I slipped on my shoes and slung my bag across my body.
I was writing “I Love You” on the whiteboard in the kitchen, when I heard voices coming toward the apartment.
Jack
? My hope disappeared when I recognized Quaid’s deep voice. I closed my eyes and concentrated. Two people approached the door.
“Let me do the talking,” he said.
“If that doesn’t work?” the other man asked.
“Do what you have to.”
I bolted for the back bedroom.
I opened the window and peered outside. The fire escape was old, but it was the only other way out of the apartment. I didn’t see anyone in the alley. But they could be just around the corner. I sucked in a breath as a knock sounded at the front door. Before jumping outside, I looked up and down the alley one more time.
Trying to ignore the rickety stairs, I hurried down the steps to the bottom of the first floor landing. The ladder broke off its rails last month, and the super hadn’t fixed it yet.
I hesitated for a moment—I didn’t want to break my leg. I glanced up at voices coming from the apartment.
Crap
. I left the window open. There was nothing I could do now. I jumped over the railing.
I landed funny when I fell and hit the ground. I winced as I stood and hobbled over to the darkened doorway of the building next door. There were three or four steps to a basement door—the only immediate place to hide. Once I was hidden, I stretched out my foot a few times. It wasn’t too badly hurt. I’d probably have a bruise and soreness, but no real damage.
Within seconds, Quaid’s head popped out of the open window above. He scanned the alley. I slunk into the darkened doorway and breathed a sigh of relief when he went inside.
I had to get out of town.
I texted Jack, “I’m sorry. I have to leave town unexpectedly. I’ll be back. PLEASE don’t hate me...I can explain...please. I love you.”
I wouldn’t risk getting Jack tangled in my mess. It hurt to think he might hate me, or that he might think I cheated on him. But I believed our relationship was stronger than today’s misunderstanding. I would make this right—after I figured out who killed Junior and who was walking around pretending to be me.
Omar said to visit the quads, but he didn’t say in which order I should. They were almost never together, which was probably a good thing. Each of the four was powerful in their own right, but they were rumored to be unstoppable together. Horrible stories were told about the destruction they caused as children. I believed the stories. Midge said, “There’d be hell on Earth if they could actually stand each other.”
I decided to see Cinnamon first.
She was the oldest, by seconds, and the only girl. She was hardly my BFF, but of the four, she was the one I distrusted the least. This was mostly because she couldn’t be bothered to waste her time on me, not because she liked me; she just had better things to do than screw with me.
To avoid running into Quaid or the other man as they left my building, I headed down the alley in the opposite direction. I opened the address book on my phone. Motor pool wasn’t an option. Quaid would have them on the lookout. I would have to use an otherworldly taxi.
By the time I made it to the street at the other end of the alley, I’d been turned down by every listed otherworldly taxi service. It was essentially impossible to get picked up on Earth—who knew? My only other option was a walk-through portal I’d never used. I wasn’t sure I’d be allowed to, or if I even could, but I had to try.
I opened Google Maps to find one. The closest was five blocks away, but it was back toward my apartment. Quaid would probably have someone watching my home. If so, he might be keeping an eye on the closest portal too. The next nearby location was twenty blocks in the other direction.
I stopped on the sidewalk, searching for the best subway route on my phone. I froze when the sound of car brakes squeaked behind me. Closing my eyes briefly, I prayed this wasn’t the end of the road. I should be moving or ducking into an alley
. Not
standing in plain sight. I peered over my shoulder, ready to bolt.
“Need a ride?” the guy asked.
Oh, thank God, it’s just a taxi
.
I was about to say no thanks, until I read the ad on the top of his cab: Sunshine Sandwiches—The hottest place downtown!—the Underworld sandwich shop I’d been to earlier today. This was an otherworldly taxi.
I eyed the driver. He wasn’t veiled, which was unusual on Earth and the reason I hadn’t immediately noticed he wasn’t human. If he’d been veiled I would have sensed it and realized he was from one of the otherworldly taxi services. In the right light, or lack thereof, even an unveiled supernatural appeared mostly human. It was the little things that made one think twice. The metallic shine to their eyes was their most noticeable trait. It showed their true eye color, only brighter. The Boss, for example, had eyes so dark they were almost black, but the glint when the light was just right was red.
