The Divine Arms sat alone in the world next Door. It always looked like a ruin from outside, unless you’d been there before, which Eagle had. Then it looked like a ruin with light peeking out where the window had been before it colpsed. The door, you had to duck to get inside—unless you were Eagle, but he didn’t have to duck for much. He could stroll right in where the lintel listed highest.

  After the quiet of the Elsewhere housing the bar, with ruins so ancient and grown over they were hardly lumps in the nd, the bar would be bright and loud. Gods drank here, and he needed a god killer.

  Eagle knew where to find him, too, if it came to that, but he hoped not. If the god killer didn’t come out to meet Eagle anyway, which he might still do, there would be problems—like dragging said god killer out of his tower while Eagle was also trying not to fall down and throw up.

  He stared balefully at the door for a moment, like it would spit out the person he needed to talk to, but it didn’t and it didn’t. No real surprise there. Finally, he gave up and strode beneath the lintel.

  The bar was hopping. Gods and goddesses and heroes and monsters filled it to the rafters with sound. Some part of Eagle always expected to see Muirrach here. There were Rules, and most of them were not to fuck with anyone else, but it might have been worth it to catch a ban for Muirrach Lieseassar. He was going by Eobha now, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t the same person. It was on sight for Eagle. With that one, there might not be a second chance.

  He saw plenty of dead-white hair in the crowd, but not Muirrach. Thank goodness for small favors. A tall woman gave him a moment’s pause, but when she turned he saw the single eye in her forehead, and she was drinking with Odysseus (the overweening bastard). Muirrach would never, he thought, with more than a little relief.

  Odysseus thought he was hot shit, and so did Muirrach. They were both very invested in being the smartest man in any given room. If the two were to drink together, the sheer ego off both of them would csh and annihite this entire universe.

  Eagle kept his hood up. There were plenty of people here he hoped wouldn’t see him, but mostly Achilles, front and center. They had plenty in common—they both liked boys and they both liked killing shit. That was fine. Eagle secretly enjoyed rating the male patrons, but Achilles, too, was a prize asshat.

  Anything beyond a hasty grope, Eagle wasn’t interested. Taking no for an answer wasn’t one of Achilles’s strong points.

  Eagle went up to the bar. Only his head stuck above it. Bacchus was behind, trotting around on goaty legs and filling orders. He should’ve been as short as Eagle, except the floor behind the bar was raised. “What are you doing here?”

  “Nice to see you too,” Eagle said, scowling.

  “Don’t make me tap the sign.”

  “That sign says whatever you want it to,” he shot back. It did say whatever Bacchus wanted. Right now, it said, NO EAGLES. “I haven’t messed with anyone who wasn’t messing with me, and you know that.”

  “Yeah, well, Prometheus is in tonight.”

  Eagle sighed. “If I’ve told that guy once, I’ve told him a million times. The st thing I’m interested in is his liver. I’m not a damn bird.” If you were going to be interested in a liver, he guessed that was the one. Open guts or no open guts, Prometheus was stunning. “I’ll take a beer. Valhal if you have it. And don’t you pour me half head either,” he added, eyeing Bacchus from inside the shelter of the hood. “Last time—”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Bacchus wanted to say no, that much was pin, but he was already pulling a mug for Eagle—small beer like you’d give to a kid.

  “I’m not paying full price for that,” Eagle warned.

  Bacchus sneered. “Yeah, yeah,” he repeated.

  Eagle spped a clipped bit from World Six-Eight-Seven to the bar and took his mug, but where was he supposed to sit? The only empty table—mostly empty—was Anubis’s, in the back under an improbable staircase.

  He liked Anubis. The other gods tended to give underworld deities a wide berth, which was probably fair. They were usually pretty strange, but the jackal-headed Judge of the Dead had a quick way with a joke. Besides, he was a death god. Who better to tell Eagle where to find a godkiller? He slid away from the bar—and Achilles—to the back of the room, nudging demigods and monstrous beings aside. None of them took any notice, which was the upside of wearing the hood. Eagle could slide just about anywhere and go unremarked.

  When he reached Anubis’s table, he took it off for politeness’s sake. “Hey, can I sit here?”

  The round jackal eyes rexed. Anubis gave a doggy smile. “Sure, Eagle. Been a while.”

  “Thanks. Yeah.” He set the little mug down and pulled out a chair. “What’ve you been doing with yourself?”

  “I could ask you the same question.” The doggy smile opened farther. How Anubis could talk with his tongue hanging out had been a mystery for years, but it didn’t matter, did it? He could, so what was the use in questioning?

  Eagle pyed with his mug, trying to think how to answer. “Oh, you know. This and that. Burning the government. Installing a new one. The usual.”

  “Well, I haven’t moved much,” Anubis said. His doggy smile was wide and ironic. “Not much call for me these days. Isis, sure. She and Hecate have the magic locked down. Even that redheaded asshole Set—but not me.”

  Eagle said nothing. What was there to say? If nothing else, Set could be counted on for a high-quality blowjob in the bathroom if you caught him drunk enough (but if Horus was in the room, forget it).

