Текст книги "Devil Said Bang"

Автор книги: Richard Kadrey

Соавторы: Richard Kadrey,Richard Kadrey
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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

I throw some arena hoodoo at the swarm, a simple slam-down move that feels like someone driving a knee into your solar plexus. The middle of the swarm stops like it smacked into an invisible wall, but the other billon little bastards flood around it.

I could do an airburst and explode all the oxygen in the room. That would kill the bugs, but in an enclosed space like this, it would blow out my lungs and turn my organs into cat food. Some kind of fire is my best weapon but this is the wrong terrain. I go for the next best thing.

I crawl to the corner of the room with Brimborion. Bite down as hard as I can on my right hand until I draw blood, and splatter it on the floor between the bugs and me. The blood is like slop to pigs. They head right for it, lapping it up. I keep flicking my hand, throwing out as much blood as I can between the bugs and me. That sucks but it’s the next part that’s really going to hurt.

Whispering some bad black Hellion hoodoo, I punch through the wall above a wall socket. Feel for the wires with my bloody hand and grab the bare copper leads where they touch the wires going to the plug.

The average human body doesn’t react well to having 120 volts blasted through it. In fact, it tries really hard to get away, so when you force it to do something as stupid as grab live wires and not let go, you get to experience the twin thrills of excruciating pain and a total revolt by your skin and bones because your body doesn’t understand what your mind is making it do. It’s pain on every level of your being. Nerves, muscles, and skin all trying to crawl away from each other. But you hold on because it’s the only thing keeping you alive and your body can goddamn well cowboy up and deal with it.

The hoodoo kicks in just as I’m starting to black out. Blood kick-starts dark magic like nothing else, and when the hoodoo hits, my bedroom turns into the Fourth of goddamn July as the electricity flowing through my bloody hand explodes from the splattered patches of blood on the floor. Writhing drifts of bugs fry instantly. Thousands are blown into the air by the force of the blast. The bugs spin like pinwheels, each trailing a tiny lightning bolt from its head to the bloody floor. It’s all skyrockets and flare guns in here. And when the bugs fall, they’re as crisp and dead as autumn leaves.

I pull my hand out of the wall and fall flat on my back. My knees are vibrating. My jaw aches from being clenched so hard. I look down at my hand. Have you ever started cooking bacon, gotten a phone call, and forgotten about it until you smelled charred pig? That’s me. I am bacon. Hear me roar. On the upside, the bite is nicely cauterized.

Behind me, I hear Brimborion push back the table he was hiding behind. He crawls over to me. There’s a neat, clean bandage wrapped around one of his hands.

“You saved me,” he says.

I look up at him sitting above me.

“What?”

He sits back on his haunches. Rests his back against the wall.

Brimborion says, “I don’t understand you. Yesterday you cut off my finger and today you save my life. What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m just really tired.”

“You could have thrown me to those things and gotten away.”

“I’ll have to remember it for next time.”

He leans over me and makes a face like he smells spoiled milk.

“Your hand looks awful.”

“ ‘Awful’ is a kind of relative term. I mean, it looks better than Lahash.”

Brimborion lifts his head to get a better look at the smear of bone and gristle on the bed.

“You knew him. Who was he?”

“An herbalist,” Brimborion says. “He worked with the palace thaumaturgists. I used to buy . . . things from him.”

“You mean he’s your dealer.”

“If you wish.”

“Did he have access to the good stuff?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like maybe hypnotics. Something that would loosen him up enough for psychic control.”

“Do you think that’s what happened to him?”

“I don’t know. What kind of persuading would it take for you to sit still while someone pumped you full of carnivorous bugs?”

Brimborion crosses his arms. Uncrosses them. Leans his head against the wall and looks at the ceiling.

I roll over onto my Kissi arm, the only part of me that doesn’t hurt, and push myself into a sitting position. I try to move my burned fingers. When they flex, flakes of black skin drop off, revealing blistered red flesh underneath. At least there’s enough good skin left to heal.

