Read Mists of Everness (The War of the Dreaming) for Free Online Page B

said Peter. “Forgive me if I don’t stand up and clap. I vote Republican.”
    Azrael leaned back, his face impassive once more, but his eyes still burning and glittering. “The promised King shall reign a thousand years, his scepter close the gulf between this world and the next; and peace and justice shall issue from his hand.”
    Peter said, “Oh? So that’s why you’re doing all this?”
    “Indeed.” Azrael spoke in a hushed whisper.
    “For peace and justice? Well, well, well. You got a funny way of showing it. I guess the ‘peace’ is attacking and burning your own house. And the ‘justice’ must be throwing your own family in jail without a trial for no reason. Right?”
    Peter laughed harshly and continued, “No, Azrael, old boy, I guess things are pretty rough for you right now. You would not even be here talking to me, trying to get me to help you find Wendy Varovitch, if her husband hadn’t already proved to be more trouble than you figured.”
    There was a slight glimmer of fear in Azrael’s eye.
    Peter said, “He’s escaped! Raven escaped.”
    Azrael let go of the chair and took a step backward toward the door. It was fear. Peter realized Azrael was superstitious. Maybe magicians had to be. And he was facing something he did not understand.
    Peter spoke in a quiet, calm, relentless tone: “You’re scared. You thought you had it all figured, but it’s coming apart in your hands. Falling apart right before your eyes. You thought you could betray your nightmare-friends the same way you betrayed your family. You thought you could use the Key to shut the Gates of Everness before Acheron came up from the bottom of the sea. You can’t. Silver Key is gone. You wonder what Morningstar is going to see in your soul when he looks you in the eye. You wonder if Morningstar has a special chamber in his black tower set aside just for you. How did you let that Silver Key just slip between your fingers like that? You don’t know what you’re up against, do you, pal? You don’t know who we’re working for.”
    Azrael’s face was immobile, but he had gone pale and he was backing up toward the door.
    “You are so pathetic, having to come beg your victims for help! But I guess you magician types can’t do anything if we don’t help you hurt us. If we don’t consent. But you! You don’t need to help the ones coming to hurt you. You’ve already consented. You signed a contract in blood.”
    Azrael whispered, “By what prophetic art can you know this? How can you know of my contract? Or that the ink was blood? I was warded …”
    Peter said, “What are you going to do if the trumpet blows and wakes all the sleeper guys to the Last Battle? Think your tricks and charms can stop the likes of them? On the other hand, what are you going to do if the trumpet doesn’t blow and Acheron comes up out of the sea? Maybe Morningstar will let you be his court jester. But how you going to juggle for him, if he doesn’t let you keep your eyeballs and hands?”
    Peter continued sarcastically: “But, no, wait! You got this brilliant plan. This King guy is going to stop all that, right? But if he’s so just and fair, what’s he going to think when he looks at the likes of you? You were hoping he’d admire you, right? But what’s he really going to do to you, once he runs the universe? Maybe he’ll just do to you what you did to my dad.”
    Peter paused to let that comment sink in.
    Then he said in a soft voice. “You’re going to Hell, pal. Down into stinking Hell. You’re already falling down the pit; you just don’t know it ’cause you ain’t splattered on the bottom yet. Going to get out of it somehow? Try flapping your arms. Need my help? Happy landings.”
    Azrael turned and fled from the room, holding one hand before his face, middle fingers curled, thumb and pinkie extended, as if warding off a curse.
    Peter’s laughter chased him out the door.
    VII
    Peter stared at the overcoat for what seemed a long