Текст книги "Devil Said Bang"

Автор книги: Richard Kadrey

Соавторы: Richard Kadrey,Richard Kadrey
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“Do you mean Spain? Or here in the Tenebrae?”

“No!” she yells. She’s angry now. “It was a long time ago. It was dark and there wasn’t anywhere to stand.”

“Were the streets broken? Was there an earthquake?”

“I don’t remember any streets. I floated.”

She puts out her arms and twirls around like she’s a toy balloon.

“Sounds like fun. Were you on a boat?”

She stops. Gets on her knees and stabs the windows along the side of the bus. The ghosts inside shriek and crowd to the other side.

“All I remember is the cold and the wind and stars twinkling.”

She’s really worked up now. She turns to the ghosts at the edge of the crater. Screams and charges at them. She’s only run a few yards and they’ve all disappeared. She turns on the first bus, stabbing the metal. Kicking it. Crushing the roof and sides. This kid is pure power stuck in a broken mind. I don’t know whether to feel sorry for her or to run like hell.

She turns and looks at me like she forgot I was there.

“Are you here to kill me?”

“You already asked me that.”

“You’ll kill me later.”

“Only if I have to.”

“Mostly I do things because I have to.”

“Does someone tell you to kill other ghosts?”

“No. They’re mostly his and don’t run too fast, so I just do it. But the people. I like killing them. The ones that deserve it.”

“How do you know they deserve it?”

“I just do. I feel it inside when the man gives me their names.”

“Teddy?”

“The cruel one tried to kill me, you know. You’re not going to kill me now?”

“Not now.”

“I’ll only kill you if I have to.”

“Thanks. You know, cruel ones tried to control me and make me do bad things. Maybe I can help you get free and you can stop killing.”

She holds out her hands and spins.

“I’m Lamia. I breathe death and spit vengeance.”

She drops her arms and sits in the dirt. She rubs her eyes, suddenly a tired, dirty little girl.

“I’m sleepy. I don’t want to talk anymore.”

“Are you going to kill more people?”

She curls up on the ground in her party dress.

“Oh yes. Lots. The sky will be all sorts of funny colors.”

Along the edge of the crater are the gangs of murdered kids. They’re cut up but they’re not scared of Lamia. Whatever happened to them, she didn’t do it.

Cherry is waiting when I climb back up to the street. She runs over and grabs my arm. I keep walking.

“You didn’t kill her. Why not?”

“I’m not ready. I know a part of what’s going on but not enough. Until I do, I’m not killing the only thing that might be able to give me answers.”

“And what about us? What happens when she comes for us?”

“Has she ever attacked you personally?”

“No.”

“Then you’re safe.”

“How do you know?”

“ ’Cause ghosts like you aren’t on her hit list and it’ll be a while before you are. Long enough for you to wise up and move on.”

“How do you know?”

“Drop it.”

Cherry gets in my way.

“How do you know?”

“Because you’re not one of His, which means you’re one of mine. That means you’re definitely damned. And she’s not after the damned yet.”

Cherry takes a couple of steps back. Puts a hand over her mouth.

“You bastard.”

“You don’t have to wait around for her. Get out of here and save yourself.”

She leans against the ruins of the Chinatown arch, resting her ridiculous cartoon face in her hands.

“Go away, James. You let me down again. You’re no better than Parker.”

“Take care of yourself. Think about what I said.”

I head back to Tenebrae Station. The crowd follows me to the stairs but none of them follows me down.

“Any of you can leave too. You don’t have to live like this.”

I climb down into the tunnel and walk back into the dark.

And open my eyes, flat on my back in my room in the Chateau. Kasabian limps away from the circle with my shirt in his hand. There’s a smeared spot on the tile where he broke the bloody circle.

I sit up. There are clots of blood on my arms and in my hair. I stink from sweat. But there’s one nice surprise. The wound the Imp gave me is completely closed. There isn’t even a scar.

“I’m going to take a shower.”

