"Taidaimasu,” I droned as I kicked my shoes off in the entryway. Behind me, Ke'lev mirrored the gestures and hung his own coat on top of mine.
“Kouji?” Chichi called from his smoking room. “Chancery with you?”
“He dropped me. I sent him to Northside to see about an apprenticeship. Ke'lev's with me.”
“Lavelle explained the guardian,” he said after a grunt of understanding. When I passed through the door, he tried to scan me with his eyes, but was fortunately distracted by the giant in sunglasses shadowing me. “She didn't mention he could manifest. That's not nothin’.” He was equal parts wary and impressed.
“He's seraphim,” I said, sitting down in the leather chair across from him after taking a proffered cigar. Ke'lev took his place behind me to look out the room's floor-to-ceiling windows.
“He can't take shelter in you?” my father asked. “Is it because of the oni in you?” Chichi-we's second, Mister Montenegro, came in at that and set a phone down in front of him.
“Jocelyn,” Monty said, referring to my step-mother.
My father left the phone on hold and looked at me expectantly.
“No,” I said, cutting the end off the cigar and peeling the ribbon. “He knows I like him where I can see him,” I explained, letting my father interpret that however he wanted to.
“Even supernatural forces of good get no quarter from my son, Will.” He nodded amiably as Monty politely smiled at me. Serpent.
Chichi took the phone off hold to discuss something with his wife. A dinner party or fundraiser by the sounds of it.
Monty came over and lit my cigar as he asked quietly, “It can understand us?”
“He can,” I stated. “He's mine.” Monty wasn't allowed to order him like he could Chancery. Ke'lev wasn't just an extension of my will. He was an extension of my soul. If Monty even tried to exert his authority over Ke'lev, he'd have to do it after taking another one of my fingers.
The old man only nodded once and returned to the other side of the room to collect my father's phone since he was done with it. Monty whispered something in his ear and, after Chichi shook his head, he left with a bow to us both.
“You want to resume your duties?” Chichi asked. “Are you fit?” Now he was looking at me, studying me.
“I didn't partake of the forbidden flesh, Chichi.”
“And yet… you're whole.”
“As healed as I'll ever be. I've still got the slug stuck in my arm, but other than that…”
“How?”
“Does it matter?”
He considered that. “No, I suppose it doesn't so long as you're not compromised. I am glad you feel better.” For the group's sake, he didn't add, but the words were always hovering between us like an old ghost.
I crossed my legs and let the smoke pool in my mouth for a moment before letting it go to say, “I do want to take back the torch, but not right now.”
“When?”
“Summer.”
“And in the meantime?”
“I want to mourn my sister.”
He frowned, but then he slowly nodded. “That's acceptable. You'll also have to make a statement to the board about your condition. Nine months of convalescence is already pushing it. Another four or five months for bereavement on top of that looks like a match-set move. If you don't address it now, you might not have a seat waiting for you at the table.”
“I won't wait. I know how fickle the old timers can be,” I huffed.
Chichi grinned. “Joss will approve at least… provided you make it to the block parties. The New Year Fete is in two weeks.”
I gave him a tight-lipped smile. We both knew Jocelyn was angling to play matchmaker again. I didn't doubt other Stewards would be on the invite list. I was the lonely heir of the Devereaux line after all, and what a waste it would be if the shadowy keepers of humanity lost access to the magic sight. “Wouldn't miss it for the world.”
We enjoyed each other's company for an hour more before Chichi had to leave on business. He was wearing multiple hats, he reminded me. Not only was he filling in for me, but he still had his Steward duties, whatever those entailed.
Making my own excuses to leave, my father stopped me with a raised hand and asked, “You'll be at Northside with Remus?”
“I'll stop by the family plot first.”
He nodded. “Have Monty drive you.”
“Chichi-we, I don't--”
“It wasn't an offer. Until I see what your angel can do with my own eyes, you need a second with you.”
“If you don't give him the opportunity, he'll never--” My father gave me a look that promised another exile if I kept talking so I broke off and relented. “Ryokai, President.”
He nodded once and called, “Will!”
“I heard,” Monty said as he appeared on the threshold. He motioned at me and said, “We'll take the Lexus. Come on.”
