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Authors: Richelle Mead

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“A working lunch?” I asked, inclining my head at the empty shot glasses in front of them. The two practically sat side by side, so the only other chair was across from them, like I was at an interview.
Carter picked up one of the empty glasses and offered me a mock toast. I clinked my glass with his. “Don't question the divine workings of the universe, Daughter of Lilith.”
“The Lord's work is never done,” added Jerome solemnly.
They both seemed a little loopy, but I wasn't fooled. Higher immortals like angels and demons could control their levels of intoxication. The other lesser immortals and I had said a number of stupid things in front of them when we thought either Jerome or Carter had been wasted. Their eyes held a shrewd scrutiny even now that told me they were both curious about why I'd sought out my supervisor in the middle of the day.
“Been to see the incubus?” Jerome asked a moment later.
I nodded. “He thinks he's making progress.”
“
Thinks?
” asked the demon, raising one eyebrow. I wondered if John Cusack could actually do that. “Is there a doubt?”
“I didn't say that.”
“But you also didn't say that he
is
making progress.”
“A slip of the tongue. I misspoke.”
“You don't misspeak often, Georgie. And I've come to actually believe you do know something about seduction after all. And maybe even human nature.”
“Something?”
Carter laughed at my incredulous tone.
“So,” continued Jerome, “in your expert opinion, is your friend going to be able to do this or not?”
I was about to say “of course,” but knew Carter would recognize the lie. Hell, even Jerome probably would. “I don't know. She's hard to read. Very strange woman.” I pursed my lips, thinking. “If anyone is capable of seducing her, though, it'll be him. With my help.” I hesitated before adding, “You know about the Barton thing, don't you?”
“Of course. Very foolish on Bastien's part.”
“I guess.” I didn't want to slam one of my best friends in this company. “But it's not like our side is really known for impulse control. And it seems kind of stupid for Barton to get so worked up over a woman who sleeps around all the time anyway. What's one more person, immortal or not?”
“Because the immortal meant something,” said Carter seriously. “You of all people should recognize the nuances here. What would Seth think if you slept with me?”
“Are you offering?” I turned to Jerome, feigning excitement. “I get to retire if I bag an angel, right? Full pension and everything?”
“Depends on the angel,” yawned Jerome.
Carter kept his complacent smile, unfazed by jokes about his celibacy or immortal standing. “You know what I mean. There's a difference between business and choice.”
I nodded. I did know what he meant, and he was right—being with Seth made me especially cognizant of the subtleties.
“You know, I didn't come here to discuss this,” I told them. Both had the tendency to steer me off topic into subjects I didn't want to explore.
“Well, do enlighten us then,” said the archdemon indulgently. “I'm dying to know what would draw you away from suburban conspiracy and mortal intrigue in the middle of the day.”
“Actually, it involves mortal intrigue.”
I gave them a debriefing on the Doug situation. Jerome maintained his perpetual look of disinterest. Carter almost did, but snide or not, he was still an angel, and I saw compassion flicker in his eyes as I spoke. He couldn't help it.
“So, I finally managed to get Alec to give me the stuff, and now I need to know what it is. You two seemed like my best shots at identification.”
Jerome's disinterest turned to astonishment. “This is what we've been reduced to? Drug identification? Do we look like the DEA?”
Carter stretched lazily. “Remember the good old days when succubi used to want our help defending them from nephilim and other lethal creatures? This is a sign of the times, I tell you.”
I let them have a good laugh at my expense, forcing myself to stay calm and not say something that would get me into trouble.
“Are you guys done?” I asked a minute later. “Because I'd really like to get moving on this.”
“Are you going to share some of it with us if we can tell you what it is?” asked Jerome.
Rolling my eyes, I reached into my purse. With a flourish, I tossed the little bag out onto the table so it slid across the surface and came to rest just in front of both of them.
Their smiles disappeared.
They stared at the bag for a moment and then—in almost perfect synchronization—looked at each other and back to me.
When Carter spoke, he was amused, but grimly amused. “Maybe I shouldn't have been so quick to rule out supernatural monsters after all.”
“How,” exclaimed Jerome, nostrils flaring, “do you always manage to get yourself mixed up in the middle of this shit?”
I looked back and forth between the two of them. “What? What is it?”
“This, Georgina,” announced Carter, tapping the bag with his finger, “is the Food of the Gods.”
Chapter 15
A
dozen snappy comebacks rose to my lips, but the intense looks on both their faces made me think better of it. Instead, I opted for the obvious next question.
“What do you mean?”
The edge of Carter's lips turned into a half-grin. “My goodness. I thought you'd be up on your lore. Greek mythology especially.”
“Well, ambrosia . . . is called the Food of the Gods,” I offered slowly. I had grown up in a Greco-Roman society, but that didn't mean I was an expert on all the stories. I'd only been exposed to some in my youth. It wasn't until later scholars started compiling tales from all over the Greek world that I learned just how vast the mythology was.
“Yes,” said Carter, nodding at me as one would a child reciting a lesson. Jerome remained tight-lipped, a stormy expression on his face. “What else do you know?”