“Best news I’ve heard all day,” he says. “Now here’s some for you. The rope and poison industries are way up in Hell. Suicide looks like the new thing with the cool kids. Those demonic sad sacks don’t need back into Heaven. They need a teddy bear, a warm glass of milk, and some Prozac.”

I take a hot shower and go back to the living room. Kasabian has the news on with the sound turned down. The shots are fast and jittery, like whoever has the camera is running.

“Do you know about the Mile High Club?”

He doesn’t look up from the big plate of fried shrimp he’s shoving into his face.

“Sure. Mason talked about them sometimes.”

I’m so out of the goddamn loop.

He points to the flat-screen with a shrimp in one of his metal doggie hands.

“Did you see when you came in? Big Bill Wheaton is dead. Laid low by the crazy little ghost not five minutes ago at a press conference he called to—you’ll love this—announce a special serial-killer task force. Is that fucking funny or what?”

He eats half the shrimp in one bite.

“They sure it wasn’t a volcano or dinosaur?”

“Nah. That stuff seems to have calmed down some.”

If that’s your doing, Patty, thanks.

“If you know something about that stuff, keep it to yourself. I’m working on some serious denial over here,” says Kasabian.

I button another of Samael’s dark shirts over the armor.

“A while back you said that spending all that time alone at Max Overdrive, you’d developed some nefarious computer skills.”

“Yeah. You looking for missile-launch codes now?”

“No. Child murders. Maybe ritual killings. Not beaten or abused, just cut up. See if you can find anything.”

He frowns.

“What, the mayor getting murdered by a ghost isn’t interesting enough for you?”

Big Bill’s bloody mug fills the TV screen. One clean slash across his throat. A long defensive wound across both arms. The cuts are deep red valleys in his skin. They almost look fake, the way violent death often does. The camera stays on Bill for a long time. Somewhere in L.A., a news director thinks he’s going to win an Emmy but all he’s really going to get are bad dreams.

“You think the dead kids have something to do with the Spirograph sky and the girl?”

“Look for possessed children too. The village murdered the Imp because she was a monster. Maybe there are other monster tots.”

“This shit’s depressing, man.”

“Try to squeeze it in between looking for Brigitte’s videos. Pretty please with shut-the-fuck-up on top.”

Ain’t this the funniest thing since corn beef hash? Here I am looking for big bad King Cairo and scary Aelita, and Captain Beige has been running the girl all along. I’m still going to kill the other two but now I have to pay Teddy a visit and make him tell me his deepest darkest secrets. It’s great timing. I really need to hit someone.

Hell looks better and better the longer I’m here. I knew there was no one to trust and no one I could count on besides Wild Bill. One guy in a land of billions. I bragged to Saint James about people who’d watch my back in L.A. but who’s that now? Allegra and Vidocq won’t be inviting me over for whist anytime soon. Candy is Switzerland. Neutral territory between hostile nations. Kasabian is a half-broken whiner. Maybe I should have sucked up my pride and merged or whatever it is I was supposed to do with Saint James. At least I’d have the Key. Then I’d be able to walk away from this veil of shit. But I had to shoot my mouth off. And Saint James is right. I’m usually the one backing us into corners. He was the smart one who got us out. I got us out too sometimes but mostly by shooting out the windows, jumping, and hoping there was something besides dead air on the other side. If he shows up again and doesn’t want me to grovel, maybe I’ll give merging a shot. What I’m doing now isn’t doing me any good.

My phone rings. This time I check the caller ID.

“Father. Nice to hear from you but this is a bad time. Can we talk after I beat the holy hell out of someone?”

“We really should talk now. I think what’s happening is bigger than a ghost and a few murders.”

“A lot of murders. The girl. The Imp. She’s the center of it. Someone is controlling her.”

“How do you know?”

“I went to the land of the dead and asked her.”

“You can’t stay away from dark places, can you? Please. We really need to talk.”

“I’m on my way to Malibu.”

“Good. I’ll drive you. We can talk in the car.”

“Okay. Come to the Chateau Marmont and call me from out front. If anyone gives you trouble, tell them you’re here for Mr. Macheath.”

“Like Mack the Knife Macheath?”