“Would you like me to get you something?” Brimborion asks.

“What?” I say, my brain and body not quite on speaking terms yet.

Brimborion points to my hand.

“Would you like me to get you something for that? The palace witches make some powerful healing potions.”

“Yeah. Sure,” I say. “And some cigarettes. I really need a cigarette.”

“I’ll be back.”

He pushes himself to his feet.

“Don’t tell anyone about this. Especially not Vetis. I don’t want to be up to my eyeballs in security,” I say. “Act like nothing happened. That should give whoever set this up something to think about.”

“You don’t even want the room cleaned?”

“Leave it just like it is.”

“I understand.”

He starts to leave.

“What did you say when you first came in?”

He goes to the end of the bed, picks up an envelope and a rectangular box from the floor, and brings them to me.

“I had your mail.”

“That all came today?”

“The box yesterday. The notes before. I don’t remember when.”

“You wouldn’t have given me any of this if we hadn’t had our little talk in the hall last night.”

“No.”

“Why these particular letters?”

He shakes his head.

“They weren’t the usual official correspondence. Holding them back would make sure you stayed isolated.”

“People pay you off to hold back certain messages and to give me others.”

Brimborion shrugs.

“Everyone in the palace has something on the side. It’s the generals who get rich. Not civil servants.”

“Who paid you to hold on to these?”

He looks at the bed.

“Lahash.”

That’s a nice way of covering your trail. Don’t just kill the guy who knows too much. Turn him into a suicide bug bomb.

“If someone wants to assassinate you, there must be easier ways,” says Brimborion.

“They tried easier. Now they tried this. Watch your ass. You work for me, so sooner or later you’re going to be on the bug list too.”

He touches his hand to his chest, about where Lahash burst open. He turns and goes out, pulling the doors closed behind him.

I use my teeth to pull the glove off my Kissi hand. I’ll be using it a lot the next few days.

I undo a couple of buttons on my shirt and slip my burned hand inside like it’s a sling. The feeling is starting to come back, meaning it already hurts like hell. I growl Hellion hoodoo and the blackened skin on my hand lightens to its skin color. I’ve never been great at healing magic but at least I can make the hand look normal while it heals. I just won’t be penning Candy any sonnets over the next few days.

I pull the black blade from my waistband. It feels weird doing it lefty. Prop the box between my knees and slice it open. It’s what I thought. The bottle Bill sent me. I stick the point of the knife in the floor, twist the cap off the bottle, and take a long drink. Bill was right. It’s not half bad by Hell standards.

I toss the box over by the dead bugs and look at the first envelope. Printed in a perfect, precise script on the first envelope is the single word Stark. The envelope is made of something almost transparent. Like rice paper, only tougher. Barely visible angelic script is woven into the paper’s fibers. I hold it in my teeth and, using the black blade like a letter opener, shake the envelope until the letter falls out.

Dear James,

I know by now you must hate me and you have every right to.

I only have to read a sentence to know who sent it. Mr. Muninn.

I should have been truthful with you from the moment you talked about returning to Hell. For that I’m sorry. You have my best wishes, my prayers, and my full confidence that you’ll make a safe return home. I wish I could say more but time is short. By now I’m sure you know that my brother, Neshamah, is dead by Aelita’s hand. She and my other brother, Ruach, the part of us that still rules in Heaven, seem to have come to some sort of vicious understanding. Aelita means to kill the rest of us and Ruach has agreed to let her, leaving him alone to rule. I should leave Los Angeles, in fact this world, but I’ve come to love it so. For now I’ll lose myself in the tunnels where the dead once roamed under the city. I suppose it’s a pathetic fate for a deity but one I probably deserve for deserting my brothers and not doing my part to stop this madness long ago.

Take care of yourself, my boy. I’m sure we’ll meet again.

Protect the Singularity.

