Page 91 of Bad Moon Rising
“No.” Roman slammed closed the laptop.
“You know that won’t stop him,” Flynn said. “He’ll still email it to me. We still have to deal with it.”
“Not tonight.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
When Roman made it to the first level entertainment room in his mother’s compound on the Greek island, he didn’t bother to check which bottles he snagged from the bar. On the second level, he realized in his right hand was a Bacardi and the left was a… Sambuca?
He might be desperate, but that Italian anise-flavored shit was nasty.
Didn’t matter. The moon would start its ascent in an hour, which meant he needed to be six shades of comatose in the next thirty minutes. A third bottle of something might be necessary to get the deed done. Or he could take a knockout pill, like the one he’d given Colin. He’d snagged one and put it in his pocket before leaving the plane.
Helicopter blades pounded outside, vibrating the walls. Evie had arrived. Odd for her to be late, but that was her business.
He wasn’t up to participating in the formality of a “family” dinner, not with Ky absent and the shadow of Nova’s death hanging over him. Him in residence and passed out was best for everyone.
After the climb to the third-level room usually designated to him, he collapsed onto the bed. He propped himself up for long enough to unscrew the Bacardi and chug half of it.
Flynn pleading with him today flashed through his brain. He had to figure out how to function. For his brother. And in order to get done what needed doing. Flynn was right. They needed to work out how to end the curse.
Tomorrow, he’d do better. Not today.
Tonight, full moon night, he’d sleep in a self-induced dreamless state. He guzzled the other half of the Bacardi, caring little for its sweetness, but desperate for its effect. By the time he dropped the empty bottle on the floor and consumed half of the Sambuca, his emotions bottomed out into a serene flatness that eased the pain.
He rotated the small white pill between his fingers. Taking it might knock him out six hours or thirty-six. No consistency in its effect on any of them, and each time they took it, its effects were different. Being incapacitated and his body vulnerable terrified him. It’s why he didn’t take them often.
He put the pill in his mouth and washed it down with another fourth of the Sambuca.
…
The knock on the door was so quiet, he thought he’d imagined it. He blinked at the ceiling, registering the light coming from outside. It was a new day, maybe the next day or a few days?
The knock came again louder.
“Go away,” he barked out as he struggled to read his watch. Four p.m. He pressed a few buttons trying to get the date to come up.
Two days?
The door opened, and in stepped Flynn. After clearing his throat, he said, “I know you took a pill and you’ve been out a while, but this is the second phone call in the past few hours. I can’t put him off any longer.”
“Tell Gerard no. I can’t today.”
Flynn held up a small cell phone. “That angel is on the phone. He said it’s an emergency. No one should have this burner phone’s number. He says his boss gave it to him. His boss being God.”
“Are you kidding?” He shifted to sit upright against the headboard.
Flynn put the phone to his ear. “He thinks I’m kidding. Uh-huh. Agreed.” He held out the phone. “Here.”
Roman took the phone but didn’t answer right away. He shuttered his eyelids and counted to a slow three before he answered. “Zadkiel?”
“Do you have the Nepherites khopesh on you?” Roman recognized the burnished voice in clipped English as that of Zadkiel.
“Not on me personally, but it’s accessible.” He kept a storehouse of magical weapons like it on his plane, but never worried his plane would be raided. He placed powerful protective spells on it.
“I need you to bring it and yourself to Brussels ASAP. Since I can’t touch the weapon, I’m going to need you to dispatch this one.”
The Egyptian khopesh sword had been imbued with ancient magic such that it was the only of its kind in existence, the only universal demon slayer. Or angel slayer. Low-level demons could be sent back to their holes by waving a few of the right talismans and intoning the right words. A mid-level demon might require a bit of force to send back but could be returned to its hell. Need of the khopesh and a call from Zadkiel meant whatever creature he was facing was top-tier evil.
