Pierce licked the back of his spoon thoughtfully. “That’s redundant. Bordellos are made for fucking. And besides, that’d mean I’d still have a job to go to.”
“Be serious,” I growled, casting a finger at the dessert display, today a miniature city of glass towers and minarets festooned with tiny, delicate slices of pastry. “No more Basque cheesecake.”
He gasped. “But they make it so well here.”
“Well, if we lose this place, you’re going to have to learn to make it yourself. We’ll need jobs. For money.” I looked around the room, lost, like I didn’t even know where I was. In a corner, Mr. Wrinkles ate his lunch of raw meat and seafood out of a gilded dish, fresh spring water waiting for him in a second crystalline bowl. Where did people even get jobs? How would I feed Mr. Wrinkles?
It was best to think of my home as an extension of the Palace of Veils. I had moved out of Mother’s home, only to take up residence in her backyard. My apartments gave me distance from Asmodeus, but it never felt quite far enough. I had secretly acquired property on earth as well, never telling a single soul, just in case I really needed to get away from the domineering demon prince who had created me. If push came to shove, maybe Pierce and I would have somewhere to go, after all – a home to truly call my own.
I trundled over to the dining table, collapsing into the seat at its head with a plate loaded with beef, potatoes, asparagus, just a few of my favorite things. Yet none of it seemed at all appetizing, not after the conversation I’d just had with Mother. Once, there was a time when I believed I could’ve won her love by bringing home a half-dead angel. Not anymore.
Pierce ambled over, joining me at the table, his mouth already working on an entire lamb shank before his butt even touched his chair.
“Here’s the deal,” I said, pushing around some gratin on my plate, then letting my fork fall, my appetite all but gone. “Mother needs us to assault something called the Thirteenth Choir. It’s a cult hiding out in an abandoned farmhouse. Prince Asmodeus deems the cult a nuisance and wants it wiped out. But this worries me.”
Pierce cocked an eyebrow at me as he chewed, then spoke through a mouthful of lamb. “You’re not seriously saying you’re scared, are you?”
“Of course not,” I hissed. “I’m far more concerned by the consequences of failure. I’d happily incinerate those humans. Happily.”
Mother hadn’t given any reason for actually wanting the Thirteenth Choir dealt with. Perhaps they’d slighted her, switched loyalties to a different prince. It didn’t matter. As far as I could tell, this was just a test of my loyalty. But what Asmodeus wants, Asmodeus gets.
Pierce took a few moments to properly masticate before trying to speak up again. “So I don’t see what the problem is.”
I picked up my fork and stabbed it into the largest hunk of beef on my plate, suddenly hungry. “The problem is that Mother has made it patently clear that this is my last chance.” She’d hinted at it in the past, but had never truly threatened to disown me, or do anything of the sort. But this time? “Pierce, she said that this time, she would actually strip me of my privileges if I failed.”
“Let me make sure I’ve got this straight. All we have to do to preserve our life of total luxury is kill some crazy cult people. Did I get that right? So we burn their farmhouse to the ground and your super hot mom doesn’t throw us out.”
I frowned at him. “Could you not talk about her like that? It freaks me out.”
He shrugged. “Can’t help it. I’m an incubus. And it’s just fact, you know? Your mom is super hot. And super scary.”
“We can agree on the second part, and it’s exactly why we need to make sure we get the job done right.”
Pierce’s chair squeaked horribly loud against the marble floor as he scraped and slid his chair over to me, throwing his arm over my shoulder. “Relax. We’ve got this. I’ll bleed anything within stabbing distance, and you set everything else on fire. It’ll be a fun little excursion for us.” He rubbed his hand over my hair, ruffling it playfully. “Then we come home and soak for hours in the jacuzzi.”
I wrenched myself away from Pierce, giving him an uncertain look, but quietly grateful for the reassurance. We’d always had a weird sort of dynamic. He was younger than me, but could on rare occasions feel like the older brother, playing the part of someone more stoic and sensible when he wasn’t being a sarcastic, stabby horndog. He could still be an insufferable brat, of course.
And don’t laugh. I know I’m a brat, too, more spoiled than he could ever hope to be. We just took turns playing the part.
The ground behind me clanked, the vibrations of something heavy moving into place thrumming up the legs of my chair. I glanced over my shoulder as the creature moved into place, stepping up to my side of the table. Imagine a large, vaguely man-like shape made completely out of brass, with vents and slits for its facial features, where wisps of smoke and steam and glowing pinpoints of light came from its internal fires that never went out. It was almost seven feet tall, and emanated waves of heat from its enormous frame. Think of an animated suit of armor, or a robot powered by steam and, possibly, the distilled souls of dead sinners.
“Master Quilliam,” it rumbled. “Would you like some coffee?”
Or he rumbled, rather. Hornbellow was an
