“Anyway, that’s it,” the male was saying. “Oh, and he’s out of your smokes, assuming my cousin wasn’t patting around all his pockets looking for change. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have got to get a kombucha tea and some kale chips—”
V caught the Bastard’s arm. “Hold up, what was that? I didn’t follow.”
Syphon looked confused. Then clearly assumed he’d mumbled his report.
“My cousin, Balthazar,” he said on slow-repeat, “the one who’s been missing? I just found him at Mae’s burned-up house lot. He still believes the demon and the Book have not been destroyed—”
“Yeah, yeah, I got all that shit. And the hand-rolleds request. But kombucha? Why are you drinking that shit without an axe over your head. Have you never heard of Grey Goose—fuck it, Budweiser? Hell, tap water? Jesus.”
The Bastard blinked like his brain was having trouble downshifting from his current Crisis of Demon-ish Derivation to the Whole-Foods-gastronomic virtue signaling that seemed to be his voice box’s favorite octave. “I—it’s healthy. Why wouldn’t I eat healthy?”
“You eat fucking sad.”
“My body is my temple.”
“Then why are you feeding it compost. You need to have a Twinkie and lighten up, true?”
Syphon made a dismissive noise—which was as close to “fuck” as he ever got outside of the field, the exhale containing some combination of syllables that equated to “fudge” or “feronica” or “fizzle.”
Kinda like kombucha or kale was a cousin of anything actually edible.
And what the fuck was a feronica, anyway?
“It’s harmonica with an f,” Syphon said with an arched brow.
Oh, V’d spoken that out loud. “Okay, Ben Stein, you realize that don’t make no sense. In spite of your everybody-knows-that tone, which I’d take offense at except for the fact that you’ve clearly had a crap night and I’m feeling sorry for you—‘feronica’ is not a real word.”
“Yeah, well, ‘true’ isn’t a question mark, either.”
V took a pause. Because he’d been working on his temper lately. “Don’t make me slap the stupid out of you.”
“Lately, I feel like stupid is all I’ve got. At least I’m giving you a big target.”
Syphon, the heartbroken assassin, turned away and started hoofing it for the pantry entrance to the kitchen.
Just as he rounded the base of the grand staircase, V said, “Sy.”
The Bastard glanced back. “What.”
“I believe him. Balthazar. If he says we still got problems, I take him at his word, and I’ll make sure I’m not the only one who does. If the Book and that demon are still around, we’ll take care of them.”
Syphon’s heavy shoulders slumped. “I can’t decide what’s worse. The idea my cousin’s gone mad… or that the enemy that attacked me in that stairwell at the psychic’s is inside of him.”
“We can fight anything. Together.”
“Can we?”
Leaving that rhetorical hanging, the fighter ducked his head and kept going, disappearing through the door into the pantry and his holier-than-thou diet.
“Motherfucker,” V muttered as he looked up at the ceiling.
Three stories above him, the mural of warriors on great steeds was baroque as hell, the charging movements, fierce expressions, and bulging muscles of the males and stallions all exaggerated, the colors bold, the shadowing strong.
For some reason, anytime he’d ever glanced at the artwork, he’d dubbed in debates of grave nature:
You’re wrong, Andy! the guy on the black horse screamed. You reseed lawns in October, not April!
Fuck you, Stewart! The dry season, coupled with the colder nights, won’t support root growth!
That’s why you need in-ground irrigation and proper fertilization, you twat!
sounds of thundering hooves, battle cries, and clashing swords ensue
Vishous re-leveled his head. Last week Andrew and Stu-Stu had gotten into it over which Paul brother was worse, Logan or Jake. At least both sides had won in that dated argument.
You know what you have to do, V thought as he looked toward the billiards room.
Funny, he’d rather try to quit smoking.
And as he started for the archway into pool table land, he realized he’d been avoiding going in there for… well, at least forty-eight hours. He, too, had sensed that Devina was still on the planet, and that meant that the Book couldn’t be completely written off. But he’d been determined to give the universe a chance to provide him with another option for getting a confirmation on the pair’s status. Any other option.