Chapter 3

"That's what the Night Witch is supposed to do, though," I protested. "Handle the trouble Justice doesn't get to or can't address." Even as I gave this brief outline of Sariah's job, I recognized the pitfalls. How well did I know my other half? How well would I ever know her?

The front door slammed again, and Sariah-as-Maria reentered the restaurant, her chin tilted up a little higher, her shoulders a bit more squared as she went about her waitressing duties. I shot a glance at Kreios, and he nodded.

"Call her by her alias. It will help keep her focused," he said. "The other patrons are leaving, you notice?"

I took another drink of beer and watched the gradual exodus of diners from the pizzeria. Within a few minutes, only a few knots of people remained, and they looked like they weren't going anywhere.

Sariah sauntered up to us. "Are you here for the party?" she asked brightly, and I glanced to Kreios. He nodded, and she beamed. "They're ready for you. Straight through to the back. Can I refresh your drinks?"

I held up my beer, and she gave me a winning smile, then turned away.

"Who am I in this pageant anyway?" I asked as Kreios and I stood. He continued his glamour of a rough-looking New York businessman, which was how I assumed most people here saw him. He wasn't completely out of place in the pizzeria, as his expensive suit covered the body of a thug and his still-attractive face had a hard, bitten-off look to it, with a heavy brow and a thrusting jaw.

"My bodyguard," he said. He moved ahead then, allowing me to hide a grin. I couldn't see the glamour he had adorned me with, didn't know if I was male or female, but it didn't matter. Given the hastily averted stares when I swung my gaze around the room, I looked the part well enough.

The party room of Demonico's pizza was exactly what you'd expect from a strip mall pizza joint, with wood-paneled walls, a long center table, and plastic upholstered seats arranged all around, enough for twenty people. There were only six guests in the room, however. A thick-necked man in a poorly fitting suit sat at the head of the table—undoubtedly Barry the pizzeria owner—while a few seats down, three men sat and three others stood behind them. The syndicate members and their bodyguards.

One of the men looked up and seemed to recognize Kreios, his green eyes gleaming with interest in his bluff, red-cheeked face. "George," he said. "Didn't know if you would make it."

"You should never doubt me," Kreios drawled, with such enthusiasm that I wondered what he'd done with the original George.

"I appreciate you all giving me the interview," Barry put in, striking what I thought was an appropriate balance between respectful and belligerent.

The man nearest to him on his right—stocky, well oiled, and lugubrious, his gray-tinged cheeks hanging in sorrowful folds from the corners of his deep-sunk eyes to his heavy jowls—leaned back, straining his suit and the goodwill of the chair he occupied.

"We've been watching what you're doing, Bartholomew. You've got a good operation. You know we can take you further, but what can you do for us?"

Barry leaned forward. "More than you think, Ralph," he said, pounding his stubby finger on the table.

At that moment, the door swung open and Sariah-as-Maria walked in, carrying a tray of beers. I watched her warily. I had attempted a job at Frisch's Big Boy restaurant when I'd been sixteen years old, and was quickly forced to acknowledge that I couldn't carry a tray to save my life. Not surprisingly, Sariah wasn't doing a very good job of it either. We weren't that much different from our teenage selves after all. She held the tray not with the casual assurance that Maria typically would, but white knuckled with focus as she approached the table.

Fortunately, the Devil came to her rescue, as the Devil was wont to do.

"It looks like you've struck the fear of God into your best worker," Kreios commented, standing up smoothly to take the tray from Sariah. She glared at him as Barry laughed uproariously.

"She's the only one I trust in this room, I'll tell you that plain. Maria, be a doll and get me some of that special booze I told you about. The green bottle. Maybe get yourself a drink of something else while you're at it, yeah?"

The men smiled as Sariah exited, and I got the impression that this wasn't their first visit to Barry's party room. What made this different? Why had Maria been so concerned?

