Chapter 2 - Timothy
TIMOTHY
My heart still raced with anticipation as I stepped up to the counter of Perkatory after yet another long day of judgment. The lobby around me hummed with its usual low, controlled energy. Unlike the chaotic crush of other Vegas hotels, Sinopolis held a curated stillness.
The black onyx floors gleamed like wet volcanic sand from the old Egyptian shores, reflecting the warm gold lights in ripples. Tall palms framed the space, their trunks carved to mimic ancient oasis groves, the faint scent of lotus blossoms drifting from the vents.
The strong, fresh espresso overpowered my senses at the cafe, curling through the air, tightening my gut.
This counter used to be his station. The place where Aaron handed me coffee in a way that ensured our fingers would brush or become entwined for seconds that somehow both lasted for eons and ended in a blink, leaving me breathless.
My skin prickled, still feeling the hot intensity of his gaze boring into me until I squirmed under it.
Then he’d smile as if he’d won some kind of prize.
My pulse spiked. I kept my expression composed, unwilling to be undone by the simple routine action of getting a coffee.
“May I have a double espresso?” Assirak pawed my leg in reminder from where he sat dutifully at my feet. “Oh, and a pup cup,” I added.
Before the barista could find the button, a familiar voice cut in. “Make that a triple. You’re going to need it.”
Miranda strode toward me, box braids swinging, the sword at her hip humming with irritated energy. The human sword-wielder would never interrupt a break for caffeine unless something was very wrong.
“Miranda,” I greeted, even as the girl behind me loudly ground the beans for my elixir of life.
“Timothy.” She gave me a quick grin that didn’t reach her eyes. Something was definitely wrong. “You’ve been hiding in the basement for too long.”
“I call it working,” I said dryly.
“Semantics.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Drink fast. You need to come outside. That dick pickle is causing a ruckus. The asshole is up to something.”
I didn’t need clarification on who Miranda thought was a dick pickle.
Seth had returned to Las Vegas a couple weeks prior, reclaiming control of his hotel.
Last week, he’d thrown a party, so loud and raucous that it boomed down the entire Strip all night.
The extravagance with which he seemed to be celebrating his return didn’t bode well.
My pulse ticked up, an unwelcome reminder that even gods had nervous systems. I grabbed the small cup, threw the hot, bitter liquid back, adjusted my cufflinks, then followed Miranda through the lobby and outside.
Assirak trotted by my side, dutifully. I waited until we were out of view of the barista to hold out the pup cup for him.
He lapped up the sweetness in two large licks.
We stepped through the glass doors onto the street. The slanted lines of Sinopolis blazed with a gold light in the heavy desert night.
The air was alive, electric, hot, the Strip packed shoulder to shoulder with humans. Anticipation buzzed through the crowd, a live wire.
“There he is.” I nudged Miranda, so she’d follow my gaze.
Seth stood on a dais he’d erected in the middle of the crowd, like he was a king among peasants.
What was he up to? Why leave the Menaggio and come to Sinopolis to create a fuss?
The gleaming white of his charming smile matched his immaculate suit, both blinding under the Strip’s neon glow—a predator’s display of perfect teeth behind lips curled in practiced charisma.
The black shirt beneath his jacket was open at the throat in a way that broadcasted money, leisure, and zero consequences.
Salt-and-pepper hair slicked back over a deeply tanned face. Martini in hand, he smiled broadly as phones went up around him, reveling in the attention.
Seth already had a following on social media before gods were revealed to the public. Humans had been idolizing us for years without realizing what we were, or that we ruled the hotels along the Vegas Strip.
Miranda’s voice was low but sharp. “You’d think being decapitated and trapped inside Bob for a couple of years would’ve taught him some humility.”
The sword pulsed faintly at her side, a low, metallic thrum. Bob, or the Blade of Bane, was the only weapon that could kill immortals. Or rather, contain them within its steel, imprisoning them. Miranda may be human, but she was worthy to carry it and hear it speak in her mind.
I glanced at it. “What did he say?”
“Bob remembers the taste of him,” she said, her mouth a grim line. “And he doesn’t want seconds.”
I cut through the crowd, Miranda close behind, and Assirak on my heels. We stopped at the velvet rope where guards held everyone back from the platform.
“Quite the turnout,” Seth said as he caught sight of us, voice carrying easily over the crowd. “You’d think the people of Vegas were starved for a little fun.”
