Page 37 of The Morning Star
That was definitely a gross exaggeration, but Mestal had proved to be a good resource to me. I watched as the demon poured a healthy amount of chocolate syrup into his soda and gave it a stir.
“Last chance to get in on that short-sale deal before I drop the hammer. You game or not?” he asked.
At first the demon had chafed at the restrictions I’d put on him for continued access to the human world, but he’d quickly turned the situation around to his advantage, keeping his scams low-key and confined to a group of already risky propositions within the financial markets. He’d had to be additionally sneaky to pull these swindles off, and Mestal found he really enjoyed being sneaky.
The reward was always greater when you actually had to use some finesse and brain to succeed. And this particular demon found even greater joy in his side project—being a snitch.
“No, I don’t want in on your fucked-up junk bond shit. I’m a slum lord. That’s about as much crap as I can get away with nowadays.” Being on the Ruling Council with a bunch of butthurt angels—especially Gabe—meant I had to be careful not to cross the line too far. Or get caught crossing the line too far.
“Your loss.” Mestal took a swig of his soda, then added more chocolate. The guy had a sweet obsession worse than any angel I’d ever known. I mean, chocolate in a full-sugar soda? Blech.
“So, I found out the deal on Caramort—who he’s reporting to as well as where he’s setting up shop. Popiel isn’t involved in any of this directly, but a dozen or so from his household are. And Basilisk is dead, trying to take down some angel in Wyoming somewhere. Seems he fucked up and underestimated what he was up against. No big loss there. Speaking of which…” The demon cast a narrowed, side-eye glance to the left, then to the right, as if he thought we might be overheard. “There’s a situation you need to know about.”
Did I mention Mestal was enjoying his tattle-tale project far too much?
“What? More tales of someone peeing in the City of Alexandria pool? Or keying cars in the Bethesda Metro parking garage?” Those were just two of the inane “infractions” Mestal had run to tell me about over the last couple of weeks. I’d seriously considered relieving him of his snitch duties, but was worried without the excitement of busting demon jaywalkers and shoplifters, he’d turn to more grim activities—ones that would cause me to do paperwork.
And in spite of all his misdemeanor policing, he had tracked down Caramort, Basilisk, and Popiel. Better than Gimlet, which really wasn’t saying much.
“This Caramort guy isn’t just involved in a plot to kill angels for bounty,” he announced, tossing the empty chocolate syrup bottle into the trash. “He’s hooked up with some Ancient claiming to be Samael. They supposedly have an army that they got through the Seattle gate after killing the former guardian. There’s a plan to claim a chunk of the human world, set up base here, and basically annihilate the angels.”
“From a base. In the human world.” I shook my head. It all sounded very military, which felt like something the Samael of legend would do. Make this world their battleground, since Aaru was out of the question. I hated the thought of what would happen to the humans caught in the middle of this.
And I hated the thought of how Gregory and the other archangels would suffer at having to face their brother in battle once more.
“Yeah. Caramort thinks the humans might join them if they word it something like ‘throwing off the shackles of their angel oppressors’ or something like that.”
I frowned. “The humans are nervous about the angels being down here, but there’s negotiations. The environment isn’t right for any shackle-throwing right now. There’s no cause for the humans to want to partner with demons against angels, especially when the angels have been helping close the rifts and taking down any supernatural baddies that cross.”
Mestal shrugged. “That’s what Caramort says. My guess is that if the humans don’t support them, the demons will just get rid of them, too.”
Idiots. Angels had been underestimating humans since day one. It seems Samael and his demons were doing the same.
“Caramort tried to recruit me, but I told him no way. I’m far too busy with my short-sale deals, and my…” Mestal looked side-to-side again, “my special project with you.”
I leaned against the counter. “So when is this going down? And where can I find Samael?”
“Caramort wouldn’t tell me that since I wasn’t willing to sign up as part of their army. I do know where you can find Caramort to ask him yourself, though.” Mestal sucked down his soda, then set his empty glass on the counter. “Oh, you might want to know that he’s got about fifty demons there with him. You’ll have to get through them to reach Caramort, and I’m thinking while you’re beating down his household, you might discover that he’s slipped away and run to hide behind this Samael.”
So I needed a plan to sneak in undetected, or a plan to lure Caramort out. “Think you can get him to come meet you somewhere? Alone?”
“No.” Mestal laughed. “Do you have any idea what I had to go through to talk to him? If I hadn’t done some deals for a few of his household back in the thirties, they would have chopped me up in little pieces and tossed me in the ocean. I managed to get an audience once. I might manage to get one again if I send him a message that I changed my mind, but I’ll need to go to him. He’s not going to come to me. I’m not important enough for that.”
I was going to have to sneak in. Either that or blast my way in and have someone ready to nab Caramort when he tried to escape. My Lows would be slaughtered, and I didn’t want to involve Gregory or Rafi when this trail might lead to Samael. Dar. It would have to be Dar. That fucker still owed me over the Haagenti thing anyway.
“Okay, so where is he?”
“Eugene, Oregon. You’re getting the bill for my plane fare and hotel room too. I don’t budget for that shit. Paying expenses out of my pocket isn’t part of our deal. If I’m in your household, you need to cover that.”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine. Whatever. No first class, though. Or business class either. And no pricy hotels. Holiday Inn Express, or I’m not paying.”
He pursed his lips and pulled out his phone. “Deal. I like their breakfast buffets. I’ll text you Caramort’s address as well as who in Popiel’s household are working with this Samael guy.”
My phone pinged and I looked down at it. “Can you try to find out everything you can on Samael? Like where the fuck he’s been for the last two-and-a-half-million years, what, if any, Ancients are in with him, and where he’s holed up right now?”
He shot me an incredulous look. “Uh, sure. Yeah. I’ll get right on that, boss. Just as soon as I finish up this short-sale project. Now, are we done? Because I have some stock market action I need to get moving on.”
“Yeah. We’re done.” Hopefully I could pry the information on Samael out of Caramort instead of having to wait for Mestal to finish playing the market. I walked the greed demon to the door and watched him get into a shiny black BMW and drive off. Then I sent a text to Dar.