With warmest regards,

Muninn

I guess it’s nice that one of us thinks I’m getting out of this alive but it’s annoying how wrong Muninn is. I don’t hate him. I’m pissed. I want to strangle him, but only until he turns some funny colors. Not until he’s dead. The guy is scared to death and I understand that. Plus, he apologized, which is more than I can say for Saint James.

There’s nothing written on the second envelope. I turn it over. It’s closed with a red wax seal imprinted with twisted, angular lines like a piece of rusty bailing wire in an old barn. Samael’s sigil is as crooked as he is.

Dearest Jimmy. Or, if you prefer, your Infernal Majesty,

I bet you’ve had a few chuckles when you found out that all my plans and machinations designed to return me to Heaven returned me to one ruled by a bastard and a fool. I’ve laughed about it a few times myself, but only in private and very, very quietly.

Have assassins given you any interesting new scars? Murder is unsettling when you’re on the receiving end, isn’t it, Sandman Slim? Worst of all, it destroys your ability to trust, which is the point of this note. When you have no allies to go to for help, there’s only one logical solution. Go to your enemies. When your back is against the wall, ask yourself this question: which bastard has the most to gain by helping me?

Here’s hoping this note finds you as charming and unmurdered as ever.

Yours in Christ,

Samael

I don’t know whether to be madder at Samael or Brimborion. It would have been really nice to know that someone out there was thinking about me, even if it was the asshole that stuck me here. And it would have been really goddamn helpful a few weeks back to get strategic advice from someone who has more reasons to want me alive than dead.

Squatting in the middle of a hundred pounds of dead bugs loses its charm fast. I put the knife in my waistband, shove the letters in my pocket, and tuck the bottle under my arm. With my good hand I close the bedroom door and head down the hall. Brimborion will know where to find me.

I’m sacked out on the library sofa when he knocks a half hour later. I open the door, and when he sees my bare Kissi arm, he doesn’t try to come inside. He hands me a widemouthed clay jar sealed with an old cork stopper.

“I told the witches someone on my staff was hurt. I think they believed me. They said this will help but it might stain your sheets.”

It’s not really funny but I can’t help but laugh a little.

“Keep it,” I tell him. I hold up my apparently healed hand.

“We can’t pretend nothing happened if I’m slathering that stuff all over me. I’m a pretty fast healer, and when the pain gets too bad, well, I’ll probably be drunk a lot for the next few days, so you don’t want to schedule me for any banquets or ballet lessons.”

Brimborion nods.

“I can tell them you’re working on the new sewage project.”

“Good. That sounds so fucking boring no one is going to bother me wanting to help with that.”

I get a piece of paper from the desk, write a note, and hold it out to him.

“I need you to do one more thing. Give this to Vetis.”

Brimborion plucks the note from my hand with his fingertips, trying to keep his distance from the Kissi hand.

“Go ahead and read it. I know you’re going to.”

He unfolds the paper. I watch his eyes as he scans it a couple of times before putting it away.

“You want to arrest Deumos.”

“And everyone who works with her.”

“Do you think she had something to do with Lahash?”

“No.”

“Then why?”

“It’s like what that famous Greek philosopher Bugs Bunny once said: ‘I don’t ask questions. I just have fun.’ ”

He blinks at me like he’s waiting for a translation. I nod good night and close the door.

Back on the sofa, I take a swig from Bill’s bottle of Hellion moonshine. This stuff could grow on me. I’ll have to get him to send more.

I look around for a Malediction and realize Brimborion didn’t bring me any cigarettes.

See? One thing goes right and everything else falls apart.

Should I tell Vetis about the crank call? What am I going to say that isn’t going to make me sound weak? Maybe I’ll have him keep a closer eye on Brimborion.

Hell really blows.

I have a pretty good idea of what’s coming the next day when Brimborion tells me Semyazah is on his way up. The only good thing is that it will be direct and contained. For now.

