Текст книги "Aloha from Hell"

Автор книги: Richard Kadrey

Соавторы: Richard Kadrey,Richard Kadrey,Richard Kadrey
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Heads slowly turn in my direction. The motion ripples out in small waves, like I dropped a rock into a pond of the dead. No one here has paid attention to anything in a long time.

“General Semyazah!”

Nothing. I feel arouic I feelnd in my pocket and pull out Mason’s lighter. I spark it and hold it high like I’m hoping for an encore of “Free Bird.” The room fills with light. Thousands of souls that haven’t made a sound in years suddenly try to speak. It sounds like a wind from the far side of a hill. Some souls rush to me and fall to their knees, holding their hands up in prayer. They think I’m Jesus at the final judgment come down to save them. Sorry, but I don’t think any of you are high on the Rapture list.

“Semyazah!”

Someone yells back at me. The voice is faint at first, but it gets louder as the crowd shifts, parting for someone muscling his way through. I can’t tell much about him except that he’s wearing the filthy remains of a Hellion officer’s uniform. I head toward him with the lighter over my head.

It takes about twenty minutes for us to meet in the middle.

“General Semyazah?”

He hesitates, not sure if he should admit it.

“Yes,” he says.

“I’m here to get you out of here.”

“Are you? And why would the Father send an angel for me, one of his most devoted betrayers?”

“God wouldn’t send you a pizza even if it was your birthday. And I’m no angel. I’m Sandman Slim.”

Semyazah is thin but moves gracefully, like he was built to always be in motion. His face is almost as scarred as mine. When he smiles half of it doesn’t move.

“Another one? I’ve met a hundred Sandman Slims down here. You’re not any more impressive than any of them. Less, in fact, in those filthy rags. Besides, Sandman Slim is mortal. You’re Hellion.”

“No. He’s not. It’s him,” another voice says.

I close the lighter and turn. The crowd sighs and groans when the light disappears.

It’s Mammon.

“Enjoying my face, are you?”

Where his face should be is all raw red pork roast.

“Hi, General. How’s the neck feeling?”

Semyazah looks at me but talks to Mammon.

“This is who butchered you?”

Mammon nods.

“I’m afraid so.”

I hold out my hand to Semyazah.

“Shake my hand, General,” I say.

He looks at me like it’s the last thing he wants to do.

“I’m not asking you to be roommates, but I’ve come a long way to see you. It’s the least you could do.”

He lifts his hand slowly and puts it in mine. It has weight and mass. I can feel it.

“Mammon was telling the truth. They stuck you in here alive.”

“And they took great delight in watching me go.”

“I know the feeling.”

We’re both looking at Mammon, who looks right back at us.

“Rumor is you’re not a fan of Mason Faim. How would you like your legions back and a chance to stop Mason’s war from destroying your world?”

He straightens and squares his shoulders.

“Our war with Heaven was just. It was for the worthy cause of releasing angels from our existence as slaves. Mason Faim’s war is pure vanity. He’s used that and fear to gather the generals who’ve fallen in with him. I want no part of it and I believe that other generals agree with me but are too frightened to say so. As you see from my circumstances, public disagreement has a high price.”

“So you’d like to stop him.”

“Very much.”

“Good. Then let’s get you out of here.”

I didn’t realize how hard I’d been concentrating on Semyazah until the conversation stopped. Talking to another living being was like being sucked into a different whirlpool of light down here. When I look around we’re surrounded by souls. I recognize a lot of them. Most at the front are military men and women I killed. Azazel, my old slave master, the Hellion who made me into a killer, is there. Beelzebub. Amon. Marchosias. Valefor. Maybe a dozen others. There are members of Hell’s nouveau riche in ghost furs and jewels. Beyond them are rows and rows of other Hellions and human souls. More than a hundred. I’ve never seen them in one place before. I had no idea I’d killed so many down here. They press in from all sides, trying to crush me. But Tartarus has reduced them to empty spirits with no substance. Shadows on panes of glass. I manifest the Gladius for a second and they stumble back, leaving a no-man’s-land around me.

