Bone Gods

and not that black beastie you’ve called up out of the pit.”
    “There’s no need to get shirty,” Belial said. “I’m a bit more than a beastie. You can tell, else you wouldn’t be keeping your distance and”—his nostrils flared—“sweating that sweet, coppery mess into the air like a virgin on her wedding night.”
    “You keep away from me,” Naughton told him. “I serve something much worse than a demon on a vacation from the pit.”
    “Yeah, you and Nergal can circle-jerk until the end of days,” Belial said. “But you’re still not going to tangle with me, are you?”
    “No,” Naughton said. “I’m not.” He pointed them to the door. “Go,” he said. “The son of Nergal still rises. The ashes of this world will still fertilize the soil of the next. The dragon of my god will see to it. I’ve done my duty. Who raises him is inconsequential.”
    “Let’s get out of here,” Pete told Belial. “You let him, he’ll talk for hours. Loves the sound of his own voice.”
    “It’s not going to work out the way you think, Nicky boy,” Belial told him. He examined the cuff of his shirt, which bore a halo of blood. “But yes. I’ll leave you for now. I do enjoy living things to play with.”
    Pete helped Ollie outside, although his weight combined with her own wasn’t helping her stay upright. It was nearly morning: dampness on the cobbles, and a cold bite to the air that would vanish when the sun rose higher.
    Belial inhaled deeply. “Smoke and piss and death. Smells just like home.”
    * * *
    Pete settled Ollie on the curb. “You all right?”
    Ollie nodded, swiping sweat droplets off his pudgy jaw. “I’ll live. Feel a bit like puking my guts out in the nearest drain, though.” He looked between Pete and the demon. “ You all right? And who’s this tosser? Don’t like his look.”
    “But I like you a great deal, fat man.” Belial grinned. “You’d look so very pretty turning on a spit with a poker shoved up your bum.”
    “You,” Pete told Belial, “shut it. You”—she pointed at Ollie—“get yourself home, and take a few days off.”
    Ollie didn’t move his stare from Belial. He’d be feeling it, his lizard brain screaming at the intrusion of a predator into the fold, but he wouldn’t allow himself to quite answer his own question. “What am I supposed to tell Patel about falling off the map the night after me partner got himself sliced up and coming back looking like I’ve been bloody tenderized?”
    “You’ll think of something,” Pete told him. “Now please, Ollie. Go home. If anything else happens to you, it can’t be because of me.”
    Ollie narrowed his eyes, but he nodded. “Anything you need, Pete, you call me, all right? Fuck Patel and the rest.”
    Pete patted his broad shoulder. “You’re a good man, Ollie. Go on now.”
    “Sentimental git,” Belial said after Ollie walked away toward the main road.
    Pete glared. “Nobody asked you.”
    The demon sniffed the air, nostrils flaring white. “I’m famished. Everything smells so … so much. All grease and oil and digestive juices. I’d eat for days.”
    “You expect me to believe you eat food?” Pete said. She walked a little way, settling against one of the orange columns that marked the way through Southwark to the Tate Gallery on the bank. She didn’t intend to stay long, just take some of the weight off her bruises and try to curb the dizziness and nausea that had become her constant minders.
    “ ’Course I do,” Belial said. “What, did you think I gnawed on babies or summat? I like food.” He inhaled again, shutting his eyes and turning his face to the weak sunlight. “I like food, and the cinema, and feeling rain on my face. I’m not so different from a human, Pete.”
    “You’re fucking miles from human,” Pete told it. “And don’t try to lull me into thinking otherwise.”
    Belial shrugged. “It was worth a try.”
    “I’d rather give Nicholas Naughton a deep tongue kiss,” Pete said.
    “That’s rather harsh,” Belial said. “At least I’m not a necrophiliac like your little friend back there.” He walked out to the center of the street and turned in a slow circle. “I love this city. I can’t understand what humans find so terrible about their world that they try to destroy everything in it.”
    “People aren’t famous for thinking in the long term,” Pete said. “ ’Sides, Naughton’s just arrogant enough to think he’ll be some kind of king