She scowls, and I’m becoming more and more certain she makes her tips with her looks and not her attitude. “Technically, black’s not even a color, you know. It’s the absence of color. So your favorite color is nothing. That’s almost as depressing as your outfit.”

  I burst out laughing. Her lack of self-censorship amuses me. In a way, I find it charming. Most people are intimidated when I walk into a room, so this is a refreshing change. “Whatever you say. I’ll take a glass of white. Surprise me.”

  She leans over the counter until she’s inches from my face. “Say please.”

  “Please… Uh, I don’t know your name.”

  “Phoebe.” She grabs a bottle from below the counter and starts to pour.

  “Please, Phoebe, will you get me a glass of white?” I say, even though she’s already handing it to me. I swallow it down in a few gulps, and a warm sensation floods my body. My shoulders loosen, and I sink into my seat.

  Phoebe looks momentarily horrified by my lack of respect for wine, but her attention is quickly taken by someone new who’s just come into the bar. “Hey, O!” she hollers over my shoulder. “Knew you’d come. You can’t stay away for long.”

  A young man with a stained apron swaggers through the door like he owns the place and sits at the end of the bar. “What’s up, Energizer Bunny?” he says as if he and the bartender have been friends since kindergarten.

  She grins at him. “Haven’t seen you in a while. So, how’ve you been? How’s the fam?”

  He pinches his chin in mock thought. “Eh, can’t complain. I’ve been busy with school, and the folks are chilling.”

  The kid’s sitting just a few stools down. I glance over at him and suddenly find it difficult to breathe. What were the chances? I’ve never been a lucky man, so I find it hard to believe I’ve somehow run into my brother at the first place I stop in Mobile. I don’t know why I’m surprised he’s white; our father was. I guess I expected him to look a little like me, but he doesn’t. He’s got golden hair, sky-blue eyes, and a ruddy complexion. I can almost see his slowly aging portraits plastered up and down his family’s halls and staircases. Maybe in one, he’s learning to skate. In another, he’s graduating high school. And in another, he’s holding a soccer ball and trophy in his team uniform. His hands are full with all of his accomplishments.

  While he flirts with the bartender, I dig an old photo out of my pocket. It’s worn and yellowed, folded in half with one corner torn off. In it, two men stand side-by-side in front of the Palace of Versailles. One of them is Joseph Cain, the current leader of the House of David. The other is my father and the reason Cain sought me out when I was thirteen, pulled me off the streets, and offered me a place in the House. I study the photo and the young man sitting two barstools away from me. He’s the spitting image of my father. It’s like I’ve gone back in time and found the man himself, long before he even met my mother in Cairo. I press my thumb against the top of my middle finger and add pressure until it hurts.

  Phoebe pauses her conversation and turns to me. “You gonna just sit there, or are you planning to order something else?”

  “I’ll take more of the same.” I hand her my glass, and she fills it again. Then I down it all like I’m dying of thirst.

  Her jaw drops. “Uh, would you like another, Norm?”

  I barely register her voice as I push my glass toward her. The wine is finally hitting the way I need it to, and thank god for that. This situation was not one I thought I’d be dealing with tonight. I’m not remotely ready.

  Phoebe cocks her head and examines me. “Mister, you don’t look so good. You gonna pass out on my bar? Just tell me whether you’re drunk or crazy, okay? I won’t judge, but it’ll be good information to have. Like which men in white coats should I call?”

  I scoff and lean back in my stool. “I’m not crazy.”

  “You sure? I mean what sane person chugs wine? And why do you keep staring at Orion?” She waves her hand in my face to stop me from doing just that. “He’s spoken for, you know. I’m going to snatch him up as soon as he’s done with school.”

  Orion laughs and blushes. “Sure, Phoebs. Cradle robbing now, are we?”

  “Shut up, O. I’m not that old.”

  My vision is starting to swim, but I continue to study the guy Phoebe called Orion. This has to be my brother. It figures our father would give him a weird name like mine.

