We each screwed a suppressor in place, then tucked our handguns into underarm holsters. I plugged in my mixer, which did work; the loud wrrr it put out gave us covering sound. I threw some ingredients into the mixing bowl just in case, then laid out the decorating tools.
Advantageously, our little pantry had its own door into the main room. I moved over to peek out while Megan tore apart her mixer’s power adapter and removed a small, boxy device much like a mobile.
I cracked the door to do a quick survey of the party. The kitchens were in the absolute center of the seventy-first level, which was important, since a portion of the floor outside rotated.
A revolving restaurant: one of those strange ideas from pre-Calamity that I sometimes had trouble believing were real. Once upon a time, ordinary people could have come up here for a nice meal while they looked over the city. The tower’s pinnacle restaurant was like a wheel, with the hub remaining stationary and the floor rotating in a ring outside. The outer walls were stationary as well. The ceiling rose in places two more floors to the tower’s roof; the partial levels above us were now being used only to position lighting.
The transformation into salt had positively ruined the machinery for the floor, particularly the motors and wires. Getting the place rotating again apparently required the effort of a work crew, engineers, and a minor Epic named Helium who had levitation powers. Loophole went through the hassle every week though, to make something special—something that would stand out. A very Epic thing to do.
I spotted the woman herself sitting at one of the tables on the rotating portion. She had a pixie cut and a slender build. A nice complement to the 1920s-style outfit she wore.
The party up here was more subdued than the one on the first floor; no loud music, just a string quartet. People sat at tables draped in white, waiting for food. In other areas, the salt tables and chairs had been moved aside to allow dancing, but nobody was bothering with that. Instead each table was its own little fiefdom, with an Epic holding court, surrounded by sycophants.
I picked out a series of minor Epics, noting which ones were still alive—meaning they’d thrown their lot in with Prof rather than fleeing the city. Stormwind was there, surprisingly: a young Asian woman sitting on a dais. She had obviously weathered her time in Prof’s prison and been released. Prof had apparently paraded her around as he had in order to show that he was now dominant in Ildithia. But ultimately, he needed her. Without her powers the crops wouldn’t grow, and luxuries—and even basic necessities—in the city would dry up.
I shook my head. I couldn’t see the entire room from my vantage, as it was shaped like a ring, but Prof wasn’t in this half—and I doubted he was in the other half. He wasn’t likely to attend a party like this.
“We’re in position,” Mizzy said softly over the line. “We’ve made it to the seventieth level.”
That was where Tia was being held, and was also where Prof’s rooms would be. The two were on opposite sides of the building though, so hopefully we’d have Tia in hand and be gone before he even realized we’d been here. Her original plan had included luring him out of his rooms with a distraction so she could grab his information without him knowing, but we didn’t have to worry about that now.
“Roger,” Cody said. “Nice work, Team Hip. Wait for David’s or Megan’s go-ahead before continuing.”
“Yeaaah,” Mizzy said. “No risk of us doing otherwise. This place is littered with security cameras. Infiltration suits won’t be enough to get us any farther.”
“We’ll get ready for step three,” I said. “Just let us…”
I trailed off, my jaw dropping as I spotted something out in the main room.
“David?” Cody asked.
Someone had rotated into view, sitting on a salt throne and surrounded by women in tight dresses. A man in a long black coat, with dark hair that tumbled past his shoulders. He sat imperiously, hand resting on the hilt of a sword, which stood point-down beside him like a scepter.
Obliteration. The man who had destroyed Houston and Kansas City and tried to blow up Babilar. The tool that Regalia had used to push Prof into darkness. He was here.
He met my eyes and smiled.
I ducked back into our pantry room, heart thumping, palms sweating. It was all right. I was wearing a false face. Obliteration wouldn’t recognize me. He was just a creepy guy who would give that look to—
Obliteration appeared next to me. Like always with his teleportation, he materialized in a flash of light. Megan cursed, stumbling backward, as Obliteration rested his hand on my shoulder. “Welcome, killer of demons,” he said.
“I…” I licked my lips. “Great Epic, I think you have mistaken me for someone else.”
“Ah, Steelslayer,” he said. “Your features may change, but your eyes—and the hunger within them—are the same. You have come to destroy Limelight. This is natural. ‘For I am come to set a man at variance against his father, and the daughter against her mother…’?”
