Armageddon Rules (27 page)

MY DOORBELL RANG six times before eight thirty. Not a problem. If it wasn’t the SWAT team, I had no intention of answering the door. The SWAT team, incidentally, had keys to my apartment, for reasons I’d rather not go into.

I climbed down the fire escape and ran into a throng of salesmen on the street. All part of my cunning plan. “No, I don’t own a smartphone. The Internet is a fad. Why yes, I’d love to sit through an exciting presentation. Could you meet me at home?” I didn’t bother mentioning the address I gave them was Ari’s house.

Which, incidentally, is exactly where I went, once I’d stopped off for some less wormy breakfast. I opened Ari’s front door and stopped, staring at the black haze that drifted over the living room. Smoke. I ran for the basement, determined to get Ari out as soon as possible. Behind me, the door slammed shut. Larry drifted down the stairs, a guttural moan of agony escaping his skull.

“Siiiiiiiiick.”

For a moment, I didn’t understand. Then I looked at the skeletal claw, placed where his abdomen would have been. “You eat breakfast this morning?”

Larry clipped the phone into place on his sternum, then hovered against the wall.

“Yes. I was so hungry.”

“I unleashed the first plague last night. Also, there are some harbingers around here. I think I’m supposed to give them steeds, but I figure if they’re willing to wait, I am too.”

At the mention of the harbingers, Larry’s eyes glowed and his teeth chattered like a maraca.

The doorbell rang, and I trotted up the stairs to answer it.

“Please,” asked Larry in the robot voice of my phone. “Don’t let any more salesmen in. I’ve been burning encyclopedias all morning, and I’m only through volume N.”

I’d promised him payment, and payment he was going to take. I threw open the door. “I don’t know, Larry. Where could I possibly find a list of one hundred and sixteen crafts I can make out of milk cartons?”

Four annoyed harbingers of the apocalypse stared back at me. Behind me, the basement door slammed as Larry fled in terror.

“Oh, crap. You guys are here for steeds, right?”

War shouldered past Pestilence. “Handmaiden, it’s time. We must ride around the city, then begin the carnage.”

I turned to grab my purse, and froze. Death stood next to the basement door. He knocked twice. “Why don’t you come with me now? Things are about to get really ugly here anyway. I promise, it won’t be any worse where you are going.” After a moment of silence, Death stepped away. When he spoke, it was a woman’s voice, high and scratchy. “Larry Mathew Gulberson, you come out this instant and go to your eternal judgment. Young man, don’t make me tell you twice.”

The basement door tore off the hinges, exploding into shards, as Larry rushed like boiling clouds into the room. “I
hated
her. I can’t tell you how much I hated her. Even when I was dead, she still ordered me around.”

“If you change your mind, I’ll be waiting.” Death turned and grabbed my purse. “Handmaiden, we’re not leaving you until you provide steeds.”

I ignored him. “Larry, you and I have business. How can I get a contract canceled if Malodin isn’t willing to sign?”

My lawyer stopped emitting wisps of black smoke and turned his skull toward me. “There’s only two ways. You could go to Inferno and try to convince Malodin. That’s what I’d do.” Larry drifted over to inspect the wreckage of his basement door.

“Or?”

“You could appeal to the angels. Myself, I’d go to Inferno.” He picked up a shard of wood, which began to smoke. When Larry handed it to me, an address blackened the wood. “For the angels. Bunch of arrogant bastards.”

“Thanks.” I headed out to the car, a quartet of destruction in my wake. Incidentally, all the Agency cars seated four. I listened to Pestilence complain about being sandwiched in the middle between War and Famine all the way to the Agency. Did I mention every traffic light in the city was out?

After the longest hour of my life, I finally arrived at the Agency. At the entrance to the service elevator, I turned to face the harbingers. “Ground rules: You are entering my business. No killing people. No cursing them. No exploding or doing whatever it is Harbingers do when they’re angry.”

War’s skin stretched as he rose from a Latino man to a tall, white man in a pinstripe business suit. “Got it.” His outfit made sense. Old white men accounted for more atrocities than all the gangbangers in the city put together.