“Yeah. If you’re good, I’ll do my Bobby Darin for you. Call me when you get here.”

I’m checking my guns when someone pounds on the other side of the grandfather clock. Suddenly I’m in Grand Central fucking Station. The knocking gets louder.

“Hey, Old Yeller, can you get off your fat ass and let whoever that is in? I’m trying to get dangerous.”

I hear Kasabian grumbling and thumping across the living room and opening the door. He says a few words to someone and thumps back.

“Hey, you.”

I swing around.

“Candy? What are you doing here?”

She looks a little pale and worn. She still has on her torn shirt. Underneath it are fresh bandages stained with Betadine. She has a Cowboy Bebop backpack slung over one shoulder. Comes into the bedroom, where I have all my guns laid out. She drops the backpack on the floor. Winces as she sits down.

“Do you mind if I crash here for like ever? Allegra just fired me. And I think Rinko and I just broke up. It was hard to tell with all the screaming and her throwing things. Did something happen with you two?”

“She just wanted to unstitch my seams is all. I already have a roomie,” I say, nodding to Kasabian. “But it’s a big place. I think we can squeeze you in.”

She smiles and lies back next to the guns.

“This is a big bed. Think maybe I could stay in here with you? I promise to be good.”

“Good people end up on the couch. Only the bad ones get an all-access pass.”

“I’ll do my evil best to stay off the couch, sir.”

I lie down next to her. She slides against me.

Someone knocks on the bedroom doorframe.

“We’re out of beer,” says Kasabian. Then, when he sees us, “Oh Christ. Is this turning into a domestic bliss situation? I can’t stand that It’s a Wonderful Life crap. Take me back and let me die at Max Overdrive.”

“Be nice, Kas, and I’ll loan you my hentai discs,” says Candy.

Kasabian frowns.

“Schoolgirls and tentacles? No thanks. I prefer my porn mammal-only.”

“Hot cow-on-cow action. I like it,” Candy says.

Kasabian puts his hands up in an “I’ve had enough” gesture.

“I’ll leave you degenerates to work out whatever it is you’re working out. Just remember that I claim the bedroom at the far end of the place. It has the second biggest TV.”

I look at Candy.

“As much as I’d like to give you a proper naked welcome, I have to go and see a man about a ghost. You know where the food is. Please make Kasabian watch whatever you think will annoy him most.”

“Where are you going? Can I come along?”

“You got knifed a few hours ago, so no.”

“She just got skin. She didn’t even hit muscle.”

I put on my boots and check my ammo.

“No.”

She sits up.

“Seriously, we talked about this. When you run off somewhere you might not come back from, I go with you. No more stoic monosyllabic bullshit.”

I set aside the Glock and put the .45, the knife, and na’at in my coat. I hate that Candy is right. We made a deal and I don’t want to be an overprotective liar right off the bat. There’s plenty of time for that later.

“Okay. But you stay behind me if the things heat up. No going Jade and eating people. It’s my circus and I’m the ringmaster. Got it?”

“What does that make me?”

“You’re the head clown. You get out of the little car first while the others are still crushed inside.”

“And when they’re out, you know what we’re doing?”

“What?”

“Clown-car sex.”

I hope Traven gets here soon.

Traven calls twenty minutes later. Candy and I go down and meet him out front.

She brings the folding pistol with her. She’s already covered the case with InuYasha and Samurai Champloo stickers. I’m not sure if that’s technically low profile but the case looks more like an eighth grader’s lunch box than a gun tote, so I guess it works.

Traven is in the car when we get there. He’s uncomfortable in the presence of the last few beautiful people fleeing the hotel. Their opulence and generic decadence must be like seeing Martians to a cloistered brainiac like him.

“Thanks for the ride, Father.”

“I’m glad to help. You picked a good day to go to the ocean. Most sensible people—”

“Let me guess. Are hunkering down because the sky is plaid and Godzilla is fighting with Paul Bunyan in the Scientology building parking lot.”

“I’ll drive and you’ll see.”

“Hi, Father,” says Candy.

He smiles to her in the rearview mirror.