“What a lovely trick. If I’d known you could do that, I wouldnheiI would019;t have bothered giving you the key,” says Azazel.

“How’s retirement treating you, boss?”

Azazel is the Hellion general who put the key to the Room of Thirteen Doors in my chest. I used it to move around Hell and kill for him. I slit his throat before he had a chance to ask for it back.

“I wondered if I’d ever see you down here someday, and here we are. Reunited at last.”

“Don’t get too choked up. I walked in on my own.”

“I showed you your power. I made you what you are,” he says. “You could show a little gratitude.”

“I could have tortured you to death, but I killed you quick.”

Semyazah’s eyes narrow.

“You came into Tartarus voluntarily. Why?”

“To get you.” I glance at the crowd. It’s still packed with dead generals. I speak louder so they can all hear. “I’ve got good news and bad news for you. The good news is that you won’t have to suffer down here much longer. The bad news is that Mason Faim is going to burn the universe to the ground. He doesn’t care about Heaven. He just wants the high ground for his attack. And he’s probably going to do it in the next few hours.”

That gets their attention. I hear whispers and then actual voices from the crowd.

Semyazah says, “You intend to take me out of here?”

“Yes.”

“That’s absurd. Tartarus has been here for hundreds of thousands of years. If it was possible to escape, someone would have done it by now.”

“That’s the great part. Who do you think Hell’s armies would rather follow, a mortal who made a lot of promises but hasn’t delivered on anything or the biggest baddest general ever? The only Hellion who ever walked out of Tartarus.”

That starts the chatter again. Generals lean together like they’re forming battle plans.

“So how can we do it?” I ask.

“You can’t,” says Azazel. He looks at Semyazah. “You can’t trust this creature.”

“Why should they trust you?” I ask. “They all know you sent me to kill them. Now you want to keep them in Tartarus just because you can’t get out?”

“How does this place work? Is this meat locker Tartarus or is the machine?”

Semyazah says, “The place and the furnace are parts of a single punishment device. Tartarus is the machine that runs the universe. It provides heat and energy to light the stars, Heaven and Hell, and every place where mortal and celestial life dwell. And we’re the fuel.”

Mammon gives a mad, gleeful little nod. He says, “We’re the souls judged so worthless or relentlessly vile that the universe has no more use for us. All we’re good for is fuel for the fire.”

Did Muninn, Neshamah, and his brothers think up Tartarus on a particularly good day or a bad one? Did they mean to create this place or is it another one of their mistakes? I’m going to have to reconsider whether the demiurge is evil or not because this place is on a whole new scale of evil.

I watch the Metropolis proles working away at the furnace and boiler. Gears and pipes and valves stretch from the floor, spread to the three enormous pipes that disappear into the ceiling.

This is it. God’s ultimate revenge for his kids letting him down. Eventually we’ll all end up down here. Right now it’s only the most monstrous souls, but Muninn and his brothers will get tired of watching humanity fuck up and we’ll end up cordwood, too. So will the rest of the angels. Even Humanity 2.0, 3.0, and 100.0 will eventually disappoint them. When there’s no one left to punish, why would they keep Hellions around? We’ll all end up in the furnace, warming the brothers’ palace, a tiny dot in an empty universe, while they sit around arguing like old biddies for the next trillion years. Or until one of them gets fed up enough to crack open the Big Bang crystal and put them out of their misery, too.

The furnace workers cut down more souls from the conveyor and toss them in the fire.

“We can’t get out the way we came in, but what about up there?” I point to the machine. “Are there any maintenance areas or access tunnels? Someone built this place. Someone has to maintain it.”

“No. God in his infinite wisdom built the furnace well,” says Semyazah. “It might be his greatest achievement. His perfect creation.”

Even Mammon doesn’t argue with him.