  The gods were a messy proposition at the best of times. Eagle had more than his share of fws. He was impulsive. He was impatient. He was a horny little shit—but there, he couldn’t compete with any of the gods, except maybe poor Aphrodite, who wanted it a lot less than it flew her way. Right now, she sat a few tables over with her endless auburn locks covering her bits and more men crammed around her table than would strictly fit. When he looked at her, she dazzled at Eagle and rolled her eyes wildly, as if to say, I know, right?

  She was almost as pretty as Fox, but Eagle had never tried anything or really wanted to. She had the wrong equipment, but he had the suspicion she liked that about him. He raised his half-empty mug slightly in salute before the moment ended.

  No one was quite as pretty as Fox. Not even gods could hope to be that gorgeous. His face would’ve stood out to Eagle anywhere, even here, where everyone was either so surpassingly beautiful you’d never want to stop looking or so incredibly ugly you’d never forget. When he set the mug down again, Anubis topped him off from a clear pitcher of slightly cloudy, reddish beer.

  I never brought Fox here, he thought. He might be in the doghouse for that one ter—but Fox might not like it, either. As nice as he was about it, he got nervous when he thought too many people were looking and downright panicked when someone hit on him. Eagle would probably have to beat Achilles off with a stick.

  Even so, if he ever got the chance, he’d take it. The bolt hole he was staying in would make a nice pce to escape to for a week or so, and they could come out when they felt like it—which might be never. He missed Fox like he’d miss a hand.

  “There’s something on your mind,” Anubis said. One of his big triangur ears folded over limp, a sure sign he was already drunk.

  Eagle shrugged and drained the beer. There was a distinct sweetness in it, probably the honey the Egyptians liked. “Isn’t there always?”

  “Sure,” said Anubis, pouring another mug for Eagle and one for himself. “Last time I saw you, you were on your way through to Two. How’d that go?”

  “Pretty great, actually.” Eagle smiled to think on it, though for sure it hadn’t seemed pleasant at the time. “Like I said, burned the government, helped install a new one.” He paused for a sip. “Letty’s my, you know, I guess you’d say my boyfriend. So, it came out great.” Except for all the math, anyway. Even then, he’d take the math in a heartbeat if it meant Fox was anywhere else rather than where he was.

  His face fell when he thought about it, even though Anubis said, “All right, man!” and lifted a palm for a high five.

  Eagle couldn’t bring himself to sp back. He shook his head.

  “Don’t leave me hanging!” said the Judge of the Dead accusingly, wiggling his hand like that would help Eagle find it. It took a few more seconds before he put it down on the table instead. “What’s the matter? You don’t like him anymore?”

  “I’ll die before that happens.” He’d really die. He drained the mug to seal it, but it had already been sealed a long time ago. Small beer was doing just fine by him.

  “So, then, what?” Anubis topped him off with graceful, gleaming bck hands bearing elegant bck cws, then poured for himself. That was the st of the pitcher. “He doesn’t like you, maybe.”

  “If it was that, I could get along with it better.” Eagle’s stomach thrashed, and he didn’t drink more of the bread mash beer just yet. “Maybe. He’s missing.”

  Anubis winced visibly. “Already?”

  “It’s not my fault he got taken away from me,” Eagle protested, digging in his pocket. He rolled a fat gold coin toward the pitcher. The coin went on a curving path and struck the side, then bounced off and y ft.

  “You are kind of a badass,” Anubis said, but he was amused about it.

  “Look. We had them dead to rights. He’s kind of a badass. Like, the kind that can turn you inside out before you say don’t do that. A sorcerer.” It was probably Eagle’s favorite thing to talk about. “This man was in a glowing underground cavern talking to a nexus spirit, and he barely broke a sweat.”

  Anubis’s mouth shouldn’t have let him whistle, but he let out a long, low one anyway. He wore golden cuffs on his wrists, and they caught the light that came under the stairs. He drank his beer down and gestured high for service. “Who kidnaps a mage that powerful? Like who even needs that, you know?”

  “Now that’s a long story. The longest.”

  “More to the point, why have I never met him?”

  “You will.” Fox deserved to come here. He could throw down with plenty of these people and expect to win, and Eagle would put money on it. “As soon as I get him back from these immortal sphincters on their stupid fucking spaceship.”

  “I don’t think I need to tell you to go on.” A waitress showed up to bring a new pitcher and take the old one away, though, and Eagle couldn’t talk in front of her. It sounded crazy, even by the differing set of standards in the Divine Arms.

  At least his stomach had recovered enough to let him toss one back. He was a lightweight, but literally. “We were fighting,” he added. “Me and him. Practically the st thing I said to him was pissy. I’d take it back if I could, I swear.”

  Anubis nodded. For a little while, they sat and drank their way through a couple pitchers. The god outpaced Eagle in about two seconds, but who was counting?

  Inazagi flopped down—literally—in a chair at the table. Each lifted their mugs her way. She lifted hers back and joined them in serious drinking. Since she had a rotting, putrescent stomach that stained her white kimono, this was probably the only table she could sit at.

