The Grimrose Path

Chapter 9

I went downstairs in the morning, late . . . around eleven, but it was a long night and I’d called Zeke around eight a.m. to hear Griffin was doing well, but was still an asshole. Reassured about his physical health if not the lack of improvement in his assholery, I went back to sleep for another two and a half hours. When I did get up, I dressed for success after showering. No sweats or T-shirts for running or the occasional footy pajamas for comfort sleeping. I wanted this particular angel to know I was in business and meant it as well. With a thin long-sleeve sweater in psychedelic swirls of dark red, bronze, and black; black jeans and boots; and a flashy gold and garnet of earrings to match the tiny stud in my nose.

Leo was there . . . at the opposite end of the bar, staring unblinking at the angel who had taken a stool at the other end. He might have spent the night on that stool, or on the couch in Leo’s office, gotten a hotel.... I didn’t know. Last night I’d walked past him without a word and gone upstairs to sleep. Where he did the same didn’t worry me. He more than could take care of himself, the scar on his jaw told you that. Now he was staring as unblinkingly back at Leo, giving just as good as he got until he heard me. Then he swiveled, took me in, and gave a grave nod. “The new look becomes you. And from Mica to Trixa Iktomi. That suits you as well, but a last name? How human of you.”

Mica had been like Cher or Madonna. One name needed only,for the last time I’d seen Ishiah—who wasn’t technically an angel anymore, although I’d known him when he had been one, making his list of who went into the Roman orgies and who walked righteously by. Stick up his ass the same as all of them. Not worth wasting your breath on with his “Thou shall not this; thou shall not that” sanctimonious attitude. But when he went native . . . retired and became a peri, he mellowed. Slowly, but he had. The last time I’d seen him, the infamous last time, he hadn’t been bad at all, especially considering what we’d done to his bar. At the time, although he was retired, I hadn’t considered him on our side by any means. It was one of the few times I’d been . . . not so much wrong, but not quite right either. When Ishiah had gone native, he’d thoroughly done that deal. He tried to stay neutral . . . like Switzerland, only without the corrupt banks.

No, Ishiah wasn’t a bad guy.

“Swoop your feather-duster ass over here and give me a hug, sugar.” I spread my arms and hugged him hard when he stepped up. The wings had been put away and I could feel the muscle of his back under his shirt. Leo snorted. He was either jealous or playing at being jealous. I did the same for him, both kinds. We were good for each other’s ego that way. But, honestly, a peri and me? No. He might be an expatriate of Heaven, but I could still get a whiff of the holy off him and that wasn’t the best of cologne for turning me on. But he wasn’t bad for a peri and a friend to many païen kind, so I hugged him again before stepping back. “Do I look that different? I can’t remember what I looked like during the Exodus.” So many looks, so many outsides; it was what was inside that made you. It was the inside you had to remember.

“Your hair was black and straight, your skin was a darker brown, and your eyes were pale blue-green. The color of glacier lakes, you told me.” He continued while raising an eyebrow, “Shameful that it is, you were still vain then too. And don’t call it the Exodus. It’s disrespectful.”

I was not vain. I never chose cookie-cutter beauty. I chose to be different, exotic, wild, and everything most people saw every day on separate people but combined into one unforgettable whole. Why have a boring vanilla wafer when you can have a chocolate chip-peanut butter-coconut-caramel cookie? Vain. Hardly. But disrespectful, that I was and claimed with pleasure. “Why not? That’s what it was. Why let a perfectly good word go unused because your kind used it once and capitalized it first?”

An Exodus it had been too—seventy years ago in New York City. Eden House New York had still existed and angels and demons were everywhere. Angels had been ordering their Eden House human soldiers to wipe the demons clean from the city, but that wasn’t going to happen—they didn’t have the numbers and angels rarely fought these days when they had their humans to do it for them. The demons were determined to take out Eden House and have one helluva good time in the process. No one knew what made each side take a stand there. There were hundreds of cities worldwide and they had a presence in all of them. Why was each side determined to make New York theirs and theirs only? I doubt they knew themselves. Sometimes there doesn’t need to be a reason, only egos and idiocy.

Seventy years ago those egos and idiocy blew up. It became so blatant that people were starting to notice—even oblivious people living in their mundane, no-surprises-left-in-the-world existences. They began to question. They began to look—they saw miracles and horrors, and while it was written off to religious hysteria for a few weeks, someone else noticed too—noticed the danger.

We did. The païen.

