptional about the room.
It had upscale architecture, but it didn’t scream of importance.
He gestured for me to take a seat, and I obliged.
I was disconcerted only when he stood before me rather than sliding into another empty seat.
He fished the tool from his pocket and popped the bottle cap before handing me my second drink.
“What should I call you?” he asked at long last.
Relief tingled from somewhere at the base of my skull. If he’d been avoiding my name so he could dispose of me, I could finally let that go.
“Merit,” I said.
Was it the fifth smile of the evening? The sixth? They were all so small, I wasn’t sure how to count them. “Because you wish to be judged by what you’ve earned?”
“It’s the name I’ve earned,” I said. “And you? Should I continue to call you Apep?”
“It’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” He relaxed against the closed door as I sank into the couch.
I watched him, knowing he could open the door to release hellhounds, or mustard gas, or a swarm of wasps.
I had a valkyrie blocked from entry, and I’d done nothing to determine how to dismantle his wards.
I kept my face relaxed as my gaze flickered to the doorway, wondering if my tattoo for true sight would grant me any indication of how to help the situation at hand.
“So, did you plan on telling me about the valkyrie in the bushes, or was she to remain a secret?”