Beri stepped through the portal, which spun closed. The nd surrounding him was more rural than he’d expected, not that he had expected anything in particur from a god bar. Visually, it wasn’t much. A number of rough-hewn stone pilrs arranged together in a loose circle stood on the moonlit crown of a rolling hill. Several had fallen over, one against the other, barely propped in pce by gravity and their own weight. Moss straggled and stretched up the side of the stones. Knee-high grass waved all the way to the edges. Walls, maybe? It looked more like a ruin than a bar.

  If there was any evidence that the gods had ever been here, it was in the skies. Stars, brighter and clearer than his city-born eyes had ever seen, pin-pricked the dome of spangled darkness all the way to the lip of the horizon. If he looked closely, he could see the swirls of distant gaxies among them.

  Well, the gods had to come from somewhere, he thought.

  There was nowhere to go but in. Beri strode up the hill, careful of his footing on the unclear terrain. He draped the scarf around the back of his neck just as he reached the top of the hill so the glow from his freshly uncovered skin could light his way. There was one pce where the stones leaned together like the arch of a doorway. He bent low to get through.

  Beri stopped just inside to take stock of his surroundings. The light hit him first, then the smell of food, delicious enough to make his mouth water. It was an old-fashioned tavern, with wooden pnk floors and round tables. Low firelight flickered in an oversized hearth. A shiny bar with a mirror behind it reflected shelves lined with gss bottles. But that’s where the familiarity ended.

  The happy, talking patrons were unlike any he had ever seen: some looked simir to fey, with humanoid forms and feathered or insectoid wings, but others were completely unfamiliar. A being made of light lifted a pint gss with fingers like sun fres beside a vast, dark monstrosity with more tendrils than he could count. Slightly nauseated, he looked away. A very small, whiskered dragon curled around one table, pping what looked like milk from a dish. A beautiful woman with floor-length bck hair that glinted like a night sky absently stroked its ears with one hand while she used the other to turn pages in a book. She wore a dreamy expression that made Beri want to curl up at her feet beside the dragon.

  The room was crowded, so he made his way toward the bar, careful not to bump anyone. He’d walked ten paces when a loud man’s voice shouted, “Hey! Hey, you, Quintinar! You can’t be in here! You have to go!”

  Beri froze, as did the people nearby. Those closest spun to look at him. When they spotted him in their midst their eyes went wide. As Beri struggled to close his surprised mouth, the people nearest sidled away from him as if he were contagious.

  Despite the sudden embarrassment flooding through him, he took himself firmly in hand. Beri lifted his chin and squared his shoulders. Into the sudden hush, he called, “Might we inquire why not?”

  The man who had spoken was the bartender. He was a fat little Satyr with a white cloth thrown over his shoulder and a deep scowl on his face. He was nude, with his more sensitive parts covered in thick, curly hair. He had nowhere to pin a name tag but instead wore a nyard around his neck with a card that read BACCHUS. Beri wondered if he really was who his nametag cimed.

  The Satyr pointed at a white sign behind the bar. At the top of the page was a heading: NO ADMITTANCE. It was a short list. Somewhere in the middle, he could clearly read the printed name: Aubri Quintinar. God killer.

  “Fuck,” he muttered. “Goddess damn you, Aubri, how are you still ruining my life?” The eyes of every bar patron were on him now. He raised his voice to be heard. “We are not Aubri Quintinar. He has been dead for millennia. We are a very, very distant descendent.”

  The scowling Satyr crossed his arms over his round, bare belly. “Is that so? Because you smell like a Necromancer.”

  Beri had no idea what to say to that. “No. Meteomancer.”

  He was alone now in the middle of the room. Everyone who had been close by had scattered, carefully enough they hadn’t drawn his attention. He felt suddenly exposed and fought down a flush.

  “Is that so?” Bacchus narrowed suspicious eyes even further. “You still got the Erlking trapped in a big onyx somewhere in Faerie?”

  “I–” Beri paused to swallow. “Yes. Our Rule of Law is complicated. Our Seasons–”

  “Yeah, Rule of Law is like that when you build your monarchy on somebody else’s back.” Bacchus scoffed. “Get out of my bar. Don’t make me tap the sign.”

  The room was completely silent, and every face, such as they were, had trained on him. Beri wanted to crawl out of his skin. He almost turned around to leave.

  But he didn’t.

  He had dealt with enough unruly nobles in his brief tenure as High King to know what to do here. He wouldn’t have guessed real gods would behave the same as willful Gentry, but it was clearly a simir situation. He hardened his expression and slowed the air particles around him with a thought, dropping the temperature in his immediate vicinity so sharply people nearby shivered in the sudden chill.

  Beri said, “If you are familiar with Aubri Quintinar, you must be familiar with his…peculiar skillset.”