  “‘Immortal sphincters’?” Anubis said after a little while. “What are we talking here, butts that won’t quit, or something a little less pleasant?”

  “What are we talking about?” Izanagi demanded, poking a tremulous eyeball back into pce. “No sphincter is immortal. Trust me on that.”

  “Yeah, well, these ones are as tight as the day they were hatched.” Eagle pursed his mouth. “With their bck sailor uniforms and their stupid little hats. They got back up.”

  Izanagi sucked her teeth. When she spoke, one fell out. “Did they trail body parts?”

  “They didn’t look dead, if that’s what you’re asking—and they should’ve been, if you catch my drift.” By the end of it, almost every st one of them was hale and whole. Eagle drank compulsively from his mug. How many was he on? “They looked healthy.”

  “In other words, people with a certain retionship to mortality,” said Anubis. He nodded and nodded, like he was processing.

  “Ten bucks on you-know-who,” Izanagi said.

  Anubis smiled a doggy drunken smile with his tongue lolling outrageously and gave her finger guns. “No bet.”

  “Don’t even get me started on how they treat that poor goddess.” The Queen of Hell jabbed her finger down on the table. It stayed attached. “She doesn’t like bck! Imagine!”

  “So, wait. Hang on a second.” Eagle raised his palms. “You know who these sphincters are and you just—just let them wreak havoc on innocent people—for what, exactly? I mean, why?”

  Neither of the gods said anything for a moment. They looked at each other, and then Anubis shifted awkwardly before he spoke. “Nobody lets the Matil do anything, kid.”

  “No, they most certainly don’t.” Not even Eagle had noticed Hades come in, but he captured one side of the table with his deep shadow. He reminded Eagle of Fox sometimes, not because they looked alike, but because he was tired and sad.

  Eagle shook the thought off like a duck shook water. For now. “Yeah, well, I’m not gonna let them get away with it.” He did the drunken finger jab, and he was distantly aware he’d done it. “I’m gonna drag this guy out of his White Pace if I have to. Drag him out with a vengeance. Faerie magic or no Faerie magic.”

  “I heard they got Pericles st year,” Hades said in his slow, thoughtful way, but it was Anubis’s turn to hold up his palms.

  “White Pace, you said. Faerie, you said. What the everliving fuck—excuse me,” he said, nodding to the other two death deities, “do you want with Avalon? Do you want to start an interdimensional war?”

  “I want Fox.” Eagle folded his arms and settled back in the chair. “They started shit. Now there’s gonna be shit.”

  “Thus, saith Eagle,” Izanagi tittered—behind her hand. Until her finger dropped off.

  “So, let me make sure I’m getting this right.” Anubis’s turn to jab the innocent table. “You want to go to Avalon to collect a Quintinar and go kill ancient, spacefaring monsters who can’t die until they give you what you want.”

  “Exactly,” Eagle said. “Except, like I told you, I don’t go to Faerie.”

  “You’re batshit insane,” Izanagi said, but it was a dour compliment. Almost. “You don’t fuck with the Matil and you don’t fuck with Faerie, and you’re about to make a lot of very powerful people very angry with you, you know…”

  “No, you know what? You know what? I’m gonna do it.” Anubis pointed at Eagle now, the drunk point, making a point. “If you want a Quintinar, I’ll get you a Quintinar. Unless either of you guys want this one.”

  “I’ll lend you a little,” Hades put in. “It’s a better idea than any we’ve had before.”

  “You know what? You’re right.” Izanagi spped the much-abused table. Her eyeball rolled crazily across the table toward Eagle, but she kept talking. “Maybe you’ll even win. That’d show the dirty sphincters.”

  He caught the eyeball before it hit the ground, but it was cold and cmmy, and he didn’t know where to put it. “What should I do now, though?”

  “Just you wait. I’ll get you your Quintinar.” Again with the drunk point. Anubis poked him this time, right in the shoulder with one of those hard cws. “Go on. Come back in a week.”

  “You don’t have to talk to me like that.” Eagle did another drunk point right back. “I’m not a human.”

  Hades snorted softly. “What are you, a hundred? Take it easy. Enjoy the ride. Before you know it, you’re a few millennia old and all the moderns are getting it wrong.”

  Eagle looked down at his hands, but unexpectedly, they blurred. He hated to think of his friends, his love, his life in even a thousand years. Would it be like this, nothing but hurt and want for the rest of eternity? So much of it already had been.

  “It will not come to pass,” said Izanagi. She licked her lips with a potsherd tongue. Her teeth were bck with dye. “May I please have my eye back?”

  “Sure.” He rose from the table and pushed the chair back, then cupped her hand in his so neither of them could drop it.

  She folded her fingers over the eye. “Ooh, it’s so nice and warm.” Everyone pretended she hadn’t said that.

  “One week,” Anubis insisted.

  Eagle rubbed his nape. With his wet, tacky hand. “You’re sure.”

  “I guarantee it. If you come back in a week, exactly a week, a solution to your problems is going to walk through that door. Understand?”

  “You better not pull a trick on me.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Anubis spread his hands. “Now, are we gonna drink, or are we gonna drink?”