“I should have let Mason kill you.”
She sips her tea and puts it down.
“What a strange thing to say. You saved us angels to keep the gates of Hell closed and now here you are. Hell itself. You saved this world from horror only to return as the embodiment of horror.”
“Guess the God-killing business doesn’t pay well if you have to wet-nurse these ankle biters.”
“I go where I’m needed.”
Cairo has inched his way closer behind me. I flick the na’at at his feet. He dances back a step. He looks like a prancing idiot but he’s a dangerous son of a bitch.
“If the hit squad in the bar were legit Sub Rosa security, why did they take off their brands?”
Cairo clears his throat.
“New security policy. Some of the boys got God. Thou shalt not mark thy body or some such. Anyway, praying calms them, so I encourage it.”
I shove Blackburn into a chair, say “Stay,” and walk over to Aelita.
“Is that the idea? You resurrect the Golden Vigil with a bunch of inbred junkie berserkers? Kill ’em all and let God sort them out.”
I turn to the room.
“Is that what the Sub Rosa is about these days?”
“Like God, the ways of the Sub Rosa are mysterious,” says Aelita. “But in the end, they’re for the good of all humanity, Sub Rosa and civilian alike.”
Someone makes a break for the door. A woman wearing a blue fur coat. She looks like a plush toy. I snap out the na’at like a whip, grab one of her ankles, and lift her off the floor. Drop her down on a bunch of blue bloods still holding their teacups.
“Next person that runs, I take their head.”
I retract the na’at and lean on the desk. Aelita rolls away from me a few inches.
“What about the freaky little girl with the knife? Is she part of your good works or are you running a thrill-kill day-care program?”
“Is the great Sandman Slim afraid of a ghost child?”
She makes a tsk-tsk sound.
“Don’t concern yourself with the girl. We’re dealing with her.”
“Deal faster. She killed someone tonight. A Sub Rosa who stopped in for a drink. Not bothering anyone. Playing with his damn phone.”
“If you’re so frightened, why not come in under the synod’s protection? Our psychics tell us that things aren’t going well in Hell. We can protect you from your enemies in this world and the celestial realms.”
“A two-for-one sale. How much?”
“Nothing you need. Burdens really. Give me the singularity and the Qomrama Om Ya and you’ll officially be under the Sub Rosa’s protection.”
So that’s what the Magic 8 Ball is called. It sounds like a Hellion sneezing.
“I survived Hell. I think I can survive Hollywood.”
“Then just the Qomrama.”
“Why don’t you try possessing me again? Then I’d just hand it over.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Liar.”
“I’ll get it from him.”
Cairo finally means business. He reaches into his velvet coat and pulls out two gold knives. Long curved saw-tooth blades, the kind that hurt going in but hurt worse coming out.
“Hey, Chuck Norris, have you been listening to your boss? Tell him who I am these days.”
She raises her eyebrows and speaks to Cairo.
“He’s the Devil in the flesh. The vile thing that stands before you is the new Lucifer.”
“Ha!” yells Cairo in that hoarse voice. It’s hard to tell if he’s really laughing or not. Everything out of his mouth sounds sarcastic.
“If he’s Satan then I’m Spider-Man.”
He charges. He’s fast with the knives but I’m faster. I pull the na’at. I want him hand to hand. He slashes at my stomach. It’s an easy parry. With the other hand he goes for my leg, trying to slice the femoral artery. I twist out of the way and rabbit-punch him. He goes down on one knee, and when I think he’s going to fall, he slashes straight up with one hand. The blade scrapes sparks off my armor. I look down at my ruined shirt. Cairo is up and grinning. He looks puzzled when he sees the armor and I kick him in the chest. He goes ass over elbows across Blackburn’s desk. Aelita is fast too. She rolls the office chair back out of the way and Cairo lands on the floor.
I go around the desk and get Cairo in a choke hold from behind, not because I need to but because I really want to choke this guy.