Semyazah bangs on the library door but he can’t get in. After bug man’s visit, I’ve laid even heavier hoodoo on the place. Sulfur and arsenic above the door. A line of iron filings across the entrance.

I get the door halfway open and Semyazah shoves his way into the room. Merihim and Marchosias come in behind him. Merihim has red patches on his face and arms where he’s added some tattoos. More protection spells. Marchosias is dressed like Ilsa, She-Wolf of the SS’s stunt double.

They notice my bare Kissi arm. They try not to make faces. None of them succeeds.

“Exactly what do you think you’re doing?” says Semyazah.

I walk back to my desk, leaving them by the door. Let them follow me into my territory.

“I’m being Lucifer. I was ambushed. Someone with heavy magic possessed the idiots who attacked me. Last night I get a crank call telling me to kill myself or get murdered. It must have come from inside the palace, or are your people selling Satan’s private number on Craigslist? On top of that, Deumos burns me in effigy. A trifecta of bullshit. So Lucifer is retaliating.”

I pour myself a drink. Semyazah follows me back to the desk. If looks could kill.

“Retaliating against those pathetic witches? They couldn’t have attacked you. Or called you. They’re rabble with no resources. Deumos’s followers are as lost as any damned mortal soul in Hell. By attacking them, you’re making those fools more important than they have any right to be.”

Merihim is just listening. He picks up random books and objects from the shelves. The same above-it-all bullshit he always pulls when he’s trying to figure out who has the upper hand in a discussion. Sometimes he reminds me of Medea Bava, the head of Sub Rosa inquisition. Marchosias looks at me like I’m barbecue ribs and she’s trying to decide between a Texas red sauce and Carolina mustard.

Merihim says, “I’m not so sure. Our lord’s tone is boorish but he might be right to stop this false prophet with one short swift blow. Deumos wants to weaken our true church and divide the people.”

“I agree,” says Marchosias. “Are we going to stand around like those sheep in Heaven as she transforms herself into a new Lucifer and leads a rebellion against us?”

The general isn’t happy his two compadres disagree with him. How far can I push him?

“Semyazah’s just mad he missed raiding Deumos’s church with Vetis. Don’t worry. I’ll wake you the next time so you can join the fun.”

He takes a couple of steps in my direction.

“Don’t you dare speak to me like that.”

I push myself up off the desk.

“Like what? Your boss?”

“Like a fraud and a coward who plans to desert us the moment he finds a way out of Hell.”

“Damn right. Your war landed you here. Me, I just slipped on a banana peel.”

Marchosias taps a fingernail on the bookcase to get our attention.

“If it helps, we’ve identified the three soldiers who attacked you. They’re from different companies within the legion. We’re interrogating their comrades and senior officers. We’re also interrogating the weapon masters and taking an inventory of the armory to see where they might have found their guns.”

“Great. So you’re going to chat up what, four hundred soldiers who are all going to lie and stick up for their buddies. And how long is it going to take to count every pistol in the armory? How will you even know if you can trust the count? You’d be better off wandering the streets wearing a big sign that says ‘Did You Do It?’ ”

Semyazah lowers his head and half smiles.

“This is the great and terrifying Sandman Slim, the monster who kills monsters? I never thought a feeble attack and a phone call would have you behaving like this. It’s unbecoming for an assassin or the lord of Hell.”

I sit down at the desk and sip my drink.

“Come on, boys and girls. We all know I’m a terrible Lucifer. I only got the job because I killed Mason.”

“Don’t be so modest,” says Marchosias. “No one else could stop him. I mean no slight, General, but if it wasn’t for Stark, Heaven would have laid waste to all of Hell and we’d be dead.”

“So what? Killing Mason doesn’t qualify me to run a muffin stand in a mall. You’re all more qualified to be Lucifer than I am but none of you has the sand to step up and do it.”

Merihim shakes his head.

“This is absurd and insulting. Come. Let’s leave our lord to think his deep thoughts.”

