Warcry and I left the ballroom, boots thudding on the carpet as we headed down the hall to the lobby.

  “What was that row about?” he asked. “You ask the netskin’s dear old dad for his daughter’s hand in marriage?”

  “No,” I answered too fast. Then I hesitated. “Why, is that a thing in this universe?”

  A squid in a tux squeezed past us as we stepped out into the lobby, obviously late for the party. His suction cups schlocked as he smoothed a tentacle over his hairless head fin.

  “I knew it, ya bleeder.” Warcry slammed a series of punches into my side, not worried about the disapproving glares his rowdiness was drawing from the high-class clientele.

  I shoved him off. “Shut up, you didn’t know anything. Where are we going?”

  He got serious. “A Jianjiao contact for the Dragons messaged. They’re bringing me demand from the Shinotochi job. Said they’ll dump the package on the steps of our hotel and leave it if I don’t meet them there to pick it up.”

  Warcry shoved through the revolving door. I let a section whump past, then followed him out into the night. So much had been going on lately that I’d almost forgotten Takeshi had granted him a reward for keeping me safe while I advanced to Ten.

  “What did you ask for again? To be that Nameless fighter Hyla’s IFC promoter or something?”

  “For whatever dirt the Jianjiao were blackmailing her with and the sole rights to be the one who used it.” He checked his HUD. “Come on, grav, pick up yer feet. They’ll be there in two.”

  He broke into a sprint. I poured on the speed to keep up with him, hauling backside.

  We made it to the Black Pearl at the same time as a lizard in a shadowy cloak crept up the black marble steps. His muzzle stuck out of the hood, the rest of his face obscured in darkness, and his tail poked out the back of the cloak. The basket hanging in the crook of his arm made him look weirdly Muppet-like.

  “Oi, I’m here,” Warcry called.

  I pushed Dead Reckoning out as far as it would go, scanning the area for signs of a double-cross.

  There were four life points in front of our hotel, but only three of us were visible.

  I grabbed Warcry’s arm. He glared at me.

  “Something’s off,” I said.

  “Mr. Thompson?” The lizard held up the basket. “Come and get it.”

  I shook my head. “Put it down on the steps and back up.”

  The lizard sighed. “The Dragons and the Jianjiao are allies in this war, Death cultivator.”

  “That’s never stopped us from killing each other before,” I said, thinking of the Bailiff and his buddies. “Put it down and back away. And tell whoever’s with you to do the same. I’m coming up, and I’ll know if they’re still there.”

  “Whatever, I’m just the messenger.”

  The lizard sat the basket on the top step. In a swirl of cloak, he stalked out onto the sidewalk. I waited until he rounded the corner at the end of the block.

  The extra life point was still there, burning red-orange.

  Attacks and defenses in the chamber, I climbed the steps and headed for the basket. Dead Reckoning was on a hair trigger, ready to flip if anything so much as twitched.

  “What’s in it?” Warcry called up after me.

  “I don’t know, it’s covered by one of those foil space blankets.”

  “Clear it so I can see what we got, yeah?”

  Warcry watched the street for threats while I crouched on my heels by the basket. According to Dead Reckoning, I was practically on top of that invisible person.

  “I know you’re still here,” I said in a low voice. I reached out with Dead Man’s Hand and trapped its flickering red-orange candle. “Make a move toward Warcry and you’re dead.”

  To show I wasn’t kidding around, I gave the life point a tiny squeeze.

  Something wailed. Not far away. Right in front of me.

  The space blanket thrashed.

  “Oh crap.” I dropped Dead Man’s hand like it had burnt me.

  Carefully, like I was unwrapping a lava-hot baked potato, I pinched the space blanket between my thumb and index finger and plucked it off the basket. The wailing got louder.

  “Bollix is this now?” Warcry demanded, stalking up the steps behind me.

  He stopped dead when he saw the basket’s contents.

  I gulped. “Dude, I think it’s a baby.”

  ***

  Kest met us in my room.

  “Where is it?”

  I pointed at the basket sitting on the couch. The thing had finally gone back to sleep after I tucked the blanket around its flailing arms and legs.

