Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Are you certain you’re willing to keep fighting for the Nightmare Queen?” the Entity asked from inside him. “I understand she is important to you. But with this new life, you could have any woman on the planet.”
Nero laughed. It hurt to laugh, since the Vampire King’s hands had been wrapped very tightly around his throat hours earlier and Nero had yet to heal from the damage inflicted. But he did find the Entity’s question amusing.
Admittedly, Adelaide Lane was no supermodel fae. She was human, and humanity was fallible. She was tall, but her bones were thick. That made them strong. But some humans would find them “chunky.” Her hair was full and healthy. But many humans would see it as disastrously curly. Her skin was neither dark nor light, and freckles covered her cheeks and shoulders. He’d seen some peek teasingly out from beneath the collar of her shirt when they’d been in the Duat.
Many humans found freckles unattractive. It was something having to do with the way they broke up the smooth foundation of a face. Or whatever.
The shortcomings of human philosophy would forever amuse Nero. The extents to which humanity went to create the impossible goal and then strive for that impossibility was frankly hilarious. Only humans could torture themselves so: Women must have eight percent body fat, but enormous breasts.
He chuckled out loud at the thought, and again regretted it. But anyone with half a brain and an inkling of physiological knowledge was well aware the two were an impossible combination. However, humans were not to be daunted: Our beauty goal is impossible? Never fear, we will simply build the perfect female form! Introducing silicone!
Nero shook his head and sighed. Sometimes it was funny. But sometimes it felt exhausting. And he was only on Earth for brief periods of time. He could only imagine how humans felt themselves. Especially women.
For an incubus, sight was strange. Incubi did not see what others saw. Their eyes translated what their hearts felt. Hence, a pudgy, balding man on a subway train might appear very different to a Nightmare than he did to another human. For instance, if the man had recently donated to a charity, held a door open for a stranger, or given up his seat for a woman, the Nightmare might see someone who looked more like one of his own kind, like an incubus: tall and handsome.
If, however, the balding man had just backstabbed someone, helped spread a cruel rumor, or ticketed a car parked in a space two minutes too long, the Nightmare might see exactly what other humans saw: ugliness.
It wasn’t that the incubus was not fully aware of the person’s real physical form. He was. It was simply that it was by far less important than what his heart saw.
“I am,” Nero finally said in answer to the Entity’s question. It wasn’t necessary to say it aloud; the Entity knew his thoughts. But it helped Nero to give it voice, especially after their recent setback.
Things had gone terribly wrong in the Duat. Somehow, the Nightmare King had known he would be there. Not only had he known, but he’d beaten Nero to the destination and had been lying in wait in Amunet’s chamber. He hadn’t been there alone, either. Both of his Preceptors and several supernaturals had been in the tomb with him. The fight had been furious, but fortunately fast, as the Duat had spit them out one after another, and they’d been literally ripped from one another’s killing grips.
Now Nero was back where he started. More or less. And Adelaide Lane was with the Nightmare King in the Carnival.
“I’m glad to hear it,” said the Entity. He spoke as a voice inside Nero’s head, not overpowering, but not quiet either. He was very solidly there, and strangely enough, it was almost comforting to Nero. For the entirety of his off-and-on existence, the Challenger had been alone. Now he was alone no longer. Whatever else, there was something to be said for that.
Still… he wondered if the Entity would always be there. Even if it managed to get its way.
“You want to know if I can leave your body as easily as I inhabited it.”
Nero turned and glanced across the room at the mirrors that were above the bar in his downtown office. But all he saw was Nero: handsome, dangerous, dressed in suit pants, a button-up shirt open at the collar, and rolled-up sleeves. He held a crystal glass with expensive bourbon in one hand. But he was alone. No Entity.
“Why not?” said Nero. “The thought crossed my mind.”
The Entity seemed to shrug inside him; it was something Nero felt, like a “very well” kind of movement somewhere near the vicinity of his brain. And then there was a whiteness behind his eyes, and the room tilted. Nero reached a hand out to the wall to steady himself. He stumbled a little, and the drink fell from his grip to tumble to the carpet.
Bourbon stained the plush pile, but it went unnoticed as Nero squeezed his eyes shut tight in an attempt to make the room stop spinning. A few beats passed, and he felt a hand on his shoulder. The spinning stopped, the tilting stopped, and the vertigo faded.
Nero opened his eyes to find himself staring into a set of white irises with no pupils. They were simply white from corner to corner.
“Better?” the Entity asked pleasantly.
Nero stared at him a moment, then nodded.
“Good. And in answer to your query, it appears I can,” said the Entity with a chuckle. His voice was different out here, unchained by human form or dimension. It echoed and felt grating. It set Nero’s teeth slightly on edge. And suddenly, Nero Crowley realized that for the past day or so, he’d been possessed by an evil being. And he hadn’t been bothered by it at all.
Not like he was now – staring into the Entity’s ghostly, very wrong gaze.
The Entity lowered his hand, and Nero swallowed.
“Now then,” the white-eyed man said. “We have some things to discuss. Your Adelaide Lane has friends in powerful places. If we are going to get a second shot at her before she becomes Queen, we need to act quickly.” The Entity turned and moved to the liquor cabinet, where he proceeded to pour himself a second drink.
Nero glanced down at his own spilled glass. Then he looked back up to watch the Entity.
“I prefer Scotch, personally,” he said conversationally. “Much like your Nightmare King, I suppose.” He finished adding a few clean pieces of ice, then took a long pull, emptying half the contents of the glass. He closed his eyes and swallowed. “I can only imbibe after a possession,” he told Nero. “Something about the joining adds to my own form’s cohesiveness for a bit.” He smiled, and the smile stretched a bit too far on either side of his face. “I can’t tell you how much I miss this stuff when I can’t drink it. You never know what you’ve got until it’s gone, am I right?”
He put the glass to his lips and took a second drink, finishing the Scotch off. Then he placed the glass on the counter and turned to fully face Nero. His hands slid casually into his suit pants pockets as he leaned against the bar’s counter.
“Lane has been having visions,” he told Nero. “These are different from her usual peeks into the future. These are far worse. Ultimately, they will draw her to a certain location.” He pushed off the counter and paced slowly to Nero. “We will be there when she arrives.”
Nero digested that, but said nothing. It sounded good to him.
Sort of.
Something about the Entity was giving him misgivings. Really? He asked himself quietly – very quietly, for fear the Entity might hear his thoughts. What could be causing those misgivings, Nero? Maybe the pure evilness of the being before you? Maybe the fact that as a Nightmare, you can see just how deep that evil goes?
Shut up, he told himself. This was his chance. Never before had he possessed the advantage of someone powerful working on his side. The fact that the Entity had his own goals to gain was immaterial. The ultimate reward was the same.
And this was Nero’s last opportunity. The introduction of a queen was changing everything. He wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was because now… now the King had someone to protect him full time. Just like she did on a chess board. And maybe the Nightmare King only had so many rebirths to begin with. Maybe it was time for him to start living life with a healthy fear of mortality.
Maybe, just maybe, it was simply that nothing lasted forever. Entropy eventually won every time.
So this is it, he told himself firmly. Shut the hell up and play the game, and you might survive this turn. You might get to stay here. You might get to live.
And if you’re really damned lucky, you might even get the girl.