He starts for the door and Semyazah follows. Marchosias rolls her eyes and starts after them.

“Don’t be so hasty,” she says.

I shout some hoodoo and the door seals itself shut.

“We’re having this out right now. Everyone agrees I’m no good. Let’s do something about it. No one leaves until there’s a new Lucifer.”

They stare at me.

“You assholes love your rituals. Let’s try this one on for size. Kill me and you get the job. Wound me and I’ll give up. Trust me. I’m not going to fight hard to stay Lucifer.”

I pull the black blade from behind my back with the Kissi arm. It feels awkward using my left hand, but the effect is worth it.

I hold out the knife to each of them.

“How about it? General? Merihim? Marchosias?”

I throw the blade so it sticks point first in the floor between them.

“Why don’t you all do it together? I can’t possibly take all three of you at once.”

No one moves. Merihim’s body language says he’s somewhere between fainting and doing a Cowardly Lion dive out of the nearest window. Marchosias backs away behind a bust of Lucifer on a short marble pillar.

Semyazah’s eyes narrow. I gave his ego a hotfoot. He looks like he might actually go for the blade.

The moment his shoulder twitches, I kick the desk chair in front of him. He’s quick. The chair catches one of his legs but he still manages to get the knife. Rolling to his feet, he throws it at me. It’s a pretty good shot for someone off balance on a hurt leg. But I’ve had a lot of knives heaved at me over the years. I know what good aim looks like and knife throwing isn’t Semyazah’s specialty. All I have to do is lean back and the knife sails past. Semyazah grabs a metal candle stand, holding it in front of him like a spear.

It’s three fast steps to where he’s planted himself. I drag the desk behind me as I go. Whip it around like a baseball bat, crashing through a bookshelf and catching him on the side. There’s a loud crack as I make contact and he half flies, half slides down the marble floor to the library doors.

Blood flows into my left eye. The crack when I hit Semyazah wasn’t from him or the desk. It was a derringer he’s pulled from his sleeve. The shot grazed the side of my head.

Merihim and Marchosias are backed up against shelves full of Hellion art books. Merihim has gone dead white. I throw each of them over a shoulder in a kind of half-assed fireman’s carry, holding them low. Keeping their bodies between me and Semyazah. The general is flat on his back but he could be playing possum and he has at least one bullet left in the pocket gun. Merihim starts thrashing when he figures out he’s a human shield. I pull my arm a little tighter and squeeze the air out of him.

When I’m over Semyazah, I step onto the arm holding the gun. The general’s eyes are open but he doesn’t move. I don’t think he’s broken. Just a little dazed. I toss Merihim and Marchosias down on either side of him, take the derringer, and drop the hammer so it won’t go off in my pocket.

A minute later Semyazah sits up. I take the knife from a scabbard on his belt and slap it into his hand.

“We aren’t done yet. It’s still three against one and I’m not armed. You drew first blood, General. Take your shot. Kill me.”

He doesn’t move. I can’t tell if his gaze is uncertain or unfocused.

“Afraid you’ll miss?”

I grab him with the Kissi hand and press the tip of the blade into the base of my throat.

“Now you can’t. Kill me. Become Lucifer.”

When Semyazah doesn’t budge, Merihim grabs his hand and pushes. The blade goes in far enough to draw blood. I feel it run down my neck and under the armor. Semyazah twists and punches Merihim in the face. The preacher lets go of the knife when Semyazah elbows him in the throat. He looks at Marchosias like he’s about to deck her. She holds up her hands, shaking her head.

Semyazah slides the knife back into its scabbard.

“This doesn’t change anything. You’re still a coward and a fraud.”

“And you won’t do anything about it ’cause you’d rather have a coward and a fraud on the throne than sit there yourself.”