  Orion hops off his barstool and sits on the one next to mine. Then he offers his hand in a gesture every bit as warm and welcoming as Phoebe isn’t. “Hey. I’m Orion Bachman. It’s a pleasure to meet you. You look like a guy with an interesting story.” He’s so open. It’s like the world hasn’t beaten him down a little more with every year he lives. I can’t believe in someone like him, especially not someone who’s in any way related to me.

  I take his hand. “Eden Dowler. I’m not from around here.”

  Phoebe butts in with a chuckle. “You can at least look a guy in the eye when you shake his hand. Didn’t your mama teach you better?”

  She seems to want attention, so I give it to her. I turn to face her, staring openly as I say, “As a matter of fact, my mother died the day I was born. So, no.” Her eyes widen, her cheeks flush, and she walks away. Clearly, my full attention isn’t the gift she thinks it is.

  Orion doesn’t seem to register the tension between myself and his future girlfriend. “So what are you doing in Mobile, Eden Dowler? Most people don’t wind up here on vacation. Is it a work thing?”

  “Yes,” I answer without inflection. “It’s a work thing.”

  “Where are you from originally?” he asks.

  “Hell.”

  He throws his head back and laughs. I know he’s not as drunk as me, so this must be his genuine personality. “Well, Mobile’s a decent city—with a few nuts—but you’ll enjoy yourself.” His voice is warm. It gives me peace and mental stillness. I hate that. I think I hate him.

  I grab my freshly filled glass and swallow all of it. “Woo! Well, I’m the Grim Reaper come for your soul, golden boy. Better run while you can.”

  Phoebe returns and takes my glass. “You’re clearly drunk,” she says. “I’m going to have to cut you off.”

  My posture stiffens. She’s just uttered the unforgivable words. She seems to think it’s funny, but I disagree. “I can’t win with you, can I?”

  “Nope, but I’ll make a deal with you.”

  I lean in closer. “What’s the deal?”

  “A truce.” She holds out a bottle and waggles it in my face. “If you go sit at a table and leave us alone, you can have the rest of this bottle.”

  Orion chuckles and sips his wine. “You’re so mean, Phoebs.”

  I snatch the bottle from her and move to a booth at the back of the bar. I can still see both of them, but I can’t hear them anymore, which is a mercy. Phoebe’s casual cruelty is one thing, but Orion’s kindness is something I can’t tolerate. Every time he gives me the benefit of the doubt, I want to strangle him a little more. To be this trusting, his life must have been so easy. I knew his family had money. What I didn’t know was they also had endless supplies of love and support. Dear god, they probably had family game nights.

  I pull out the photo of my father and stare at it. I can’t picture this man—this secretive, danger-addicted nomad—sitting down to play a board game with his family. Orion and his mother must have been important enough for him to retire from the House of David. My mother and I were not. I rest my head in my palm for a moment and resist the urge to tear up the photo in a rage. Phoebe’s right. I’m too drunk to think straight. I leave four hundred dollars on the table and get up to leave.

  “Later, weirdo!” Phoebe calls from the bar.

  “Hope to see you around,” Orion says sincerely.

  I keep my focus on the exit so I don’t miss it and run into the doorframe. The night sky is black and glittering. There’s not a cloud in sight, only stars and a waxing moon. I breathe deep and appreciate the distinctive smell of the gulf as my shoulders starts to relax and my world begins to make sense again. Forget my brother. The Chains of Peter are why I’m really here, and nothing could remind me of that more reliably than the blow to the head I receive just a few paces from the bar.

  Ah, yes. Here’s my life again. Here’s the song I recognize. One more sharp crack to my skull, and I’m kissing the ground.

  A raspy voice behind me says, “You’re here for the chains, aren’t you?”

  I touch my head and find blood on the tips of my fingers. “Who the hell wants to know?”

  The mysterious stranger kicks me in the chest before I can turn to get a look at him. “Whiteface doesn’t like people who get in Seditio’s way.”

  Well, that answers the question of who I’m dealing with and what he probably looks like. Members of Seditio always travel in pairs, and they always wear their stupid, designer masks like the childish terrorists they are. Their organization is the antithesis of the House of David. They want all artifacts scattered to the wind, all death cults alive and well, and all extremists doing what they do best.

