Back From the Undead (35 page)

It seems to take forever. Gods, of course, don’t experience time the way us mere humans do. For some reason I thought his decision would be more or less instantaneous, working on the assumption that power equals speed—but it could be just the opposite. It might take years for him to mull it over, years that mean nothing to an immortal. And of course, this being some sort of mystical realm, I wouldn’t be allowed to do anything as mundane as die from starvation or dehydration. No, I’d get put on the metaphysical equivalent of hold, standing at this damn table as the decades grind past and I slowly lose my mind …

“Yog-Sothoth is undecided. You will both provide additional information to support your offerings.”

“Both?” I say.

And suddenly, there’s someone standing on the other side of the table, across from me.

Isamu.

TWENTY-TWO

Isamu looks at me with cold hatred in his eyes. I have no doubt that the one thing he wants to do right now more than anything is to rip my head off with his bare hands.

“I thought these talks were closed,” I say mildly.

“Nothing is forbidden to the gods.”

Sure. That’s the thing about omnipotence, it makes you arrogant. Rules are what you make, not what you follow. I don’t bother arguing the point. “Fine. I’ll gladly concede the opportunity to have my competition make a counteroffer. But in order to bolster my own proposal, I need to bring in someone else as well.”

“Proceed.”

“Stoker?” I say loudly. “You can come in now.”

For a moment there’s nothing but silence, and I wonder if I’ve guessed wrong. Then the conference door opens and Stoker steps inside.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says. “I miss anything important?”

He joins me at the table—closer to Inari than Tawil, I notice.

“Not much,” I say. “Isamu is about to explain why his deal is better than mine. You’re going to explain why he’s wrong.”

“Ah. I see.” He stares at Isamu with a slight smile on his face, then turns and whispers to me. “How’d you know?”

“Eisfanger found the tracking charm you slipped on me in the change room. I knew you couldn’t stay on the sidelines.”

“So Charlie and Eisfanger—”

“Knew you were there the whole time. Believe me, if you’d tried to slip past them without me giving the go-ahead, you would have woken up with a concussion and a new pair of bracelets.”

“Enough!” Isamu snaps. “
My
claim is the valid one. What can this pathetic mortal proffer that I cannot? Whatever she says she can deliver, I can do the same—as well as what I am
already
giving you.”

“She has offered knowledge of another realm. Her own universe.”

“Nice,” Stoker whispers. “What else do we have?”

“You do know you’re whispering in front of an all-knowing being, don’t you?”

“I can do the same!” Isamu says loudly.

My heart sinks. This is what I was afraid of.

“I have already given you a new realm of your own,” Isamu says. “Not just to observe, but to rule! Is that not infinitely superior to secondhand knowledge from a single individual?”

“It is not. All that enters your created domain is already known to me.”

Isamu scowls. He’s having a hard time understanding a being that’s more interested in knowing than ruling. “Then I will acquire another such as her, or an artifact. Such things can be done.”

“Yog-Sothoth is not interested in vague promises. He desires only that which he does not possess.”

Isamu’s eyes flicker to Inari. I know what he’s thinking:
If she weren’t here, I’d give this infuriating human to you right now.
“Surely an eternal being thinks of more than immediate gratification. Should you choose this woman over me, you would doing more than rejecting my project—you would be terminating an alliance. She has one thing to offer you, and her laughably short life span means she’ll never have the chance to offer you another. I, though, am immortal, and an important member of a powerful and ancient organization. Can you not see that ultimately I am the better choice?”

It’s a good argument. Tawil At-U’mr doesn’t say anything for a moment, and I know I have to come up with a counterargument or I’m dead in the water. I turn to Stoker and whisper urgently. “We need more. Where’d you get the gunpowder recipe?”

“I stole it from Ahaseurus,” he whispers back.

“How’d you know what it was? Or that I needed it?”

“I didn’t know what it was, not then.” He hesitates. “And I knew you needed it because I bugged your rooms. Technology, not magic.”

Damn. I was hoping for a little extra cross-universe mojo, some kind of connection Stoker had made across the dimensional divide that we could throw in to sweeten the deal. My ace-in-the-hole just turned into a three of flubs.

