The guards drew their weapons again. Brigid dug her talons deeper into Sedna’s flesh. “Boy, your entourage really isn’t getting the whole ‘heart rate–triggered bomb’ concept.” Sedna glared over her shoulder at Brigid. “If this goes south, I’ll make you hurt first.”
This time, Carmine didn’t instruct his men to stand down. “Who are you?” he demanded. “FBI? Interpol?”
“Freelance.” Sedna clapped her hands together. “Look, we’re running short on time so I’m going to lay it all out for you. You disgust me. You’re a Roman messenger god who makes a living trafficking the innocent children of other gods to wealthy perverts—if I had my way, I’d shatter one of these windows, cast you out into the night, and listen for the splat you made on Washington Street six-point-four seconds later. But right now, my biggest concern is ensuring that Dima Ra spends tonight tucked into her own bed, at home, instead of gagged on the yacht of some rich asshole with a demigod fetish. So here’s my final offer: You give me the girl and a list of all the associates you’ve ever transacted with. In return, I give you and your three associates a twenty-four-hour head start before I experiment with how aerodynamic you are during free fall.”
“Counteroffer,” Carmine snapped. “I sell you with Dima as part of a buy-one-get-one-free offer to the most depraved warlord in my Rolodex and teach you what happens to people who interfere with my enterprises.” He leaned back and crossed his legs. “And before you mention the bomb in your briefcase one more time, let me inform you that I think you’re full of shit. In fact, I think I’ll call your bluff right now. Brigid, scare our guest’s heart rate up into the danger zone so we can see what happens.”
Brigid’s fingers twisted into the muscle just above Sedna’s collarbone. It took all of Sedna’s resolve not to squirm, but she kept her expression steely. “Why bother to go to all that effort when you can just voice-activate the explosives with a simple password. All you have to do”—she spread her hands—“is say your name.”
Carmine studied Sedna’s face, trying to read her the same way he expertly deciphered his opponents at the baccarat tables. Then he brought his lips close to the briefcase, bloodshot eyes still pinned on Sedna as he deliberately pronounced each syllable: “Carmine … Giancarlo … de Fiore.”
One of the guards by the window shrank back, and Sedna felt even Brigid flinch. But nothing happened.
“Not your birth name,” Sedna corrected Carmine. “Your true name.”
Carmine’s voice boomed arrogantly through the room. “I am the overseer of trade, the patron of all merchants who stand to gain. I am the fleet-footed messenger whose speed no cheetah nor train can match. I am the protector of travelers, gamblers, liars, and thieves, and he who accompanies souls to the underworld. I am a god on the Roman council of twelve, the cleverest member of the Dii Consente. I … am … Mercury!”
Again, nothing happened. The bastard gave her a wolfish smile.
Sedna sighed with exasperation. “No, Carmine. I meant your other true name.”
He squinted at her.
“The password is douchebag.”
The briefcase exploded, but not with fire. Steam erupted out of a hundred holes concealed in the leather. Carmine, who’d left his face too close to the attaché, released a high-pitched shriek as one of the geysers sprayed him directly in the eyes.
Within seconds, a thick fog blanketed the penthouse. Simultaneously, Vulcan worked his hacking magic and cut all the lights, plunging the room into near darkness. As a finishing touch, he piped Sedna’s favorite EDM song through the penthouse sound system.
Sedna let her internal sonar take over from her visual senses. Each thrumming bass note from the subwoofer illuminated the room in her mind, providing a topographical map of her surroundings and the combatants springing to action around it.
Caught off-guard, the mercenaries were initially slow to react—but not Sedna. She shrugged out of Brigid’s grasp and grabbed the half-full bottle off the table in front of her. She smashed it across Brigid’s temple, and it shattered, showering the woman’s face in a torrent of red wine. The security chief lost consciousness before her body hit the ground.
One of the other guards charged out of the fog, roaring as he raised his pistol and searched blindly for his quarry.
Sedna kicked the coffee table hard. It slid across the carpet and slammed into the thug’s shins. Momentum toppled him forward and he smashed face-first through the glass tabletop, where he lay tangled in the wrought iron frame. His semiautomatic landed at Sedna’s feet.
Sedna’s sonar illuminated the last guard, taking up a defensive stance by the windows. He pointed his gun blindly in her direction but couldn’t see her through the steam.
Sedna threw her wine goblet into the corner. The guard took the bait and opened fire in the direction of the noise, shattering one of the back windows in the process.
With him momentarily distracted, she scooped the loose gun off the floor, flanked the guard, and pressed the weapon to the back of his head. “Drop it,” she barked.
His pistol clattered to the floor.
“This job pay well?” Sedna asked.
He raised his hands. “No, ma’am.”
“Do you even enjoy it?”
“Not one bit.”
“Then I’ll give you an hour to leave the state.” Sedna pointed through the mist to Brigid, who was on her hands and knees, weakly struggling to rise to her feet. “I’ll make it two hours if you kick her on the way out.”
Without another word, the guard took three steps and drilled his foot into Brigid’s ribs. She wheezed and collapsed flat to the floor, this time falling completely still, as her former employee rushed out to the elevators.
“All clear,” Sedna reported into her transmitter.
As Vulcan turned the lights back on and the steam dissipated, Sedna made two disconcerting observations:
Mercury had disappeared from the spot on the floor where he’d been clutching his blistered face.
The katana that had previously been in the grips of the samurai armor had vanished as well.
She didn’t have to wait long to find either.
With a feral scream, Mercury flew through the mist, coming for her with the blade raised. The god might have superhuman speed, but he couldn’t go from standstill to supersonic in the blink of an eye like in the movies. No, he needed space to gather momentum as he accelerated toward his incredible top speed, space that was in short supply within the confines of his penthouse.
So Sedna pressed a button on her bracelet.
In the soles of Mercury’s reinforced Oxfords, two powerful electromagnets hummed on. His feet instantly snapped together like a soldier at attention and he squealed as he pitched forward.
In the end, Sedna simply sidestepped the god as he went down. He yowled as his nose hit the floor first. Blood exploded from his nostrils all over the priceless carpet.
While he writhed on his belly, Sedna kicked the sword away. “I wanted to make sure you and your quick little legs didn’t scamper away, so I paid your cobbler a visit and made some modifications to your custom shoes. You should really compensate him better. He does good work.”