  The bartender’s scowl eased into something milder. “Yeah, I know his skill set. It says right here on the sign–”

  Beri took a step forward. As he did, he lifted his gloved hand and carefully pulled one finger free. When he had the Satyr’s attention, he pulled loose another. There was a fairly common misconception among immortals the worlds over that he needed skin to skin contact in order to cast The Birthright. He never bothered to disabuse them. “As you are familiar with Aubri’s abilities, you must also be familiar with ours.”

  The bartender was silent now, wide eyed and ashen. The rest of the people in the room looked much the same. If Katie were here she would say, oh my actual god, babe, you are such a drama queen. But she wasn’t here. The st time he saw her, she was screaming from the cold iron burns and smelled of charred flesh instead of lics and mown grass.

  Bacchus said, “I mean. I don’t know you personally, but I can extrapote based on the. Ah. The avaible data.”

  Beri paced toward the bar. He pulled off his first glove, then started on the other. “Mm. So you’re well-versed in the goings-on in Faerie, yes? In the business of those who allow foreigners to call us the Sidhe?”

  “You mean the Gentry? I wouldn’t say well-versed–”

  “Ah! You even know what we call ourselves! Surely, then, you must be aware that the rulers of the Gentry cannot lie.”

  As Beri paced closer to the bar, the Satyr backed up one step, then another. “I think–I think I heard about that, yes.”

  Beri drew abreast of the bar, then spped his deerskin gloves down on the top with a faint thud. The Satyr flinched. He had pressed his back against the cabinets under the bar mirror now, hands spyed against the wooden doors behind him. Beri knew he was not imagining the wide-eyed horror in the wine god’s eyes, or the faint tremor that shook his lower lip.

  Beri met his gaze. “Then please believe us when we say we will not leave until we obtain the information we’ve come for.”

  “Oh.” Bacchus swallowed hard. “Oh, is that it? You just want information? That shouldn’t be a problem. I don’t–I don’t think there’s a problem with that.”

  Beri gave the bartender a big, bright smile, exactly like one he might pster on to have his picture taken for a magazine cover. “That’s wonderful. You’re too kind. Would you mind answering a few questions? Then we’ll happily get out of your hair.”

  Bacchus said, “Uhm. No. I don’t. Uhm. I don’t mind.”

  Sitting on one of the conveniently vacated bar stools, Beri drew his phone out of his pocket. He pulled up his newest picture of Katie, an image she’d taken while wearing her white vegan leather jacket. He spun the screen around where the bartender could see. “Have you seen this girl?”

  Though he craned his neck forward to look at the screen, Bacchus didn’t move his body closer. He gave Beri what was probably supposed to pass as a friendly smile but instead looked sweaty and a little sick. “Little missing persons case, huh? You moonlighting as a private investigator or something?”

  Beri blinked. “Do we look like a private investigator?”

  Bacchus opened his mouth to respond, then decided better of whatever he was going to say and shook his head at the floor. “Nope. I would not say so, no. I haven’t seen her. Sorry.”

  A quick thorn of dismay pierced him, but he bulled on. He hadn’t expected anyone here to have seen her, not really. “Fair enough. Are you familiar with a group of immortals who can wield cold iron? They look like fey, perhaps like Unseelie, but they have a spaceship.”

  Raising his eyebrows, Bacchus looked incredulous. “Your girlfriend got abducted by aliens?” Beri didn’t smile. Bacchus cleared his throat. “That’s unfortunate. I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Then I suppose there’s only one question left to ask.” Beri steeled himself; this time if the answer was a no, the god bar was another dead end, and he’d have to start over again. “There is one we’ve read about called the Border Lord. He’s some sort of portal magus. He creates paths through the Veils?”

  “The Border Lord?” Bacchus paused, thinking. “Yeah. Him, I know.” The Satyr’s eyes widened. “Oh, shit. You’re a god killer.”

  This time, Beri raised an eyebrow. “Mm. We noticed.”

  Bacchus held up a hand, pleading patience. “No, I don’t mean–I know the Border Lord. He comes in here all the time, but more often tely. He’s been looking for a god killer.”

  Beri stiffened.

  “But you’re here looking for him!” The Satyr chuckled and shook his head. “Well now I’m gd I didn’t throw you out.” He raised his voice to call out to the room at rge: “Hey, which one of you guys set this up? Coulda warned me.” He chuckled again. “Grab a seat, kid. I’m sure he’ll be along pretty soon. But, uh, do me a favor and sit somewhere else? You’re scaring away the custom.”

  As soon as Beri had walked away from the bar, immortals of various ilks flowed onto the seats along it. The conversation recommenced as if it hadn’t been quiet for the st ten minutes.