Megan’s gun clicked as she rested it against the side of Obliteration’s head. She didn’t shoot. It would draw attention to us, ruining the plan. Besides, he’d simply teleport away before the bullet hit.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded.
“I was invited,” Obliteration said, smiling. “Limelight sent for me, and I could not but agree to appear. His calling card was…demanding.”
“Calling card…,” I said. “Sparks. He has a motivator based on your powers.” Knighthawk had said that if you tried to build a device using a living Epic’s powers, it would work—but would cause them pain, and draw them to it.
“Yes, he did use one of those…devices to summon me. He must wish for death, Steelslayer. As we all do, in the depths of our souls.”
Sparks. Regalia must have made at least one more bomb from Obliteration’s powers—one other than the ones for Babilar and Kansas City. A bomb Prof now had. Prof would have had to charge his with sunlight. I assumed that was what had drawn Obliteration.
That meant that somewhere in this city was a device capable of destroying it in an instant. How terrible would it be if Prof gave up his humanity to protect Babilar, only to inflict the exact same destruction on Ildithia?
Obliteration watched us, relaxed. When we’d parted last, it had been after a long chase in which he’d tried his best to kill me. He didn’t seem to bear a grudge, fortunately.
But before we’d parted, I’d been forced to reveal something to him. “You know the secret of the weaknesses,” I said.
“Indeed,” he answered. “Thank you very much for that. Their dreams betray them, and so my holy work may proceed. I need only discover their fears.”
“You mean to rid this world of Epics,” Megan said.
“No,” I said, holding Obliteration’s eyes. “He means to rid this world of everyone.”
“Our paths align, Steelslayer,” Obliteration said to me. “We will need to face one another eventually, but today you may proceed with your task. God will make of this world a glass, but only after the burning has come…and we are his fires.”
“Damn, you’re creepy,” Megan said.
He gave her a smile. “?‘And there shall be no night there; and they need no candle, neither light of the sun; for the Lord God giveth them light.’?” With that, he vanished. As always, when he teleported away, he left a statuelike image of himself created from glowing white ceramic that shattered a second later, then quickly evaporated.
I sagged against the doorway and Megan caught me by the arm, propping me up. Sparks. As if there weren’t enough to worry about already.
“Where are those pastries!” a voice shouted outside. “Move, you slontzes. She’s demanding cupcakes.”
The tall chef burst into our pantry. Megan spun toward him, tucking her gun behind her back. And suddenly, the pan full of cupcakes from earlier had intricate frosting on the tops.
The tall chef let out a relieved breath. “Thank heavens for that,” he said, gra
bbing the pan. “Let me know if you two need anything.”
He moved away. I watched, horrified, worried that once it got too far from Megan, the frosting would vanish. She rested her hand on the counter, then slumped, and it was my turn to grab her.
“Megan?” I asked.
“I…think I managed to make those permanent,” she said. “Sparks, that’s more than I’ve done in a long time. I can feel the headache coming on already.” Her skin felt clammy under my fingers, and she’d gone pale.
That said, it was remarkable. “Imagine what you could do with more practice!”
“Well, we’ll see.” She paused. “David, I think I found a dimension where you’re not an expert in guns, but in pastries.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah,” she said, righting herself. “Yet—in all of infinity—I don’t think I’ve ever found a dimension where you can kiss worth a hill of beans.”
“That’s unfair,” I said. “You didn’t complain last night.”
“You stuck your tongue in my ear, David.”
“That’s way romantic. Saw it in a movie once. It’s like…a passionate wet willie.”
“All y’all do realize your line is open to me, right?” Cody asked.
“Shut up, Cody,” Megan said, tucking her gun back into its place under her arm. “Warn Abraham and Mizzy we had a run-in with Obliteration. We’re moving on step three now.”
“Roger,” Cody said. “And David…”
“Yeah?”
“Y’all ever stick your tongue in my ear, and I’ll shoot ya in yer bagpipes.”
“Thanks for the warning,” I said, then proceeded to undress.
I was wearing slacks under my bulky jeans and a button-up shirt underneath my jacket. Megan tossed me her jacket; I pulled out the lining, which reversed the jacket into a tuxedo coat.
Her sweater came off next, revealing the gown she had bunched up around her waist. Off came her trousers—she wore tight biker shorts beneath—and then she yanked down the gown’s skirt, covering her legs.