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“Is your name Florian?” Dionysus said, scowling. “I didn’t think so. This is an opportunity, my friends.”
“I don’t know,” Florian started to say, just as Dionysus launched from his armchair. He wrapped one arm across Florian’s s
houlder, pulling him close, then went on a high-velocity sales pitch.
The desperate want was thick in Dionysus’s voice, and I could see the dollar signs flashing in his eyes. Like I said, the god of wine was a passionate creature, but better that he was channeling it into entrepreneurial energy than the traveling massacres his tribe was known for in ancient times.
It was pretty clear that I no longer mattered to the conversation, and I left the table to stretch my legs. Whatever it was the two of them decided, Florian and I could talk it out once we weren’t within earshot of a potentially murderous wine god. It was risky business, sure, tempting fate – and Rani – by agreeing to Dionysus’s terms, but all that was best left discussed outside of the lion’s den. I ambled over to the bar and nodded at the maenad.
“Can I get a diet cola?” I said, fishing for my wallet – then remembering that I’d left it in Beatrice’s bag. “Oh. Oh shit.”
The maenad tilted her head at me as she wiped down a glass. “Problem, hun?”
“Sorry,” I mumbled. I raked a hand through my hair, my brain swelling with the stress of having to replace my IDs, get a new phone, and – my cash. That was the last of it, barring a hundred or so bucks I kept under my mattress. “Turns out I lost my wallet.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, softly adding: “Fuck my life.”
She reached out, to my surprise, patting the back of my hand. “It’s okay. Boss says to treat you boys nice whenever you drop by. Drink’s on the house, but – ugh, Miranda didn’t bring out a new case. Be right back.”
I gave her a weak smile as she wandered off into a backroom, grateful for the free drink, but still feeling like my heart had fallen into my shoe. As if I didn’t have enough problems already.
“Penny for your thoughts?” said a familiar voice at my side, one that raised my hackles.
“What are you doing here?” I muttered, narrowing my eyes as I turned to Belphegor, the demon Prince of Sloth.
“Oh, you know,” he said, sweeping the fringe of his hair out of his eyes, his head comfortably shrouded as always in the hood of his jacket. “Keeping tabs on my boys, and on my favorite nephilim, especially. How are things, anyway?”
I shook my head. “You know how they are. Bad, like always. Did you hear about Mammon?”
Belphegor tutted. “I know, tough break. Who knew that Greed would stoop low enough to deceive you that way?”
I scowled at him. “Don’t patronize me. You demons are all the same. Especially the princes.”
“Oh, that’s simply not true,” Belphegor said, pouting, openly pretending he was hurt. “For example, Mammon would never help you out like this.”
Belphegor pointed at a flatscreen TV suspended from the ceiling. It flickered on at his command, showing an interview with the handsome, dashing businessman named Theodore Thorpe. He looked familiar, of course, because Thorpe was only the public identity of the Norse god of deceit. Loki had spent generations building the reputation of the Happy, Inc. empire for the Thorpe dynasty, assuming the identity of a different Thorpe each time the last one ‘died.’
“You should really consider his offer,” Belphegor said, nodding at the television.
“I sincerely doubt that I have a choice in the matter.”
“Well, there’s a reason I wanted you to see this specifically. Listen closely.” Belphegor stuck his finger out, swiping it upwards, just as you would on a phone or a tablet. The TV’s volume went way up.
“And that,” Theodore Thorpe said, “is why Happy, Inc. is proud to announce its expansion into the world of electronics and lifestyle products.” He lifted his hand to the cameras, holding up a box. “Introducing: the Cube.”
I frowned at the TV, listening intently as Loki made his pitch. The Cube, just like he described at the warehouse, was an all-around home assistant and mini computer, a lot like the ones you could issue voice commands into that would then play you music, dim the lights, run the dishwasher, whatever.
Loki – sorry, Theodore Thorpe went on and on about its features. I mentally checked out around the part where he mentioned how the Cube could be programmed to monitor every household member’s vitals, alerting emergency medical services if it suspected an imminent health crisis.
“Because Happy, Inc. cares about you and your loved ones,” Theodore said, speaking directly into the camera, smiling into my very soul.
“God,” I said. “Turn it off, won’t you? He’s got the creepiest smile.”
Belphegor pointed at the TV again, and it winked out, Loki’s face fading from the screen. “I’m hurt,” Belphegor said. “I thought my smile was creepier.”
“Very cute.”
“Where is that maenad?” Belphegor said, craning his neck around the bar. “I could kill for an IPA right about now. But anyway. You do understand what this means, don’t you? Loki wants to put one of these in every household. That’s how he gains his power. The greater his corporation’s reach, the stronger he gets.” Belphegor poked me in the chest. “And there’s really no harm having a very, very powerful god owing you a favor, now is there?”
I grimaced at Belphegor’s finger, then looked up into his face, surprised to see him looking so serious, for once. He was right. Working for Loki didn’t just mean getting the cash reward I wanted – no, needed. Barring the fact that he once stabbed my friend in the chest, it meant securing an extremely valuable ally. And when it came to the world of the arcane underground and the supernatural, it all boiled down to contracts and agreements, to who owed who, and what. That was one thing I really admired about Dustin Graves. When he cashed his favors, he cashed the fuck out, all the way to saving the world.