When I think about leaving Alice with Neshamah, I get a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. He knew what I’d find down here. Wouldn’t it be the biggest joke in history to have survived Hell, Lucifer’s games, and Mason’s bullshit just to have God murder Alice while my back is turned? I can’t even go back and check on her. All I know is that they’re in a paroo.;re in king lot in Eleusis. In L.A., gosh, there can’t be more than fifty of those in the area.

“Has anyone tried attacking the workers?”

Some of the generals nod.

“The furnace has divine protections against that. We have some of the most powerful witches, warlocks, necromancers, and djinn in existence here. They’ve tried every imaginable type of magic to destroy the furnace or break down the walls. They’ve even combined their powers. Nothing has worked.”

“Where exactly does the furnace go?”

A female Hellion general with a hole in her chest says, “One conduit goes up to Heaven. One to Hell, and one to the rest of the universe.”

“Then that’s the way out. How do we attack?”

The souls nearby whisper to each other like they’re going to be held after school if they get caught talking. Azazel smiles smugly. With his meat-loaf face, it’s hard to tell if Mammon is smiling, too. Even Semyazah has turned away.

“Hey, assholes, I only chanced coming down here because there were supposed to be a lot of sharp G.I. Joe types. You’ve been standing around with your thumbs up your double-dead asses for years, so you’ve had time to suss out the weak spots in the machine’s defenses. What are they?”

Semyazah points to the furnace.

“An attack is simple in theory. We’re deemed powerless, so there are virtually no defenses around the furnace.”

“Who are the salarymen bleeding the steam? Are they fighters? Can I take them?”

“You don’t have to. They’re the Gobah. Angels who rebelled after we were thrown from Heaven. Their punishment was that Father took their minds and sent them here.”

“If they’re not in charge, who do I go after?”

“Chernovog,” says Mammon.

“He was the leader of the second rebellion.”

“Where is he? I can’t see him.”

“No. You can’t. The Father took away his visible form, leaving him nothing but an empty space in the air.”

“How do you know he’s there?”

“Beelzebub. Come over here,” yells Semyazah. I remember Beelzebub. He put up a pretty good fight when I crept into his palace. 000his palI had to cut him up pretty bad to kill him. He seems to remember, too, because he’s not in any rush to get near me.

“Stand at an angle,” Semyazah tells him. “Come here,” he says to me. When I get there: “Look.”

It takes a minute to see it. Beelzebub was always a flash boy and his armor is like a gold mirror. As I stare at the reflection of the furnace, a seventh worker slowly comes into view on a platform high above the others. He’s bigger than the other Gobah. He moves well and seems to still have a mind. He climbs all over the furnace on his arms and legs like a spider monkey, making tiny adjustments. He leaves the heavy work to the drones down below.

After a minute, Beelzebub lurches away and sinks back into the crowd.

“You see? No soul, angel, or Hellion can attack Chernovog,” says Semyazah.

I think I just found out why Heaven calls me an Abomination.

“Then it’s lucky for you that I’m none of those things. I’m a nephilim.”

A few of the Hellions laugh. Mostly the military types. The rich ones roll their eyes. Most just stare.

“The nephilim are dead,” says the female general. I think I might have put the hole in her chest with the na’at. “Before we fell, I commanded one of the companies dispatched to hunt them down. The few we didn’t kill killed themselves. Temperamental children, all of them.”

“I’m the last one because I was born after you pricks played Kristallnacht with the others.”

It’s the same as before. Laughs. Eye rolls. Stares.

“I’m Uriel’s son.”

That shuts them up.

“I notice he’s not here with us. Someone is going to have to talk about that. But right now I have to kill another angel. See if it brings back any fond memories.”

I look around for Beelzebub, but he’s long gone. Just as well. His armor is as ghostly as he is, so I can’t steal it off him and use it to see Chernovog.

