The Fire God

Chapter Seven

As expected, Mu was prompted procuring the necessary papers. The concierge brought them to me personally and I sorted through the stack. Knowing my disinterest for official papers, a new passport was included for me. She also included luggage with a note saying I needed to be more attentive to these things. Remember, she wrote, you're not permitted to have knives on the plane. You don't want to use the unicorn horn in front of your guests. I burned the letter, brushed the chars from my palms.

I browsed Aditi's papers as well. Mu picked out a July birth date for Aditi, which amused me and was likely a very accurate estimate.

I found my daughter. She was enjoying breakfast with the little nephilim and her brother. Aditi had ordered gambir with some grass jelly for the trio. Strictly speaking, they were pancakes, but it was her favorite. I presented Aditi with the passport. She stared at it, flipped it around, had no idea what it was. Then I presented her with the plane tickets. Those she comprehended better.

"Thank Mu the next time you see her," I said. "She got them for you."

Her mouth was a gaping abyss welling with joy. She leaped up, threw her arms around me. By the time I handed Aditi the papers, the nephilim pair had deciphered our plans. The female nephilim had dared to jump into my arms and hug me, but Max had stayed several paces back. A few days lapsed before the plane would take us to this new continent that I'd only visited once.

I insisted on first class. I couldn't stand sitting for the amount of time necessary to fly myself and my daughter to California. The female nephilim showed her how to operate the screen in the headrest of the seat in front of her and my daughter tapped until she found a movie that interested her.

The flight attendant was kind about my frequent journeys up the aisle. She brought us food regularly. She was particularly attentive to us. Though this wasn't a private jet, the flight attendant likely had direct instructions from Mu.

Aditi was in love with the airport terminals and ran around to the stores with glaring lights and walls of ghastly novelties that I found obnoxious. The female nephilim trailed after her and handed the clerks a plastic card whenever Aditi found a knickknack that she insisted on keeping.

After thirty hours and two layovers, we arrived in San Francisco. A car was ready to pick us up, delivered us to the mansion of Sylvester Jollington the Third. He was at the door to greet us when we arrived. He was younger than my three travel companions. He was in a suit, had his stringy locks combed back.

"Mricul," he said, marching over to me, clapping me around the shoulder and shaking my hand. "Sylvester, but everyone calls me Syllie." He pumped his round head up and down, his numerous chins like an accordion.

The false Phoenix appeared in the doorway. Almost as enthusiastic as the female nephilim, he rushed to me when he saw me.

"Oh my god," he said in Latin. "I can't believe it's you. I mean, Mricul. I can't believe you're really Mricul."

I had made a mistake. I shouldn't have come. I turned, started to walk across the room. Syllie was directing us to rooms on the second floor. Yes, that would be best. The simpering Phoenix Warrior followed, put his hand on my shoulder, continued on in Latin.

I jerked my person out of his grasp. "I speak English," I growled.

"Oh. I'm sorry. I thought Latin would be easier for you."

I continued up the steps, though Syllie winced when I wrenched my body out of the Phoenix imposter's hand.

The Phoenix Warrior continued, "My name is Dirk."