Shielding my movement from the other bodyguards so they wouldn't think I was going for a weapon, I shoved my right hand into my leather jacket pocket, and felt the hard ridge of the cards beneath my fingers. So far, nothing Demonico's had thrown at me tonight had surprised me. A fight and Judgment seemed par for the course in a meeting of thugs, so what was I missing? I edged another card out of the deck and snuck a peek at it from behind Kreios's broad back.

Ugh. The Five of Swords—I hated that card. It was all about having to push forward to win a fight that wasn't going to be handed to you on a silver platter, or alternatively winning a battle you didn't necessarily want to win. But its meaning was rarely clear in the moment, only upon later reflection. Super not helpful.

Barry scraped his chair against the floor, drawing my attention as he leaned forward for emphasis. "Like I said," he grinned, stubbing his finger against the table top. "You're gonna like what I learned. Something's shifted in the underworld these past few weeks. Shit waking up is the best way I can describe it, magic that's been asleep since the dawn of time. The husks I'm pulling up? Stronger than anything I've ever seen. Definitely stronger than anything my pop or I ever baked. We've expanded operations, moved into some of the neighboring boroughs closer to the docks. I'm going to be opening my own shipping enterprise if all goes well, and that could mean an interesting opportunity for you all to do business."

"It sounds like you've been working hard," the man sitting to Barry's left said, his thin face looking permanently flushed beneath his tightly cropped gray hair. Gold flashed at his neck and wrists, and his suit looked more expensive than anyone's but Kreios's. I suspected he did not run a pizzeria back in the city. "Why haven't you told us of this before?"

"‘Cause I'm telling you now, Don," Barry said. "I had to get some things in order. I had to make sure that my position was protected."

The context of that statement wasn't lost on the group, but Barry didn't seem to care. Either he was that sure he had protected his position, or he was already well on his way to getting drunk. I looked around the room at the impassive faces of the men he'd assembled. This wasn't a group who were going to betray their opinions, but that didn't mean they didn't have them. Barry needed to watch himself.

The door opened again, and Sariah-as-Maria reentered, looking a lot more confident since she was only carrying an ancient-looking bottle and a rocks glass. I peered with interest at the bottle, but I didn't recognize it, which was surprising. I was a fan of most any kind of booze. I didn't think that Barry's taste was going to be all that impressive, but I figured it'd at least be recognizable.

The bottle, however, drew attention from more than just me.

"Barry, you're making some interesting choices," observed the third man, the snub-nosed ginger who'd first addressed Kreios—and who looked like he'd been in his share of street fights.

Barry only grinned, though the tension in the room was lost on me for a moment.

"You like that?" He nodded, settling back smugly. "I thought you might. And let me tell you, it's way sweeter than you could imagine."

"You used a husk to break into Frank's stash?" the mournful man asked Barry, then turned to eye the ginger—Frank, apparently—who was looking a little salty over his apparently pilfered bottle of booze. "That takes some sack."

"And I could even have overlooked that, except you opened the fucking bottle," Frank said, his voice deepening past menace and well into pissed. "Just who the hell do you think you are?"

Barry, however, was on a roll. "Yeah, well, good help is hard to find, you know? And one of your boys proved that he wasn't worthy of your trust. I didn't do nothing but offer the man some cash, and he slid the liquor my way. Easy as that."

Kreios was happy to play interpreter. "You found a weak link in Frank's operation."

"I did," Barry agreed. "Figured since I was doing you guys a favor by telling you about my newest venture first, least you could do was let me sample some of your wares. And, hoo boy, I gotta tell you, this is some great booze."

Barry was decidedly wobbly, but showed no sign of backing down.

"Yeah?" Frank said, his eyes narrowing with temper. "Seems like the smart thing to do would be to tell me if there was a rat in my operation. Not go stealing my shit out from under me. That bottle is over five hundred years old. It ain't supposed to be drunk."

"I'm aware of that," Barry shot back. "And you know what would've happened if I'd told you about your rat? Nothing. I would have been in exactly the same place that I was before. Maybe you would have done something about your boy, maybe not, but I wouldn't have made my point. This way, you lose a bottle of booze, sure, a nice bottle of booze, even…but I got your attention. And you, Ralph, and Don here will be paying closer attention now, yeah?"