“General Semyazah, come with me but don’t get too close. The rest of you can follow or you can stand here and generally fuck off. I don’t care. But if you get in my way, I’ll put you in the oven myself, feetfirst.”

It’s a long way to the front of the chamber. Tartarus would be a lot more fun with Segways.

Christ. Look at the shit I do. How can I drag anyone into a life like this?

D;I’ve never tried to kill a God before, but if Neshamah has put a scratch on Alice, I’m going to try.

The front of the crowd is exactly what I thought it would be. Hellion garbage collectors, street sweepers, and small-time merchants. The officers and Hellion elites are all bunched at the far end of the place, leaving mortal souls, Lurkers, and working-class Hellion slobs to be fed into the furnace first. I bet some of those Hellion heavyweights have been hiding at the ass end of Tartarus for centuries. You’d think one of the drones would break up the tedium and take souls from the back of the room once in a while. I’d volunteer to sharpen the hooks for them.

The crowd gives me a wide berth when I make it to the furnace. I walk up to the machine slowly, waiting for the Gobah to react. I don’t think they even see me. They’re drones that service the dead. I bet they can’t even see the living. They don’t even twitch when I stroll past them. I jump up, grab a valve, and pull myself onto the machine, heading to where I saw Chernovog working. I whisper some simple hoodoo as I go.

Steam bleeding from pipes rolls down and wraps the upper boiler in a hurricane of opaque heat. I reach Chernovog’s platform and hoist myself over. A few feet over my head I see him. Chernovog is a negative space in the steam. An angel-shaped ghost enveloped in burning mist. It’s goddamn hot up here. If I’d thought about it, I’d have gone for him Greco-Roman style. Oil up and take him down naked instead of wrapped in a wool coat and heavy boots. I’ll put that in my memory book for the next time I destroy one of God’s perfect creations.

Chernovog is banging on the furnace controls with a monkey wrench, trying to stop whatever is causing the boiler to bleed so much steam. I manifest the Gladius and take a swing at his leg. He screams as I burn off part of his left foot, then does his spider-monkey thing up into the mist. I go to the middle of the platform, looking for any odd movement in the steam. Listening for movement overhead and feeling for weight shifting on the platform. Chernovog drops down behind me. I pretend I don’t notice. When he’s close I drop to one knee, spin, and swing at his legs. I catch the edge of one. He screams again. But even with a leg wound, he jumps straight over my head and onto the boiler before disappearing.

Chernovog is somewhere overhead. I catch glimpses of empty spots in the steam. Sweat is rolling into my eyes. I have to keep rubbing it away with my coat sleeve just to see. The hissing of the steam makes it hard to hear his movements.

Something smashes into my left arm. Chernovog swings his heavy wrench. I dodge it and he disappears. I look at my robo arm. Not a scratch on it. I admire it just a little too long. Chernovog slips up from behind and gets a better shot at my right shoulder. The pain blinds me for a second. I fall forward and almost burn a hole in my own leg with the Gladius.

I look up in time to see Chernovog scrambling up and away on all fours. I get to my feet, trying to see where he went, when he jumps onto my back from behind. I spin and push back, driving him into the hot metal on the front of the boiler. Chernovog squirms a little, bites down, and tries to take a piece of my ear. When I shake h toen I shim off, he disappears.

I don’t even get a chance to look for him this time. He rolls past me and hits my leg with the wrench. I slash down with the Gladius but miss him by an inch. Then he’s on my back again. Then gone. He hits my arm with the wrench. Slams into my chest and drives me down on my back. Gone again. The prick’s actually getting faster. I get to my knees and use the railing to pull myself to my feet. Between the steam and the sweat in my eyes, I can’t see a thing. I turn in circles, swinging the Gladius randomly at the steam just trying to keep him off. The angel in my head says something terrible and I want to shove him back into the dark, but I’m afraid he might be right.

I’m playing Chernovog’s game. And I can’t beat him.