There were plenty of us in New York. An aware human population was the last thing we needed. Our numbers were dropping as the years spooled out and if humans found out about angels and demons living among them, how long would it be until they found out about us? How long would we last if they did?

We hadn’t waited to find out. I hooked an arm with Ishiah and led him over to Leo. “You damn sure missed out, Leo. They bussed in all the païen in the tristate area and some of us came from even farther to get in on the action. We steel-toed their asses out of the city like Adam and Eve out of paradise. Nearly every païen species alive came together. It was unprecedented.” I smiled, warm and happy at the memory. “Every demon who dared poke his head aboveground to shake the sulfur off his scaly feet, we killed. We caught every Eden Houser alive, kept some of the badder of us from eating them, tied them up, and put them on those same buses we rode in on. Sent them out. And after they’d seen us, not a one came back.” Only the head of each Eden House knew about the païen kind—vamps, weres, tricksters, revenants, on and on. The soldiers didn’t know. Demons were enough for them to handle, their bosses thought, and thought right. They not only didn’t return, but a few ended up seeking mental health care . . . of the inpatient-hospital kind. Pretty white coats that tied in the back. Demons they could take, but us? That drove them over the edge. Please. Crybaby candyasses.

And since then, neither angel nor demon has shown a molting feather or scaly ass in New York City.

“It was like Mardi Gras.” I leaned against Ishiah’s shoulder. By his expression, he had memories less fond of the experience. “Beads, bondage, and breasts. Wolves Gone Wild. And when those girls flash eight of those honeydews at the guys, they get a whole mess of beads.”

Leo did look regretful on missing that, but he focused in on Ishiah instead of dwelling on what might have been. “And how did your ex-pigeon son of a bitch with allegiance to no one manage to stay in the city? Obviously he did or he’d be pissed off at you, not contemplating fornication. Isn’t that what your type calls it?” Leo grinned darkly. “Fornication.”

“I’m not contemplating fornication with Trixa,” Ishiah said evenly—a little too evenly, a little too sure. I wasn’t vain, but I wasn’t dead either. Give a girl some validation. “I fornicate elsewhere.” He folded his arms, already on the defense, and I was suddenly more curious than insulted. “The same elsewhere, the same someone, in fact, that convinced your kind to let me stay in New York. I don’t call it fornication anymore.” He presented the information as if it were a secret handshake or a cop’s badge, and it was. We were brothers, comrades, or, damn, practically in-laws.

“You’re sleeping with Robin?” I said in disbelief.

“Goodfellow? You’re screwing a puck? Worse yet, that one?” Leo was even less disbelieving and did a good imitation of being disgusted—which would be solely because he couldn’t keep up with a puck. Few could, verbally, criminally, or sexually, and no one in the world could keep up with Robin Goodfellow. Ishiah called me the vain one; he had his nerve. Robin was vanity walking . . . granted walking practically on three legs, rather than two, but vanity was vanity—well deserved or not.

Leo wasn’t done. “He’s a walking, talking dick....”

“Literally,” I interjected on Goodfellow’s behalf.

It was a good thing Leo’s powers were temporarily on hiatus or I might have been nothing but a scorch mark on the floor. There was some history between Robin and me, but even I had my limits. That puck could talk the paint off the walls, the skirt off the waitress, and the pants off the doorman . . . and that had all been in less than thirty minutes. Shortest date of my life, but one that had put me off the mere thought of sex for months. The man had a mirrored ceiling in his pantry. His pantry. I didn’t want to guess what he had in his bedroom. It was bad enough running for my millennia-gone virtue because I was nosing around the puck’s pantry. It was a toss-up between chocolate and curiosity by the way—as to why I was nosing it to begin with.

It went without saying that Ishiah had reserves in him I’d never dreamed existed.

I put my hand across Leo’s mouth so we could get this conversation over with and his butt cheeks unclenched. “Robin did talk the rest of us into leaving the peris be. You’d always left us alone once you retired. It seemed fair. I couldn’t figure out why he did at the time, what with that hate-hate relationship you had going on.” Now I knew.

Ishiah’s eyes shifted sideways . . . a bare fraction, but I saw enough of it for confirmation. Not hate-hate after all, but love-hate. Oh, those two had their plates full now. “Anyway, for Leo’s benefit, let’s wrap this up.We won. Ish let some of us party at his bar to celebrate. I was drunk for three days, hungover for a week, and that’s the last time I saw Ishiah. It was also the last time my brain tried to crawl out of my ears to escape alcohol poisoning. The last time I tried to pick up a werewolf only to find out it was actually a German shepherd. The last time I grew wings and flew naked over the heads of drunken païen saying that I was Tinkerbell and they needed to follow me to never-never land. The last time . . .” I uncovered Leo’s mouth. “Never mind. It was more last times than I can or care to remember and we won’t discuss it again. Right?” I pointed a finger at Leo’s chest. “Right?”

