Bone Gods

of Tower Bridge, curling at the edges. The plaster had been painted, but the patching was rough. She searched McCorkle’s drawers until she found a tenderizing hammer, and smashed the plaster in three short blows.
    Nergal’s reliquary was smaller than she’d imagined. A stone jar, rough and round, chipped into a circle by hand, covered in incantations and covered over with a bronze seal that had oxidized from the thousands of years it had lain untouched.
    The magic crawled around it, faint but there, holding a tiny snip of the essence she’d felt from the thing that had followed the dragon out of the pit.
    Pete rolled it in a tea towel, put the tea towel in her bag, and left, not bothering to lock the door behind her. While she rode to Regent’s Park, she went over all the reasons this was a terrible idea. And all the reasons she had to do it no matter what.
    Dreisden answered the door at the Order, and looked her up and down before he stepped aside without a word. Juniper was in the sitting room, reading with her feet tucked under her. Pete tried to sneak by, but Juniper saw her and jumped up.
    “Oh, Petunia. I was so worried. So many awful things have been happening.”
    “Yeah,” Pete said. “Couldn’t agree more.” She moved toward Morningstar’s study again, but Juniper stopped her.
    “Pete.” She chewed on her lip, a mirror of Pete’s own nervous gesture. “I know you hate me,” Juniper said.
    “I don’t hate you, Mum.” Pete held up her hands. “I don’t want to reminisce and forgive. I just want to talk to Ethan and then leave and never see any of you ever again.”
    “I made a mistake,” Juniper said. “When I left. I had to leave your father, but I thought that meant leaving you girls, too, and I was wrong. And I wouldn’t have seen that without the Order, because the people I was with before didn’t give a toss about family or any of it. So hate me if you want, Pete, but please stop thinking the Order is the reason for it.”
    “Mum,” Pete said. “You and I never got along. We are never going to get along. And that is truly the least of my worries right now.” She knocked on Ethan’s door. “Don’t give it another thought on my account, please.”
    “Pete…” Juniper started, then stopped. “It’s all right. I hope you’ll believe me. In your own time.”
    “Give me sixteen years or so, and I just might,” Pete said.
    Morningstar opened the door to his study, and looked at her for a moment, eyebrow cocked. “Do you have something for me?”
    “We talk in private?” Pete said. Morningstar stood aside, and shut and latched the door after her.
    “I don’t see anyone with you. Anyone responsible. Why is that, Petunia?”
    “Because I gave him to the cops,” Pete said. Morningstar’s face went red, and he started for her, hands balling into fists.
    “I warned you. I warned you and I wasn’t fucking playing games, you stupid little girl.”
    Pete pulled the reliquary from her bag. “I did bring someone, though. Maybe not the hand holding the knife, but the responsible party nonetheless.”
    Morningstar stared at the thing, not moving, not blinking. A tremor passed through him. Pete knew instinctively that this was the closest she’d ever see Ethan Morningstar to fear. “Fuck me,” he said softly.
    Pete dropped the thing into his hand. “Can’t think of a better bunch of nannies for the reliquary of Nergal.”
    Morningstar turned it in his hands. His face was pale and his fingers were quivering. “I didn’t want this,” he whispered.
    “Well, it wants you,” Pete said. She shouldered her bag. “And I’ll assume that makes us fucking square.”
    Morningstar still clutched the reliquary, as if he couldn’t decide between throwing it or embracing it. “The Order considers this a service,” he said. “If you need anything in the future, you can call on me.”
    “Yeah.” Pete stopped with her hand on the doorknob. “You can do me a favor, Ethan.”
    “Anything,” he said.
    “Never bloody come near me or anyone I know again,” Pete said. “And this isn’t a request, just advice—stop wearing that stupid fucking hat.”

CHAPTER 37
    Jack was still in hospital. Lawrence had moved him closer to their flat, but the stab wound had been deep and he’d been in and out of the ICU with complications. Pete felt rude checking her watch while Dr. Abouhd was drawing her blood, but all he did was raise an eyebrow.
    “Visiting hours,” she