“It’s good to see you.”

Traven drives west on Sunset and I do see. The sky isn’t a bad color but the light pulses like a slow strobe. It’s the kind of thing that could give you a migraine if you stared at it long enough. Farther down Sunset, it gets more interesting. Sometime during the night, cars, mailboxes, stoplights, and telephone poles sank a foot into the roadbed like someone turned on a hot plate below the street. Traven’s Geo Metro bounces over asphalt frozen into low waves. Cop cars block side streets that have collapsed into sinkholes. A few look like they’re floating several feet in the air. The PTSD Hell flashbacks are coming on strong. At least there’s not much traffic.

“Do you still want to go all the way to Malibu?”

“I have to but you don’t,” I say. “Drop us off and I can steal something.”

He shakes his head.

“No. I want to tell you a story and I’d like to tell it now. It has to do with the Qomrama Om Ya and it ties into all this madness.”

“The ghost girl too. She’s scared to death of it.”

“You showed it to her?”

“I hit her with it. It’s the only thing that stopped her. And she has a name. Lamia.”

“Are you absolutely sure about that?”

Traven sounds about like someone just read him the winning Lotto numbers and he thinks he hit the Mega Millions.

“It’s two syllables. Even I can remember that.”

“So what is the Qomrama?” asks Candy.

Traven looks at me out of the corner of his eye.

“Remember you once asked me where I thought the old gods, the Angra Om Ya, had gone?”

“Yeah. You said you thought they hadn’t left but you didn’t say what that meant.”

“Well, I was wrong. They are gone. But not for much longer.”

“How soon is longer? I mean the world is coming apart.”

Traven picks up a book from the dashboard. It’s an old one I once saw in his apartment. There are rust-colored stains on the front that are probably blood.

“Lamia is the name of an avatar of one of the Angra Om Ya.”

“I pistol-whipped a goddess?”

He shakes his head.

“I think what you encountered was a kind of demon. An incomplete piece of one of the Angra.”

“But she’s the ghost of a real little girl. She was born in Spain.”

“How will lost deities enter our universe from the outside? They’re creatures without form. Maybe they have to do it through the mortal bodies to gain substance. What kind of a girl was she? Was she considered holy? Did she perform miracles?”

“She was a monster. Her own village killed her and buried her in an unconsecrated cemetery.”

Traven is quiet for a minute.

“I wonder if she brought the Qomrama Om Ya with her or came to retrieve it?”

“Forget the girl. What’s the Qomrama?”

Traven slows and steers us around a sinkhole that’s swallowed part of a sandwich shop and auto-parts store. Cops on the side streets look worn and shell-shocked.

“In the first language, ‘Om Ya’ simply means ‘God.’ ‘Angra,’ depending on how you say it, means ‘great’ or ‘grievous.’ ‘Qomrama’ is a bit murkier but it means something like ‘devourer.’ The Qomrama Om Ya is the Godeater. A weapon designed by gods to kill other gods.”

I check the side mirror.

“Father, did you come straight to the Chateau from your place?”

“Yes. Why?”

Candy looks out the rear window. I keep an eye on the mirror.

“There’s only one car back there and it’s been with us for several blocks. Speed up.”

The car falls back for a few seconds then speeds up and stays on our tail. It’s a Charger, not that that matters. In a flat-out chase, a skateboarder with a broken ankle can outrun a Geo Metro. The Charger is overkill. It accelerates and comes up behind us.

“Take it up to forty and keep it there.”

“The car will shake apart on this uneven pavement.”

“Yeah, but it’ll make it harder for them to shoot at us.”

“Oh,” says Traven. He hits the gas.

The Charger doesn’t even notice. It pulls up alongside and King Cairo rolls down the front passenger window.

“Switch places with me,” I say to Candy.

I squeeze into the backseat and she gets in the front.

Flame hits the side of the Metro.

“Don’t slow down.”

Traven nods. Steers around the bumps the best he can.

Cairo is hanging out the window of the other car. Rolling his eyes and making faces. He tosses another fire hex at the Metro. It hits hard enough to shake the little car.