“Any alliance is based on trust,” Isamu says, his voice raised. “These two mutter and plot, while I make you an honest offer. They are not trustworthy.”

“Sticks and stones, Isamu,” I say.

“Her ally is an international terrorist—and no friend to you, either. It is known, in certain circles within the Japanese government, that he tried to bring an Elder God of his own to Earth. You know, of course, of Ghatanothoa?”

And now that sinking feeling in my gut goes right through the floor and into the yawning abyss below my feet. It never occurred to me that Isamu might be well connected enough to know the details of that operation.

“Ghatanothoa is known to me. He opposes Shub-Niggurath.”

Who just happens to be Yog-Sothoth’s mate.

I wait for imminent annihilation … but it never comes. And after a second, I realize why. None of this is news to Yogi; he already knows.
He knows everything.
Everything that
can
be known, that is—he can’t know something that hasn’t happened yet.

He just doesn’t
care.

He’s a god, with a god’s concerns. A hairless monkey tugging at the coattails of one of his associates—friend or enemy—means nothing to him. Yogi’s not even really
here
—this avatar he’s manifesting is just a sliver of his consciousness, a flicker of his attention. We’re barely worth noticing. So why is he even bothering?

Because even gods have needs. And I know what Yog-Sothoth’s are.

“While we’re on the subject of reliability,” I say, “let’s not overlook your own failings, Isamu-san. You said once you would hunt me to the ends of the Earth—but I’m still here. You’re big on threats, but kinda short on follow-through.”

Isamu glares at me. “I have not forgotten what I promised you, Jace Valchek. It will yet come to pass—”

I interrupt him with a laugh. “Sure it will. You’re all kimono and no katana, Isamu. Even that little stunt you tried to pull to block me from Hereafter Two-Point-Oh isn’t going to work. When this is over, I’m going to bust you. Then you and I are going to have our own negotiation session, and I’ll crack you like an egg. You’ll roll over so fast you’ll leave skid marks on the floor.

“The first thing I’m going to get from you is a way to neutralize that harmonics spell. Then I’m going to march right in to your little fake Heaven with a squad of NSA combat magicians and clear the place out—every single soul you co-opted is going back where it belongs, and that includes Roger—”

Isamu slams his hand down on the table hard enough to crack the wood. Even I jump a little. “No,” he snaps. “
You will not
. You know nothing about me, Jace Valchek. My will is iron. You will never beat me, you will never cage me. Even if you did, a thousand years of torment would not be enough to bend my spirit. My word is unbreakable, my purpose unwavering.”

He turns to Tawil At-U’mr, and doesn’t flinch from the sight. “Know this, Most Ancient and Prolonged of Life. I am as unswerving in my aim as an arrow in flight. No punishment or inducement would alter that. This woman will suffer at my hands, and she will never set foot again in the domain I created for you. This I
swear
.”

I allow myself a smile. “He’s telling the truth, Most Ancient and Prolonged of Life.”

“I know.”

Tawil raises one shimmering hand, and points it at Isamu.
“Our bond is dissolved,”
he says, and vanishes.

*   *   *

Ever seen an ancient vampire Yakuza lord flabbergasted?

Me neither. I cross my arms and do my best to enjoy it.

“Impossible,” Isamu whispers.

“Not so much,” I say. “Want to know where you went wrong? ’Cause I’d love to tell you.”

“There was no reason—no
reason
—”

“Oh, there was a big reason. Me. I was always the front-runner in this race, Isamu, you just never knew it. Your big mistake was in thinking that Yog-Sothoth wanted more power. Not true—he has all the power he wants. You neglected to consider his basic nature: He’s a god of information. The only reason he was interested in your project in the first place was the chance—however small—that it might lead to new and interesting data.

“But access to someone like me trumped all that. That’s always what it was about.”