Then we crowded into the elevator and took a ride. The service elevator opened near the staff entrance to the Agency. Down the hall, a line of wishers waited to get into the lobby, as usual. I opened the staff door and led the harbingers down the hall to my office.

A soft strain of music from inside told me my office was already occupied. A woman’s voice spoke, followed by Beth’s kazoo humming. I opened the door as Beth rose from one of my chairs. “Ms. Locks, I figured out how to control poodles. It’s all about chords.”

“You can’t play a chord on the kazoo.”

About that time, the woman in the other chair stood up. Mrs. Pendlebrook, ex–High Queen. “Someone neglected to teach the young lady the basics of harmonic resonance. I have no desire to be torn to shreds by tiny white terrors, so I offered my assistance.”

“Can we order breakfast to celebrate?” Beth practically jumped and bounced like a little girl on a sugar high.

Death stepped from behind me and whispered something in her ear. Then he gave her a pat on the back, and she skipped out of the office.

“If you hurt her—”

“Please. I told you that’s not what I do. I told her there’s a spinach quiche in the fridge that she’s welcome to. Also warned her not to touch the wheel of cheese.” Death took the now empty seat, leaving the other harbingers to stand.

“That quiche belongs to our lactose-, gluten-, and peanut-allergic accountant. I’m going to spend the next three hours listening to him whine.” I took my chair, wondering if I needed a bigger office.

“He won’t be complaining anymore. Also, if you were expecting him this morning, you may be waiting awhile.” Death gave me a wink.

“Who are these ‘gentlemen’?” Mrs. Pendlebrook gave each of them a critical eye.

“They’re the harbingers of the apocalypse. The four horsemen.”

“I don’t see any horses. Therefore, they aren’t horsemen. Harbingers. I’ve seen better manifestations of destruction in middle school.” She rose from her chair and glanced at them until they shied away. “You four gentlemen will wait outside while I discuss a personal matter with Ms. Locks.” Her tone left no room for argument or confrontation.

I swear, with the two of us in the office, the temperature dropped at least fifty degrees. “Can I help you?”

“My son has twenty-four hours before he can call you, but I fear he might decide to help your friend. I want you to understand something. I can’t protect him from this world, but if anything happens to him, I’ll hold you personally responsible.” She fixed me with that same cold gaze.

If she expected me to falter, she expected wrong. I’d been threatened, attacked, shot at, bitten, and nearly killed in so many ways that half the time, when I took a job, it was to see what else was out there. “I’m not afraid of you. I’ve been touched by the fae and lived. I’ve personally killed a fairy, and not too long ago I sent the Gray Man to his grave.” At the name of the Gray Man she shuddered but kept her eyes locked on mine. “There’s nothing you can do to me that hasn’t been done yet, and let me be clear: If your son hurts my friend in any way, I’ll make certain he wishes the demons caught him.”

A knock at my door turned out to be Rosa, as always, acting like I had a dead fish stuffed in my bra. Then she saw Mrs. Pendlebrook, and Rosa’s entire face transformed. Given how often she scowled, I’m sure that smile gave her a charley horse. She knelt. “Your Majesty.”

“Rosa Maria Vasquez? How are you?” Mrs. Pendlebrook threw her arms around Rosa and nearly picked her up, despite the fact that Rosa had a figure like a three-hundred-pound pear.

The whole reunion thing was too much for me to handle. I’d seen parking meters with more personality than Rosa, and watching her fawn over an ex-queen was one step too weird for me. “Out. Both of you, out of my office.”

When they were gone, I slumped at my desk. The harbingers had to have steeds. They’d circle the city twice, then begin their path of destruction. I flipped open my phone book and began to look through the different businesses where I could rent a few horses for the next couple of days. Security deposit made absolutely no difference to me, since once the world came to an end, a dent in Grimm’s bank account wouldn’t be as noticeable.

I reached for the phone and froze. The whole time, Mrs. Pendlebrook’s words kept rankling in my mind. I reached into my purse and took out my copy of the contract.
Mounts.
The term wasn’t
horses
. It was
mounts
. I reread the clause several times. If the world had to end, maybe I could at least buy it a minor reprieve. Then I made a call. A different call than I’d planned, in fact.