  She leaned over it, swiping her hair behind her ear so she could see better. She studied the baby’s round face, squashed nose, and pointed Ylef ears for a few seconds. It didn’t have much hair yet, just a dusting of reddish-orange.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Kest shot a sidelong glance at Warcry. He was pacing, stalking the room like a trapped lion. He’d been wearing a path from the door to the windows nonstop for the last half-hour.

  As usual, Kest went straight to her HUD for answers.

  “His universal implant was added to the New Arrivals section of the planetary rankings earlier tonight. Selk keeps the names, affinities, and reserves of children confidential, like most Confederated planets, but they do release some info. He’s an Entropic Supertype. Four months old. Ylef-human hybrid.”

  Warcry stopped pacing. “No.”

  “That’s what it says.”

  “It’s wrong! That little blighter ain’t mine!”

  “Take it easy, man,” I told him. “No one said it was.”

  It was just also a ginger with the same color life point and supertype.

  Fwhoosh. Flames poured down Warcry’s head and shoulders.

  “This is a put-on! One of her bleedin’ schemes!”

  All his yelling woke the baby up. It went from zero to screaming without any transitionary audio in between.

  Kest looked from me to Warcry. I don’t know what I looked like, but Warcry’s expression was a combination of fury and terror.

  She let out a disgusted grunt, then scooped the screaming lump out of the basket, cradling it like a doll.

  “He’s wet.” She grimaced. “Maybe hungry, too. Did they drop off any supplies with him?”

  I shook my head. “Just the basket and the blanket.”

  Kest swayed from one foot to the other, jiggling and patting the baby while she thought.

  “Okay, Hake, get on the hyperweb. Look up something like ‘provisions for a new baby’ or maybe ‘infant essentials.’ You—” She glared at Warcry. “—stop yelling. And control your Spirit flares. You of all people should know how sensitive Entropic supertypes are. Your Burning Hatred might be upsetting him.”

  Warcry scowled, but he sank into a taiji stance and closed his eyes, raking his hands through the push and pull motions like he was trying to strangle somebody made of Jello.

  I got to searching for baby stuff. Kest jiggled and shushed it, none of which had any effect on the noise level. I had to shout-read items over the crying so she could hear.

  When we’d gotten together a list—formula, diapers, cleaning wipes, bottles, Spirit pacifiers, Spirit monitors, and blankets—we sent an urgent message to the front desk asking them to bring up whatever they had on hand.

  Eventually, Warcry’s flames started shrinking, then finally, disappeared.

  The baby calmed down until it was just letting out little whimpers and hiccups every now and then.

  “There, I’m bleedin’ centered,” the bigger ginger grumbled, standing up. “And I figured it out. This is a Jianjiao ploy, ain’t it. They knew Takeshi-ketsu planned to have us enter Selk’s electoral tournament, so they waited ’til now to answer my blackmail demand. This ain’t what they have on Hyla at all. It’s just some unwanted scag they snatched from an orphanage. Dump the screamin’ blighter on us, we can’t sleep, I blunder during a bout, Stumpy blunders during an interview, we lose, the Jianjiao candidate’s odds of winning go up, easy as you please.”

  Kest considered that. “It’s plausible, but…”

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  “But nothing! That’s what happened.”

  “Warcry,” she said. “What’s your mother’s Spirit affinity?”

  “Hatred. She was clipped. Couldn’t advance past Sho.”

  “And what’s yours?”

  “Burning Hatred.”

  Kest tilted the baby so its squashed face was glaring mostly in Warcry’s direction.

  “And what affinity does it look like he has?”

  Warcry jabbed a finger at her. “There are thousands of affinities under the Entropic supertype. He could have Anarchy Spirit. Luck Spirit. Bleedin’ Calamity Spirit! Anything!”

  All the yelling got the baby crying again.

  Someone knocked on my door. I gave Warcry plenty of space as I passed, then checked the peephole. It was room service.

  I cracked the door and stuck just my head out, trying to keep as much of the ruckus in as possible.

  “The items you ordered, sir.” The bellhop held out a diaper bag covered in dancing starfish and oysters.

  “Thanks.” I pulled it inside the room.

  He grabbed the door before I could shut it.

  “The front desk has been getting complaints about the noise level…”

  “Yeah, sorry, we’re working on it.”

