“That’s not what I mean. I’m not tied to anything specifically—no god. No ravens.”
I wouldn’t mind being tied to her, said Horatio.
“Perhaps. But you were conceived as part of a sacrifice to a Celtic death goddess,” he reminded her.
Her face showed that wasn’t something she liked having brought up. “I broke free of her.”
“You’re still one of the elect, whether you want to be or not. And gods are interested in you.” He hesitated a moment. “That was the other thing El Diable said. Inveni tuum deum. ‘Find your god.’”
“I don’t want a god,” she said, in an uncharacteristic moment of petulance. “I don’t want to be one of the elect.”
The elect. Those humans marked as special who had the potential to be strong servants for the gods that were scrambling to regain power and footing in the world. Justin hadn’t wanted to be one either, but there was no point in crying over what had already happened. The only thing to do was move forward and find a way to survive. He knew Mae well enough to understand she realized this too. She was pragmatic. She was used to being proactive. The problem was, theirs was a situation that didn’t lend itself well to decisive options.
As the night wore on, they settled in for what was a typical routine for them: both reading, him in bed and her at rigid attention in a chair. Praetorians never slept, thanks to their implants, and she’d spend the night ever-watchful. Justin didn’t sleep simply because his mind had trouble spinning down, so he popped one of his favorite sedatives and made himself comfortable reading reports on the upcoming cases Internal Security’s sub-department—Sect and Cult Investigation, or SCI—had dredged up for him. The day’s heat had settled down but still required the window left open, which now welcomed mosquitos instead of flies. This, at least, was something they could combat, having preemptively brought small repellant devices from the RUNA that did an effective job of keeping the mosquitos out.
Justin read his caseload with bleary eyes, occasionally daring glances at Mae. Although the tension in her body promised readiness for any threat, her focus was on her ego as she read what Justin suspected was a novel. The heat and sweat had made escaping tendrils of her blond hair curl up along her cheek and neck. His fingers itched with the need to brush them back from her face and touch that flawless skin . . . then he remembered that any further romantic dealings with her would inextricably bind him to Odin forever. It was kind of a buzzkill.
“Goddamn!” he exclaimed, sitting upright. Mae nearly jumped three feet in the air at his outburst. He’d seen something move out of the corner of his eye and at first wrote it off as one of the daring moths that would occasionally fly in. But no, the ugly little beast crawling in underneath their door was a large, black beetle. A very large black beetle. Wordlessly, he pointed.
Mae, gun drawn and aimed, scoffed. “That?” she demanded.
“Hey, that’s a big ass bug,” he said, feeling slightly sheepish. “Surprised me, that’s all.”
“Well, rest easy, your lordship. I’ll take care of it.” She strode over and smashed the beetle with a booted foot. When she removed it, they were treated with the sight of a mushy black mess . . . which then suddenly reassembled itself and continued crawling forward. Mae’s smugness faded. “What the hell?”
Before she could do anything else, the beetle suddenly spit a small dab of green ooze onto the wooden floor—ooze that briefly smoked, seeped into the wood, and left a scorch mark behind. Mae quickly stepped on the bug again, only to have the resurrection repeated.
“Mae, look!”
Two more beetles were coming in under the door. Then three. Mae, in what would have been comical were the situation not so freakish, rapidly kept stepping on them over and over, with no effect. They continued to advance, spitting the acidic goo. When two more came in, Justin donned his shoes and joined her.
“What are they?” she demanded, going so far as to grind one into the floor with her toe. It was as ineffectual as everything else. “Do you seriously think I know?”
“You’re the expert in all things that aren’t from this world!”
“Well, then, you know as much as I do. They aren’t from this world. Shit!”
There were about a dozen in the room now, with more coming. In the onslaught, some of the ooze got on Justin’s shoes. Although the slime didn’t penetrate to the foot, the leather definitely took damage. A sickening image of the beetles crawling up his body seized him. He and Mae, now having difficulty keeping up with the bugs, backed up and both jumped on the bed. Like a dutiful army, the little black soldiers began marching up the post.
Your wisdom would be appreciated now, Justin informed the ravens.
Use the knife, said Horatio.
What knife?
The only one you guys have.
Justin glanced around as he helped Mae kick off members of the black tide. “Knife,” he said aloud. “What knife?”
“My knife?” she asked.
His eyes lit on her boot, where he could barely make out a gleam of metal from within. “Yes! Use the knife on them.”
She frowned but didn’t argue as she withdrew it from its hidden sheath. The knife was as much art as it was weapon, a beautiful piece of craftsmanship whose handle was wrapped in amber. Mae traded it for the gun in her right hand and, after a brief assessment, jumped off the bed. Since the beetles were swarming it now, there was a fair expanse of open floor available. Justin wasn’t thrilled at being on lone duty but continued trying to play keep away, even managing to expel a fair number of them by lifting and shaking the covers. He didn’t have to defend long, though, because the bugs soon turned in the opposite direction and advanced on Mae.
She’s the one they’re here for, he realized.
Well-spotted, responded Horatio dryly.
But Mae was ready, plunging the knife down with the remarkable speed and accuracy born of her implant, excessive training, and natural talent. The dagger’s blade struck a beetle right in the middle of its carapace. The small creature shattered into black fragments . . . which stayed where they were. Driven by her success, Mae went after the others, her blade making contact each time it struck. No misses. Keeping ahead of them was difficult, and Justin leapt off to help her, kicking them back as best as he could so that she had a chance to take out new targets. He lost track of time as they played their game of keep- away until, at last, they both paused and saw that nothing else was moving. Mae still held her knife poised, eyes sweeping the room for several more seconds until she finally returned the knife to its boot.
Justin kicked at piles of black debris covering the floor. “You don’t think they’d give us a broom, do you?”
She shook her head in exasperation. “Around here, that might be—look!”
Mae pointed toward the door, and Justin was just in time to catch a blur of black movement disappearing underneath. With that remarkable speed, Mae sprinted over and flung the door open to the hall. Justin joined her and watched as one lone beetle made its retreat from them. The knife was in Mae’s hand again, but he caught hold of her arm before she could act.
“Wait,” he said. “Don’t you want to know where it’s going?”
Their eyes met as the suggestion hung in the air. They were few and far between, but in moments like these, there was no animosity. A fierce solidarity burned between them, one that united them in single purpose and understanding. No matter what other drama existed around them, Mae was the only person who really “got” what was going on, and ultimately, that meant far more to Justin than the inconvenience of enduring all the slings and arrows of working together.