I find my knife where it’s embedded in the wall and slip it into the waistband at my back. Walk back to where the last of Bill’s bourbon fell. The bottle hit the floor but didn’t break. Lucky me. My desk is cracked and splintered but still has four legs. I pull it upright and sit down, taking a couple of pulls from the bottle. The wound on my head throbs but is already scabbing over; my burned hand, though, got bounced around enough that it throbs and aches.

“You Hellions think you’re so fucking special. What’s that stuff on the ceiling? The Thought. The Act. The New World? You think God threw you out because you bravely stood up to Him? Bullshit. You started a fight and you lost and you’ve been whining about it ever since. Hell isn’t righteous exile. With all your secret handshakes and horseshit rituals, you’ve made the place into one more members-only gated community. All you people need are Mercedes SUVs and illegals to clean your pools and you couldn’t tell Hell from Brentwood. That’s why you hate Deumos and her heretic ducklings. It’s not because they’re crackpots, which they definitely are. What gets under your skin is that they want to move into the house down the street. Old money hates the nouveau riche. It’s a sad, stupid story even down here in the stupidest place in the universe.”

Merihim and Marchosias get to their feet. When Marchosias starts to help Semyazah, the general shakes her off.

“Are you going to open the door or are we your prisoners?” he asks.

I bark some Hellion and the library doors unlock.

“May I have my gun?”

I get the derringer, pop out the remaining bullet, and toss the pistol to him. He heads for the door without waiting for the other two. Merihim pulls a book from his robes and throws it on the floor.

“Here’s the book you asked about, you ungrateful lout. Read it before you do anything else stupid. Pay particular attention to the final passage. It’s more apt now than ever before.”

When they’re gone I go over and get the book I never asked Merihim about.

It’s an old copy of Hellion psalms. Battered and annotated in the margins. Complete bargain-bin shit. The book doesn’t matter. It’s the note inside. I recognize Merihim’s neat writing.

Last night Ipos sent word that he found evidence of someone or possibly more than one person in maintenance uniforms using building plans to move about the palace. This morning Ipos is dead. I’ll send updates when and if I can. Until then, do not contact me.

Looks like I just burned a few more bridges. Fuck ’em. I was always the dog-faced boy to Semyazah. A sideshow freak in a suit. Merihim might have been on Samael’s side but he knows I don’t give two shits about his church. Marchosias, well, she likes to be where the action is.

I feel bad about Ipos. One more face to go up on the wall of the people who’ve died for me one way or another.

I check the peepers in the bedroom. It looks all clear. I go in and grab everything I need. Clothes. Toothbrush. I toss the na’at into the drawer with the Smith & Wesson, the singularity, and the Magic 8 Ball and carry it like a TV tray into the library.

The front doors feel safe for now. I put down arsenic and sulfur in front of the secret door that Ipos and Merihim used. The truth is, I feel pretty good. I shook things up. I got to break things. I got shot without dying. And I didn’t even have to go to the arena to do any of it.

The list of my enemies was the size of a phone book when I got here and it’ll be a whole set of encyclopedias by the time I leave. If the enemy I’m counting on doesn’t come through, at least I’ll have a lot more to choose from.

I’ve tried to avoid everyone, so I haven’t used the hotel phones much. The one in the library is like the others. Even though the Beverly Wilshire is my demonic palace, it’s still a hotel and the phones are put together hotel-style. A regular push-button model with a row of specialty buttons at the top. Instead of direct lines to the concierge and front desk, this phone only has two buttons. They read VIAND and PISSANTS. I pick up the receiver and push PISSANTS. Brimborion picks up.

“Lucifer?”

“Do you know who’s locked up in the dungeon?”

His voice drops to a whisper.

“Yes.”

“I’m guessing you know discreet ways to get around the palace where no one’s going to see you.”

“Of course.”

“I want you to get the leader out without anyone seeing. Especially the guards. Can you do that?”

“I’ll have to distract them.”

“Whatever you need.”

“May I use a hellhound or two?”