Barry had their attention all right, but I wasn't sure that was in his favor. He gestured to Sariah, then pointed to the sideboard, where more glasses were stacked up. "Since the bottle's been opened, and oxygen has gotten in, I figure there's no point in corking this sucker. Might as well enjoy it like it was meant to be enjoyed…like all powerful things are meant to be enjoyed."

Once again, there was no mistaking Barry's brash mannerisms. For the first time, the other men in the room looked moderately interested. Stupidity, they were probably used to, but Barry's swagger spoke of something more.

Frank accepted the glass that Barry poured first and squinted at him. "You got something else you wanna tell us? Or you gonna make us wait all day?"

Barry merely smiled. He poured out generous amounts and passed it around to the other men, who took the liquor obligingly. I half expected them not to drink it. I wouldn't drink it. There was clearly something screwy going on here. But as the men pulled their glasses toward them, something shifted in their demeanors. They eyed the amber spirits with more grudging interest than they maybe wanted to, and the mournful one, Ralph, lifted the glass to take a sniff. He shivered, then studied Barry more speculatively.

"You've sampled this?" Don asked first, his pale, thin face screwed up in concentration. "How long ago?"

"Only a little earlier tonight," Barry said. "I didn't want to get too far ahead of you."

Beside him, Sariah/Maria sent Barry an interested glance and shifted up on her toes, ready for anything. She didn't go for one of her knives yet, but I could practically see her fingers twitching.

Ralph rolled the glass in his fleshy hand. "And how did you find your first taste of Byzantium pitch?" he asked. "Was it to your taste?"

"It was everything I could have wanted. Everything I didn't know I wanted," Barry said.

Don's grin was quick and hard. "You play a dangerous game, Barry, I'll give you that. But I like that about you."

He took the glass and tipped it back.

As if given permission by the schoolroom bully, the other men lifted their glasses and took a swig as well—including Kreios, or at least he appeared to. Only Barry stayed his hand. He was sweating now, his eyes wide. And when he spoke next, his words were garbled and fast. He uttered some sort of spell or incantation that I didn't know, in a language I'd never run across and which I couldn't immediately decipher, which made it hella old. All three men froze, the liquid barely down their throats.

The door behind Sariah opened again, and three new men in combat gear rushed in, spraying silenced bullets. Not aiming for the other mafiosi at first, but for the men's bodyguards, who were also caught in some sort of thrall. Once they fell, Don, Frank, and Ralph were dispatched with equally swift efficiency. Kreios lifted a hand, casually deflecting any gunfire that came our way, and Sariah squealed with impressive alarm and dropped behind the table. It was all over in less than ten seconds, but Barry wasn't done yet.

Four shuffling creatures moved into the room next, their skin the color of old clay, their faces slack, their shoulders hunched. The gunmen cursed and pressed themselves against the wall, eyes going wide. The four creatures were wearing brown workmen's clothes and dusty boots, their hair lank and flat against their heads. As soon they cleared the doorway, the gunmen slipped out behind them—hard-bitten killers who apparently had no stomach for the supernatural. I had plenty of stomach for it, and I still stared wide-eyed in horror.

So these were husks. Automatons of Hell with a singular job—to take over the bodies of the dead and animate them at the behest of their master and his dark necromancy. I watched, queasy, as they moved toward the dead men. A moment later…they had become the dead men. The slender, fastidious, well-dressed Don, the pug-nosed ginger Frank, the sad-sack gray-faced Ralph. They all lived anew, only now they sat stiff and unnaturally still, waiting for further instructions.

And only three of them had completed their transition. The fourth creature approached Kreios, then froze as the Devil lifted a lazy hand and gestured it away.

The husk's featureless face turned toward Barry.

Uh-oh.

Barry gusted out a long breath as Sariah scrambled upright and flattened herself against the wall. I tensed as the creature shifted toward Barry, though the pizzeria owner paid no attention to it. He was too focused on the husks who'd taken over the mafiosi's bodies, the three men who were now lifting their hands to their heads and straightening their suits like they were coming out of a deep sleep.

