Sin & Spirit (Demigod of San Francisco #4)(75)

A soft breeze carrying the salt from the distant sea floated through the trees, waving the branches. He made his way down the sidewalk, not used to doing this in person. Usually his body was stored away in a safe place, always available if things went wrong. Always welcoming.

His shoulders bunched against his ears and then relaxed, a nervous tic. He felt completely exposed. Absolutely vulnerable. A knife in the ribs could only hurt him, not kill or even wound him, if he was in someone else’s body. But here, in the flesh, that knife could be the end of him.

Had that been Magnus’s plan? You could never know with that Demigod. Magnus was tricky. He laid plans sometimes years out, working each little thread like a spider until his desired outcome came to pass. It was better to go into service to the less political Demigods, the ones without such rich and influential territories. You wouldn’t get paid as much, but on average you lasted longer.

Given Amos’s magic, he hadn’t thought it would be a problem. With his body safe, he usually didn’t have to worry about lasting. Following orders and, when he couldn’t, doing a good job had always been enough.

It was fine. He’d just hop into the body of Aaron’s staffer, take out the girl, arrange everything, kill the host, and be back out, lickety-split. The girl was tied up with a broken wrist. She had no weapons—Amos had checked her himself. He could just slit her throat and move on.

Down the way, a car sped around the corner and pulled up across from the dingy building. It then swung into the parking lot and parked at a diagonal, close to the red car. Three people hurriedly stepped out, walking around the front to convene. Two well-built men and a woman, from the look of it. Amos was too far away to see their faces. They were dressed well, which bespoke the area, but they moved differently than Chesters. Non-magical folk had a tendency toward jerky, bumbling movements, but these three moved like they were prowling, sleek and graceful. And they were moving quickly. Nearly jogging.

Amos slowed.

The taller, dark-haired one put out an arm to keep the woman back while he took the place in. The other man, standing in a way that reminded Amos of death incarnate, scanned the area. Though Amos couldn’t make out the man’s features, he knew those eyes were sussing him out, analyzing him as he continued to amble along.

Thank mighty Hades that Amos had chosen to fit in.

The man in the lead started forward, the woman hurrying to follow. Amos continued toward the building, watching them from afar. As he got a little closer, excitement coursed through him.

The Demigod! The Soul Stealer! And one of the Six, Amos was sure.

With a grin, Amos about-faced and stalked right back to his car. He slid into the passenger seat, locked the doors, and leaned his seat all the way back. Once there, he pulled his bag closer.

From the distance, he couldn’t be sure which of the Six that had been. Or, he should say, which of the five. He’d already shaved down one of their number. This Demigod would soon learn why all the other Demigods had such large staffs.

He pulled out the little charms the spirit thief had nicked, nasty little cretin. That plain fellow gave the Hades lineage a bad name. Any Chester could basically do what he did, after all. Still, he’d been useful. The tokens all glittered in Amos’s hands: a pen with the writing worn off from heavy use, a cuff link that had lost its shine, a button from a favorite jacket—all stuff that had been around the owner for a good length of time. All easily nabbed from desks or office floors.

Amos wiggled to get comfortable and settled in. He’d studied up on the Six. As soon as he found the right body, he’d know which magic lay at his fingertips. He’d let everyone else deal with the crying girl and Aaron’s staffer. The chaos would prove excellent cover to take out the Demigod.





29





Bria





Bria turned and stared down a filthy man in raggedy clothes with an open plastic bag full of cans. A few cans had broken free and were now rattling around his feet.

Boman checked his watch, standing beside Thane and Donovan near the door at the other end of the car. “Twelve minutes.”

Red nodded tersely. She stood next to Bria beside the car’s second exit, close to Can Man.

“Hey, bud,” Bria said to the man. All the other patrons on the train had been cleared. Every single one…except this stubborn asshole. He’d refused to budge, insisting it wasn’t constitutional. “Mind picking up your cans? They’re driving me crazy.”

“I gotta right to be here,” the man yelled. “This is the U-S-of-A, damnit. I have a right to be here, and I have a right to these cans. You can’t stop me.”

Bria checked her phone, the desire for action pumping through her. “Donovan, do something about those cans, would ya?”

“Anything yet?” Boman asked her.

She didn’t respond. Zorn had called when they hit the shore. They were going to grab a car and head to the building. That had been seven minutes ago. Zorn had reckoned it was a six-minute trip.

“Donovan!” she barked.

The fallen cans lifted into the air, three of them tucking into the plastic bag. The fourth fell back to the ground.

“The devil!” the man shouted, ducking from some unseen force. “Witches!” He straightened up and pointed at Bria. “Witch!”

“Sexist,” she said. The train went around a bend in the track. The can rattled across the floor and bumped up against the side. “Donovan.”