“If heaven and hell are at war, what’s to happen to the human world?”
“It’s difficult to say. This is but one of many realms, one of many potential battlefields. And this war has little to do with humankind, so as yet they remain untargeted. But of course, no realm is safe, and none of them will remain untouched. Already, many demons of the lower orders have taken the declaration of war as tacit permission to act on their more base desires without fear of reproach from their superiors. Surely you’ve heard the reports of mass rape and roving death squads out of central Africa, where resource-scarcity, ethnic divides, and political uncertainty leave some among the local populace ripe for plucking, and all too eager to succumb to demonic influence. Greed and envy have reached the boiling point throughout the whole of the Western world, where corporations who recognize no borders seem intent on choking the life from the very people they used to rely upon as customers. False prophets abound in the Middle East, preaching doctrines of violent intolerance. And all the while the gluttonous masses try to pack the gaping wound of their aching souls with yet more useless shit because they too can sense the shift — some paying heed to the hateful whispers of those demons who reside in dreams when that fails, and taking up arms against their fellow sufferers. In the absence of the constant ministrations of the Maker’s many servants, your world has been abandoned to the base corruption that lies beneath. It’s a veritable feast of sin — perpetrated not as part of any grand design, but instead by lone operators for sport — and it threatens to consume your kind just as surely as any overt offensive.”
“So what are you and I supposed to do? Business as usual? Hunker down and wait it out?”
Lilith smiled, but there was no mirth in it. She looked sad. Tired. Broken. In spite of all we’d been through — or perhaps because of it — I actually felt bad for her. “I wish I could tell you it was either, because the truth is, your current assignment is far from usual, and farther still from safe. I understand you had some fun in London since last we spoke.”
I misread, got defensive. “Lily, listen, what happened in London wasn’t my fault. That crazy motherfucker came looking for me. I swear to God, I had no intention of killing him, let alone the faintest inkling I even could.”
Lilith raised her hands, a placating gesture. “Relax, Collector. You’re welcome to swear upon your Maker all you like, but no one’s accusing you of any wrongdoing, and anyway, in my experience, it’s far more satisfying to swear at Him than upon Him. I only bring up your recent unpleasantness because it has a direct bearing on today’s business. I trust you know who and what your victim was?”
“He went by the name of Magnusson,” I replied, though thinking back, I couldn’t help but fixate on Gareth the Welshman’s thrashing, bloated corpse and wonder if I’d left one victim in my wake that day or two. I took another glug of rum and wiped the excess from my lips with the back of one sand-gritted hand. My guilt receded, but only a bit. “And I hear tell he was Brethren.”
“Magnusson is but one of many names he has assumed throughout the millennia,” she replied. “But yes, he was Brethren. And until yesterday, we were unaware his kind could be killed at all, let alone by the lowly likes of you. That, and the Truce by which we until recently abided, were all that prevented the Nine from being hunted down and slaughtered. Their very existence flies in the face of the natural order, and represents a slight to the Maker and the Adversary both. Have you any notion how you did it?”
I thought it over a sec. “Wasn’t me. He had a skim blade lying around. In the scuffle, I managed to get my hands on it and put it through his chest. My guess is, whatever wacky demon mojo those things carry did him in.”
But Lilith shook her head. “You guess wrong. That skim blade was, in fact, no such thing. It was a replica; sharp, beautiful, and expertly forged, but by human hands. The original upon which it was based was rendered so much slag by the ritual that freed the Nine. What’s left of it was chiseled free from the stone altar onto which it fused, and interred alongside the Ark of the Covenant at… Ah, but that’s a story for another time. The point is, the blade you wielded was not the instrument of Magnusson’s demise — you were.”
“But the blade… it, I don’t know, hummed or something.”
“So I understand. The working theory is that what you experienced is simple conductance, nothing more.”
My eyes narrowed. Suspicious. “What do you mean, So I understand? How could you, when you weren’t even there?”
“Whatever protection spell Magnusson had erected around his lair collapsed when you… when he expired. Since then, our chronomancers have had their run of the place, casting their minds’ eyes backward to generate as complete an account of the scene as they can manage. As you well know, their discipline is inexact at best. They truck mostly in impressions, sensations, and static images, but in this case, you and Magnusson, and his manservant in particular, threw off enough trauma-echoes to afford them a fairly detailed picture. That’s why you’re being lauded rather than strung up, by the way. And it’s what makes you so valuable now. You’ve accomplished what few can. What even fewer still would dare, particularly now.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Great Truce may have rendered the Brethren off-limits, but that doesn’t mean we’ve been ignoring them entirely. We’ve kept tabs on them throughout history, to ensure they do not exert undue influence on the course of human events, or through their actions pose a material threat to hell’s dominion. Over the course of our surveillance, a number of them have… reverted, shall we say, to scarcely more than feral beasts, and as such, we’ve left them to wander as their instincts and hunger led them. But others have grown stronger as they’ve weathered the storm of ages, amassing fortunes, building empires, befriending the great movers of the world, abetting some of humankind’s greatest atrocities. They, we’ve kept a close eye on indeed.”
“Like Magnusson.”
Lilith nodded. “Magnusson is one of four kept under watchful eye,” she said. “Though you needn’t concern yourselves with the others — yet.”
My stomach dropped. I was beginning to see where this was going. “Yet?”
“Last night,” she said, “once word of your little adventure in London Town spread throughout the Depths, the powers decided — after no small amount of debating, I’m assured — that Magnusson’s move against you constituted a significant enough breach of the terms of the Truce, and his death a significant enough demonstration of vulnerability, that the remainder of the Brethren were to be eliminated.”
“And?”
“And apparently Magnusson’s not the only member of his kind to have taken precautions. The other three members of the Brethren whose whereabouts were known were moved on twelve hours ago by a small cadre of foot-soldiers. None survived.”
“That’s good, right? That means we got ’em.”
“You misunderstand, Collector. None of the foot-soldiers survived. There were forty-two in total, all lost.”
I puffed my cheeks, and blew out slow. Wished I had a goddamn cigarette. A year and change back, I killed two demons half by accident, and it earned me one hell of a rep in the Depths. The Brethren took out forty-two. “How many of the Brethren were killed?”
“None, and not for lack of trying. Seems your blade-through-the-heart routine only works if you’re, well, you.”
“Come again?”
Lilith flushed then, closer to flustered than I’d ever seen her. “Not you specifically, you understand, your kind. Collectors. You see, whatever the Brethren are now, they’re human at their core, and their souls — such as they are — will only present themselves to one with the ability to collect them.”