The bouncer unhooked the rope and let us through.
“What do you think you are doing?” I asked with open annoyance. “This isn’t something you could have done at your hotel?”
His eyes flicked to the light streaming out of the top of the pyramid and piercing the sky. His smile widened, naked lust and greed in his expression.
My body and powers prickled with warning. Seth, the god of chaos, had always been hungry for power. Angling to take the mantle of God of the Dead so he could be in control of the souls, the balance, and the rest of the gods.
Miranda didn’t bother hiding her scowl. “What are you doing, Seth? Trying to amass people to worship you? You know what happens if you draw too much power.” She shifts Bob so the Vegas lights bounce and glint off his sharp edge.
Seth chuckled darkly, as if remembering his last encounter with the Blade of Bane all too well.
Seth sipped at his martini before throwing her an overly congenial smile.
“Followers? Don’t be absurd. This is entertainment.
A celebration for the mortals, for the world.
A reminder that the gods among them can give them wonder. ”
“You mean, a reminder that you can,” she said. “If you start to tip the balance, I’ll stop you myself.”
A part of me couldn’t help but think I should threaten Seth to stay in line.
It’s what Grim would have done. But that had never been my style.
I was far more surgical in my approach to things.
My power was in details, in precision, in knowing the rules better than anyone and finding the loopholes then closing them.
I simply needed to wait and watch to figure out what Seth was up to and then I’d set to motion.
And that motion may very well be holding Seth down while Miranda cut off his head.
My mouth tightened at the thought. Unpleasant, but potentially necessary.
Seth opened his arms. “Is this any way to treat someone who thought of you, all lonely at this big hotel, covering somebody else’s job? How long has it been since Grim and Vivian left our plane for the Afterlife at the behest of Osiris?”
“You know damn well it’s been four months,” Miranda said between gritted teeth.
“Four already?” Seth tutted. “You must be exhausted covering for Grim.”
“I’m doing just fine,” I said flatly.
Seth shrugged a shoulder, looking off into the crowd with feigned indifference. “Well, if you should ever need help—”
“I am more than capable,” I interrupted with more edge in my voice. He’s not interested in helping anyone other than himself.
Specifically, to the power of all the mortal souls the God of the Dead wields. All the gods are in Vegas to be warmed and powered by the hub where souls pass through for judgment. The further a god got from the well of souls and the doorway to the Afterlife, the weaker they felt.
Like a dysfunctional, co-dependent family, all the gods did our best to keep our distance from each other while being practically stacked on top of each other.
Controlling the souls and the doorway to the Afterlife made Grim the most powerful of us on this mortal plane—that is, until he passed the mantle to me.
Along with a massive influx of magic, the position came with a large target painted on my back. I’d never felt it so openly as now.
Seth let out a lofty laugh. “Of course you are. But I still feel compelled to help ease your burden. Oh, do you hear that? The show is about to start. Would you like a cocktail, or perhaps a leash so your pet doesn’t do anything rash?” The last part he practically spat out.
Assirak growled, because we both knew he meant Miranda.
She lifted the sword to pass over her face, a dark, manic gleam in her eye. “Come try it, big boy.”
Seth sipped his drink, though I noticed his body tense. He’d never admit to being afraid of a human. Yet, he was, just a little. He’d been trapped in Bob before. He wasn’t keen to be cut down and imprisoned again.
Spotlights streaked up the pyramid as the neighboring hotels and streetlights went dark. A roar of excited screams filled the air with anticipation.
The thrum of helicopter blades split the night.
Seth sipped his martini. “Let’s give Vegas what it came for.”
The powerful rotors drowned out the crowd. A helicopter descended through the fireworks, dragging a steel platform on cables. The crowd erupted as the lights locked onto the descending shape. At its center sat a motorcycle, black chrome blazing under the glare.
A lone man straddled it. Helmeted. Black leather pants. A simple black tee stretched across broad shoulders.
Against all the steel and glass, all the machinery and spectacle, he looked painfully vulnerable. Flesh and muscle dangling over a city built of metal and gods.
Even from this distance, there was something about him...Perhaps it was the lighting, but I could almost swear I could see a kind of glow emanating around him.
An announcer’s voice boomed over the Strip. “Ladies and gentlemen, courtesy of Seth and Sinopolis, we welcome you to The Pyramid Plunge!”