“Ambrosia was what gave the gods their immortality,” I continued. “Although I always thought it was some kind of drink . . .” I stopped myself. The crystals weren't liquid at the moment, but they were meant to be consumed that way. A further alarming thought hit me. “Are you saying this Greek stuff will make Doug and the others immortal?”
I'm downright unstoppable now. A god, babe.
“Not exactly,” said Carter. “And I suppose I should point out that ambrosia isn't just found in the Greek stories. It appears in almost every culture's legends in one form or another. In King Arthur's world, it was said to have filled the Holy Grail. It gave new perceptions and enlightenment to its drinkers, and promised to heal the land. Some have also suggested the flames that appeared over the apostles' heads at the feast of Pentecost were not flames at all, but rather visions they saw after drinking ambrosia. It made the apostles vivid and charismatic and let them communicate with people of all cultures and languages.”
“I know a number of devout Christians—my good friend Dana included—who would find that offensive.”
Jerome couldn't stay silent anymore, despite how disgruntled this topic appeared to make him. “Imagine her reaction if she knew that some people have speculated the Eucharist has little to do with the blood of Christ and more to do with a lost ambrosia ceremony. Said people argue those who participate today are only mimicking the ancient experience, equating the Holy Spirit with the high from ambrosia.”
“That would upset a lot of people,” I agreed. All three of us knew that many of the rites and beliefs that had been passed down to today were bastardizations of the originals. Some, not all.
Carter continued on pleasantly, like he was in an auditorium giving a lecture. “Ancient Hindu culture called ambrosia
soma
and even personified it as a god of the same name. His presence was as intoxicating as the drink itself and muddled the senses of those around him.”
“Soma was also the feel-good drug in
Brave New World
,” I recalled. “I didn't realize how widespread this was.”
He nodded. “And these stories are only the tip of the iceberg. A lot more where they came from.”
I enjoyed the information. Getting any sort of meaningful explanation from these two was usually like driving through downtown Seattle in rush hour: slow, painful, and fraught with collisions. And yet, forthcoming or not, they weren't exactly giving me what I needed.
“Yeah, but you guys are real careful to say things like ‘some people believe' or ‘they say.' Which is it? What's really going on? Are any of those stories true?”
Carter's gray eyes twinkled. “Ah, I can't spoil the mysteries. Humans spend their lives trying to discern the truth of divinity. Even a succubus can't be in on all the secrets.”
I gave him an exasperated look.
This
was more like their typical behavior. “Okay, forget the myths. Can you tell me what's up with this stuff, then? Does it make people immortal?”
Angel and demon looked at each other. “No,” they both said in unison.
“But it makes you feel like you are,” said Carter.
I thought about Doug's reckless behavior, his overwhelming confidence about everything from performing his music to stage-diving. He had no fear, no concern that anything might be less than perfect.
“So it's like a stimulant or any other mood-altering drug, then,” I said. “It makes you feel good.”
The angel shook his head. “No. It's a lot more than that. Ambrosia works by . . .” He grasped for the words. “I guess the best way to put it is that it amplifies your best abilities. It draws out what you're good at, what shines in you. And then it cranks up the volume on that to, well, godly levels, I guess.”
“Yes, of course,” I breathed.
That
was why the band had suddenly shot off so successfully and rapidly. They were talented already. The ambrosia hadn't given them anything new; they'd just had their natural abilities increased tenfold. A hundredfold. And Casey . . . mathematically talented Casey had been able to do calculations in seconds that would have required a pen and paper for most people. Even Doug's Tetris skills showed signs of ambrosia enhancement.
I can't wait to see how you react to them
, Alec had said. Indeed, how would I react? What good abilities in me would get amplified? What abilities did I have? The obvious joke was that I'd be able to really rock some guy's world in bed. I didn't like that answer, however, partially because I believed I already could rock a guy's world pretty hard-core without the help of creepy crystals, thank you very much. Plus, I hated to think that's all I was. There had to be more to me than just sexual prowess.
“Everyone who was on it crashed,” I reminded Carter. “Doug, Casey. And when they crashed . . . they
really
crashed.”
“It does that,” he agreed. “One might argue that the withdrawal brings out your worst traits . . . or possibly turns your good ones bad. More often than not, it just makes a person depressed . . . and lacking. It's hard to go back to being ordinary.”
That would explain Doug's bleak outlook the other day. I realized too he'd been having a withdrawal reaction on the day I kicked him out of the store. The lack of ambrosia had turned his normally sarcastic tongue and playful behavior into something dark and twisted. And yet . . .
“It must be nice to feel like a god. I guess I can understand wanting that.”
“Well,” said Jerome, speaking up at last, “as we all know, you can't get something for nothing.”
Carter nodded. “At a basic level, it's an addictive substance, and everything addictive has a cost—mainly that it enslaves you and makes you feel horrible when you don't have it. But, the other truth is that humans are not meant to be perfect. That's what humanity is: a series of successes and failures, a testing of one's own nature and aptitude. Neither the body nor the soul can sustain such a state. Eventually it consumes a person.”
