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He shook his head and chuckled. “I should’ve known better. I don’t know how I didn’t see Mammon’s hooves all over this. But I guess now we have to stand our ground.”
Quill wrinkled his nose, placing his hands just a hair’s breadth away from the circle of blood. In a voice like the chill breeze that comes through the window in the first crack of winter, he spoke.
“Glacia.”
A wave of unbearable cold guttered out of his palm, sending me shuddering, traveling in a whispering gust across the floor. From the ground, I could hear the faintest crackling as the ring of blood instantly turned into ice. Quill stood up, then stomped one heel hard against the outer rim of frozen blood. The impact and the reverberations broke the sigils, shattering them utterly.
Within moments I could feel the heaviness and pain draining from my bones and my body. I blinked rapidly, alarmed at the sudden surge of energy and strength, flinching when Quilliam stepped into the circle and offered me his hand.
“Who are you?” I said. “Really?”
“It’s complicated.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but Quilliam wouldn’t have heard me. A force lifted him off his feet, as if he’d been punched by a massive, invisible fist, and he went sailing across the room, crashing into a bookcase. He sat there, groaning in a crumpled heap, covered in books and loose paper.
“Holy crap,” I mumbled.
“Indeed.”
Powerful fingers grasped me by the throat and carried me off the ground. I kicked at the air, choking, my eyes rolling down to connect with the emerald glare of the Prince of Greed.
My gaze flitted around the room, searching desperately for Florian. Like a mirror image of Quill, he was slumped against the kitchen counter, unconscious.
“You can have me,” I croaked. “Fine. But spare my friends.”
Mammon cocked its head, then chuckled. “Goodness. Do you truly believe that you have anything left to offer the Court of Greed? Once, perhaps, you would have been a prized acquisition. But Mammon has grown tired of pursuing you. Such a fruitless lead.”
The prince waved its fingers, and something tugged its way out of the recesses of my jacket. I panicked for a moment, wondering what the hell was wriggling around in my clothes. I caught the familiar gleam as the little metallic triangle floated out into the air.
“Mammon’s continued supervision of your potential has brought some interest at last, nephilim. You are in close contact with – nay, a trusted ally of a certain goddess. A certain goddess who is presently vulnerable as she works to rebuild her domicile, to replenish her stores of power.”
“No,” I said, my heart slamming against the inside of my chest. “Don’t. I’ll find your sword. Duskfang. I’ll find it. And you can keep me in your menagerie. Just don’t – ”
Mammon gestured and the arrowhead drifted of its own accord, landing in the palm of my hand. Mammon gestured once more, and my fingers began to clamp shut, moving against my will, squeezing harder and harder. I screamed as the arrowhead’s razor edges bit into my skin, as warm blood welled up and trickled past my fingers, down my wrist.
“Forget the sword. And forget a nephilim.” Mammon grinned with a mouth full of sharp, gilded teeth. “Why settle for a mongrel when Mammon could have a god?”
34
The shaft of moonlight spilling in through the window was the first sign of the goddess’s coming. It formed into a pool of silver as it struck the kitchen floor. Artemis came floating down the moonbeam, the wavering silhouette of her body only solidifying when her feet touched the ground.
She looked around, a hand on her hip. “What’s up, losers? Priscilla and I were halfway through the second season of – oh, shit.”
Artemis didn’t miss a beat. She whirled in a circle, the air flashing as she produced a dagger in one hand, shoving it straight into Mammon’s chest. In her other, she held an arrow, which she stabbed right into Mammon’s neck. The demon shrieked, golden blood pouring in dribbles from its wounds.
But a little flesh wound had never stopped Mammon before.
The prince’s claws released me and I came crashing to the ground. Then it thrust its open hand at Artemis, the nails of its fingers extending into golden wires that wound like molten metal around her body, each grotesque, pulsating tentacle taking hold of one of her limbs, the last tightening around her neck.
“What the hell is – Mason, Florian, get me out of this.”
I coughed as I struggled to push myself off the floor, my throat and my back aching like dull fire. Artemis’s eyes were searching around the room wildly. I’d never seen her frightened, but she had good reason. Certain entities – demon princes, archangels, seraphim – could survive even if killed outside of their domiciles, to reform in their respective home planes once more. But a goddess, especially a weakened one like Artemis? Perishing outside of her domicile meant permanent, true death.
“Let go of her,” I cried out.
“An unwelcome proposition.” Mammon glared at me briefly, then stared back into Artemis’s terrified eyes. “Now, goddess. Shall Mammon siphon your power and become stronger than any of the Seven, to have devoured the soul of a deity?” The prince tilted its head, pressing one taloned finger into its chin. “Or shall Mammon bring you to the menagerie, where you shall languish for all eternity as a specimen in a collection of wonders?”
“If Apollo hears about this,” she cried out. “If my father Zeus does? You’ll have no kingdom to return to, demon. The Court of Greed will be in shambles. My pantheon will destroy you, and – ”
