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And then the walls of the feasting hall finally collapsed. An explosion of wood and sawdust, and then a clamor of voices erupted from the world outside. The ripple in the air, the tingle of magic — a dimensional shift?

We were back in the warehouse, surrounded by a dozen Occultech agents. Glass smashed as more of them came swinging in through windows high up in the warehouse, rappelling in with magic ropes connected to nothing.

Dozens of magical projectiles in every color of the visible spectrum exploded from all around us, each speeding in a deadly shriek toward the Goddess of the Valley. Teeth bared in fury, she spun and vanished in a column of crimson smoke. I averted my eyes as the spells smashed together with an unearthly bang.

As one, the Occultech field agents swarmed the still-prone Loki. He breathed heavily as he pushed himself up on his knees, severely weakened, but still strong enough to scan the room with hate-filled eyes.

No matter how much Paralumen took, he was still a god. He surely had enough power left to defend himself — or to fold every field agent in the room like a greeting card. I clenched my teeth, fearing the worst.

Instead he disappeared in a spout of greenish flame.

I ran my fingers through my hair, nails raking across my scalp. Morrow clenched his fist. We’d fucked up the operation. All we had left was a warehouse full of worthless trinkets.

And both the gods were gone.

CHAPTER 21

Streams of cool water trickled from the waterfall in Director Sakamoto’s office. She paced back and forth behind her desk, arms crossed, eyes fixed on our faces.

“Well, gentlemen? I supposed I owe you an apology.”

Morrow flinched. My ears perked up. I sat up as straight as I could in my slippery plexiglass chair from hell. An apology, from Director Sakamoto?

“Is what I would say,” she continued, “if I didn’t already know that this was the fault of the field agents’ office at large.”

I deflated again. That was way too good to be true.

It was the day after our infiltration of the warehouse — the afternoon after, in fact — but Morrow and I were still exhausted.

We’d slipped out amid the chaos of so many Occultech field agents swarming the warehouse. The feathers lingering in the air meant that Angelica had very judiciously teleported herself, Houston, and Xtra Xtra somewhere far away.

Morrow cleared his throat. “Respectfully, Director, it sounds like surveillance still did the best they could. And the field agents — I’m sure they tried.”

Sakamoto scoffed. “All personnel converged on the Happy Links warehouse as instructed, but no one anticipated a dimensional shift. Trickster gods and their antics, honestly.”

“Kind of a sick trap,” I said. “Literally. I’m honestly shocked that the shift didn’t make me sick on the spot. Still, I can’t help thinking that it could have gone so much worse.”

“Worse, indeed. Your backup arrived only moments too late, but they wasted too much time assessing what appeared to be an empty warehouse. That it took so long for the field agents to identify the barrier and breach it suggests that the department is in need of — supplementary training. Yes. That’s what we’ll call it.”

At least we knew that Sakamoto cared enough to send backup at all. Too little, too late, but it’s the thought that counts, or something like that.

“So the charms,” Morrow said. “I’m hoping at the very least this means that we’ve cut off the local supply to Happy Links.”

“Our agents scoured the warehouse and attempted to confiscate their entire stock. In a happy turn of events, perhaps because both of the gods fled, all of the charms disintegrated. Simply metallic dust now. The same has been observed of charms that are already in circulation. That were in circulation, that is. Loyal Happy Links fans finding piles of dust on their dressers, smears of glitter on their wrists, around their necks — oh, to see the look of defeat on Loki’s face.”

She settled into her chair, wearing the smile of a jungle cat. I’d never seen Sakamoto look so satisfied.

“The brand is ruined. This catastrophic failure has left a permanent mark on Happy, Inc.’s reputation. The next step is to chase the corpo out of Nomicon Valley entirely. But that is a problem for a different day.”

These were the consequences of playing with the curtain separating the magical from the mundane, or in this case, of flagrantly violating the Accord. Some part of me believed that Sakamoto wouldn’t have judged us too hard for working with SeraphiCorp. Oh, she’d yell at us for the better part of an hour, but the enemy of my enemy — you get the gist.

By the time Sakamoto had finished with our debriefing, it was time for people with real jobs to clock out. Down in the lobby, Morrow nudged his head toward the street.

“Beer o’clock?” he asked.

I rolled my eyes.

“Beer o’clock, really? You’ve never worked a nine-to-five in your life. Come on, you huge dork.”