John Wright - Titans of Chaos

I watched a couple go by. The man had glasses shaped like the number 2008, with an eye peering through each zero. His date was wearing see-through plastic pants.

"What about them?"

Tall and Dark said, "They're on the list. Dress code does not apply to Mr. Archer's special guests."

Victor said, "Leader, why don't we simply leave a cell phone number? Archer can call us, once he gets Boggin's message."

Before I could answer, Tall and Dark said, "Listen, you seem like nice kids. You go away and come back dressed properly, you can come in."

I said, 'Then we can see Mr. Archer?"

A shrug. "Maybe he'll see you, maybe not He's not here right now, but he might be back tonight."

Vanity said to me, "Amelia, my nice outfits are on the boat. And where are the boys going to get tuxedoes at this hour? We don't have that much money left, after all."

Tall and Dark said, "Kids, if you are not the kind of folk who can afford expensive suits with your pocket money, you're not getting into this club."

Vanity's face was flushed with anger. She stamped her foot and demanded, "What? Is there a tailor open at this hour?"

Her rosy-red features and low-cut blouse, well, they attracted his attention, and his craggy face softened once again with a smile. "Look, like I said, I'm Mr. Nice Guy. I stop fights, see? We like to have good-looking girls in the club. Here."

He took a card out of his pocket, leaned his harpoon against the wall, took out a ballpoint pen, and scribbled on the back. He proffered the card to Vanity. "Go to this address. Tuxedo shop, dresses, that sort of thing. Upscale, very nice. They keep late hours. Show the manager my card, and he'll fix you up, give you ten percent off. He owes me a favor. And meanwhile, you there, Little Miss Blond Girl." He offered me the pen and a blank card. "Write a message. Any crazy thing you like, gods blowing up the world, whatever. I'll put it on Mr. Archer's desk. I can't guarantee he'll read it, I can't guarantee he'll believe it, but write what you like. Don't bother putting down your phone number. He never makes calls. Hates phones. Likes to talk to people face-to-face, you know?"

I knelt down to use the pavement for a desk. I forget what I wrote: something about how Boggin sent us, we were not from Mavors or Mulciber, but we have urgent business to discuss. I was kind of coy about saying too much, but I wanted to drop names so he'd know we were not humeys.

Wolves, not cattle.

Then the huge guy politely escorted us to the curb, smiled, ignored whatever else we said, and stomped back to the club, his ring mail glittering and chiming at every footstep.

Vanity, staring at the broad back retreating said, "Why was he carrying a harpoon?"

Quentin said, "Because that was-"

Without warning, Vanity jumped into Quentin's arms and landed a big, wet, sloppy kiss on his lips.

After a moment or two, Colin said, "Are you guys going to come up for air?"

I slapped myself on the neck. "Damn these mosquitoes." Then I said, "Let's go to this tux shop, whatever it is." And I began marching down the sidewalk. Vanity and Quentin broke their hold and followed.

After a short bit, we turned a corner, and Vanity said softly, "All clear."

Colin said to Vanity, "Red, if I am about to say something stupid, would you kiss me, too?"

Quentin said, "Down, hormone boy, down!"

Vanity smiled sweetly. "Each time you are about to say something stupid? Well, I'd have no time for anything else!"

I looked at Vanity, "If we are now in the clear... ?" She nodded.

To the group: "First, in the future, let the Leader do the talking. That was just disgraceful!

Everyone jaw-jawing at once. If I had been the bouncer, I would have had us all arrested." I drew a deep breath and gave them all the basilisk eye. No one decided to talk back to me, not then.

To Quentin: "And what were you about to say, Quentin?"

"Deimos. That was Deimos, son of Mavors. Terror is his other name. Miles is just a word for

'soldier.' He stops fights because he is the god who causes one side to panic and rout, so that spearmen can cut them down from behind as they flee." Quentin breathed a sigh and wiped his brow. "He is not Mr. Nice Guy. Really. Not. Did none of you recognize him?"

Vanity said, "Why a harpoon?"

Quentin said, "Not sure. Maybe as a symbol? Terror, once it strikes, leaves its hook in your heart, and slowly pulls you in. Even the hugest creatures on earth cannot escape."

Victor said, "What now, Leader? I suggest we break into the club and wait for Mr. Archer to return-assuming he is actually gone."

I said, "Why would Mavors' son help us against his father?"

Quentin said, "Greek gods don't love their dads. Saturn castrated his father and ate his son, or tried to, and he, in turn, threw him into Tartarus." Quentin shivered again. "I have no love for the White Christ, but at least the God of Jerusalem was adored by his son."

Victor said sardonically, "Who adored the son enough in return to have him tortured to death for crimes he did not commit."

I said, "We are shelving the theology discussion. Advice on a course of action? We have one vote for break in and surprise him."

Colin licked his lower lip and said in a thoughtful tone, "That big guy? I think I can take him.

Let's break in."

I had sudden insight into male psychology. My theory: Guys are idiots. Keep this theory in mind. It explains the phenomena while assuming no unnecessary agents.

Vanity said in exasperation, "Beggars can't be break-in-ers! We're trying to get ourselves free from Mavors' curse. If we disobey his direct order, then it's a Quentin thing again, right? Like poor Mr. Finklestein looking at Phoebe bathing. So we are coming to this guy for help." She turned to Quentin. "Deimos is really Archer, right? There are not two gods running around in L.

A."

Quentin did not answer her, but said, "Leader, I cannot trespass, or break rules like that, or else my Art will endanger me."

I said, "If you were wearing a tux, could you break in? Think about the words Deimos said. He invited you back in, if you were dressed right. He did not say anything about going in through the front door."

Victor said, "So what's the plan?"

I said, "Let's go shopping! You know, I have not spent a single dime of my money yet, and I think I need a new dress."

"Upscale" he called it. The place was huge. Glittering aisles of goods were piled deep as the rooms of gold the Aztecs gathered to ransom Montezuma. Fabrics, jewelry, more shoes than an elfish cobbler's shop. Sporting goods for sale in the back of the store. (I made a mental note to buy myself a shooting iron. I was in America, after all.) Electronics. Televisions. Musical instruments.

Everything.

The store was strangely deserted-or, not so strange, considering the late hour-but the manager came hurrying down the empty aisles when the five of us entered the front door.

He smiled and inclined his head when we showed him the card Deimos had given us. "Gentlemen's apparel is on the second floor..." He gestured toward the grand-ballroom-style staircase leading up to a sort of elevated courtyard surrounded by several departments or shops on the right.