Candy is turned around in the front seat looking at me.

“Remember when I told you I was going to take you shooting?”

“Yeah.”

“Congratulations. Consider this your first lesson.”

I take a 9mm clip from my pocket and hand it to her. She grins like a wolf. Hits the release and the gun case opens like a metal flower. She shoulders the gun, slides in the clip, and chambers a round.

“Don’t get too excited. You don’t shoot until I say to and you only shoot at what I tell you to. Got it?”

She nods. With the gun in her hands, she can’t stop smiling. Traven isn’t. Flames are hitting his car, blistering the paint and turning the driver-side window black. And now there’s an armed amateur in the seat next to him.

“Aren’t you glad you came along, Father?”

“I wanted to do more than read books. I guess this is it.”

“Welcome to le merdier. Does this back window roll down?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Too bad.”

I put my fist through it. It catches around my wrist like a big glass bracelet. I pull it off and throw it at Cairo just as he’s about to toss more fire our way. The glass shatters in Cairo’s face. He slides back into the car, covering his eyes. The Charger slows down.

“Is it over?” asks Traven. “Did we win?”

“No and I doubt it.”

The Charger cuts right and gets behind us again.

“Keep talking, Father. I like hearing stories when I’m killing people. Lamia is a demon of an Angra. How did she get here? What does she want?”

Traven’s voice quivers a little. I can’t tell if it’s fear or the uneven road.

“The weapon is your answer. She, and we can assume the rest of the Angra, will return to take back what’s theirs.”

“The Qomrama?”

“If the books are right, they’ll want everything. The entire universe.”

The Charger moves up on us again. I can see Cairo shouting at the driver.

“Candy, shoot that son of a bitch.”

“Which one?”

“Any of them. Just pop a couple of shots at them and see what they do. Keep talking, Father.”

Candy leans out the window and shoots twice. One shot misses and the other takes out one of the Charger’s headlights. Not a bad start. It gets them to put a little more distance between us.

“Father?”

“We once talked about the idea that the being we call God is merely the Demiurge.”

“More like the universe’s janitor than an all-powerful creator. Got it.”

“The book you saw in my office when we first met. The one you called the Angra Om Ya Bible has an alternate Creation story. It’s entirely possible that the entity that we call God didn’t create this universe. The Angra Om Ya did. God merely usurped it.”

The Charger pulls up right on our bumper and Cairo climbs out of the sunroof.

“Slow down,” I shout.

Traven backs off the accelerator.

Behind us, the Charger lurches, trying to keep from hitting our bumper. Cairo slams into the side of the sunroof and falls back inside.

“Keep going.”

“Talking or driving?” says Traven.

“Both. See if you can hit the windshield, Candy.”

“In math there’s something called M-theory. It says that we live in a universe with many parallel dimensions and many universes all separated by infinitely large membranes.”

Candy pulls the trigger just as we hit a bump and the shot goes high. The second shot hits the Charger’s windshield.

“Nice work, Calamity Jane. Get back inside the car and wait for me.”

Traven says, “I believe that the Angra are in one of the parallel universes and that the changes in reality we’re experiencing have been going on longer than we think but have only become noticeable now.”

“With all the dreamers dying, I’m not surprised.”

“The breakdown of reality caused a crack in one of the membranes and a tiny piece of Lamia leaked back into this universe.”

“How did the Angra end up in another universe?”

“According to the alternate history, God tricked them. The Angra were already here when our God manifested Himself. When He made Himself known, He gave the Angra an offering.”

“What kind?”

“The books don’t say. But it was a trick, and exiled them beyond the edge of our universe.”

“And now they want back in to take what’s theirs. Which is everything.”

“I’m afraid so.”

We hit a deep gulley that rattles everyone’s teeth.

“And they’ll kill God to do it,” Traven says.

“That old man has more enemies than Stalin.”

The Charger accelerates. It comes around parallel to us. The road is getting worse. It rattles my bones and balls but it forces the heavy Charger to slow down.

“What happens to us if they come back?”