“Use a zeppelin, for all I care. Just get her up here. I think we’ve come to an understanding, so I’ll even give you your passkey back.”

“Thank you,” he says. There’s a microsecond’s hesitation.

“You have another stashed away, don’t you?”

“I wouldn’t be good at my job if I didn’t plan ahead.”

“Just get her up to the library. And be sure to knock. There was a little scuffle in here earlier and I’ve added new security.”

“Is anyone interesting dead?”

“Soon.”

I hang up and take out the black blade. Carve dark magic crosses and hexes on the floor up front and by the secret door. Shapes of ice, fire, and darkness. You can’t be too careful, especially after you know at least one other person has the keys to the kingdom. Now I just have to not step in my own traps on the way out.

It’s easy to lose track of time Downtown. I’ve been here one hundred days and a week. A week? More like three or four days since the first attack. In the next day or so I’ll either have the assassins off my back or be dead. Either way I won’t have a Dr. Caligari reject in the bedroom belching bugs on the duvet. On the other hand, there’s no reason to think I’ll destroy the possession key or the psychic amplifier anytime soon. So I’m still fucked, but finding out who’s actually sending bug men and bikers after me and killing my killers should buy me enough time to figure out how to access the last of Lucifer’s power.

I look at the hotel phone. If there are only two buttons and one is to a lackey, what’s the second for? I push VIAND.

“My lord?”

“Is this the kitchen?”

“Yes, lord.”

“Don’t call me ‘lord.’ Did anyone down there watch the cable cooking shows I told you about?”

“Yes, lord. Lucifer. I did.”

“Great. Let’s keep things simple. How about you make me a burrito?”

“What kind of meat would you like?”

“What have you got?”

“Manticore. Greater and lesser sand jellyfish. Archaeopteryx. And white strangler fungi. It’s called fungi but really it’s a light-tasting parasite that grows in the bowels of—”

“I know what it is and I wouldn’t eat that shit with God’s mouth. Make it manticore. And send up some Aqua Regia and a carton of Maledictions. Leave it all outside the library door.”

“Will there be anything else, lord?”

“Yeah. Book me a first-class seat on the red-eye to Burbank.”

“You want a book, lord? I thought you were in the library.”

“Forget it. Just the food and smokes.”

I know whatever they bring up will be horrible but at least it will look like something from home. And manticore meat isn’t that bad. Sort of like a buffalo, a jalapeño, and a jar of vinegar had a baby.

Fuck me. I’m turning into a lifer. I’m calling the apartment mine and getting used to the food. I need to be dead or out of here fast.

There’s a soft knock on the library door. I open it, careful not to step in any of my bear traps. Brimborion is in the hall with Deumos.

“No one saw us. Also, this was outside the door.”

He holds up the food tray. I lift the metal top off the plate with the burrito. It looks like a giant maggot in a gray bathrobe. I put the top back on the plate and pull Deumos inside.

“Cool your jets for thirty minutes.”

I take the Aqua Regia and cigarettes off the tray.

“Keep the burrito. I hope you like manticore.”

Brimborian looks at the tray and back at me, surprised.

“Thank you.”

“Thirty minutes,” I say.

I close the door and look at Deumos. She looks very human even if her skin is a little on the snaky side. She holds her head up high enough that it looks like she could use the horns wound in her hair as a weapon. She’s in a floor-length robe that shades from a deep bloody red at her shoulders to a pink so pale it’s almost white at her feet. I point to the floor.

“You’re going to want to walk around those marks. Otherwise you’ll end up boiled, blind, or a Popsicle, depending on which hex you step into.”

She looks down, gathers up the bottom of her robe, and carefully steps over the marks. When she’s clear she walks a few paces farther and turns and fixes me with her hard, bright eyes.

“Did you bring me here to kill me? You have quite a reputation for that sort of thing.”

“I pretty much live in here. If I was going to kill you, I’d do it down the hall in the room with the dead guy and the bugs.”