The darklings followed him up a shallow flight of steps, past a stylized dragon, and under a set of paper lanterns that swung fitfully in the wind. He opened the door, and they boiled through after him.
The hostess recoiled, eyes wide. For a moment, Corvus thought she was one of the rare humans who saw the darklings clearly. But her gaze fixed on his face, and he realized his own hungry expression caused her unease.
He smoothed his features, as much as possible. “Good evening. I believe my friends are already here.”
She didn’t answer, just bowed as he passed. He made his way to a booth near the back where two men waited.
One, clutching a bottle of sake, stared across a huge platter of sushi at the man opposite him. “Geoff, how can you gorge like that?”
“I eat when I’m hungry. You should try it.”
“You’re always hungry these days.”
“So I am, Matty, m’ boy. So I am. You going to drink all that yourself?”
Corvus, noting the blotched aura flaking off Geoffrey, wasn’t surprised at the man’s gluttony. Shedding his soul like gangrenous skin, he probably felt empty all the time. The drug dealer on the corner had more substance than this one.
“Gentlemen.” He pulled up an extra chair at the end of the booth. “I’m late. Forgive me.”
Geoffrey waved his chopsticks, scattering blistered flecks of his soul. The darklings swarmed close. But rather than attacking, they flinched back in a smoky wave.
“Thank you for coming.” Matthew sat stiffly, knuckles white around the sake bottle. “I know it’s late.”
The darklings milled around Geoffrey—crawling under the table, climbing the back of the booth, clinging to the red globe lantern hanging over them. The chorus of their aggrieved hissing raised a chill draft that set the votive candle dancing.
Matthew let go of the sake to wrap his arms around himself. “I called you both here to tell you first.” He took a breath. “There’s a board meeting tomorrow, and I’m going to recommend pulling the plug on Solacin.”
Geoffrey dropped his chopsticks, sputtering. A gob-bet of his soul spewed from his mouth as he cleared his throat. The darkling on the lamp lunged for the morsel . . . then dropped it with a psychic shriek that spi derwebbed the candleholder with fine cracks. It fled, its shady brethren close behind.
Corvus raised his eyebrows. “And why would you abandon such a wonderfully effective discovery as Solacin?”
“When it’s going to make us all a shitload of money,” Geoffrey growled.
Matthew glared across the table. “You must’ve heard. The cops and public health are screaming about this new addiction. They’re calling it solvo.” He sloshed sake into his thin-walled cup. “Solvo? Solacin? Get it? It’s ours. Somehow, it’s on the street.” He tossed back the drink, then looked at them, inviting them to share his horror.
They stared back at him. After a moment, Geoffrey returned to his sushi.
Matthew lowered his cup, wide eyes glistening. “You already know,” he whispered. “Did you know it’s killing people? They say it feels great, makes all the pain go away, just like we hoped. But then they say you stop feeling anything; you go numb. They say you turn into a fucking zombie.”
“Zombie? Oh please,” Geoffrey said testily. “Not at therapeutic dosage levels. At least, not in the same numbers they’re getting among recreational users.”
“Not the same . . . You’re saying you’ve had fatalities in the clinical trials?”
Geoffrey shrugged. “Nothing we can’t pass off. And not fatalities. Not exactly.”
Matthew reeled. “Our psychiatric pharmaceuticals are supposed to help people!”
“We are helping.” Corvus put his hand on Matthew’s clenched fist. His ring glinted in the crazed light from the broken votive holder. “Sometimes you have to hurt to help. And not everyone can be helped. Sometimes it’s better to let those people—”
“No.” Matthew pulled away. “When you brought us the Solacin formula and helped Geoff find a way to manufacture it in bulk, you didn’t mention all these caveats and fine print.”
“Don’t be an idiot,” Geoffrey said. “We make drugs. Of course there’s fine print. Anyway, life comes with even finer print. Why do you want to bother people with the gory details?”
Corvus slanted him a curious glance. “Were the details starting to bother you, Geoffrey? Is that why you’re taking Solacin?”
Geoffrey startled. “I’m fine. You can see I’m not a zombie.”
Considering how the darklings had fled from the moldering wreckage of his leaking soul . . . Corvus pursed his lips. The Worm hadn’t mentioned this side effect of the chemical desolator numinis—leaving the soul tainted beyond even the ferocious hunger of the darklings. Geoffrey’s shriveled and sour soul had been no feast before, but the stone in the ring would’ve left it intact. Not that the disposal of the souls mattered. Corvus needed only the leftover bodies, emptied of their resolve and troublesome morality, pliant to any suggestion that promised to fill the aching void within them.
Matthew smacked his palm on the table. “This is completely unethical. You’re probably sneaking Solacin out the back door and pushing it on the corner as solvo yourself.”
“No,” Geoffrey said. “But he is.” He smirked at Corvus, payback for the revelation of his addiction.
Corvus sighed. He’d regretted the need to bring in outsiders for mass production. He preferred the personal touch, his ringed hand hovering in benediction over a suffering soul. No true priest, as the corner drug dealer had named him, guaranteed such effortless salvation as a tablet on the tongue.
But he’d needed more followers emptied of their souls than he alone could convert. Only that accumulated weight of impious blanks would complete the destruction of the Veil.
“Jesus,” Matthew moaned. “You’re both insane. Solacin was supposed to release thousands imprisoned by depression, PTSD, phobias—”
“You gonna read the ads back to me?” Geoffrey snarled.
“Do not fret, dear Matthew,” Corvus said.“The weight of their souls will be lifted, that at least is true. And with their sacrifice, we all will be freed from our chains.”
Matthew stood. “The board will hear about this. It ends, now.” He strode away, his righteous wrath a shining shield around him.
Geoffrey reached for the abandoned sake bottle. “Well, that’s that.”
Corvus grimaced. The problem with zombies, of course, was that for all their many useful qualities, they lacked initiative. But Geoffrey had already served his purpose. Matthew, however, could still be a problem.
“It will be over soon, but not yet.” Corvus pushed to his feet. “I’ll talk to him.”
“Just talk, hmm? That’s why you’re cracking your knuckles?” Geoffrey laughed. A bit more of his soul flaked away.
Corvus let his hands fall to his sides. The ring still burned coldly on his finger. “There is much poor Matthew does not want to understand.”
But he would, since unfortunately for Matthew, the shield of his righteous wrath was only a metaphor.
Archer waited in the cold light of the hotel door, contemplating his shadow cast onto the sidewalk before him.
Sera hunched her shoulders when she saw him but came on steadily to stand on his shadow. From the glint in her eyes, he thought probably she wanted to put her foot through his corporeal self.
He didn’t move. “I don’t want to hunt you down.”
“Then don’t. You’re good at letting go.”
“We said we’d meet.” He kept his voice neutral, though the effort revived some of the warmth he’d been missing.