  I clamber to my feet and turn to face my enemy. Wild eyes stare back at me from behind a red fox mask. The pitted skin of the man’s neck stands starkly against the smooth lines of his blue suit. Next to him, a man with gray hair in an African lion mask grips a length of steel pipe. I’d bet my last dollar they think they look badass. It’s sad, really. I can’t help but laugh.

  “What’s fucking funny?” says the man with wild eyes.

  “Nothing. Just your pretty masks.”

  He glowers at me, and his comrade hands him the steel pipe. “I can give you a prettier mask than mine, boy.”

  He hits me in the head again. No doubt I already have a concussion. This is just overkill. Before I can get back to my feet, he grabs me by the hair and smashes my face into the curb. Blood drips over the sidewalk. People pass by, but the man with the lion mask keeps saying, “Move along, unless you want the same fucking beating,” in a noticeably Appalachian accent.

  Then I hear another voice. “What the hell are you doing? Get off of him!” I can hardly open my eyes, but I already know that voice. Orion. The racket must have drawn him out here.

  “What the hell is y’all’s deal?” And Phoebe too. Jesus.

  “Get away,” I say to them, my voice barely a gurgle in my throat. “Run.”

  Orion doesn’t budge. “But you need help.”

  Phoebe covers her mouth and scrunches up her nose like she’s seeing a rotting deer on the side of the road.

  “I’ve got this!” I bark at them, pushing myself to my feet. This needs to end quickly, but I can’t finish it here. I begin to back away from my attackers. They follow, no doubt assuming this is my retreat. They couldn’t be more wrong. To demonstrate, I crook my finger and beckon them with a whistle. I call them like dogs, and I’ll be damned if they don’t fall right into the trap. I already feel my face stitching itself back together. The Finger of God is doing its job well.

  I lure my attackers into an alley. They think they’ve cornered me. The man with wild eyes pulls out a silver nine-millimeter and points it at me. “Sleep!” he shouts. He pulls his trigger, and the bullet hits. Hot lead pierces my body. It feels like I’ve been punched in the chest, and I fall to the ground. “Hope you’re still laughing in hell,” my killer says.

  Slowly, I push myself to my feet, and I steady myself against the side of a building with one hand and reach behind my back with the other. The only weapon I have on me is far less practical than a gun, but it’s sentimental. I carry it in a custom holster against my back. It’s an ancient war scythe made of real Damascus steel, the kind they’ve never been able to replicate. The only original part of the weapon is the blade, which came with the name True Winter and was rumored to have been wielded by Archangel Gabriel. The current handle was crafted using advanced technology, so it’s collapsible without sacrificing strength.

  None of this matters to the man in front of me, whose eyes widen when he sees my weapon. “Shit,” he mutters, fumbling with his gun. He points the shaking barrel at me and fires four more times. I have to give him credit for being a good shot at least. But the sliver of the Finger of God under my skin has been activated, and once it’s already working, I’m practically impervious. It still hurts to be shot, sure, but normal bullets won’t stop me.

  I extend the handle of my scythe and advance on the man as he continues to fire his weapon. In the distance, I hear his partner mutter, “They didn’t say it would be him.” I wonder which Judge they were told they’d be up against. The poor goons were lied to. I laugh at that, and the man who shot me stumbles back.

  “Can’t you smell them?” I ask. “The flowers. I’m almost certain they’re gardenias.”

  “There are no fucking plants here, you psycho. Just fucking die!” He swings the steel pipe again. I catch it two inches from my skull. Sweat starts to bead on his forehead.

  “You can’t kill me,” I assure him. “I’m already Death.”

  He tries to back away again, breathing heavily and clutching the pipe. “Fuck! You… you… you—”

  “Yes, they’re definitely gardenias. You see them now, don’t you? Tell me you see them now.” I spin him until his back is to me. Then I kick him to the ground. “It would be a shame to let them go to waste, don’t you think?” He’s face down on the pavement. His comrade stands frozen. I step over his body and slip my blade under his neck. “Hold still now.”