Forty-five minutes later, I burst into the conference room where the harbingers sat. “Let’s go.”

War sprang to his feet, knocking the chair over behind him. Famine took a few tries but eventually made it to his feet. I let them take the elevator and spent some quality time with the stairs. Since the Down button took me way, way down, I figured the stairs and I would have to remain on good terms.

“I don’t see any horses,” said Pestilence.

“Your mounts aren’t here.” I gestured to the car, and they once again crammed themselves in. We had cargo vans, but I enjoyed exacting a little bit more torture. We drove through the city, with Death staring at me the entire time. “You can stop staring, you know.” At least he had the decency to look at my face instead of my breasts.

“You believe you’ve accomplished something.” Death rolled down his window to wave at an old lady pushing a carriage. “I promise you, whatever trick you think you’re going to pull off doesn’t change anything.”

We pulled up at our destination.

“We do not ride dogs,” said War, hitting the palm of one hand with a fist.

“It’s called a Greyhound, and you ride in it, not on it.”

A bus pulled out, sleek and silver.

“You have to be on one that leaves in thirty-five minutes. It’ll take you to your mounts.” I started to the door and Death grabbed me by the hand.

“Handmaiden, what do you think you are doing?”

I wanted more than anything to buy him a coffee, help get that rasp out of his throat. “The contract says I have to provide mounts for you to ride. It says nothing about where they have to be, or how you get there. This bus will take you to San Jose, California. There you’ll pick up your mounts, and begin your ride.”

“We have to ride around the city twice,” said War, swearing in between each word.

“That’s not my problem.” I left them outside and bought tickets for all four, which were considerably cheaper since I didn’t have to pay for luggage. Outside, I handed tickets to each of them.

“I’m going to tear this place up when I get back.” War flexed his muscles.

“You were going to do that anyway. You should be thankful. I put Death in a row by himself. Also, I bought you a pack of cards and a crossword puzzle.” I gave the big man a pat on the back and walked away, feeling the rage seethe out of him.

“Pestilence, have some antiviral drops. Closed-in spaces, and all.” I passed over Famine, still ticked he thought being obese while so many starved was appropriate.

“This will take three, four days?” asked Death.

“Three days, assuming nothing goes wrong.” I handed Death a copy of a vampire romance. “Some light reading for you.”

“This doesn’t change anything. Three days is nothing.”

I handed Death his ticket and left them standing at the bus terminal. If they missed their bus, the apocalypse would have to wait twelve hours. I had no problem with that.

*   *   *

I ALMOST MADE it back to the office. Almost. The fountain of fire from a manhole cover burned a hole in the truck in front of me and sent the crowds scurrying for cover. I recognized the orange glow of hellfire, and got out of the car as a curtain of ash began to fall on the street.

“Handmaiden.” Malodin walked out of the smoke, his legs bending in unnatural places with each long step. “What have you done?”

“What our contract says I have to. You wanted a plague, I gave you one. You wanted harbingers, you got them. They’re on their way to get mounts as we speak.” I reminded myself to pick up another squirt gun full of holy water.

Malodin swiped at me faster than I could move, grasping me by the shoulders. “Gnat! Insignificant worm!” He shook me so hard the world spun. “You think you can play with my words? I promise you, when the apocalypse begins, it will be your friends who I torture first. You, of course, will be fine. Physically. The next plague had better be something that brings misery and suffering. I want a plague straight out of the book.” He dropped me in a heap and stalked back toward the flames.

“Straight out of the book.” I noted he hadn’t stated which book.

Malodin spun on his heel, a shadowy form of dread. “I dare you to choose another book.”

A few minutes later the fountain of flame died down, leaving me to work my way around the crater it left, and back to the office.

There, I opened up the book I’d taken from Grimm’s library, and continued reading. Perhaps there I’d find more details on exactly what had been done to Grimm, and how. He owed me answers, and I’d be damned if I didn’t collect, and quite possibly even if I did.

Twenty-Four