He studied me impassively, then smirked. I hadn’t ever, in our long, long years of knowing each other, seen Leo smirk. He didn’t do it. It wasn’t his new, improved, laid-back yet solemn and kick-ass self, and it definitely wasn’t his big bad “a frown is just your body methodically broken to bits and turned upside down” former self. This could, in no way, be a good thing. “I’m going to the office. I have some calls to make. You two catch up.”

“Don’t you dare call my mama! Don’t you even think about it, Leo!” I called to his back right before the door shut behind him. Although she had to already know. There was hardly a trickster alive who didn’t, but she’d love the opportunity to verbally smack my ass over it. “Oh, goddamnit, I’m dead as they come.”

Ishiah coughed behind a balled fist and said mildly, “Blasphemy. Some old habits die hard.”

“You’ve been a peri forever now, so get over it,” I grumped. “Do you want to go down to the diner and get some breakfast? I’m starving.”

“More like lunch, but, yes, that would be acceptable if . . .”

I raised a hand as I answered my ringing cell. I recognized Zeke’s number immediately when I pulled the phone from my jeans pocket and held it up. “Kit?” I answered. “Is everything all right? How’s Griffin?”

“Fine, fine, everything’s fucking fine,” came the dismissal. “How do you say asshole in German?”

“Arschloch, and you’d better tell me you didn’t call me just to ask that,” I demanded, but it was too late. As I’d cut off Ishiah, so had the click of a disconnected cell phone done to me.

“Problems?” Ishiah raised his eyebrows. Ishiah was the peri who probably did know about Zeke, who’d become a peri by virtue of not retiring but by telling Heaven to kiss his ass, but he certainly didn’t need to know about Griffin, the only peri with demon wings. He might be all right with it; he might not. It didn’t matter. Tempting fate was something I did with my own life, not my friends’.

“Actually more of a daily routine.” I grabbed my small leather backpack and jacket. I already had my gun on me. It was time for about three pounds of biscuits and gravy. Carbs were good for the brain. Bad for the ass, thighs, and heart, but good for thinking, and with Ishiah here, there was bound to be serious thinking ahead. “Let’s go eat and you can tell me why you’re in Vegas, how you got here. . . . I know it wasn’t with those wings of yours. Was it by bus or plane? And how did you get that sword through security?”

He had flown . . . by plane. The wings did work, but flying across country would take a while, and he’d bought the sword once he arrived in Vegas. It didn’t do for peris outside New York City to go unarmed. Demons liked killing them as much as they liked killing angels, only peris were more vulnerable. When they retired, they could keep the wings and transform to a human body, but that was it. No zipping up to Heaven, no flashing in and out of existence, no changing from flesh to a crystal statue that was the true form of an angel, one that looked like it belonged in an art gallery and not moving around in real life. Ishiah had been one of the very high and mighty in his day, so he had a difference of such to him. Give him a few weeks of storing up energy and he could give a light show like he’d given me last night. But that was it. A Vegas magician could do a hundred times better. I told him so. Leave the shows to the experts, I’d advised.

He’d have puffed up those feathers like an outraged rooster if we hadn’t been in public. Keeping them invisible for the moment, he finished up with his food and told me why he was here. I was on my second helping and had a ways to go, but Ishiah was an efficient creature, always had been, and I listened to him as I kept scooping up some gravy with the softest of biscuits you could imagine—the cook had to be from the South. No Vegas cook could make biscuits worth a damn.

“Heaven sent me,” Ishiah said. He paused—I didn’t know if he expected me to fall to my knees at the privilege or if he was expecting a choir hidden in the diner’s back kitchen to burst into song, but neither happened and he went on. “After what happened last year, they thought you’d be more willing to listen to me than an angel still in good standing.” He frowned. “Though the higher-ups don’t seem to know what exactly did happen three months ago. They know Oriphiel”—now there had been a snooty dick and a half—“never came home and a powerful demon named Solomon was killed. There were some rumors about an artifact of some sort, but Oriphiel didn’t share much about that. He seemed to think that was his mission and his alone. Ah, and someone outed you and Leo as tricksters.”