  “These are designated quiet hours,” he said. “The Black Pearl strives to provide all our guests with the same restful night’s sleep…”

  “I get it, man. We’re trying.” I jiggled the diaper bag. “We just needed this stuff.”

  “And you didn’t register any children when you checked in.”

  “Trust me, we’re as shocked as you are. We’ll get the situation under control.”

  “Because if you don’t, I’m going to have to ask you to vacate the premises.”

  “Got it. Thanks.”

  I hurried up and shut the door before he could put a time limit on that threat.

  “Sure, Stumpy, it could be hers,” Warcry was saying, in the same way he might say that we could be marching into a black hole with party hats on right that second, but he seriously doubted we were. “But that thing ain’t mine. Not a bloomin’ chance.”

  “Not just Maybe Impossible,” Kest hounded him. “One Hundred Percent Impossible. You and this Hyla never… And in fact, you never with any Ylef, anywhere… That level of impossible?”

  “Well, I’m not a monk, am I! That don’t prove bleed all.”

  “It doesn’t help your case.”

  Warcry went flame-on and took a sharp step toward Kest.

  “Just who’s side are you on, Stumpy?”

  The threat in his stance made something explode in my brain.

  I shoved between them. “Get out of her face.”

  “Or what, grav?” He got up in mine instead, chest-bumping me back. “Or what?”

  I slammed the diaper bag into his gut. He rocked back a step and slapped the bag out of the way.

  “Hake, don’t,” Kest said. “He’s just looking for a fight.”

  “Lucky him, he found one.”

  Warcry’s ready-to-beat-a-head-in smile stretched across his face. He held his arms out wide.

  “Come on and have a go, grav, if you think you’re hard enough.”

  Miasma rolled across the floor. The room lights buzzed, clinked, and flickered. Mold darkened the corners and crept in from the edges. A cold, howling wind kicked up out of nowhere.

  The baby screamed.

  “Both of you, stop!” Kest snapped. Cinnabar cable snaked around my stomach, her arm trying to winch me back. “This is ridiculous! Stop!”

  It hit me that I’d popped Fear the Reaper on Warcry without even thinking about it.

  He shouldn’t have gone after Kest. He deserves whatever he gets.

  Now is the opportune moment, Hungry Ghost agreed. Show Burning Hatred cultivator that he cannot spit on Death cultivator’s love without retribution. His disrespect for Death cultivator becomes his disrespect for the Malleable Metal cultivator. Teach Burning Hatred cultivator respect for Death. Write the lesson in flesh so all will remember.

  “Let’s go, grav!” Warcry’s eyes glittered. He waved me on with both flaming hands. “You’ve had a bad dose coming for a while now. Come take it!”

  He didn’t fear me.

  But he would.

  I started to reach for the Lunar Scythe.

  No! Hungry Ghost panicked. Use Dead Man’s Hand! Do not risk the scythe!

  I couldn’t. I’d seen Warcry’s Judgment Beyond the Veil a hundred times before. There was nothing in his past that warranted Damnation. He was that noble warrior through and through, one hundred percent committed to his code. He’d never deviated from it. Nothing had ever even tempted him to deviate from it. If I took Warcry out, it had to be with the scythe.

  Burning Hatred cultivator could seize it! Hungry Ghost’s desperation thundered off the walls of my skull. He could wield the scythe without suffering its negative effects! Do not risk it!

  “Hake!” Kest locked both her arms around me, pinning my hands to my sides. Hot Metal Spirit glowed, sizzling like blow torches when it touched the icy Miasma leaking from my pores.

  Some insane part of me bellowed to throw her off and lunge at Warcry, to see how long his sneer lasted with the Lunar Scythe whistling through the air toward his throat.

  Wait, no. Kest is right—Warcry’s my friend. Am I seriously considering using the Lunar Scythe on my friend?

  The bloodlust turned to acid in my throat. The volume on the baby’s crying turned back up, dragging me deeper into reality. The baby that possibly belonged to my friend. I could potentially have made the kid half an orphan without even thinking about it.

  I forced myself to back away from Warcry. His puffed-up muscles twitched with hostility, and his eyes narrowed, searching for the attack hidden in my retreat.