“Be safe,” my father bade warmly.
I bowed and followed Monty out the door, sparing a look at Ke'lev who smirked at me and followed.
So far, so good, I thought in silent agreement.
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“Ke'lev, was it?” Monty asked conversationally from the front seat. Ke'lev stared at the back of the man's head rest without moving, but I could feel his tension like it was my own. “Not much of a talker?”
Ke'lev didn't respond.
Monty's next question was directed at me. “Why Summer? You've had plenty of time to mourn Kazumi since the Ides. The group needs you at the top, Mister Devereaux. Your father is certainly excellent at what he does, but he needs to be focusing on other responsibilities outside of us. This isn't appropriate timing on your part--especially given that you're healed now. It won't sit well with the other bosses. They'll see this as an excuse--weakness.”
I thought it was interesting that he didn't refer to Kazumi's death date as the 15th of March like any other normal person would.
I answered with a question of my own. “How's your shoulder?”
He gave me a friendly smile in the rearview mirror. “Better than before. I can still shoot straight, but now I can also predict the weather.”
“I'm glad,” I stated.
If the following dead silence bothered Monty, he had the discipline not to show it.
Cemetery Number One was a historical site that didn't often see new tenants, but my family had owned Plot Thirteen since the city was founded. Exceptions were always made when old money was involved.
As soon as Monty was parked, Ke'lev got out to secure the area like Chancery had taught him. Monty said, “Curious thing, your bright new beau.”
I didn't say anything to that because I didn't know what the fuck he meant. I knew Monty liked wasting his breath--like a lot of adversarial figures in my life now that I thought about it--but that kind of open-ended statement invited me to be the one to step in it.
Ke'lev opened my door and Monty added, “I should talk to Lavelle about upgrading all our guardians to such a degree. Having Heaven on our side would give us legitimate divine rights, don't you agree?”
“You're already gonna live forever, Montenegro. Do you really need more of a stranglehold on your stock?”
He smiled. “Now, who said I'd live forever?”
“Only the good die young.”
He guffawed and got out of the car.
“Ke'lev will escort me,” I told him.
“I want to pay my respects too.”
I smiled.
Ke'lev smiled.
I said, “I think she'd like that.”
My words surprised him, but then, I guess I'd be surprised too if the boy who always gave me the cold shoulder suddenly hit me with a tiny bit of human pathos.
As we passed the visitor center, Monty trotted to keep up with me, his tone frankly excitable. “You really think so? That she's watching? That she still has wants wherever she is?”
“I do,” I said softly.
“Your father still hasn't visited her memorial. I suspect it's because he doesn't want to face her… if she's still here.”
“We all grieve in our own ways.”
“This is true…” He glanced over his shoulder, presumably to look at my guardian. I thought he would say something about an angel army again, but he surprised me by saying, “Even us elites have to go through the same processes as our beholden. Your father poured himself back into work. Chancery gave up a leadership role to take care of you. And here I was thinking that some lakeside getaway was just a way for you to avoid your responsibilities. I see now that was a mistake on my part. You obviously used that time to come to terms with some things. It wasn't time wasted.”
Mentioning the lake was a mistake on his part.
I did come to terms with some things.
It wasn't time wasted.
I smirked and said, “You might be right, Montenegro.”
He almost laughed, because he knew my referencing the past was his cue to laugh and nod at the young boss, but then I saw the hesitation on his face as he got it.
I noted the microexpression that flickered across his face, there and gone in a flash: resentment. He knew I had him. From his perspective, one of us wasn't making it out of here alive and the odds weren't in his favor.
I waved my right glove at him as we approached the Devereaux Family's mausoleum. “My father and my coterie were the only ones who knew about the lake. I told you I was heading to Maine. Do you remember sending me some pins to your favorite lobster joints?” I waved his knee-jerk response away again as I keyed in a twelve-digit pin next to the door and removed my glove to press the side of my fist onto the biometric readout. The door opened automatically without a sound.
I sighed as I pulled my glove back on. “It doesn't matter. I know you gave up my location to Dare, but we're not here to talk about that.”
Monty looked reluctant to cross the threshold. “An awful lot of security for a family crypt.” He's never been here? Then he's only visited the public stones? My father definitely suspected him then.