The driver wasn’t a bad-looking demon. His longer than average dark hair gave him a softer appearance, which was probably why he didn’t bother with the veil. His eyes were dark like The Boss’s.
“Need a ride?” he asked again.
“Yeah, how did you know?”
“I dropped off a guy a few streets over. When I checked in, dispatch said someone called who needed a pick-up. I guess it’s your lucky day.”
I raised both eyebrows. This guy couldn’t have been more wrong. “Right—lucky.”
I reached for the door handle then stopped. Should I trust this guy? I glanced inside the cab. Except for a few papers strewn about the passenger seat and a Starbucks to-go coffee in the cup holder, the taxi was clean. His story was plausible. I considered the walkthrough I wasn’t sure I could use—and was twenty blocks away. I got in the taxi.
“Where to?”
Traveling through the Underworld was fast. It would take no time at all to get almost anywhere on Earth. Hellspawn were required to register their current address. I just hoped she’d be home.
“I need to see Cinnamon, The Boss’s daughter. She’ll be in the registry.”
I couldn’t imagine her being involved in a plot to kill Junior. She was too self-absorbed for that, but Omar had been very clear. I had to see them all to figure out who killed Junior, and Cinnamon was the least likely to want me dead for saying hi.
The cabby typed something into the GPS.
“My code is 4-3-9-2,” I said before he asked. It was a risk, but I didn’t think Quaid would be monitoring my registry access.
“It’s going to cost you,” the cabby said.
I handed him David Janus’s corporate credit card. “I’m in a hurry. Twenty percent tip if you can get me there in ten minutes.” The cabby wouldn’t check the name on the card. They never do.
Six
“China? What is Cinnamon doing in China?” I said, glancing at a traditional pagoda across the street before leaning forward to see the cabby’s GPS screen. China.
“Excuse me?” the cabby said over his shoulder.
“Nothing,” I said. “This is right. I’ll only be a minute.”
“I can’t wait. You’ll have to call when you’re ready to be picked up.”
“I had difficulty getting you guys to come pick me up the first time,” I reminded him.
“Sorry, it’s a new policy, but here’s my card. Call and ask for me. I’ll come back for you. I promise.”
I sighed, but there was nothing this guy could do about the policy. I had to hope he’d still be available. I had doubts anyone else would come out this far.
“Okay,” I said, taking his card. “I’ll call when I’m ready to be picked up.”
“One more thing,” he said, handing me a clipboard and pen. “Please sign.”
I reviewed the receipt.
“Nothing to worry about, just signing your soul away.”
“Funny,” I said, clicking the pen open. “Ouch!”
“Sorry, it’s the only pen I’ve got.”
“Don’t worry about it.” This wasn’t the first time I’d used a blood pen by mistake. And I was already bound by one deal; I couldn’t be bound by another.
As you can imagine, blood pens were everywhere in the office, but this was the first time I’d ever been surprised by one. I signed the receipt and passed it back to the driver.
“Sorry again,” he said.
I glanced at his business card. “I’ll call you when I’m ready, Mike.”
“No rush.”
It was dark—China’s time zone was twelve hours ahead of New York—but the streetlights illuminated the area well enough.
The pagoda was on the other side of the street. I was standing in front of a brick wall that ran the length of a football field in both directions. At least that was what I was supposed to see. Mike had stopped in front of a cluster of bricks that were all a slightly different shade than the rest. The bricks formed a diamond pattern—one I’d seen Cinnamon use before—that hid the door from public view. I walked to the pattern and placed my hand on the center brick. The wall disappeared showing me the real entrance.
I glided through the illusion then looked back toward the taxi. It was already gone. A drunken couple was stumbling down the sidewalk—heading home from a night out—but they couldn’t see me. I was now hidden behind the brick veil.
Two life-sized lion’s head knockers guarded the entrance to Cinnamon’s Chinese fortress. They were mounted on a pair of heavy iron doors at least thirty feet tall. Odd didn’t really cover what I was seeing. Uptown Manhattan was more Cinnamon’s style.
My phone chirped.