That would’ve been Eligos, the only one besides me and mine left standing at the final battle for the Light. “No, Ori wasn’t a pigeon who played well with others, and that’s saying something. Good at bossing, sniffing around where he shouldn’t be, saying what he shouldn’t say, but cooperation—there was a word that escaped him.” I took a swallow of juice and raised it toward the waitress for a refill. “And Upstairs is right. I wouldn’t listen to another of their kind after him. He was such an ass that I didn’t mind watching Eligos play a few head games with him.” I caught a last dab of gravy on my plate with my thumb and studied it. Humans in all their imperfections had created a food so perfect that if a heavenly choir was around, they should be singing about that.

“Eligos told me once Solomon couldn’t play in his league. Neither could Oriphiel. If he hadn’t wanted a certain something all to himself . . . power all to himself . . . maybe things would’ve turned out differently for him.” I mirrored Ishiah’s frown back at him, but mine was with an eye to a past longer than three months ago. “Your kind, Ishiah, your kind isn’t nearly as careful as they ought be about that. The power. It’s in all of you, that itch. That need. One-third of Heaven falling wasn’t some fluke.” I went on before he could deny it. I’d given him a truth. What he did with that truth was up to him. “So what’s almighty Heaven want to pass on that needed sending you here? Think they could throw a little Aramaic message in some holy ice cubes in my fridge. A postcard from St. Peter at the pearly gates. Something I could sell on eBay at least.”

He pretended to have not heard my warning or my desire to make some cash on eBay—guns and boots aren’t free, boys and girls—and went to the heart of the matter. “Eligos is here, then.” The long scar on his jaw whitened. “Wonderful. I’m not surprised he’d be involved in anything that had to do with angels dying. And I came because we know about Cronus. Heaven isn’t blind. When more than nine hundred demons die that quickly, Heaven keeps an ear open. Demons talk, so the fact that the wings were being taken wasn’t a secret long. All angels know what can be done with those wings. Cronus wants Hell and Lucifer, but we don’t know why. But nothing good can come of it. I’m here to find out what I can and to let you know that now, in this particular case . . . Heaven and païen can stand together on this—to stop Cronus.”

“Cronus is païen. What makes you think the rest of us don’t stand behind him?” I asked. “Would rather stand behind him any day than have anything to do with a bunch of cloud squatters, present company excluded.”

“You bunch are crazy, but none of you is as crazy as Cronus,” he answered. It was a valid enough point, except that I didn’t think Heaven would be much help.

“Maybe.” I held up my glass for the waitress. “It’s a nice gesture and all, much obliged, sugar. I just don’t see that your former place of business has anything to offer. I wish they did, but unless we get . . .” I stopped and let a thought somersault around my brain for a second. It might not work. Ninety-nine point nine percent it wouldn’t. Talk about your real hate-hate relationship. No, no bookie in Vegas would take that bet, but it was worth thinking on a little more.

“Trixa?”

I waved the unvoiced question away. “Never mind.” I didn’t think Ishiah would betray me by spilling a seed of a plan—we were on the same side in this. But while that was true, you could plan all you want, but know at the end something will either go wrong or, worse yet, go right at the wrong moment. Angels, real nonretired angels, were mostly windup toys. If you burdened their brains with a plan and someone, theoretically speaking, blew up the bridge they were supposed to cross, they’d cross anyway. Splat splat splat. If I needed their help, I’d tell them what I needed precisely when I needed it. There was much less chance of their screwing things up.

Then there was the saying, an oldie but a goody, that loose lips sink ships. Ishiah said demons talked and Heaven had listened. That’s how they’d found out about Cronus and his quest for the map to Hell. Demons weren’t the only ones who talked. Ishiah was no gossip, but someone Upstairs had sent him here. He’d report to them and then there was no stopping it. Secrets by their very nature fought not to be kept. Put something in a cage and it wanted out . . . just like with Pandora’s box. No, I’d feel better if I kept the key to the box that held my ghost of a plan to myself—ghost of half a plan. It was safer for everyone. Smarter as well, and I did so pride myself on being smart.

It could be Ishiah was right. I was vain, but how could you expect others to appreciate your brilliance if you didn’t appreciate it yourself?

I sucked the bit of gravy off my thumb and slid the check to Ishiah’s side of the table. “Oh, there is a tiny thing, you should know about. Very small.” I held my thumb and forefinger barely a half inch apart and gave an encouraging, pep-rally smile to show how very tiny a thing it was. “I lied to Eli about what Cronus wanted and conned him into turning a hundred thousand or so souls loose from Hell. I’m not sure he knows yet, but when he does, you might not want to be around for that.”

