Dying Is My Business

Outside, a chorus of angry honking began. Traffic inched forward, then stopped again.

Thornton looked out the window, lost in his thoughts. “We should have left the box where it was.”

“You know we couldn’t,” Bethany told him.

“Where was it?” I asked. “You said it was hidden.”

“Have you heard about the renovations they’re doing at St. John the Divine uptown?” she asked. I shrugged. I didn’t keep up with current events much. “Well, the construction workers were repairing the foundation and found a secret chamber under the cathedral. A chamber older than the cathedral itself. The only thing inside it was the box. They probably would have sent it somewhere to be examined. They might have even tried to open it themselves. Anyone could have gotten their hands on what’s inside. We couldn’t take that risk. We didn’t have a choice, we had to go in there when no one was around and take the box.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” I said, turning around in the seat to gape at them. “You stole it?”

“We secured it,” Bethany corrected me. “I told you, what’s in that box is too dangerous.”

I chuckled and shook my head. They were thieves, just like me. Sure, I called it collecting and they called it securing, but whichever word you used, and whatever rationale you gave for doing it, it was the same damn thing.

“But we were sloppy,” Thornton said. “We should have realized there was a ward around the chamber. As soon as we took the box out, that was it. It was like every gargoyle just knew. Within minutes, they stormed the cathedral. We barely got out of there alive. That was last night, and we’ve been running ever since. This mission has been screwed from the start.”

“I don’t understand it,” she said. “We did everything the way we were supposed to. We did it by the book.”

“And look where it got us,” Thornton said. “You’ve always been a stickler for protocol, Bethany, but sometimes you’ve got to throw the book out the window and listen to your gut.”

She frowned, clamming up. She also wasn’t the type who liked being told she’d gotten it wrong.

The honking up ahead grew louder. Drivers started yelling. More car horns blared, loud and long. The traffic inched forward again. Whoever said getting there is half the fun wasn’t from New York City.

“This would be a lot easier if you just told me where we’re going,” I said.

“There is no we,” Bethany insisted. “I’ll let you know where to drop us off. It isn’t far now. After that, just go home and forget you saw us. Forget about all of this.”

Damn. I still needed them to lead me to the box. I couldn’t find Gregor on my own. I thought about the gun in my waistband, but threatening them wouldn’t work. Thornton was already dead; a gun wouldn’t intimidate him. God, how crazy had my life become that I was wondering what it would take to intimidate a dead man? I shook it off and forced myself to focus. What I needed was a way in, a way to convince them they needed me.

“Are you sure going off on your own is such a good idea?” I asked.

“Look, Trent, I’m grateful for everything you’ve done, but we’ve put you in too much danger already,” she said. “It’s us the gargoyles want, not you. You’ll be safer if we go our separate ways.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about,” I said. “Who’s going to protect you? You’ll be out there on your own, and those things almost killed you once already.”

“They did kill me, remember?” Thornton said.

“My point is, if they’re as tenacious as you say they are, they’re not going to stop trying until they’ve finished the job.”

“You don’t have to worry about us,” she said. “We know how to take care of ourselves.”

“Didn’t look like it back there,” I said.

“Well now you’re just being rude,” Thornton said. “Didn’t anyone tell you it’s not nice to speak ill of the dead?”

The truck ahead moved forward a few feet. I inched the Explorer along behind it until it stopped again. We were close to the intersection now. The honking and yelling got louder.

“Look, you’re in no shape to take on the gargoyles alone,” I said. “There were only six of them in the warehouse and look how that went. What happens if there are ten next time, or twenty?”

“Forget it,” she said. “I’m not about to let you get yourself killed. This isn’t your fight. You’re not going to talk me out of this, Trent. My mind is made up. I’m just going to ask you to drop us off and that’ll be the end of it.”

Damn. She was adamant. I didn’t see a way in.

The truck in front of us started rolling forward again, its right turn signal flashing. “Looks like we’re moving now,” I said, and eased my foot onto the gas pedal.

The truck turned right onto Seventh Avenue, its big white body moving away like a curtain being pulled aside, and I finally saw what had caused the traffic jam. My eyes widened in alarm. My foot instinctively stomped on the brake.

A jet-black horse stood in the center of the intersection, half shrouded in the steam that billowed from a manhole in the street beneath it. Armored metal plates covered its flanks, shoulders, and neck, and sheathed its head, nose, and muzzle. Seated atop the horse was a man wearing a full suit of coal-black armor. A tattered black cape hung from the spiked pauldrons on his shoulders and fluttered behind him in the breeze. His head was completely encased in a black helmet capped by two long, black, branching stag’s horns. He sat facing the Explorer. I couldn’t see his face beneath the helmet’s visor, but the shiver along my spine told me he was looking right through the windshield at me.

“What the hell is that?” I said.

Thornton and Bethany leaned forward in the backseat at the same time.

“Oh, fuck,” Thornton said.

“Drive!” Bethany yelled.

The horse snorted and scraped at the blacktop with one hoof, its black tail twitching. The man astride it kept one gauntleted hand on the thick black chain that doubled as the horse’s reins. With the other, he unsheathed the sword at his side. The blade was long, as dark as onyx, and curved like a scimitar. It was sharp along the front edge and serrated with nasty-looking hooked barbs on the back.

Bethany dove forward and grabbed the steering wheel, yanking it to the right. She screamed in my ear, “Go! Now! God damn it, Trent, drive!”

I hit the gas. The tires squealed against the pavement as we turned onto Seventh Avenue.

In the rearview, I saw the horse rear and gallop after us, the man in the black suit of armor holding his sword high.

Eight

I spun the Explorer wildly onto Seventh Avenue. The tires screamed in protest, the smell of burning rubber coming through the window. Bethany yelled in my ear, “Go, go, go,” and I stomped the gas pedal to the floor and nearly torpedoed right into the back of the produce truck in front of us. I gritted my teeth and spun the wheel frantically, every muscle in my body tensing in anticipation of the collision. We just missed the truck, though the front of the Explorer clipped it. The right headlight shattered and flickered out. I pulled into one of the middle lanes and hit the gas again while my heart tried to pound its way out of my rib cage.

The bright lights of retail signs and enormous video billboards lit Seventh Avenue like it was daytime, illuminating the sea of shining yellow metal ahead of us. Taxicabs, a whole fleet of them, spread out over the road like an obstacle course. I cursed under my breath. Why did it have to be Times Square? Even at this time of night, the traffic was so thick it moved at a snail’s pace. I kept my foot on the gas, drove right up behind one of the taxis, then switched lanes and did it again. It was the only way to keep moving. The street was six lanes wide, though the far left lane was taken up with parked cars. Five lanes, then. Not good. Eventually I’d run out of room to maneuver, especially once we got closer to the intersection where Seventh Avenue merged with Broadway and the traffic of two major arteries was funneled into one. Then what the hell was I going to do?

I glanced at the side mirror. The man in black armor wasn’t far behind, maybe seventy yards but gaining