  He doesn’t hold still, which is a shame. My blade slices his throat but not at the right angle. He would have bled out quickly if he’d just listened. Now he’s holding his own neck as blood pours through his fingers onto the street. I turn him over and weigh him down—one foot on his chest and the other on his face. I slip my scythe beneath his neck again and stare down at him. True Winter’s blade is exceptionally sharp, and one good pull is enough to sever his spinal cord. I throw my weight into it until his head is rolling free.

  Now he’s just a trampled flower on the pavement. I cock my head at him and look up to see not one but three faces staring back at me. Fantastic. My idiot brother and his future girlfriend peek around the corner of the building, eyes like saucers, mouths hanging open. Normally, I’d dispatch the second man as quickly as the first, but… I shake my head and address the fool in the lion mask. “Take this back to Whiteface.” I kick the body at my feet. “All of it. Tell him it’s a gift, an apology for getting in Seditio’s way. Tell him my presence here can’t be helped, unfortunately. He’s welcome to complain again if it makes him feel better, and I’ll be happy to apologize a second time.”

  The man in the lion mask lifts his companion’s body with shaking hands. He frequently looks up to make sure I’m not aiming my weapon at him, as though I would need to trick him to kill him. I watch him struggle with the head.

  “I find wrapping it in a jacket makes things easier,” I say. “Use his. He doesn’t need it anymore.” I step past them but turn back one more time. “Oh, and tell Whiteface to put it in water right away, otherwise it’ll start to wilt.”

  I collapse my weapon and start down the street toward my car. It doesn’t take long for me to notice I’m being followed. For some unholy reason, Orion and Phoebe are behind me, jogging to keep up. Orion has his phone out. “I’m calling an ambulance,” he says.

  I whirl around and bat the phone out of his hands. “No, you aren’t. Did you miss it? His head’s off. Not much an ambulance can do now.”

  Orion sighs down at his broken phone. “Not for him, for you. You were shot, remember?”

  It takes me a second to register what he’s said. “You just watched me decapitate a man in an alley. Why would you care what happens to me?”

  He just blinks at me and speaks more slowly. “You… were… shot.”

  I can’t believe him. “That wasn’t an accident.” I point back at the alley and speak to him like he’s a child. “I didn’t have to take his head off. I did that on purpose. Got it? On. Purpose. I could kill you next if you’re not careful. Why don’t you just go back to your perfect life and forget about all this? If I die, I die.”

  Orion shakes his head and turns to Phoebe. “Do you have a phone?”

  On cue, mine starts buzzing in my pocket. I answer, holding up one finger to quiet my new groupies. A familiar voice says, “Eden. I’ve received firm confirmation the Chains of Peter are in Mobile.”

  “Good, but where are they hiding?” I’ve all but forgotten my audience and resume walking to my car. “I’m on my way back to the Gate. Alert Cain that Seditio is here.”

  “No, we need you to find the artifact ASAP. If Seditio is there, they’ll be looking for it too. We’re running out of time. I’ll send potential leads.”

  The call ends, and I pocket my phone. Orion is walking beside me with Phoebe on her phone a short distance behind. “Who’s Seditio?” he says.

  “Doesn’t concern you.” I continue down Dauphin Street, past the cathedral, to where my rented black Mustang waits. I unlock it, get in, and turn the key. The engine revs to life, but Orion has his hand on the door. He really needs to stay out of this.

  The crease between his eyebrows deepens. “You were shot like five times. I saw it with my own eyes. I don’t understand how you’re still walking around. Who are you? Why don’t you want to go to the hospital?”

  I decide to give him a sample of truth to get him off my back. “First of all, it’s none of your damn business. Curiosity killed the college kid, you know.”

  “That’s not how the saying—”

  “Second, I do this for a living. As a professional, I have the right equipment to deal with gunshots. And third, what the hell is wrong with you? I just killed a guy in front of you, and you’re still perfectly comfortable waltzing up to my car and questioning me. You might have some serious issues. I suggest you get help.”