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Phoenix pulls up a map of the city, and I nod, sitting down beside her. “The bots are working outwards in. But you might have been right about Ammit hunkering down somewhere. Still, she had to have gotten off the riverbanks at some point. Some camera had to have caught something.”
“Or they will as soon as she pops her head up,” I say. “Coffee?”
Phoenix nods distractedly, clicking through the data from the night before. I head over to the espresso maker in the corner.
“You still like it the same way?”
For the first time all morning, she looks over at me. “You remember?”
“I remember everything.” Our eyes lock for a long moment before she tears them away to look back at the screen.
“Yeah, I take it the same.”
I allow myself a brief smile as I prep the portafilter and tamp down the espresso powder, brewing four long shots into a mug and then adding steaming water.
“What are we going to do when we find Ammit?” I ask. “Have you called Sabra?”
She’s quiet for a moment before she finally answers. “No, I haven’t called Sabra.”
I pull another few shots for a second Americano and bring both of our coffees over to the console, handing hers to her.
She takes the cup and inhales, her eyes falling closed. I don’t even pretend not to watch. Coffee was always one of the few pleasures Phoenix ever allowed herself in her disciplined, driven life. It’s always been a joy to watch her pause and enjoy a cup.
She slowly takes a sip and lets out a little satisfied noise.
Then she opens her eyes and looks at me as if coming back to the moment and real life after her brief vacation. A frown settles on her mouth. She finally answers the unspoken question hanging in the room. “No, I haven’t called Sabra. Because I don’t want to just send this spirit back where it came from.”
I feel my eyebrows bunch in confusion, but she continues quickly enough: “I want to kill it.”
I sit up in my chair, almost spilling coffee all over myself. “What? Why?” More importantly, “How?”
“Think about it,” she says, setting her coffee down on the table beside her keyboard. “Opening portals to other planes was what started this mess in the first place. If we keep doing it, who knows what else could go wrong?”
“Last time, there were extenuating circumstances,” I point out. “Your grandfather interfered—”
“That’s exactly what I mean,” she interrupts. “There’s always going to be something. There are too many variables. Too many unknowns and the powers we’re dealing with here… Ammit is a relatively small spirit and one we should be able to take care of with ease, which is why I think we need to eliminate her on sight rather than trying some inter-planar return operation. We just need to destroy her like your brother did with the Devourers. That’s the only solution to any spirits who manage to break into this plane.”
I can only blink at her. “You really mean that?”
“This world is no place for them. You’ve seen what Ammit does. She’s a power this world doesn’t know. Her only language is destruction. Spirits can’t just come to this place and wreak havoc on unsuspecting humans who have no defense against them.”
I stand up and turn my back to her. Her words are like knives.
I thought just like she did once when I tried to send my brothers back to the Great Hall where the angels live. It’s where the Spark of Life inside us comes from, yes, but it also meant separating them from their wives and mothers of their children. All I saw was our destructive natures, not the change and growth and good we were capable of.
“Layden,” she says. “Wait, you don’t think I mean you?”
I feel her hand on my back and can’t help stepping away. Even the lure of her touch isn’t enough to hold me. Shame is stronger than hunger.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says. “I didn’t mean you. You’re one of the best people I know.”
I turn to face her, incredulous. “I’m exactly what you just said. My Creator-Father and his kind broke their way onto this plane ages ago, and you know he set me and my brothers to be plagues upon humankind for millennia. I inflicted my hunger on millions. I starved them to death. Trust me,” I speak through gritted teeth. “It’s a horrible way to die.”
“But you changed!”
I stare at the wall. “We still deserve to be destroyed for all the things we did.” I certainly don’t deserve happiness. That my brothers have managed to steal a happy ending for themselves in spite of the way we began is miracle enough. It’s just greediness to think that I could do it, too.
“No,” Phoenix says adamantly. “Not you.” She turns away from me. “But some of us deserve to be destroyed for the harm we do.”
