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Oh, Banjo’s a Welsh corgi who can make people’s heads explode. It’s this whole thing.
I twisted around in my seat, making sure I got a good look of Sterling’s face before saying my piece. “You won’t tell Asher you saw me, will you? It isn’t safe for me to be at the Boneyard, to be around you and Carver and the others. You know that Loki isn’t the worst of this, right? I took an archangel’s sword, man. I’m only doing this to protect you guys. You have to believe me.”
Sterling glowered at me in the brief second he took his eyes off the road. “I believe you, Mason. But I also believe that your problems can be solved more efficiently if we involved your support system in this. You know, all your friends at the Boneyard? And at the Lorica?”
Florian gasped. “You have friends at the Lorica?”
I shook my head impatiently. “Just a few of them, okay? They’re not all bad. Some of them understand what it’s like to be different.”
Sterling scoffed. “Emphasis on ‘some.’”
“It’s like that Scion woman we met the other day.” Florian audibly shivered. “She gives me the creeps.”
“You’ve got a Scion on your tail? The Lorica really thinks you’re that important and dangerous?” Sterling sniffled, dragging a finger under his eye, feigning tears. “My baby is all grown up.”
“Very funny, Sterling. Have you heard of her, maybe? Goes by Maharani. Rani for short.”
He shook his head. “That’s totally new to me. Must be a transfer, or a recent promotion?”
“Whatever it is,” Florian said, “she can stop time.”
Sterling’s laugh was hard and humorless as he looked at Florian in the rearview mirror. “A chronomancer? Man, you guys really are popular. Which is a polite way of saying that you two are mostly fucked.”
I sighed, melting in defeat into the leather upholstery, cupping my chin as I stared out the window. “Buddy, tell me something I don’t already know.”
26
It was an hour or so away from midnight when we finally arrived in Silver Lake. A very pretty district, fitting of the name, and exactly as expensive as I imagined. The part of the area we were in had houses on a series of rolling hills that overlooked the rest of the city. The specific house we were staking out was modern and boxy, all smooth white walls and huge glass windows.
We were careful to make little noise as we exited Sterling’s rental, gently shutting the doors and parking a full block away, just to be sure. The air was cool, and almost sweet, which was weird for basically anywhere in Los Angeles, as if paying for a premium spot on a hill translated to getting slightly improved atmospheric quality.
“I like this area.” Florian dug his hands into his hips, breathing deeply as he took in the surroundings. “And shame that we might have to break the windows on that thing just to get at this Wyatt Whateley guy. It’s really a very pretty house.”
“Very modern.” Sterling’s fingers shook as he fumbled for a cigarette, the pack trembling in his hand. “Very chic.”
“Dude.” I pointed at the pack. “You need to cut down on those. Look at you, you’re a mess.”
He bared his teeth at me, and I almost cowed from the sight of huge eyes and even huger fangs. “I’ve been driving for nearly two and a half hours and I haven’t had a single puff in all that time. That’s the longest I’ve gone without a smoke for decades.” He popped a cigarette in his mouth, his hands practically vibrating as he brought his lighter to his lips.
“I’m just saying, this looks like it’s a problem for you. What if you have to get on a plane?”
“Hate planes. Fuck planes. Why fly when Carver can teleport us long distances? Now shut the fuck up and go investigate. Figure out how we’re going to crack this place.”
Sterling dismissed me by blowing a plume of smoke directly into my face. See, he’d been so nice to me all night that I knew it was only a matter of time until the real, asshole side of him came out to play. This was more like it. Good old nasty Sterling.
“Rude,” I muttered, coughing. “So rude.”
“Come on, dude.” Florian tugged on my upper arm, peeling me away from Sterling even as I protested.
“I should have let Florian stake you, damn it.” I coughed some more, snorting and sniffling as I tried to get the acrid smell of cigarettes out of my nostrils. “Right in the heart.”
Sterling blew another plume of smoke after us, even if it didn’t stream out far enough to reach me, just as a last proverbial middle finger. “Kiss my lily-white ass, nephilim.”
Oh yeah, bad Sterling was back in full force.
Whateley’s house was even prettier and shinier up close, floodlights in the pebbled zen garden reflecting against the windows and making the whole thing gleam like a giant, polished marble box. Weirdly, it reminded me a lot of those Cube things that Loki was planning to mass produce.
Now, the predicament here was that the inside of the house was just as brightly lit as the outside. Any aspirations we might have held of quietly sneaking in, smashing a vase over the back of Wyatt’s head, then absconding with his ancient magical collector’s item were quickly dashed.