“But then why—”

“Why negotiate at all? Because he wanted to have his cross-dimensional cake and eat it, too. When you brought up the possibility that you might outlive me, Yog-Sothoth saw an opportunity. He couldn’t just
take
me, not as long as I was under the protection of Inari Okami.” I nod in deference to the goddess, who looks almost as pleased as I feel. “But if there was a chance that once I died my soul might be directed to a specific afterlife—you know, like the one he was Grand Poobah of—then he could gobble up my essence at his leisure. But you put the kibosh on that, didn’t you?”

His eyes harden as he sees the trap I led him into.

“Kind of a variation on the old
Please don’t throw me in that briar patch
strategy. No Hereafter Two-Point-Oh for poor old Jace … and you were so gung-ho at demonstrating your willpower, your absolute unwillingness to compromise, that you convinced your former partner the situation would never, ever change. Congratulations.”

“You will pay for this humiliation,” Isamu says quietly. “Both of you.”

“Not right now we won’t,” I say. “Your project is being dismantled as we speak, and pretty soon you’re going to have a whole bunch of unhappy demons and spirits on your hands as opposed to potential soldiers. Good luck keeping that contained.”

“You believe you have won the game,” Isamu says. “But there are still pieces in play. Do you think me so ill informed as to not know what Mr. Stoker was searching for?”

The kids. “They’ll be released with all the other souls,” I say. “That was part of the deal—”

“No. It was not. Tawil At-U’mr informed me as to the exact terms you were demanding, and you specified that the souls involved must be returned to where they belonged. But the souls of the pire children are not misplaced; they are still with their physical bodies, in a location within Yomi.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“He is not,” Inari says. “I am a goddess of fertility, among other things, and have an affinity for children. They reside where he has placed them.”

“Can’t
you
do something?” I ask. “You’re a goddess, and they’re only kids—”

Inari’s eyes are sad, but she shakes her head. “I have already done much. To interfere further would not be appropriate. I am a goddess of fecundity, that of fields and that of women, it is true—but I am also very much a goddess of
warriors
.”

She meets my eyes as she says this. I get the message, loud and clear.

“Stoker?” I say. “I think it’s your turn at the bargaining table. Got anything our friend here might find persuasive?”

Isamu suddenly realizes that our neutral ground isn’t so neutral anymore—and his ride has ditched him. No bodyguards, no preplanned escape routes, facing down two of his bitterest enemies and a goddess.

Isamu grins.

“Am I to understand the business of the gods is concluded?” he asks Inari politely.

“It is.”

“And may I infer that any divine protection in place while that business was conducted is now withdrawn?”

Inari glances at me. It’s probably the only time in my life that a goddess has asked
me
for approval. “I got this,” I say. “I thank you for your help, Most Revered.”

“Farewell, Jace Valchek.” She pauses, and gives me a grin in return. “Kick his ass.”

She vanishes, just like Tawil did. And Isamu leaps for Stoker’s throat.

Two unarmed humans against a master vampire, one with centuries of murder under his belt. He thinks this’ll be an easy kill.

He’s wrong.

Isamu’s been around longer, but he’s spent most of his existence at the top of the food chain. Stoker started at the bottom and clawed his way up, link by link. Isamu’s used to ordering assassinations; Stoker’s used to carrying them out.

Isamu has supernatural speed, strength, and invulnerability on his side. Stoker has size—three hundred pounds of muscle, easy. All the speed in the world doesn’t help you in midair … and when your opponent has already figured out what you’re going to do and is ready for it, suddenly all those years of experience vanish in one cocky mistake.

Stoker doesn’t try to dodge or grapple. He throws his elbow forward instead, meeting Isamu’s considerable velocity with every ounce of that three-hundred-pound mass. He times it perfectly, catching Isamu in the middle of his windpipe.

Funny thing about pires. You can bounce a bazooka shell off their chests or break a pickax against their skulls, but their neck is their weak point. It usually takes silver or wood to kill a hemovore, but it’s possible to decapitate one with nothing but steel if it’s sharp enough; more pires die every year in auto accidents than impaling.

Stoker’s elbow is strictly a blunt instrument, but it’s one helluva shot all the same—it would have crushed the trachea of a human being like a cheap beer can. Isamu’s body flips around, swiveling at the point of impact, and he slams down on the table on his back.