  Hesitantly, Kest let go of me. She looked from me to the ginger to see if we were going to start up again. From the basket, the baby wailed on and on.

  “I don’t want to fight you, Warcry,” I said, trying to will it to be true.

  “Too right you don’t,” he growled.

  My fist twitched back, but I gritted my teeth and ground the knuckles into my thigh.

  “Geez, you’re such a—”

  Someone started pounding on the door again.

  I swallowed all the accurate obscenities I’d been about to spit out, and exhaled, dropping into Last Light, Last Breath. Maybe in oblivion, I’d have a better chance of avoiding these murder-outbursts.

  “That’s probably the hotel manager,” I said, nodding at the door. “When the room service guy dropped off the diaper bag, he said if we couldn’t get the baby to quiet down, they would kick us out.”

  Warcry’s flames guttered.

  Kest pursed her lips, frowning at the baby like she was trying to work out a particularly complicated build.

  More insistent knocking.

  Taking a deep breath, Warcry dragged his hands down his face.

  “Grav, find something in that bleedin’ diaper bag the scag wants. Stumpy, see if you can calm it down, yeah? I’ll handle the manager.”

  As he headed for the door, Kest leaned over the basket and dangled her cinnabar hand in front of the baby. The fingers morphed into a mobile of multifaceted charms that caught the light and sparkled. She made shhing sounds and rubbed the baby’s stomach until he noticed the shiny objects. His cries tapered off as he watched them turn.

  I rolled my head on my neck, trying to release some of the tension, then snagged the diaper bag, unzipped it, and dumped baby loot all over the floor. Bottles, diapers, packets that looked like they should be full of Kool-Aid, some weird-shaped chew toys that glowed when you switched to Ki-sight, and a bunch of odds and ends I had no idea how to classify.

  At the door, the hotel manager said, “I’m afraid I have no choice, for the comfort of our other guests and to uphold the reputation of this hotel—”

  “You got the wrong room, yeah?” Warcry said. He leaned carelessly against the jamb and did something on his HUD.

  “This is absolutely the correct room. I heard the—”

  A message beep cut off the manager’s protests.

  “Best get that,” Warcry said, nodding at the manager’s HUD wrist. “It’s for you.”

  The manager blinked and checked the message. The lace in his eyes pulsed once with shock.

  “Well, I…” He gulped. “Clearly, I have the wrong room…” Another swallow, like he was trying to get down a whole chicken’s worth of bones. “I’ll see to it that your party isn’t disturbed any further during your stay, Mr. Thompson.”

  “Do, yeah?” Warcry said.

  “Y-yes. Enjoy your night, Mr. Thompson.” The manager bowed and started backing down the hall.

  Warcry slammed the door.

  “That was effective,” Kest said.

  “Bribery’s always effective. Ask me ma.” He nodded at the baby. “How we going on that thing? What’d ya find, grav?”

  It took a combination of a dry diaper, a bottle of rehydrated formula, and a fresh towel instead of the wet blanket to get the baby back to sleep.

  By popular vote, Warcry’s room became the nursery. Kest and I started transferring stuff in spite of the protests from the sole ginger holdout in the group.

  Nobody mentioned a Death cultivator almost killing anybody. I stayed wrapped in oblivion while we worked. If my friends could pretend nothing had happened, so could I.

  “How’d it go with your dad after we left?” I asked Kest in a low voice one of the times we crossed paths.

  She shook her head. “I’ll tell you later.”

  That made me wonder if she and Warcry had agreed to hold off talking about me until I was gone, too, but I just nodded and went back for another armload of baby stuff.

  While we moved everything one room over, I asked Hungry Ghost, What was that you said about Warcry stealing the scythe?

  Reluctance radiated from the trapped ancient khan.

  Burning Hatred cultivator can take the Lunar Scythe from Death cultivator if he defeats him in battle, he finally replied.

  Can’t anyone? But as soon as I’d thought that, I remembered that the angel of death had torn the scythe out of my hands and the heavenly weapon had just flowed back into my chest.

  Hungry Ghost sensed it in the Burning Hatred cultivator during the battle beneath the boglands. Burning Hatred cultivator could wield the scythe without taking devil corruption.

