I doubted Stricken had a soul, because he’d probably already sold it to the highest bidder. I wasn’t sure if Franks had come equipped from the factory with one either, but as Stricken said all that stuff, Franks just frowned even harder. His beady eyes got even squintier. For a second I thought for sure Stricken was going to die.
Except Franks slowly lowered the Glock. He let it linger on Stricken’s spine, as if still tempted to put him in a wheelchair for the rest of his life instead, but then Franks put the pistol back in the holster. He let go of Curtis, who snatched his battered arm away, wrist already covered in spreading bruises.
“I’m still gonna kill you.”
“I’d expect nothing less! Alright, with that uncomfortable real talk out of the way, Franks is now officially on the team too. Fantastic. Finally.” Even though he’d been a few ounces of trigger pull away from death, Stricken got right back on track. “Our destination is only a few miles away. The VIPs will be there promptly at sunrise. I know it’s a terrible time for a big powwow, but the sun thing is symbolic with them. Be on your best behavior. They’ll probably have some muffins and OJ or something but don’t eat or drink anything they offer.”
“What?” Sonya was shocked. She might have been hyperventilating. “We’re still having a meeting? We just got blown up! Franks has a hole in him. We’re all covered in blood! Like ten dudes just died right in front of us and you’re talking about breakfast etiquette?”
“You want to end up beholden to them over some gift obligation, that’s fine with me, but do it on your own time,” Stricken said. “Of course we’re still going. We’re on the clock. And if you want that thing out of you before it kills you—and yes, there’s a clock on that too—then you’d better shut up and pay attention.”
I had to remember that Sonya was relatively new to all this and probably freaking out. “It’s going to be fine.” I used my calming voice. It was the same one I used on Ray when he got mad that I wouldn’t let him put something disgusting he found on the ground in his mouth. “Just relax and breathe.”
“Listen to him, kid. Collect yourself. I didn’t have a chance to talk about this earlier, but we need to put on a united front during the briefing. If they don’t get on board, this mission is scratched before it even starts.”
“If that happens, there’s no reason not to kill you.” Franks almost sounded hopeful.
“True . . . and guilt-free too,” Stricken said slowly. Apparently, he hadn’t thought through every angle. “So let’s not screw this up, team.”
“We need details on the meet,” I said. “Who with and why?”
“The why first. We need something, oh, the best way to think of it is an all-access visitor’s pass but to another dimension. This altercation between the factions has spilled onto Earth, but it didn’t start here. It’s in a connected realm. There’s an intersection between several worlds out in that jungle.”
“Far beneath an ancient pyramid, where some horrible creature from the Old Ones lurks,” I said, thinking of the ancient memories I’d been shown of where Lord Machado had been cursed.
“Sort of.” Stricken didn’t get surprised often. He clearly didn’t like the feeling. “How—”
“On the clock, remember?” It felt good to not let the man who seemingly knew everything not know a secret, but I’m petty like that. “Keep talking.”
“That’s not the crossing, but it’s near where an Old One has been slumbering. The war between the factions has gotten that thing stirred up. Its nasty behavior is what your Catholic buddies have been fighting. That intersection is getting mighty crowded and some weird shit is going down in that jungle. But stopping those things doesn’t fix the underlying problem. It’s just slapping a patch on a leaky tire. If the Vatican had gotten the Ward like they wanted, they’d only be able to use it on this side of the veil. It’s the other side that’s the real problem, and mere regular humans can’t get in there without an invite. We can fight a holding pattern on this side, but that’s it. Eventually one of the factions will win on the other, but when they do, it is going to rip a permanent festering sore in our world.”
“Coslow told me a few million casualties, conservatively speaking.”
“Is that all? Harold’s getting optimistic in his old age. If we’re going to stop that from happening, we have to be able to cross over into the other world where the battle’s actively raging, and we can’t do that without the landlord’s permission. They’re super picky about keeping out the riffraff and too proud to let any regular dirty humans help them. That’s the why. The who is a Fey queen.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Sonya said.
“Don’t worry. Not the one your dad annoyed. Totally different branch of the species. This royal family is less about the fine print legalese and more about the honor and glory . . . Come to think of it, probably a totally different dimension of origin. I don’t know. Their family trees get really confusing. They used to be worshipped as gods up and down the Western Hemisphere; Incas, Xingu, Olmecs, Aztecs, all the way up to the Eskimos, and everything in between, this was their turf. Different creatures appeared in different forms to different tribes and they’re remembered by a bunch of different names. Only they’re not nearly as strong as they used to be. Amazing what a lack of worshippers and human sacrifices will do for your magic. But they still think of themselves as gods. They call themselves the Court of Feathers. Since these Fey look at mankind as their inferiors, only specific offices or bloodlines make the cut to get in.
