Pure Requiem - Aja James Page 0,58

other and with Benjamin, Inanna, and Gabriel…it’s clear as day that I am the proverbial dirty fly in their ointment.

I look to Liv and Sophia, chatting like long-lost sisters and kick-ass aunties to Benjamin, making him laugh uproariously every few minutes.

They’re debating the merits of two television series, I comprehend. Game of Thrones versus The Witcher.

Benjamin joins in the debate despite not being allowed to read or watch either series, given the gratuitous violence, sex and rough language. But of course, he knows about everything from Wikipedia. And the boy has an opinion for every subject.

Frankly, I don’t know why there’s any debate. At least in terms of the live action, you have a short, broody hero and a short, fake-haired heroine on the one hand, versus a tall, impeccably handsome, muscled hero (the hair and makeup only add to his appeal) and…well, who cares about the heroine when you have a hero like that?

Sure, GoT had a few things going for it in the beginning. My favorites are the snarky dwarf, the ambivalent Kingslayer and the barbarian brute. But it all went downhill after a few seasons. Hands down, The Witcher wins. Not that I’ve watched either. I, too, know how to Google for information.

But it’s time to cut this (metaphorical) canoodling short. We’ve work to do.

“I know where Medusa’s secret lair is,” I lob this tidbit in the middle of the ongoing, casual conversation with the delicacy of hand grenade.

“I can take you there.”

All discussion ceases, and all eyes turn to me, awaiting my next words. I try to make them…enticing.

“She won’t be expecting it. She’s waiting for me to give her the Shield’s location, actually. Which I can easily do, now that I see where we are.”

I gesture to the view of the Bay behind me, then walk casually toward the group and lean a shoulder against one of the pillars of the quaint pagoda where we’ve arranged the picnic.

“Of course, you can prevent me from divulging by shoving me off this rooftop to plummet to my death. I can transform into any humanoid form, but I can’t sprout wings. So that will take care of the threat quite efficiently.”

“Ere…” Sophia begins, her brows gathering together in a frown.

I cut her off.

“Let’s talk business, shall we? Enough of the play party. I’m here for a reason. Either to be used by you to betray my Mistress, or to betray you because of my Mistress. It’s time for me to fulfill my role, don’t you think?”

“Binu…” Ishtar tries, calling me “son” in Akkadian.

“That’s not my name any more,” I purposely misunderstand. “I’m Erebu now. Ere, if you want to get personal. I’m Darkness incarnate. Don’t mistake me for anyone’s lost son, or brother or friend.”

I spear her with a quelling look, and she presses her lips together, swallowing the rest of her words.

I shift my eyes to take in each person in turn, making sure I have their full attention.

“I have pertinent information that can help you win the war against Medusa. Or at the very least put a sizable dent in her machinations. Do you want to know where her lair is or not?”

“Who’s Medusa?” Benjamin chimes in, looking bewildered.

“Perhaps you should run along and let the adults talk, little boy,” I instruct coldly, sparing him a bored, uncaring glance.

“Playtime is over.”

“That’s not very nice,” he says softly in a volume I’ve never heard him use before.

I bare my teeth in a not-nice smile.

“I never claimed I was nice, little boy,” I say silkily, making my eyes ice over like a glacier. “Go find Mommy and Daddy who cares a whit about your feelings and stay out of the way.”

Liv stands up and throws a fulminating glare my way.

“Come on, Benji,” she says, grasping my son’s hand. “I’ll take you out for Ben and Jerry’s. We don’t care about party poopers anyway. Leave him to his shitty mood.”

No one corrects her cursing as she leads Benjamin away. Probably because everyone wants to hurl a lot worse curses at me than that.

I know the feeling. I’m cursing myself on the inside too.

But I have a job to do, dammit! They’ll thank me later.

Benjamin doesn’t leave without a parting shot, however. He wouldn’t be my son otherwise.

“Bye, Uncle Ere,” he calls out, twisting his head around to look at me as he’s walking away. “Take care of yourself. We can do more watercolors when you’re back.”

Ha! Dream on.

If everything goes according to plan, I won’t be coming back, and