“Not yet,” I said, holding out my hands to slow him down, though still very much appreciating his eagerness. “Two of us is good, but more is definitely better. I’d like to check with the rest of the group.”
“Mrrow.”
I narrowed my eyes at Mr. Wrinkles, who had regressed to becoming a regular house cat for most of the time we’d spent at Bastet’s apartment.
“You don’t have to come,” I said. I was suddenly feeling odd about talking to my cat all over again, questioning if the events of yesterday had all been some grand hallucination. “I’m still just getting to know you – the real you – but you’re still my pet. It wouldn’t feel right to put you in so much danger.”
Mr. Wrinkles scoffed, quite a sight, coming from a cat. Imagine one coughing out a hairball, sans hairball. “You flatter me with your concern, Quilliam, but I’m certain you’ll want all the help you can get. Besides, the sooner you make your mother happy, the sooner we get back to our old life.”
I nodded at him gratefully, carefully leaving out the part where I’d already decided that I had little intention of permanently returning to my home. All I needed was time to pack my books and abscond with the contents of the Repository. And then? Well, freedom, or something like it. It didn’t feel entirely correct, leading Mr. Wrinkles and the others on that way, but I vowed to make it right, with all of them. I’m a demon – well, half a demon – but I’m not a total asshole.
Dantaleon drifted over lazily. “And I suppose you’ll want me along at least for transportation,” he droned. Then, in a stage whisper, he added: “And you saw what happened the last time. The rodent is right. You would be foolish to reject help now.”
Mr. Wrinkles hissed at him, and Bastet shot him a withering look from the kitchen, but Crystal spoke up before anyone could really react.
“And me,” she said, putting her hand out, her palm facing the floor, very much the movie image of a sports team psyching itself up before the finals. “No way I’m letting you losers out of my sights. You still owe me.”
I placed my hand on hers, chuckling. “Like I could forget. Fine. And thank you.”
We spent the next few minutes preparing as best as we could, which mainly meant Pierce inspecting his daggers and Mr. Wrinkles indulging in another round of licking his paws and rubbing his face. I looked around the apartment, finding Thoth at his place in the living room, nose buried in another book, and Bastet in the kitchen, already stirring something in a pot.
The gods, I didn’t bother asking. Their hospitality was kindness enough. Entities worked differently than infernals or celestials. Outside of their domiciles – in Thoth and Bastet’s case, the oasis – they were vulnerable, capable of permanently dying.
The same wasn’t true of most angels or demons, who tended to re-form in their home planes in most instances. Most. Of course, this only brought up one of my oldest and most dreaded insecurities. As someone who was only half demon, would my essence be returned to Mother’s prime hell to revivify itself?
I suppose I was about to find out.
“We should head out,” I announced to the room.
Bastet stepped out of the kitchen, folded her arms, and sucked on her teeth. “If you’re back by dinner time, I might have something ready. If you’re dead, well, I guess that means that Thoth and I will have plenty of leftovers. Break a leg, kids. Well, not literally.”
I gave her a polite smile. “Thank you. You’ve been very hospitable. I won’t forget your kindness.” A goddess wishing us luck? Exactly what I needed.
“You’re really not so bad, for a spoiled rat bastard of a demon princeling,” she said, turning back to the stove. “Try not to die out there.”
Thoth approached us as well, and I half hoped that he had something to give me, maybe some powerful, tide-altering spell in the form of a little scroll, hell, anything. Instead he clapped me on the shoulder, his fingers digging hard.
“Remember what we discussed, boy. This isn’t simply some external battle. It’s a battle within. Decide whether you truly wish to find your place in this world.”
My lips tightened, but I nodded. He was absolutely right, and I was certain that my decision was made.
Dantaleon floated towards the center of the room, his voice dropping to a strange octave as he began the incantation for a teleportation spell. We gathered in a tight circle as Bastet’s cats mewled excitedly, no doubt stimulated by the sudden presence of so much magical energy. And as was the way with teleportation magic, as our bodies flew through the ether and reappeared at our destination, the mewling faded, replaced by the twittering of birds.
We were back at the farmhouse, the accursed, failed demolition that had started this whole fracas between me and Mother. Already I could feel heat building between the crooks of my fingers, though I couldn’t say for sure if I was confident about really burning anything down the way I was the first time Pierce and I had attacked the place. Things had changed, for certain.
The farmhouse had changed, too, parts of it burned black, as I anticipated, but segments of those same parts already torn out and replaced with new wood. The door leading into the back kitchen, for example, was freshly replaced. I should clarify that we had such a clear view of the farmhouse because Dantaleon, being as confident as he was, had teleported us directly behind the building, out in the open.
I could tell that Pierce was fidgeting. He was far more accustomed to subterfuge, to stealthily entering a place and slicing