“You lied to Eligos?” The check in Ishiah’s hand became a tightly wadded ball of paper as his fist clenched. “To Eligos?”

“I’ve done it before. He seems to find it entertaining.” I pushed my chair back and stood. “But I have a feeling when his boss, the big boss, finds out he was cheated out of that many souls, Eli won’t find me quite as amusing anymore.”

“Tricksters.” Ishiah grimly smoothed out the check and stood to go pay. “All of you. Pucks or shape-shifters. Whether you’re the kind with a survival instinct or not, you’ll throw it away instantly for the chance at one good trick.”

“It wasn’t good,” I corrected, vexed. “It was unparalleled. I saved thousands, maybe a hundred thousand souls.” I didn’t invent the big fish story, but I was sure it was a trickster who had. “I’d think I’d get a sainthood at the very least.”

“A hundred thousand souls saved, but did they all deserve to be saved?”

The voice of conscience. I was glad it lived in NYC and not here. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t thought some of the souls might not be rightfully damned. Abusers, murderers, but I knew, I’d seen that one Rose hadn’t deserved anything close to damnation. Leo had promised to pass along the word via his family. Our afterlives weren’t Heaven or Hell. There was more leeway, more flexibility between what was evil and what was only naughty. Most of the souls would find the home they were due. Justice would be served, and if some did escape to wander alone, unable to touch the real world or any world for the rest of eternity, that was a punishment all its own.

“Your rules aren’t necessarily our rules. I saved an innocent girl. I tricked Hell—that’s what I was born to do. Chirp away, Jiminy. It won’t do you any good.” He kept the chirping silent, but it was implicit in the way he held himself as we walked back to the bar. Stiff back, tight jaw, braced shoulders.

At Trixsta’s door—Leo had the glass fixed . . . nice of him—I stopped. “You didn’t ask what Cronus wanted. What he really wanted.”

“After what you did by conning Eligos, truthfully, I’m afraid to ask. You put yourself in Hell’s crosshairs. Made yourself the target of every demon alive. I don’t think you could survive that, trickster or not. That makes me think you took a huge risk because you know what Cronus wants and it’s something you aren’t going to walk away from . . . that chances are good that no one is walking away from. Plus, if you were going to tell me, you would have by now, and I know how impossible it is to pin down an uncooperative trickster. Heaven won’t like it, but I know better than to think I can do anything to change that. You’ll tell me when you want to and no sooner.”

He was right . . . about it all. I took his arm and turned him from the door after calling for Leo. “Leo will take you to the airport, Ish. Go back home to New York and sex up Goodfellow five ways to Sunday. Hold on to what you have now. There’s no guarantee the world will keep turning. That’s true of any day, but with Cronus here, it’s even more true . . . so go home. Give Robin my best.” As Leo stepped outside, I asked him if he would take Ish to the airport and he did his pissed-but-I-am-stoic-and-rise-above-it expression. I smiled, squeezed his arm, and urged the both of them toward the alley and Leo’s car. I’d called the restaurant this morning too. My car was long gone—to the tow yard or Mexico. “But whatever you do,” I called to Ishiah, “stay out of his pantry.”

Puzzlement and annoyed jealousy crossed the peri’s face before he shook his head in resignation. “Tricksters.” He asked one last time, “Are you positive you don’t want to tell me? Who knows? It might save your life.” Against Cronus? I wished Heaven had that kind of power. I wished anyone did. I shook my head and made a shooing gesture as if he were a particularly stubborn rooster and I was all out of corn. “Damn tricksters,” he embellished.

He was disappearing into the alley when I challenged after him. “So close to blasphemy. So close.”

The only thing he left behind was his growl to call him when I needed the help—not if, but when. It was irritating that he knew that I would. I almost hoped Goodfellow didn’t give him any.

A puck not give it up? That would never happen.

After they left in Leo’s car and I waved to them, I went into the bar, five . . . ten steps. Eligos came up through the floor as if it was nothing more than a hallucinatory mist instead of hardwood—the shattered hole about the size of a well’s mouth. His claws tangled in my shirt, and we kept going up. When we hit the ceiling, it was the same as the floor . . . to Eli. I was in a human body, however, not demon, and it hurt, even with Eli ahead of me—by a nose, like they said at the racetrack, by a nose.