“The book doesn’t say. But there are other texts that talk about battles between Gods in other dimensions.”

“And?”

“In every one, the winner scours the universe clean and starts over.”

“Scouring sounds bad,” says Candy.

“Can we stop them?”

“I have no idea,” Traven says.

The Charger pulls up parallel again. Cairo climbs out the sunroof on top of the car.

“Look at the bright side, Father. When the Angra destroy everything, there won’t be a Hell for you to go to.”

“Every Apocalypse has a silver lining,” says Candy.

“That’s my girl.”

“Can I shoot some more?”

“Almost. When I get out, you come back here. If anyone in the Charger shoots at us or tries to get out, you shoot them. Don’t waste ammo. Unless Cairo looks like he’s going to win. Then spray the fucking car and kill as many of them as you can.”

“Neat,” she says.

I put my hand on Traven’s shoulder.

“When you hear me stomp on the roof, hit the brakes. Don’t worry about me.”

He nods.

I pop the sunroof and crawl out on top. The cheap plastic hinges snap and the sunroof flies off the car and into the street behind us. Cairo opens his arms in greeting. I give him the finger.

He’s fast. He crouches and throws a shower of fire my way underhanded, like a softball pitcher.

I drop back halfway down into the sunroof and the fire passes over me.

“Shoot,” I say to Candy. She does, whooping like she’s at the rodeo. Glass explodes out of the Charger’s side windows.

I toss some arena hoodoo Cairo’s way. It’s an old crushing hex. Supposed to break an enemy’s bones. Cairo dodges the hex but I didn’t throw it at him. I hit the car’s engine.

There’s a horrible grinding and snap as the Charger’s engine drops and hits the street, gouging deep ruts in the road. Cairo flies off the roof, bounces off the hood, and falls in front of the Charger. I stomp my boot and Traven stops the Geo. I jump off the back, throwing protection hoodoo around me as I hit and roll. Cairo lands on the street in front of his car. From where I’m lying, I’m at just the right angle to see the Charger roll right over him.

Candy blows the rest of her clip into the side of Cairo’s car. His boys duck out the passenger side and take off down a side street.

Traven backs up. I climb into the car.

“Turn us around. I’ll hurt Teddy later. We’re going to Blackburn’s.”

Candy blows across the tip of her gun barrel like a cowgirl, leans between the seats, and gives me a kiss. She uses her thumb to wipe lip gloss off my lips.

“Why Blackburn’s?” she asks.

“Cairo was using hoodoo in the open right in front of God and Joe SixPack. Either he’s nuts or they’re not after Saint James anymore but me instead. Permission could only come from Blackburn or Aelita and I know where Blackburn is.”

We drive past Cairo’s car. The engine steams and spits. Spills gas all over the street. There’s blood on the bumper and a long wet streak on the asphalt like something was dragged but Cairo’s body is gone.

I give Traven Blackburn’s address and we head over.

“I hate to point out something to you,” he says.

“If it isn’t ‘Great job. I’m thrilled to be on your side,’ I don’t want to hear it.”

“We’re on a major thoroughfare. Half the streets we just passed had traffic cameras. Tomorrow LAPD will have the entire fight on tape.”

Shit.

“No worries, Father. With the street fucked up, the cameras are probably out and half the police force will be hunkered down at home. By the time someone looks over the tapes, we’ll either be dead or heroes.”

“Or dead heroes,” says Candy.

Traven thinks for a long minute.

“At times of crisis, my mother used to recite an old Hungarian saying. ‘The strength of the serpent and the peace of the dove.’ ”

“I don’t know the last time I saw a dove,” Candy says.

“Then let’s do some slithering.”

Traven parks across the street from Blackburn’s abandoned hotel mansion.

“Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going inside to talk to people and hurt them. Not necessarily in that order. You two are going to stay out here and watch my back.”

“I want to come with you,” says Candy.

“You can’t. I have to get through layers of heavy protective hoodoo. I don’t know if I can take anyone with me and this isn’t a great time to start experimenting.”

It takes her a minute but finally Candy nods.

I give her the Sig pistol.

