Part 2- Millitimed to between the 26th of July and 2nd of August

“Who do you serve?”

It had taken time, and scrying, and far too much Waywalking for Sam’s liking, but eventually he had tracked the last firedancer down to this small, seedy little flat in the dusty, baking heat of a midsummer Madrid suburb. Now magic – assisted by Sam’s knee to his groin- pin the assassin to a grubby wall, one of the immortal’s hands gripping the firedancer’s arm like a vice, and Sam’s dagger tight to his throat.

The firedancer squirms and wriggles and swears; Sam’s grip on his arms only increases until the assassin is breathless with pain.

“Look, pal, I’m Satan himself, I’m bloody pissed off and I’m perfectly happy to start breaking your arms and read your mind if you don’t give me some decent answers, so let’s try this again!” To illustrate his point still further, Sam calls coldfire to the hand holding the blade to his captive’s throat, its deadly blue-white flames flickering within millimetres of his skin. “Who do you serve?”

Firedancers are mercenaries, selling their deadly skills to the highest bidder, but apparently this specimen’s silence and pride are only worth so much.

“Apollo and Artemis,” he snarls at last, through teeth gritted in pain. “I serve Apollo and Artemis. Now let me go, hellspawn.”

Sam’s grip only increases still further. “Not until you’ve been a very good boy and answered all my questions, pally. Now. Are they acting alone, or do they have other allies? I’d advise you to think very carefully about your answer.”

“I… I don’t know. I’ve only ever been given orders by the two of them, but they don’t exactly spill their guts to me.” Sam looks sceptical; his deadly little silver blade presses closer to the firedancer’s throat, cutting the tiniest of tiny nicks in the dark flesh. “I don’t know! I swear it!” his prisoner screams, and Sam’s blade relaxes, very slightly.

“All right. The book you stole from Buddha- where is it?”

“I gave it to them four days ago, almost straight after the raid.”

“And? Where is it- and where are they- now?”

“I don’t know.” Once again the dagger presses tight; the firedancer’s orangey crimson blood begins to run down his neck to clot on his garments of executioner’s red. “I said I don’t know! But--” he scrabbles desperately for useful information. “I know they’re not in Heaven- Artemis said something about it being too risky, there are too many of their siblings in Heaven who would try to- to steal their knowledge, to interrupt. She said it was easier to lose themselves on Earth.”

Sam nods, more satisfied, but doesn’t slacken his grip. “Very good. For a man who didn’t know anything, you’re certainly proving yourself very informative. A few more things. Why the destruction of my flat once you’d got what you wanted, and what was the purpose of the charming ditty left on my wall?”

“I don’t know much about that. They used mortals- humans- for that job. But I think- the notes in the book weren’t enough- they were looking for a more detailed translation.”

Sam nods again. “Which they didn’t get, sad to say. And the poem?”

“I don’t know anything about any poem.”

Sam sighs. “I suppose that will have to do, then.”

The firedancer, clearly realising that his fate now hangs in the balance, maintains a resentful silence, but within a few moments Sam reaches a decision. A sharp flick of the wrist causes both dagger and coldfire to disappear; whilst the assassin breathes a sigh of relief the hand now free moves to the killer’s forehead, rendering him instantly in a deep unconsciousness from which he will not wake for at least twelve hours. Though Sam has no qualms at all about killing firedancers in the normal state of affairs, needless cold-blooded killing isn’t really his style. And so he leaves, leaving the firedancer slumped on the floor behind him.

~*~

A few streets away, a portal flashes fire, just for an instant. Sam almost- almost- knows enough. One more visit, perhaps two, and he’ll be ready to take the fight to his enemies.

Part 3- Millitimed to between the 2nd and 9th of August

“Remind me again why we’re here?” Sam asked plaintively. He and Buddha were walking down a chic Paris street, and he wasn’t sure whether his half-hearted attempt to tidy himself up, or the fact that Buddha was still wearing his old t-shirt and jeans and going barefoot, was attracting more scorn from the unbelievably fashionable residents. Not that he didn’t have any fashion sense- bad clothes were more of a disguise, an armour, than anything else- but there’s a limited time available for looking good when you’re trying to save your soul and quite possibly the world, and Sam’s not really predisposed to care too much about his appearance anyway. But you had to at least try to look halfway decent if you were going to talk to a daughter of Love.

“We are here,” Buddha said bluntly and in the tone of one who has said this far too many times and knows he will probably say it again, “because Aphrodite is friendly with you and may be able to tell us exactly how many of our brethren we are fighting. It would also seem likely that she knows where the twins are.”

“Right, right,” Sam said absently, glancing at his hair in the sheen on a car and attempting to make it lie flat.

“Sam? Why are you so nervous?”

“Because she’s Freya’s sister,” Sam said sharply, “Her favourite sister.” And Buddha wisely left it at that.

Aphrodite, though, was surprisingly good about letting a scruffy son of Magic and a scruffier son of Wisdom into her flat, although Sam did catch her wincing once or twice at the stains Buddha’s bare feet left on her perfect cream carpets. Mind you, she’d clearly only just cleaned up; he also caught her pushing overlooked, crumpled cans of beer and bottles of booze out of his line of vision. She noticed him looking once, but only gave him the broad, cheeky grin he remembered best about her and stuck her tongue out, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind one multi-pierced ear. Sam grinned back. Maybe this visit wouldn’t be so awful after all.

In regards to their more important enquiries, Aphrodite was both obliging and helpful, in between the double entendres. Apollo and Artemis, she said, were definitely the ringleaders- they’d had some support, but Zeus had put his foot down: said that it wasn’t possible, that Time wouldn’t allow it even if it were, and that they’d just cause more shame to their family by trying. The twins had been defiant, and had eventually gone to Earth and hadn’t been back since.

“I don’t think,” she said thoughtfully, fiddling with an earring, “that any of our lot would have, like, helped- Zeus is still pretty much in control, and generally there’s a sense that what he says goes. But- and I have, like, no idea if this is anything to do with it- but that archangel, Michael? He disappeared about a week or so back.”

Sam and Buddha traded startled looks. “Michael?”

“Yeah. Jehovah was totally playing hell about it.”

Sam shook his head dismissively. “There’s no way in hell Michael would have anything to do with it. He serves Jehovah and Jehovah only, and if Jehovah knew nothing about it then he wouldn’t have got involved either.”

Buddha only frowned. “Voluntarily. They need an archangel to translate the rest of the Chronicles, remember.”

“Sounds like you’re as screwed as a page-3 model in a brothel, then,” Aphrodite said briskly, dropping the Valley Girl accent. “Look, I can’t get involved, not overtly- the twins are of my House- but they’re just going to get us into even more shit than we’re in already. So. If they’ve gone to Earth, I know where they’ll be, but I didn’t tell you, you weren’t here and I know nothing about any of this, right?”

Sam and Buddha both nodded. “Right.”

“Swear it on your crowns, the pair of you.” They did so, and she named the address.

Sam stood up. “Well, Aphrodite, thanks a lot. You’ve been very helpful, and I know you’ve no real reason to be.”

Her beautiful face was soft and thoughtful. “Freya treated you very badly, Lucifer,” she said, so quietly that only Sam heard it, and frowned blackly at her. “Be careful, the pair of you,” she said more loudly, showing them out.

She kissed Sam on the cheek. He was pink all the way to the train station.

~*~