  Seriously? How?

  As well ask how Corruption cultivator could not attack Burning Hatred cultivator, but was reduced instead to attacking his Handworn Utility Device, Hungry Ghost growled. As well ask how Malleable Metal cultivator and Warm Heart cultivator and any million other cultivators could not wield immortal weapon without taking devil corruption.

  It sounded weirdly like he was pouting.

  That’s good news, though, isn’t it? I thought. If I just give the scythe to Warcry, he can wield it. Even deep in Last Light, Last Breath, something twinged in my chest at the idea of giving up such a powerful weapon—a weapon I had rightfully won—but I went on anyway. If I gave it to Warcry, I wouldn’t take any more devil corruption. Problem solved.

  Lunar Scythe is part of Death cultivator now. It cannot be given. It must be taken by force.

  Warcry’s HUD started blowing up, snapping my concentration back to the world outside my head.

  He read the first message and cussed. “The slippery coves told her the baby was here. They weren’t supposed to give up any information on it. That was part of the agreement. Only I get to use it against her.”

  “I mean, if it’s hers, she’s got a right to know where it is,” I said.

  “You guys need to start referring to the baby as a him.” Kest opened a dresser drawer and started stuffing pillows in to make it a crib. “He’s a sentient life form, not a toothbrush.”

  One after another, the messages kept rolling in on Warcry’s HUD. Tiny flames danced across his scalp, going out when he noticed them, and returning as he read more.

  “Savage bint,” he muttered, scrolling through walls of pictograms.

  Nameless used pictograms because they couldn’t read or write—something about a prohibition put on them by the rest of the Ylef community—but apparently that didn’t stop them from texting their exes long, vicious screeds.

  The only time I’d met Hyla, she and Warcry had almost killed each other. She was pretty in an exotic elf sort of way, but she seemed like the type to go straight for the below the belt shot. From the sick look twisting Warcry’s face as he read, every one of her shots landed.

  Finally, he silenced his notifications.

  In a low growl, he said, “She’s on her way to Selk.”

  I dropped my armload on the foot of Warcry’s bed. There was no way having him and Hyla on the same planet could end well.

  He glared at the wall like he could see the baby still sleeping on the other side.

  “She’s trying to sell me that some fight promoter’s the father, that she just leveraged the timing to wring hush money out of me ma. Like Ma Thompson wouldn’t have the scag checked by every genetic affinity in the Qaspar system before she shelled out a single thin credit to some scheming Nameless from one of her factory orphanages.”

  “So, it is yours,” I said.

  Without warning, the ginger threw a front kick into the mini-icebox. The door dented in, and ice and seaweed cookies and meat sticks went flying.

  “She knows that!” Cords stood out in Warcry’s neck. “And she knows I know that! It’s webs inside webs with that venom-spitting she-spider! She couldn’t cough up the truth to save her life!”

  My HUD buzzed.

  Warcry rounded on me, nostrils flaring, like he thought Hyla would message me because he’d started ignoring her.

  “It’s from your favorite e-cig smoking CPA agent,” I told him, opening Rav’s message.

  Got us on track sooner than expected. Meet me at the Neon Kelpie asap.

  In a surprise move, Rav hadn’t added “if you know what I mean” to either sentence.

  Kest came back with the sleeping baby, turning sideways so she could slip between us and the mess Warcry had made out of the icebox on her way to the dresser.

  “No loud sounds,” she whispered as she laid the baby in the makeshift crib drawer. “No punching, no kicking, no Spirit flares. I’m not putting this little guy back to sleep again. If you wake him up, he’s your problem.”

  “I’ve got to go.” I read Rav’s message for them. “Are you guys cool here without a bodyguard for a while?”

  “Yeah, piss off,” Warcry said, heading for his shower.

  Kest rolled her eyes. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t go anywhere until you get back. It’s the middle of the night, anyway. We both need to get some sleep to be ready for tomorrow.”

  “In that case, sweet dreams.” I ducked down and kissed her, because I knew I would do it if I hadn’t been so deep in oblivion.

  “Be careful,” she said.

  “When am I ever not careful?”

  She didn’t think that was funny.

  e