I slash the bars off the side of the platform with the Gladius. I’m exhausted. The steam makes it almost impossible to breathe. I catch glimpses of Chernovog shooting back and forth on the face of the boiler. I let the Gladius go out. Is it technically playing possum when you’re about to do something that might amount to suicide?

I know what he’s going to do and I wait until I see him do it. An empty spot in the steam streaks toward me as Chernovog leaps from high up, hoping to land on me and crush my chest. I bark some arena fighting hoodoo, holding off on the last syllable until Chernovog is a foot above me. Then I say it and roll off the platform as the air turns to fire.

Who needs Mason? It feels like I just blew up the universe myself. I’ve never done the air-burst hex inside before. I figured it might work since the only things not ghosts already are Chernovog, Semyazah, and me. After you set off a hex like that, the trick is to stay out of its way. Falling from the furnace, I stay just ahead of the blast. I chant one more arena hex and make an air pocket to cushion my fall. It isn’t exactly like landing on a feather bed, but it keeps my bones from turning to butterscotch pudding.

I still can’t see a thing. Steam is everywhere and the heat from the furnace feels as hot as ever. Souls howl and scramble away from the explosion. In a few minutes, the steam drifts away and the temperature cools. Like a magic trick, the boiler emerges from the mist. It’s caved in on itself, the bottom twisting as the face and overhead pipes came down. The bottom is twisted slag and the transit pipes droop from the ceiling like metal stalactites. Chernovog and his drones are gone daddy gone.

Cold air and a white celestial light streams down one of the pipes and lights up Tartarus for miles. I don’t even bother checking what’s on the other end of that one. I hope they have electric blankets in Heaven because it’s going to get cold tonight.

The light from the second pipe is bright, but flickers and is colder than Heaven’s glow. That’s the way to the stars and earth. I hope Neshamah, Muninn, and Ruach up in Heaven and the other two brothers heard what just happened here. Cleanup on aisle two, boys.

Nothing comes out of the third pipe. No light. No air. No nothing. I crawl up into the bottom. There’s a breeze, but it flows almost imperceptiblyer.mpercep upward. The angel feels it long before I do. But I know what’s important. Overhead, the ground is blown open. Beyond it are rolling black clouds lit underneath by fires in the hills. Hell’s half acre never looked so good.

I yell, “Semyazah!”

He stands under the pipe and peers into the sky.

“I never thought I’d see the sky again.”

“You can write a sonnet about it later. Get up here and get climbing.”

I manifest the Gladius, shove it into the pipe, and pull it out quickly. I do it again at an angle to the other hole and again a few feet higher. I put my foot into the first hole and my hand in the second, pulling myself up. I punch climbing holes all the way to the top.

When I get out I can see the Fourth Street Bridge. Sweet. It’s close enough that Medea Bava had to feel the explosion. I hope the falling sparks kill her pretty lawn.

Semyazah yells down the pipe for the others to start up. Lurkers are scrambling up the sides of the pipe, holding on like geckos. They reach the top and run into the gloom, whooping as they go.

Scrub trees and dry weeds growing along the sides of the railroad tracks are burning. A pile of abandoned railroad ties makes a pretty bonfire. Too bad there aren’t any marshmallows in Hell.

“Come on, General. Let’s get you to Pandemonium.”

He looks around at the industrial waste.

“How? We’re halfway across Hell.”

“See those nice fat shadows by the railroad ties? I’ll show you a shortcut.”

We go to the fire, but before taking him into the Room of Thirteen Doors, I stop.

“What happened to Uriel? I know Aelita killed him, so he must have ended up in Tartarus. If he’s still down there, he would have found me.”

Semyazah nods but doesn’t look right at me.

“I wasn’t there when Uriel came to Tartarus. I heard that the Gobah were waiting for him. He was taken to the furnace immediately.”

That’s pretty much what I imagined. Aelita’s a planner. She’d have everything set up in advance. Smart woman. Dead woman.

I shake my head, trying not to show anything other than information received.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

We step into a shadow.