“First off, I’m not moron enough to carry the 8 Ball or the singularity with me. Second, I just bought this shirt. You owe me twelve dollars.”
Cairo hangs onto my arm like a life raft in a storm, so it takes him a minute to grasp the situation. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out some bills. They’re all high denominations. I take the lowest.
“This is a twenty. I don’t have any change. Is it okay if I go ahead and keep it?”
Cairo gurgles.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
I throw him on the floor. He goes for a knife. I put the steel toe of my boot into his balls and he curls up like a kitten.
Heavy footsteps down the stars toward the parlor. Ten of Cairo’s security punks fan out across the doorway. They’re holding the same rifles as the bunch at Bamboo House. The parlor crowd doesn’t like being between a kill squad and an armed loon. A few grumbles. A couple of cries. But no one is dumb enough to run.
I lower my arm and let Cairo go wild and free like a ferret returned to the wild. With him out of the way, everyone in the room can see Lucifer’s armor. A few in the know recognize it and mutter personal protection hoodoo. Good timing.
I let the darkness flow out of me, across the floor, up the walls, and across the ceiling, making sure the hit men at the door are the first to be swaddled all comfortable in the nothingness. In a moment, thorn vines and tentacles wriggle up from the void. Wrap around people’s legs. When the screaming gets good and loud, I raise my arm to manifest the Gladius and become the only bright thing in a universe of darkness. The Light Bringer.
“I didn’t ask to be Lucifer but I am and that’s the end of it. If any of you still doubts it and has the sand, you can come after me, but remember one thing. I run this particular horror show, and if anyone lays a hand on me, my friends, my bar, or my store, I’ll drag you Downtown and make you into my own personal amusement park. It starts like this.”
The dark snakes up and around Cairo’s men. A couple actually have time to scream before black tentacles shoot down their throats, cutting off their breath. The room shrieks as all ten men are dragged down into the void.
That’s my cue to exit stage right. I’m not going to get anything more out of this useless bunch. When I make it to the front door, I turn off the dark. No need to kill everyone. They know not to let their Chihuahuas piss on my lawn.
“Wait a minute. Hey.”
I’m almost at the first of the house’s protection spells when the woman’s voice catches me by surprise. I turn and there’s the scarred girl coming outside. She has her hands up in front of her.
“Don’t hurt me. I’m just here to tell you something.”
“Who are you? Why would you want to talk to me?”
“I’m Lula Hawks. I don’t like Cairo or his thugs. I don’t trust that Aelita woman either. And I don’t like where the Sub Rosa are headed. I might be able to help you find your double. Maybe the crazy little girl too. Can you do something about her? She’s hurt an awful lot of people.”
“If the kid doesn’t work for Aelita, then she’s not my problem. If you know something about Saint James, tell me. If it pans out I’ll owe you one.”
She comes a couple of steps closer like she doesn’t want anyone inside to hear her.
“Do you know a Tick Tock Man called Manimal Mike?”
“Never heard of him.”
“He knows a lot of things. He might be able to help you.”
“Why would he?”
“You own his soul.”
Good reason. She writes something on a piece of paper. Hands it to me and I look it over. It’s an address in Chatsworth.
“Don’t tell him I sent you. Or that you know me at all. Good luck,” she says, and goes back inside the abandoned hotel.
I put the paper in my pocket. Walk through the wards and into the street where the Augur’s mansion is just another anonymous shit shack in a neighborhood full of them.
A block away a gray-haired homeless guy, not much more than a pile of rags with a face, puts out his hands for spare change. He smells like Four Roses and death. I’m the Devil. I don’t save people or souls, my own included. I reach into my pocket, pull out Cairo’s crumpled twenty, and drop it into his hands.
“You might buy a sandwich along with the jug,” I say, knowing he’ll never do it.
I walk on. I want out of this dead zone and back to the Beat Hotel. I’ve got no girl, no home, a gun I hate, and I have to beg a talking head on a dog’s body for pocket money. Still, I wouldn’t trade lives with anyone back at Blackburn’s.