“This is a .45. The bullets are bigger, so there aren’t as many as your nine-millimeter and the kick is a lot harder. If you have to shoot, do it slowly and carefully.”

“I still want to go with you.”

“I know.”

When I’m outside the car, my cell rings. I’m not in the mood for a chat but my blood’s up, so I’ll give the crank caller a friendly “fuck you.”

“Hello.”

A voice breaks up then repeats itself.

“Stark? Where the hell are you? I’ve been waiting.”

It’s Patty Templeton.

“I told you I’d call you. Wait for me in the lounge.”

“What are you talking about? I’m outside. On the corner by the freeway. You called and said you were coming by to pick me up.”

The anger turns to a sick feeling in my stomach.

“Listen, it’s a trick. Go back to the dreamers’ building now. Run!”

“Oh God.”

She forgets to hang up. I listen to hear her running. Panting. She excuses herself and then curses, pushing through crowds.

Over the tops of the nearby buildings, black plumes rise like twisters into the sky. Somewhere, the city is burning.

Patty screams, her voice distorting into an animal wail through the tiny phone speaker. Then the crowd screams. What follows is a sound I recognize from the arena. A blade cutting through the air. Little girl’s laughs drift from the phone with the bloody, drowning gurgle of someone choking on their own blood.

The ground shakes beneath my feet. I expect to see Cherry but the shaking goes on. Windows up and down the street shatter and fall. The sound is like another thousand knives going into a girl’s throat. I brace myself against the Metro until the shaking stops. It takes a few seconds, and when it stops, I know that Patty Templeton is dead.

I don’t know how many people, Hellions, and hell beasts I’ve seen die over the years. The ones in the arena or the streets all went down the same way. In front of me. The worst times in the arena were when the games were going while I waited in my cell. All I could do was listen to the fighting and dying. Listening was so much worse than seeing. It was like dying by whispers. You were never sure if that other fighter was dead, paralyzed, or being eaten alive by a scaly beast. Dying by phone is no way to go. Not for anyone. Not for anyone I know.

Candy puts her head out the window.

“Are you okay?”

“Great. Peachy.”

“Who was that on the phone?”

I shake my head.

“No one. Wrong number.”

I start across the street.

Getting through Blackburn’s wards is just like last time. Slow and steady wins the race. He’s added two more layers since I was here but I move through them just like the others. It’s all about concentration and channeling Lucifer’s hate through the armor so it radiates like hellfire. No earthly magic is going to stand up to that.

No one is in the front of the house, so I head straight into the parlor. Blackburn is sitting at his desk like he’s waiting for me. Tuatha, his wife, is in a chair across the room. She looks worse than last time. Like she gave up martinis for formaldehyde. Perched on the end of Blackburn’s desk is Brigitte.

“Hello, Jimmy,” she says. “I was hoping you wouldn’t come back here.”

She shifts her eyes from me to her right then back to me. I take a step into the parlor and snap out the na’at to where she looked. One of Cairo’s men drops to the floor.

I go over to Brigitte.

“What are you doing here? Tell me you’re not part of this shitstorm.”

She puts her hand on Blackburn’s arm.

“Saragossa is a friend. That’s all.”

Blackburn just sits there. Useless and staring at his wife. He puts his hand over Brigitte’s. It the gesture of an old man trying to find something to hold on to while his ship is sinking.

I pull Brigitte off the desk and push her into a chair. Drag my arm across Blackburn’s desk, knocking everything to the floor.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Killing dreamers? Playing with reality? Do you have any goddamn idea what you’re doing?”

“Please. My wife.”

He holds out his hand to Tuatha.

“Fuck you and your wife. You’re not just turning the sky the wrong color. You just killed a girl whose only sins were having an asshole for a boyfriend and wanting to keep the world from falling apart.”

Blackburn’s hand falls on a pen that was still on the desk. He delicately straightens it and then clasps his hands together.

“I’m sorry. It started well. We would replace the dreamers with our people and mold the world into our own image. A better place for Sub Rosa and civilians. No one was supposed to die.”