I love it.
And that scares me more than death itself.
STANDBY
Brontë
Iyawn for the tenth time in as many minutes as Emi fills the coffee bar at Beelzebub’s with a tray of fresh croissants and three mugs breathing tendrils of steam in the low candlelight. She has yet to explain why we were called out of bed in the middle of the night to meet her here.
It doesn’t take many brain cells to guess, though. She’s been working on tracing the source of Leviathan’s numbers in Scull’s phone for weeks without updates.
Seated on the other side of a half-asleep Poppy sipping her coffee, Dantë watches Emi with narrowed eyes. “Buttering us up for the blow won’t make it land any lighter, Remiel.”
“You don’t have to keep using my full name.”
“I like it. It’s the name of an angel.” His mouth twitches when a rosy blush blooms over her dark cheeks. “Give it to us straight.S’il te plaît.”
“All right. I have good news and bad news. Which first?”
“No need to get our hopes up just to piss on them.”
Emi blows out a breath and plucks Hades from the floor. “I’ve hit a wall with the numbers. They’re all dummies stemming from a single source, which is cloaked behind military-grade encryptions I can’t get past without revealing myself as the unwelcome guest banging on their back door.”
I grunt. “Guess Scull wasn’t lying about that part.”
“Guess not,” Poppy agrees around a bite of croissant, sitting straighter. “What’s the good news?”
“The dummies are all two-way streets. If you call or text any of them, they’ll go to the same place.”
I rub a growing ache in my temple. “Which leads us back to nowhere.”
“Not necessarily.” Emi draws Scull’s cell from her hoodie pocket and offers it to Poppy. “You have a direct line to whoever is on the other side of that wall. Might as well give it a ring.”
Dantë hovers his hand over hers before Poppy can take the phone. “You don’t think Leviathan is suspicious of Scull’s disappearance?”
“They’d be fools if they weren’t.”
“Leviathan is anything but,” Poppy remarks, swatting Dantë’s wrist and snatching the device. “Let’s not keep them waiting.”
None of us attempt to stop her. This is the only path we have left to walk.
My palm finds her bouncing thigh as the phone rings and rings and—
Someone picks up. They don’t say a word.
But we can hear them breathing.
Grim frowns ping-pong between us before Poppy swigs her coffee like it’s liquor and clears her throat. “This is Poppy Morgenstern. It’s come to my attention that you’re pissed at me for killing Sebastian Bonaparte, a Leviathan legacy. Need I remind you that my ancestor, Octavia Morgenstern, was an original member. As a legacy, I demand the right to be heard. That sick fuck deserved the undignified death I delivered, and I’d spend the rest of my life on a time loop just to do it again and again if it meant keeping the innocents of this city safe.If that’s such a crime, you take it out on me. Not my friends, not my family.Me.”
I squeeze her knee as she drags her jacket sleeve over her damp lashes. She tosses me a grateful smile, threading her fingers through mine and holding them tight as we wait.
There’s a metallic click on the other end. It’s a familiar sound, like a lighter flicking open. Then a strangely demonic voice growls, “Standby for further instruction, Poppy Morgenstern.”
The line goes dead.
“Judas Priest.” Emi grimaces, clutching Hades to her chest. “Was that the fucking devil?”
Dantë shakes his head. “Voice modifier. Could’ve been anyone, man or woman.”