Please be Jack
. I pulled it out to check the message. Not Jack. A sigh slipped from my lips. It was Jenny in Finance. “Quaid was just here looking for you. Is there something I should know?”
I shoved my phone back into my bag. That plebe needed to mind her damn business. In an hour, the rumor mill would probably have me connected to Quaid, leaving Junior broken-hearted. At least that meant she didn’t know Junior was dead.
I stretched out an arm to grab one of the rings clutched in the lion’s mouth, but before I touched it, the head came to life and let out a deafening roar. A pulse of energy washed over me, causing me to take a step back. I rubbed my arms as an icy chill ran down my spine, enveloping me in a cool breeze. The sky overhead appeared lighter, and the lion’s head was once again in a bronzed state.
The sudden environment change was weird. Had the sky really been darker a minute ago, or had I just not noticed the full moon?
I reached my hand toward the other lion, but pulled back as both doors slowly opened.
Fresh baked cookies wafted through the doors, flooding me with a sense of love and trust. Before I could decide what this meant, I registered new scents and feelings. The aroma switched to a bouquet of fresh flowers, and an overwhelming mood of home and safety. My eyes drifted closed as I recognized crisp apples sliced fresh for a pie, just as the feeling of hope and promise engulfed me.
I liked it.
My eyes shot open when I registered the scent of roses. I shook my head, trying to clear it, and took a tentative step back.
As if the savory odors somehow held power, an invisible force surrounded me. I had to stay alert, and sharp. I couldn’t let the smells affect my other senses. Being tricked into one of Cinnamon’s games wasn’t my idea of fun. She’d sent me on more than one useless errand in the past just to piss off her father.
Inside the giant doors was a beautiful garden courtyard—in daylight; while outside it was night. The garden stretched impossibly far into the distance. The door was obviously a portal, but to where?
“Who are you, and what do you want?” a voice said from somewhere inside the courtyard.
I dropped my gaze to see an uncommonly short man dressed in a red and purple outfit. The style—if not the color—matched something the king’s guard would have worn in King Arthur’s time. The man didn’t go with the outfit. He was exceedingly round with a pudgy red face that would have better suited the court jester. His short, meaty fingers clutched a clipboard—very twenty-first century—with a blank piece of parchment trapped under the clip. He held what appeared to be a feather quill pen, but it was really just a fancy ballpoint.
“I’m here to see Cinnamon,” I informed him. “It’s a family matter.”
The sentry dropped his head to check the blank parchment. “You’re not on the list.”
I paused, realizing he had, in fact, just checked a blank list. “It doesn’t appear anyone is on the list.”
“That’s right,” he confirmed. “We aren’t expecting any visitors today.”
“I didn’t say I was an expected visitor.”
“Well...” The man glanced at the parchment then focused on me. “What kind of visitor are you?”
That was certainly a loaded question. I wasn’t on official family business, so anything I said would technically be a lie. But time was running out. Quaid was already hunting for me, and I needed to see all four quads before he found me. So I didn’t give a rat’s ass I was about to lie.
“Cinnamon asked me to come.”
“You’re invited?” His eyes maintained steady contact.
“Yes,” I said, hoping he had no truth sense.
“Well, why didn’t you say so? This way, please.” The sentry fluttered aside and motioned for me to enter.
All thresholds are different. As soon as I passed through the one into Cinnamon’s fortress, I realized how stupid I’d been to leap before I looked. The cyclone of energy that hit me dropped me to my knees with a sharp crippling pain leaving me crouching on hands and knees, unable to move.
Waves of energy rushed through me. A force I couldn’t break free from held me to the ground. My eyes burned, and my skin tingled. Locked immobile on my hands and knees as a cold stabbing pain and wave upon wave of energy, sensations, and chills ran through my body, all I could do was scream, but no sound came out.
The energy increased as it flowed into the ground through my hands and legs before looping back around and shooting into me through my eyes. Each cycle was more intense. Cold. So cold. I shuddered as my body slowly froze.
A hand clutched my shoulder. The touch was so hot it burned. I was lifted—ripped away from the ground—breaking the energy loop. The cycle stopped, and my normal senses started to return. My head pounded. With shaking hands, I wiped away the blood dripping from my nose.