“Grave robbers are always a concern.” I wasn't lying. Some of my ancestors were buried with magical objects better off buried with them.
I wondered then, studying his face, if my father had ever mentioned the hidden elevator that spilled into the undercroft. Had Monty ever known about my mother's dietary needs? I'd only told Chancery about my demonic side after he'd seen it with his own eyes, and even then I hadn't told him about its limitations.
Given that my father didn't even want Monty to know where I was hiding… Maybe Chichi-we knew Monty was rotten from the start. Maybe what he only lacked was proof.
“I'm not going to move on you, Monty,” I said. “We're here to pay respects, aren't we? It would be disrespectful to bring a fight across the threshold, don't you think?”
I think he knew that if I did intend him harm, I might've skipped the speech. Or maybe he thought he was still protected by my father or the will of the group. Whatever it was that motivated him to “bite the hand” also helped bolster his resolve. He gave me an embittered smile as he stepped over the threshold into my jaws. He said, “Let's pay our respects then and part ways as allies.”
I gave him a conniving look. Once inside, Ke'lev secured the door behind us soundlessly. Monty didn't notice or care, but it wouldn't have made a difference if he had or did.
Near the middle of the crypt, I gestured at Kazumi's plaque, sandwiched between my grandfather and Uncle Paul, my father's younger brother. Unlike Kazu's public memorial, her remains were actually interred behind the marble slab.
Her epitaph read:
Daughter, Sister, Beloved
EVRISKON TON DROMA
“My Latin's a little rusty, admittedly,” Monty said quietly.
“Pathfinder,” I translated for him. “She made her own way.”
“Fitting,” his mouth said, but his tone dubbed it bullshit.
I smiled. “I dunno why I expected guilt or empathy from you. Maybe I was just hoping there was a better reason for her death besides a simple power grab. I want to know why you chose Adelaide Walker to be your pawn. You could do more damage from the inside. Why employ such an expensive distraction?”
Monty took his time answering. I wasn't in any rush. I had two weeks until I'd need to make a public appearance. The undercroft had enough food to last months. Until I got a satisfying answer out of him, my father's second wasn't leaving Plot Thirteen.
He finally sucked at his teeth and said, “It wasn't about money, if that's what you're insinuating.”
“Does seem a little callow even for you.”
He flashed me a smile. “It's about the Stewards. Ever since I became a second, that's all my life has been. Protect the protectors of humanity. It is your privilege to serve. You should be so lucky to serve the gods, etcetera.”
Add ‘people who say etcetera out loud unironically’ to my pick of peeves.
Monty sighed. “I'm forty-nine years old, Mister Devereaux. For forty-five of those years, I've mopped up your family's messes. I've watched the Midori Group grow and shrink in influence. I saw it in your grandfather's hands, and I helped your father keep it in his. I even played a part in your election, even if I was just one vote of thirty on paper.” He nodded as if he could smell my boredom. “I say all this as a preface, so you understand where I'm coming from.”
“Serving isn't enough?” I guessed.
He wagged a finger at me. “Serving would be more than enough if the Stewards really were gods among men. But you're not. Half the things you people supposedly do aren't scientifically verifiable. You're an esoteric order of in-bred monarchical rejects that fled to America to avoid Catholic persecution. What makes your blood stronger than mine?” He shook his head like I shouldn't pay him any mind. “You say it would have been more efficient to cause trouble from the inside. Whose enforcers do you think you kept killing in the first couple years after you took over? I thought you knew about my meddling the entire time… I thought we'd been having a bit of a ta-tet-ta for the last decade.”
I barked a laugh. “You really give me too much credit, Mister Montenegro.”
He made an impatient scoffing noise. “Have you brought me here just to toy with me, Kouji? I must admit that while I knew you were a master class in intrigue, I didn't expect you to be so calm during an actual confrontation… Which has me wondering if we can reach some sort of agreement between our families. Your sister and father both never would have entertained me, but you… I can see you embracing reason--choosing merit over legacy.”
From my armchair, this guy is giving Sociopath-with-a-capital-S. Well, it takes two to tango.