By nearly a foot, a head, in his case. He was in full demon form—copper scales, thrashing wings, a narrow dragon’s jaw, broken glass teeth, a fury-filled black gaze with swirling specks as brilliant as coins weighing down a dead man’s eyes. I caught flashes of all that as wood splinters, paint chips, and plaster chunks and dust fell around us as we ended up in my bedroom. If Eli hadn’t been leading the way clearing a path, I would’ve broken my neck on the ceiling or crushed my skull or, hell, both.

We hovered in the air in my bedroom as I all but swallowed my tongue to keep from coughing at the dust or make a sound at the tearing pain in my shoulders that had scraped through Eli’s new “door.” A fully functioning shape-shifting trickster wouldn’t, so I couldn’t. “Lying bitch.” It was calmly said, but the movement that went with it was anything but restrained. I flew through the air and landed on the bed... almost. I never appreciated the difference “almost” could make until I hit the floor on my back. I’d fallen there like an autumn leaf . . . if an autumn leaf weighed a buck thirty.

Buck thirty-five.

Buck . . . no one’s goddamn business.

I had red and gold scarves on the ceiling, hanging like billowing sails or the canopy of the bed of a princess. I didn’t feel much like a princess right then, but I did feel as if I were sailing. On a smooth glassy surface . . . not a ripple—only me and the red-gold of a setting sun as I drifted silently. Then the falling sun was gone and the Fallen took its place—fallen leaves, fallen suns, fallen God’s own.

Everything fell, sooner or later.

“Lying, lying bitch. Useless païen filth. Not worth one-fifth the soul of a common whore.” The teeth touched the skin of my face. “Cronus is still taking wings. Giving up those souls accomplished nothing.”

I had told him this might be the case. A convincing lie cannot be told without some shred of truth to it. I blinked at the plaster dust in my eyes and took a shallow breath, the best I could do after most of the air had been forced from my lungs when I hit the floor. I gave Eligos the best imitation of a triumphant smile as I could, considering the pain and lack of air that, thanks to the reaction to my smile, didn’t get any better.

Eli hissed and wrapped his hands around my throat. They started out covered with scales and equipped with talons but in a short second turned human—as did the face inches from mine. “Thousands and thousands of souls gone and Cronus didn’t give one good goddamn. Or two or three goddamns.” The hands tightened. I didn’t struggle. If I did, he’d see I was still weak. I could go for the gun in the small of my back, but I wouldn’t make it with his weight on top of me. There was nothing I could successfully do to escape him. I was hurt, dazed, and I was being choked to death, and there was only one thing I could do that might save my life—use the weapon I’d been born with that required no shape-shifting at all.

I kept smiling.

I didn’t let my body buck against the lack of oxygen as it was so desperate to do. I didn’t rip at his hands. If I was turning blue, I did my best to make it look like a good color on me—this year’s must-have—and I smiled up at that impossibly handsome face. His impossible face, my impossible smile, an impossible thing not to struggle for air. But I was out of all choices except one. So I smiled as my lungs burned as if they were torched from the inside out. I even smiled as dark blotches began to slide across my vision . . . from sunsets to storm clouds.

Then another impossible thing happened. The pressure around my neck eased. I could breathe. I did, in slow and even breaths as if I hadn’t missed a one, much less many. They, mainly Buddhist monks, say you can control your body in more ways than you can imagine—slow your heart, your respiration, fly above the needs of your physical self. That was nice for them, but I still would’ve liked to have seen the Buddhist monk who wouldn’t have gasped for air and tried to claw Eli’s face off right then. The first at least . . . They were better about not seeking vengeance than I was. You don’t see many face-ripping Buddhist monks. Good men, very good, very patient men.

I sincerely wished I had the strength for some face ripping myself, but I wasn’t necessarily very good. Patient? It depended on how you measured . . . by hours or years. I liked my karma immediate. Face ripping was very immediate.

“You drive me fucking insane!” He grabbed at the coverlet from my bed and tore it to pieces, silk raining down like dead butterflies. Glaring at me venomously, he spit, “You knew. You knew Cronus wouldn’t stop if we set his Rose free. Or did someone already eat his goddamn Rose?”

I raised a balled-up fist to my mouth and coughed. I made it sound like the phoniest of coughs, as if I were playing at being human—playing very badly, as if barely trying. It was a cover for opening my swollen throat and pulling in more air. “Oh, so much better,” I answered before smiling even wider.

“Cronus never had a Rose.”