I ride the Hellion hog to the Beat Hotel to change shirts and pick up some gear. I made a mess tonight but I think I’m still following Wild Bill’s advice. Pick and choose your fights. Carlos got shot by someone gunning for me, so this is the fight I pick. I hope the shooter was one of the sons of bitches I dragged Downtown tonight. Maybe I’ll get Semyazeh to send their souls to Wild Bill’s bar and make them lick his floors clean every night for the next thousand years.
Should I call Candy and tell her I’m okay? She’s probably pissed that I sent her away. If I got us both locked up in the Sub Rosa Sing Sing, she’d be pissed about that. If I said forget about your girlfriend and run off with me she’d be pissed in a whole different way. I can’t win. Maybe I should have stayed Downtown. At least people missed me when they thought I was dead. Punching Cairo and morons like him is a lot easier than being a person. I’ll stick to that for a while.
Kasabian has conspicuously not given me a key to Max Overdrive so I jimmy the back door with my knife. Across 110th Street is playing on the video monitor when I come in. Kasabian quickly closes the browser window on his laptop. Porn is my guess. Maybe something with Brigitte. He’s a little obsessed ever since he found out I know her. He casually sips a beer when I come into the bedroom.
He says, “How’s life back under the big black sun?”
“I almost got killed by a ninja hit squad and I crashed a Sub Rosa synod.”
“So just another night in Wonderland for you.”
“You didn’t tell me Saint James murdered a kid.”
“Oh. That.”
He puts down the beer. Before getting the hellhound’s body Kasabian was just a head. We stuck a bucket under him when he wanted to drink beer or eat. Now he has a hellhound stomach and that’s both good and bad. It’s less messy than emptying the bucket but it means I get to watch the skin sack swell as he fills it with beer and donuts. I don’t want to know how he empties it.
“I didn’t think you’d believe me. Who told you?”
“The four guys who shot up Bamboo House of Dolls and almost killed Carlos.”
“Damn. That’s verging on rude.”
“Tell me you didn’t know there were shooters looking for Saint James. I’ll know if you’re lying.”
“Why the hell would I do something like that?”
“If I was dead, you’d have all the money.”
“I already have all the money. Even I wouldn’t do that shit to you. I might be a bastard but I’m not a complete asshole.”
Kasabian is harder to read than live people. He doesn’t breathe or have a heartbeat. But Lucifer’s senses would catch him in a lie.
“I believe you. This would have been a lot easier if you were trying to get rid of me.”
“I am trying to get rid of you, just not kill you. And thanks for the vote of confidence. You’re back for a day and you’re already starting with the hostile attitude. I’m starting to miss the choirboy.”
I set the duffel bag on the floor.
“Look, I didn’t think it was you but I had to ask. I’ve got something with me that might interest you. A peace offering because looking over my shoulder all the time is giving me cramps.”
“What kind of peace offering?”
“A better look into Hell.”
“And why would I want that exactly?”
“Because I’d pay you for the info.”
“I think we’ve already established that I have all the money.”
“And we both know I could take it back if I really wanted but I’d rather take money from uncool people.”
“Like who?”
“King Cairo for one. I had to spank him in front of an audience tonight.”
Kasabian shakes his head. Nervously taps one of his hellhound claws on the desk.
“I knew you freaks would go at it eventually. You two need to get a room and hug it out.”
“Do you want a new superpower or not?”
“How does it work?”
“I’m not a hundred percent sure it will. But I’m guessing since you can already see into Hell this will be like souping up a Camaro with a nitrous injector.”
“Do I have to do anything?”
“Just sit still.”
“If you say ‘trust me,’ I’m climbing out the window.”
“You don’t have to trust me. You just have to not move.”
He flinches when I set the jar of eyes on the desk and mumbles “Oh shit,” when I take one out. He reaches for my arm. I pop out one of his eyes and he freezes. I put in the peeper. When I let go of him he wails like a scalded banshee.