"Um, Kreios?" I whispered.

"Wait for it," Kreios murmured.

Barry leaned forward in his chair, his eyes bright. It was as if he didn't notice the fourth husk that was edging toward him with a heavy, plodding shuffle. "Fuck," Barry said. "I didn't think that was going to work."

"Barry, honey, what did you do?" Sariah managed in Maria's throaty voice.

Kreios dropped his hand and set his drink on the table with a loud thunk. Barry was so startled, he shoved back in his chair, half standing before Kreios lazily waved him to stillness.

"You didn't drink the pitch," Kreios challenged him.

"Fuck no, I didn't," Barry said, wide-eyed. "But you did. So how…"

Kreios sighed, but I was only half paying attention to him. I kept watching the husk. It was diminishing in size as it approached Barry, not even trying to lunge for him. Maybe…maybe the magic was weakening? Maybe Barry wasn't slated for death after all? Maria had seemed truly sweet on him, but the asshat had just gunned down a bunch of humans in cold blood. How did any of that square? I watched as the fourth husk finally sort of oozed through the floor, and belatedly wondered what exactly lay beneath this particular party room.

"Barry, there's a reason why that bottle of Byzantium pitch was never supposed to be opened, and it wasn't because it gives its owner the power to kill his enemies," the Devil finally said. "There are far simpler ways to accomplish that, and Hell doesn't choose sides."

"No! No, you don't understand." Barry blinked back to full attention, suddenly on the defensive. "I had to strike these guys first. They were already closing in, sniffing around. If I didn't hit them, I'd have been a dead man within a week. They're bad news, and their bodyguards were worse, I'm telling you. Now we're safe."

Kreios smiled indulgently. "Not exactly. You talked about magic waking up? You've helped it along. In fact, you just flipped on all the lights and banged a loud drum in its ear."

"Whattya mean?" Barry asked. He squinted around. "Hey. Why are you even still upright? Where's the fourth husk?"

"Ah, him." Kreios tilted his head, considering. "He's left to tell his master that you lied, I suspect."

"He what?" Barry practically choked.

Kreios merely nodded. "It would seem all that's left now is the screaming."

With that, the liquid that still remained in Barry's glass hissed, and smoke curled around him. A yawning pit opened beneath the pizzeria owner's chair, and without any further fanfare, he dropped straight down, leaving nothing but an empty hole.

For a long moment, there was no sound at all. Then Sariah stepped up to the edge of the pit.

"Well…looks like I'm up," she said. She glanced at me and winked. "Not like you're going to head down there, right?"

"Neither are you," I snapped, as Kreios saluted the empty space that Barry had abruptly vacated, then drained his glass of Byzantium pitch. Apparently, he was immune to any side effects from the archaic brew.

"I'd say George owes me," the Devil announced with satisfaction, to no one in particular.

"Dude, we can't just leave Barry down there," Sariah protested. "That was kind of the whole point of this process. He needs to live."

Kreios shrugged. "He's dropped into Hell. I can't go after him—and neither can Sara. Those are the rules."

"Then like I said, I'll go myself," Sariah blustered.

"No," I said again, holding my hand out to stop her. As she stared at me, I thought about Maria's face, the way she'd looked when talking about Barry. From everything I could tell, he was an asshole, but he was Maria's asshole, and I'd told her he would be okay. Plus, Sariah seemed completely invested in the guy for some ridiculous reason I had yet to figure out. I edged toward the pit, peering into it. It looked reassuringly pitlike, not like Hell at all. Maybe it was merely Hell-adjacent? And I'd promised Maria, dammit.

"But what if I sort of duck in real quick-like to Hell, and then come right back out again?" I asked Kreios. "Just long enough to fetch the guy. I can do that, right?"

"No, you can't—" Kreios began, and Sariah threw up her hands.

"Okay, you guys go ahead and keep arguing. I'm out," she announced. She stepped into the pit, vanishing from sight.

"Sariah," I yelped. Without thinking, I jumped into the pit as well—and plummeted down.