TWO POTENT LEY lines meet where Beverly Drive and Wilshire Boulevard cross. Beverly Hills is a major power spot in a city that’s a major power spot. The layout of Convergence L.A. might be twisted all out of shape, but power is power and Lucifer’s palace is right where the two lines meet. But his palace is different here. And it’s not his palace anymore. It’s Mason’s. Other than that, I’m right about everything.

Back on earth, the Beverly Wilshire Hotel has some of the most expensive rooms in the world. The nicer ones average around 10K a night, but that’s okay because the mints on your pillow are extra big. The hotel was built in the twenties, when movie stars were still movie stars, rich people skin-popped monkey glands to stay young, and black people had to come in through the kitchen. Except for the big screen TVs, Louis XIV wouldn’t feel out of place there. In case you’re slow and haven’t figured it out yet, the Beverly Wilshire is Lucifer/Mason’s palace in Convergence town.

Semyazah and I are on the roof of a Bank of America building a few blocks down Wilshire. An earthquake has smashed most of the first three floors and fires gutted the rest. The roof seems stable enough, though I wouldn’t want to be us if a big quake hits right now. From here, Semyazah and I can see most of Beverly Hills. It’s filled with Hell’s legions, attack vehicles, and weapons. Many, many troops and weapons. They stretch for over a mile in every direction. On another day, seeing all this Infernal firepower would make me consider wetting my pants, but today it’s just one more thing to cross off my bucket list.

“We need to talk over some things before you go to your troops.”

Semyazah only half turns. Most of his attention is focused on the soldiers in the street.

I say, “I’m going to tell you a few things and you’re going to have to go along with them or all of this is going to fall apart.”

Now he looks at me.

“I’ve been a general in the Infernal legions since we fought in Heaven. I’m not used to taking orders from a mortal. Especially one who’s killed my people, good soldiers, for eleven years.”

“At least you chose to be down in Heaven’s toilet. I was shanghaied.”

Semyazah touches a finger to his lips.

“We seem to have reached an impasse.”

I shrug.

“Stay up here in the cheap seats if you want, but I’m going to try and stop this thing, and if that means killing every one of your pals in uniform, oh well. And after I save your shitty little world, we can call the movers for your stuff. I hear there’s plenty of room in Tart201room inarus these days.”

I start for one of the fat shadows cast by the hill fires.

“Try to understand my position,” says Semyazah. “I can’t very well rally troops to my side by telling them that I allowed myself to be rescued by our worst enemy.”

I look back at him.

“That’s the best part. You’re not going to mention me at all. You broke out of Tartarus on your own. You got all the brujas and wizards and table tappers together, organized them, and you led the final assault on the Gobah yourself.”

“I don’t know. It’s easier for them to believe that I’ve been cowering in a hole somewhere.”

“Mammon knew where you were in Tartarus, so the rest of them will know, too. And I guarantee they all heard the explosion when the boiler blew. Between that fucked-up uniform and the blisters on your face, they’ll believe you.”

“Possibly.”

“Tell them you broke out to save your men from Mason’s war.”

Semyazah grunts.

“It’s a good line because it’s true,” I say. “Mason is as suicidal as he is homicidal. He wants to burn down everything you ever cared about.”

Semyazah looks at the palace and absentmindedly touches the blisters on the side of his face that was toward the blast. They probably hurt like hell, but they’ll help convince the other officers he was in a serious fight.

“There’s one other thing,” I say. “It’s going to piss you off, but you can use it to persuade any of the holdouts.”

“What is it?”

“The Kissi are coming. I cut them into the game. It wouldn’t be a party without them.”

He’s back over to me in three quick steps.

“Are you mad?”

“Relax. Just because they’re crazy doesn’t mean they aren’t useful. But when it comes to dealing with them, you need to listen to me.”

His eyes narrow. He’s wondering if Azazel was right and I’m the liar who’s going to get them all killed.