I shrugged. “I'm not here to debate genetics, divine rights, or the validity of the Stewards. I just wanted you to stand in front of my sister's grave and admit you didn't have a good reason for killing her.”
Monty grit his teeth. “To be fair, if I hadn't been shot myself, I might've stuck around long enough to make sure you joined her. Although, in hindsight, my ambitions were shortsighted. You and I both know you're twice the leader your father is. But you are Steward stock. It's lamentable, isn't it?”
I nodded. “To be fair, if you had stuck around long enough, you would’ve seen me transform into a nine-foot-tall demon right before I ripped you in half.”
Monty's smile twitched. I wasn't sure if he believed me or not and I didn't care. He said, “Well, the past is in the past. We can only move forward. That's what mourning is for.” He looked toward Kazumi's plaque and said, “She walked a dangerous path and only made an example out of herself. Goodbye Miss Devereaux.”
“RIP,” I said briskly, clapping my hands together to show him I was still unarmed. “Anyway, respects made, confrontation had. I don't wanna leave you with the wrong impression, Mister Montenegro. I have no intention of moving on you. In fact, I'm impressed. You must have something on my father if he's allowed you to operate like this for so long.”
“You know how he likes to keep his friends close,” Monty said with a snort. “If you really don't intend to move on me in the future, what are you planning that would make use of me? You have the presidency. You have the legacy. What do you gain by sparing me?”
“Peace,” I said with open gloves. I nodded toward the door as I angled to move toward it. “That's all I've ever wanted, Monty. Peace.”
He lingered by Kazumi's plaque. “One less death on your hands won't absolve you of the others.”
It was my turn with the snort. “I just want peace. No one said anything about absolution.” If I had, I wouldn't have asked it of you, you brain-dead fart.
Maybe Monty had been looking for a fight because he still seemed unsatisfied that I would just let him go. I patted Ke'lev's shoulder as I traded places with him. Monty said to my back, “We can never go back to how we were. Next Friday, you'll break bread with me and we'll discuss how the Midori Group will evolve next Summer. The path to peace won't be an easy one, Kouji.”
I knew he'd told his last steady girlfriend to refer to him as Daddy, even in public. Monty was the type to say to a vet, “No, you should thank me for my taxes.”
I sighed.
I bet he beat off to The Sopranos.
It was only then, with my hand on the release lever, that I realized why my father insisted Monty drive me to the crypt. He knew what I'd had planned--he wanted me to take out his garbage. I was gonna have words for him later. For now, all I could do was shake my head, exasperated.
“You should take time to break bread with my sister first. She has the firstborn privilege, after all,” I said before letting myself out. I hit the duress button on the security panel. Through the crack of the closing door, I saw Monty's face go from annoyed to snarling, but whatever he might have said stuck in his throat as his own pistol pressed into the side of his neck.
The door closed on a beautiful pop of red. I didn't hear or see anything else. Plausible deniability. I took my time lighting a cigarette and took the recorder out of my duster pocket. I said into the mic, “Not sure what happened. The door shut behind me. It's locked out. I'll give a call to the contractor.”
Chichi would go through the motions of an investigation. I'm sure he'd even present snippets of Monty's confession to the more militant group executives to smooth things over once news of his “suicide” reached them.
A pool of light slipped from under the door and Ke'lev appeared beside me, wiping his hands on a kerchief. I took it from him and wiped a tiny droplet off his face. “Dead?”
He nodded.
I shook my head sadly. “It's sad. Poetic even. Trapped in there with his guilt facing him like that… Turns out even the most power-hungry, self-absorbed man can succumb to his own demon given the right push.”
I stopped the recording and pocketed the device. “Left hand like I showed you?” He nodded again. I patted his cheek. “Good boy.”
He beamed at me.
I looked back at our family crypt one last time. Monty deserved to die like a dog. He deserved a ditch or the end of a pier. Instead, I'd given him a story, a legacy. His treachery would be buried somewhere at the top, and whatever cancer he'd managed to weave into our ranks would slowly be eradicated without his protection.
Sometimes you have to take the sword off the mantel.
I realized then why my father never seemed to have the stomach to prune our ranks. It wasn't that he didn't have the guts, the means, or the desire.
He just had everything to lose.
I didn't.