  “Hey, Quintinar!” A voice called. Beri looked up to find a tall man with the head of a jackal grinning at him, pink tongue lolling happily through white teeth, triangur ears swiveled toward him with clear interest. The man waved him over. At least someone is happy to see me. He crossed the room to join his new host.

  The jackal-headed man was not alone at the table. Three identical blonde women holding spindles smiled at him. On the south side sat a stern-looking man with very bck skin and a rope tied around his waist. The end of the rope was tied into a noose. A mace leaned on the leg of the table beside him.

  “I’ve been waiting for you to show up!” The jackal headed man held out a hand, and Beri csped his wrist. The smiling god chuckled. “Here, have a seat.” He reached over the back of a chair at a nearby table to drag it over.

  Beri nodded gratefully as he sat. “May your kindness be returned to you, Mr.–?”

  “You aren’t going to use my name to spell me, are you?” He ughed again. “Anubis. You’re one of Thael’s boys.”

  Surprised, Beri blinked. “You knew my father?”

  “Yeah.” Anubis’ smile faded. “Yeah, I did. He was a good man. I’m sorry for your loss. My brother said his heart was light when he weighed it, though.”

  Beri didn’t know what that meant, but he understood from Anubis’s tone it was supposed to be comforting. “His absence is deeply felt in our homend.”

  Anubis nodded solemnly, patting Beri’s shoulder in a kind way. The touch was both surprising and welcome. Few people had the courage to treat Beri with such familiarity these days.

  “Ah, meet my friends. Yama–” the dark man with the noose nodded; “And the triplets, Urd, Verdandi, and Skuld. You just missed Pluto. Next time.” Beri csped each of their wrists in turn before Anubis continued. “Listen, don’t let Bacchus get to you. The others act like we’re this big interruption in their otherwise shining professions. Meanwhile we do as much good as they do, and they do plenty of evil. You’re using your death magic to resist genocide and implement emancipation, but his camp’s all gravy until everybody’s puking blood and raping each other.”

  At Beri’s horrified look, Anubis expined, “He’s a wine god.” The bartender really was who his name tag cimed, then. “Speaking of which, can I buy you a drink?”

  “Ah,” Beri said, even as understanding dawned. “No. We’ve been sober for some time now.”

  “Then you know what I’m talking about.” The jackal head nodded sagely. “You want a Coke?”

  Beri blinked hard. “They serve Coke at a god bar?”

  Yama chuckled in a bass register. Everyone looked at him. “You’d rather have Pepsi?”

  The woman in the middle, the one Anubis had introduced as Verdandi, tipped her chin toward the bar. “Hey, handsome, I think your mark just got here.”

  Beri followed her gesture back over his shoulder. A small man leaned with his palms against the bar, elbows stuck out, conversing with the bartender. His clothes were dark and pin, his hair was a short, dark scrub. He wore no shoes, and the bottoms of his feet were dirty. A cloud of pixies darted around him, leaving splotches of glittering dust across his shoulders and hair. One of them tugged sharply on the pointed tip of the man’s ear. Beri cringed in empathy as the man flinched, but the stranger didn’t wave the little thing away. Instead, he lifted a hand to let the impatient creature step onto his palm. He must have felt eyes on him; he turned, then pushed off the bar and headed over.

  Eagle Eye, Beri thought. How did he know the man’s name? He was not what Beri had expected any more than the god bar was. He gave up on expecting things.

  To Anubis, Beri said, “It’s been lovely to meet you, Lord Anubis. Lord Yama. Ladies. But our time here seems to be growing short.”

  He stood as the man neared him. Eagle-Eye was roughly Katie’s height, wearing nondescript clothing and an old-fashioned cloak that made the gaze pass over him as uninteresting. His movements were smooth and practiced, while his posture spoke of an easy confidence. Pixies continued to buzz around him like so many falling stars. Border Lord, Beltrix Beldona had called him, and Beri believed it. Magical potential swirled around him like the stormy arms of a hurricane.

  As Eagle Eye drew near, Beri realized he was being studied in turn: clear, pale eyes flicked down the length of his body before the newcomer tipped his face up to meet Beri’s gaze. His expression was a gentle, appreciative smirk. Beri didn’t sigh. He could only hope this Border Lord wasn’t the type to become distracted by an attraction.

  Eagle-Eye said, “I heard you were looking for me.”

  “We’re looking for one the Flower Court calls ‘Border Lord.’ Are you he?”

  The interest in the newcomer’s expression became less sexual and more appraising. “That depends. Have you ever killed a god?”

  Beri scoffed. “Once or twice.”

  Eagle-Eye raised both eyebrows as if he could tell from Beri’s tone of voice how vast an understatement that was. His smirk came back, but it was different now: he’d found what he needed in an unexpected package. “Do you want to do it again?”

  Beri said, “I thought you’d never ask.”