“I’ll need to hear your plan before I agree to anything.”

“Fair enough. You’re going to need whatever generals you still trust and some goddamn fast runners.”

IT ISN’T HARD to guess where Lucifer’s office is. The penthouse is huge. It’s basically an old-school Hollywood mansion bolted to the top of a classy hotel, with multiple bedrooms, a kitchen, I don’t know how many goddamn showers, plus expensive furniture and enough art to start a tacky museum. San Simeon meets the Playboy Mansion.

In the middle of a large meeting room is a table with the same floating 3-D map I saw at Mammon’s palace. A gaggle of Hellion generals and staff officers are gathered on the balcony talking, arguing, and waving their hands describing details of battle maneuvers.

I stay half a step behind Semyazah, playing the humble underling. No one turns our way until I clear my throat extra loud. The officers turn. Then do nothing for a few seconds. A couple head over to Semyazah.

“General?”

“You look surprised to see me. When Hell is at war, then I’m at war and nothing could keep me away from my legions. Not even Tartarus.”

More officers come over.

“Did Mason free you?” asks a general who, if I remember right, might be Belial.

I say, “No one lets anyone out of Tartarus. The general led the escape himself.”

They seem to notice me for the first time.

“Who is this?” Belial asks.

“Just a guide,” I say. “The general freed us from Tartarus, so in gratitude I showed him the quickest route back here.”

The oldest and most battle-worn of the officers steps out in front of the others. It’s Baphomet, one of Lucifer’s first converts.

“That’s quite a story, General,” he says. “It might answer a troubling question. When we heard the rumbles to the south, Mason Faim ordered us to use artillery to lay waste to that entire region of Pandemonium. I refused an order. Firing on my people was never part of our plans. I persuaded much of the officer corps to join me. Now it seems that Mason Faim has disappeared, allegedly preparing his own alternate war plan.”

“What plan?” asks Semyazah.

“I have no idea.”

A pale officer comes to stand beside Baphomet. I think it’s General Shax.

“The truth is that many of us have been having increasing doubts about this mortals’ war. What wilighar. Whal it profit either of us if both Heaven and Hell are laid to waste?”

Semyazah steps forward and gestures for the other officers to come closer.

“The destruction of both worlds has always been Mason Faim’s plan. Let me tell you what I know and you’ll understand why he banished me.”

While they talk, I slip back out the same shadow we used to come in.

I COME OUT in Lucifer’s old office. Mason has taken it over completely. All the Hellion art and tapestries showing the fall from grace are gone. Maybe they weren’t ever here. This version of Lucifer’s office looks like a top-floor office at the New York Stock Exchange. Nice paneling. Cushy chairs. A lot of expensive-looking paintings on the walls. I prefer Lucifer’s slaughter art. At least that didn’t look rented.

Mason’s office is part office and part lab. A lot of the equipment is the same kind of alchemical gear that Vidocq uses. There’s an area with machining tools and a home-brew blast furnace that’s scorched one wall black. It’s surrounded by stacks of raw iron slugs. The floor and tables are covered with dozens of failed copies of the key to the Room of Thirteen Doors. I wonder how many of those keys I can shove up Mason’s ass before they come out his eyes.

Papers, blueprints, scrolls, and spell books are scattered all over Mason’s desk and the floor. Someone has dumped the contents of the drawers on the floor. I sit in Mason’s desk chair, close my eyes, and step aside so the angel can take over for a while and read the room. It feels around for any signs of him, not just in the room, but also in the aether, where hoodoo leaves trails and powerful magic leaves the magician’s fingerprints. There’s nothing there. Not an easy trick. He really wants to keep his backup plan to himself.

There’s something familiar in a wooden box doubling as a trash can. I upend it and the leather satchel Jack stole from me falls out. I open it and take out the carefully folded cloth. My face is still there. At this point I’m so far past numb that I’m not even happy to find it. More like relieved that there’s one less thing to run around after.