Maybe that explained why he was never torn up about the death of his grandson or his daughters-in-law. Maybe it was why Kazumi's death didn't even register as a concern. For him, the survival of the group was paramount.
Maybe, when you got down to it, he was just as much of a pawn as I was, fulfilling the demands of the Stewards to the letter, but never putting the fruits of his labors on the line. Outside of being the perfect Midori President, did he even see me as his son?
Or was I just the Devereaux Family mantelpiece?
Ke'lev touched my face, tugged curiously at my lock of gray hair. I gave him a smirk. “Chichi went gray in his twenties. Sometimes it's the mileage. Sometimes, like in my case, we get knocked into the barriers ten too many times and start to lose paint.”
He bent down so he was eye-level with me. He shook my shoulders.
“What?”
He tilted his head to the side. Then he produced a Lexus keyfob from behind my ear. He wiggled it in front of me.
I snatched it from him. “Absolutely not. Magic tricks don't work on me.” He hit me in the back of the shoulder as I headed for the parking lot. “I said no! You almost crashed Chancery's Mercedes. You're going to driver's-ed starting next week.”
He sighed.
“Why do you wanna drive anyway?”
A look over my shoulder rewarded me with Ke'lev mimicking a stoic, business-like expression as he turned an invisible steering wheel like it was infected with something. I laughed. I didn't like to drive. He'd noticed. “I do not make that face,” I said seriously.
He raised a barely there eyebrow over the ridge of his sunglasses. But then he made a whatever gesture and caught up to me so he could grab the driver-side door for me.
“Sit in the passenger seat. I'm not your chauffeur,” I said lightly. He skipped around the hood of the car and planted himself in the seat, buckling in. He hovered a hand over the consol before turning on the seat warmers. As I got comfortable, adjusting the seat to my legs, I said quietly, “You're spoiled, you know that?”
He flashed fangs at me.
“Let's go meet Remus for a drink. Then I'll hand off our proof to Chichi. After that… How do you feel about a movie? In a theater this time. My pick.”
He nodded.
“It's not The Titanic.”
He frowned.
“It's the sequel.”
This time his nod was enthusiastic.
“It might not be good.”
He motioned at me like there was no chance of that.
As we pulled away from Cemetery One, I glanced at the rearview mirror one last time. I know you're sticking around for Chancery's sake, Aniwe, but at least now your vigil won't be interrupted by your killer.
“That wasn't just for her,” I murmured.
The angel cocked his head.
“Now we have time to focus on curse-breaking. Thank you, Ke'lev.”
He propped an arm against the door to watch the world zip by. A soft expression made his face less alien.
His purpose was indeed glorious.
And it was mine too.
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“Faith is like unconditional love. It's not up for debate,” Sabriel said, laughter tugging at his lips.
“But it is,” the man insisted, ever the contrarian between them. “Faith on its own is conditional. Love on its own is also conditional. You cannot put them together and make them something they're not.”
“I am not saying they cancel each other out. I am saying you misunderstand the true nature of both.” The angel smiled. “Upon Shabbat, we are given time to reflect on such mysteries… so that we do not dwell in the dark of ignorance, but come to live in the relief of illumination.”
The man scoffed, “I would rather the mystery then. Knowing the roots of your cryptic words has brought me no real comfort, but I concede that you… You alone, even apart from the Master, almost make me believe that rest is possible for a soul as troubled as mine.”
Sabriel poured him his wine and passed him his cup. “Call me Messenger of Repasts then, warden of mine, and my heart shall buckle and break open for you. A king's feast will I become. Make bread from the grinding of my bones. Gain knowledge from the toasting of my blood. Then say that love is only transactional. Say that faith comes with a price.”
The man took the wine but didn't drink. He said to his reflection,,“Why would you sacrifice so much of yourself for the human meant to bring ruin to the world?”
“Serving you in this capacity, I am content. Whatever decision you make will change the world in either case, yes. But any change is what Mankind needs. Change conquers Fear. It conquers Death. And you would be at peace if neither had sway over you.”
“But why, knowing I was made for this sin, would you still serve me?”
“Because…” Sabriel's expression was warm and unreserved. “I have faith in you.”
...
The End
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