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“So a moon god?” I suggested. “Some kind of night demon?”
“Better to take the sun away entirely,” Sterling said.
I laughed. No one else did. “Is – is that even possible?”
Carver smiled tightly and spread his hands. “Welcome to the arcane underground, Dustin, where anything is possible.” He made a small cough. “Even fireballs.”
“Please don’t start.”
“A sun god it is, then,” Gil said. “We could try Apollo, maybe.”
“Or,” Sterling said, “and here’s an idea. Or we could not. Remember what happened the last time? Do you think I can just keep regrowing myself?”
“I mean, theoretically, you can,” I said. I’d seen the results before. I’d watched as a beam of sunlight burned half his face and a good part of his hands right off his body. I met him again just days after, and he was perfectly healthy and smooth, as if nothing had happened.
“You stay out of this,” Sterling growled. He folded his arms, shook his head, and stamped his foot. “No Apollo.”
“Well, if you feel so strongly about it. What about Ra?” I said, trying to be helpful, as if I had any idea where to find these gods’ tethers to begin with.
“A good suggestion,” Carver said, nodding slowly. “But considering the recency of Resheph’s death, I’m inclined to say that the Egyptian pantheon at large might not be so friendly towards humanity at the moment. I suggest someone more neutral. Amaterasu, from the Japanese pantheon. Her mother Izanami is a goddess of the underworld. I suspect she’ll be more amenable to dealing with the undead.”
Sterling held his hands up. “Oh, I’m out. No offense, Carver, I don’t care if Amate-what’s-it has an ‘I heart vampires’ tattoo on her face. I’m never going on a sun god communion ever again.”
“That is – acceptable.”
“Plus the sun’s coming up in a few. I should be in bed.” He sauntered off towards the kitchen, the faint hum and crackle of our domicile’s portal indicating that he’d left the restaurant and our reality. I fidgeted with my backpack’s straps, my feet itching to follow. It had been a long, long-ass day, and I couldn’t wait to just lie down and sleep everything off.
“So it’s settled,” Carver said, rising from the table. “We commune with Amaterasu.”
“Okay, sounds good. When do we go?”
Carver blinked at me, watching me with an expression that told me I was an idiot for even asking. “Why, now, Dustin. We go now.”
I groaned.
“Like Sterling said, the sun’s coming up soon.” Gil shrugged. “What better time to commune with a sun goddess than the dawn?”
“I know, but.” I cut off the rest of my thoughts. It was unfair. Everything I knew of werewolves told me that they were basically tireless, and Carver being a lich meant he was tireless as well as practically immortal. Somehow I knew that blurting out “I’m only human, let me sleep, you monsters” wasn’t an acceptable excuse.
“Let’s just get this over with,” I grumbled.
“Make yourself a coffee to perk yourself up, Dustin. There’s a good boy.” Carver patted the seat next to him, inviting Gil to sit down. “Actually, make that three coffees. It’s a fine morning, and I haven’t had anything to drink in weeks.”
Not for the first time I questioned the true value of agreeing to an apprenticeship under Carver’s watchful eye, and not for the first time I questioned the value of telling him that I’d once worked as a barista.
“Make mine a latte,” Carver said, with a grin that dared me to talk back and complain. I set down my backpack and dragged myself behind the counter. I guess it didn’t matter whether I worked for Carver or the Lorica, though it also struck me that maybe, just maybe, this was what normal people did on the regular. The everyday grind, powering through work with a little grit. My grind just happened to involve magic, and the undead, and a boss who I was almost sure liked to see me suffer. But at
least this one hadn’t sacrificed me on an altar to a dark god. At least not yet.
An hour, a second latte, and two mochas for Carver later, he finally decided it was close enough to daybreak to seek out Amaterasu’s tether. What that was, exactly, I hadn’t been told. An entity tethered itself to our world through something physical, a kind of anchor that bridged its realm to ours and allowed mortals to communicate with them. It was like the brass knocker on a mansion’s front door, like a doorbell, only it came in many different forms. Sometimes it was just a symbol painted inconspicuously on a wall full of graffiti. Hecate’s was a dead pigeon in the back alley of a pharmacy, and Dionysus’s must have been his entire bar, the Amphora.
I headed for the barred front door of the restaurant, but Carver clucked his tongue. We weren’t heading out? Huh. Maybe he had another portal somewhere in the kitchen. I paused then, wondering whether I’d driven myself insane since I’d just thought that exact sentence. Ooh. Or maybe he had a whole room full of portals hidden somewhere in his temple.
“Come closer,” he said, beckoning with one finger. Gil was already standing abreast of him, in the little space on the restaurant’s linoleum floor that wasn’t occupied by its busted-down tables. I stepped closer.
“Closer.”
I frowned and watched his hands carefully. “You aren’t going to take my blood again, are you? Use your own damn blood this time.”