I pointed at the crystals. “What would have happened if I'd taken them?”
“Isn't it obvious?” asked Jerome, his tone suggesting the same sexual possibilities I'd wondered about earlier.
Carter gave me a straight answer. “Similar superficial effects. Enhance your good qualities. Immortals wouldn't fall prey to the addictiveness so quickly; they can sustain it for quite a while since in some ways, they already feel like gods. But in the long run, the consequences are still the same. You can't function at such high levels. Now, the ambrosia couldn't destroy your body, of course, but it'd still cause other serious problems if you took it for a long time.”
“It'd probably just make you go insane,” explained Jerome helpfully. “Until the end of time.”
“That's horrible,” I said.
“Don't worry, Georgie. If it happens to you, we'll put you down first.”
Ignoring him, I looked over at the crystals, suddenly feeling more repulsed by them than I had before. This time, my reaction had nothing to do with the creepy aura.
“The real question, of course,” said the archdemon more seriously, “is where the hell did you get these?”
“I told you. From Alec.”
The two higher immortals exchanged glances once more.
“Tell us about this guy again,” ordered Jerome. “Everything you know.”
I did. When I finished, they looked at each other once more, having a mental conversation I was not privy to. God, they were annoying.
“Alec's not the one,” said Carter finally.
“The one who . . . ?”
“The one who this is coming from,” explained Jerome.
“Well, I got it from him . . .”
“Doesn't matter, Georgie. Some twenty-year-old bluehaired punk is not the source here. He's getting it from someone else. He's a peon in the chain. Besides, you never felt anything off him, did you? Something like the crystals but not quite like them?”
“No, but . . .” But I
had
felt something from another person. Someone who spent time with Alec. The last card in my head flipped over. “I know who it is. It's him. That guy.”
“Of course,” said Carter dryly. “I knew it was that guy. It's always
that guy
.”
“Hold on, and I'll explain.” I turned to Jerome. “Remember that funny immortal I told you about? The really romantically dressed good-looking one? He's got to be the one. Alec's supplier. I've seen them talking together and even saw Alec sort of having a breakdown with him.” I added a little more background for Carter's benefit, explaining how
GQ
Poet Guy and I had sensed each other.
Jerome and Carter considered this in silence. At last, the demon said, “Yes, that sounds like him.”
Nobody said anything for a while after that. I was dying to ask who “he” was exactly, but recognized that angel and demon would take their own time on this.
“So what are we going to do?” Carter asked a few minutes later.
Jerome cut him a narrow-eyed glance. “Why do we have to do anything?”
“Because it's the right thing to do.”
“I don't know where you've been since the beginning of the universe, but the ‘right thing' isn't really on my list of priorities.”
“He's poisoning mortals.”
Jerome crossed his arms over his chest. “I don't care.”
“He's doing it in your territory. Right under your nose.”
“Stop trying to bait me. He's not involved with us. He can do whatever the fuck he wants to mortals.”
Once again, I was dying to jump in but restrained myself. Listening to Carter and Jerome argue always unsettled me. Mostly, it just didn't happen that much. Usually they stood together in an exasperating wall of solidarity, good and evil notwithstanding. And, of course, watching them argue always made you wonder if something terrible might happen if tempers got out of control. Tables tipping over. Glasses exploding. The Four Horsemen showing up.
Nonetheless, I felt confident Carter wouldn't let this matter go unattended. He would win. As I had noted earlier, I didn't know if I could trust him, but I did respect him—and his powers of persuasion.
“It's a power play,” warned Carter. “He shouldn't even be trying it. His time is past; we're the ones who control the game now. Doing this insults us—especially you, since you guys are the ones who actually draw territorial lines. It's an unannounced challenge.”
This, I saw, had an effect on the demon. He recognized Carter's attempts to draw him in, but it was working nonetheless. Pride wasn't one of the Seven Deadly Sins for nothing. Jerome, as a faithful servant of hell, couldn't help but be susceptible. I'd seen his pride come into play before; he didn't like others messing with his reputation. And while the demon naturally had many weaknesses, I'd say it was this more than anything else that would make him take action.
“We can't intervene,” he said flatly. “You know that. Even if we are in control, we'd start an outright war. I for one don't want to deal with the repercussions of that.”
“Agreed,” murmured the angel, lapsing into silence again.
I looked back and forth between their faces, waiting for one of them to offer a brilliant plan. A brilliant plan which involved the angel and demon fighting in awesome, smiting glory to destroy Alec and his bastardly supplier friend.
“Georgina could do it,” said Carter suddenly.
“What?” I squeaked. That wasn't how the fantasy went. They turned their eyes on me.
Dark outrage flashed in Jerome's eyes, then it faded as quickly as it had arrived. “Hmm. Perhaps.”
“What are you guys talking about? I'm not doing any smiting.”
“It wouldn't exactly be smiting,” said Carter, face promptly sobering. “But it could be dangerous if not done the right way.”

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