smiles like a cat that just took a crap in your shoes and is waiting for you to find it. “I don’t know what’s down there, but I know this: Mason might be crazier than a sack full of dog’s balls, but he kicked your ass to Never Never Land ’cause, unlike you, he thinks ahead. Is there something in the basement? I have no doubt. Do I know what it is? No. But I’m sure of one thing: it’ll make you cry, and I’m looking forward to hearing all about it.”
“I guess I’d be bitter, too, if I saw all my friends turn into gods while I was still the bum on the corner, hoping they’d throw me a nickel.”
“See? It’s that asshole thing that’s going to get you killed soon.”
“Did I hurt your feelings again? Sorry. When this is over, I’ll send some flowers to your inner child.”
I STEAL A Porsche 911 on Sunset and pick up Vidocq a little after two. I drive us to Beverly Hills and park where we can see the vacant lot where Mason’s house once stood. I sit there for a minute, scanning the street for teenyboppers or insomniac joggers.
“Are we going?” Vidocq asks.
“In a minute.” I take out the Veritas, put it on my thumb, and give it a little flip. In my head is the question Is this a good idea?
When I turn the coin over, it reads in Hellion script, When you jump off a cliff, is it better to land on jagged rocks or burning lava? I know this one. The answer is obvious: It doesn’t matter where you land. You just jumped off a cliff.
I lead Vidocq to the edge of the vacant lot, near a street-light where the shadows are deep and wide enough for two. “I’ve never tried this with another human before. It might be a little weird. It’ll feel like you’re falling, but you’re not. If this works, just step into the room like normal.”
“What will happen if it does not work?”
“I have no idea.”
Vidocq gets out his flask and takes a big drink. When he’s put the flask away, I take his arm and pull him into the biggest, darkest shadow I can find.
There’s a moment of coolness in the transition, and we’re inside the room. Easy as a broken leg and we’re both still in one piece.
Vidocq looks at me, eyes darting around the room. “It worked, then?”
“Two arms, two legs. It worked.”
His lets out a breath and looks around, a little awestruck. “We’re at the center of the universe. The crossroads of creation.”
“I suppose. I never thought about it that way. For me, it was just the emergency exit out the back of a burning building.”
Vidocq turns in a slow circle. “My God. It really is a room full of doors.”
“Thirteen. What did you expect?”
“I assumed the doors were a metaphor. Each door would be a way to describe a different state of being.”
“No. It’s just a lot of doors.”
“Clearly. Where does this one lead you?”
“They change, depending on where I want to go. It’s all about associations. The Door of Fire leads to chaotic places, usually dangerous. Wind is mostly calm, but changeable. Dreams leads to, well, dreams.”
He points to the thirteenth door. “Where does that one go?”
“I never opened it.”
“Why not?”
“Because it scares me shitless, and, anyway, that’s not how we’re going. We’re going through here.”
“What is this?”
“The Door of the Dead.”
MASON’S BASEMENT SMELLS like a straw doormat that’s been left out in the rain too long. It’s also pitch-black. Vidocq takes a glass vial from his pocket and blows on it. The room fills with light. Who needs a flashlight when you have your own personal alchemist?
Paint is peeling off the basement walls and ceiling in jagged sheets. Thick roots grow down from the lot above and creep across the ceiling and walls, like black and brittle arteries. A knot of roots has rotted away the plaster from one wall, leaving exposed lath. The furniture sits exactly where I last saw it years earlier—tables, chairs, and a sofa woolly with mold.
In the center of the room is what
“I guess I’d be bitter, too, if I saw all my friends turn into gods while I was still the bum on the corner, hoping they’d throw me a nickel.”
“See? It’s that asshole thing that’s going to get you killed soon.”
“Did I hurt your feelings again? Sorry. When this is over, I’ll send some flowers to your inner child.”
I STEAL A Porsche 911 on Sunset and pick up Vidocq a little after two. I drive us to Beverly Hills and park where we can see the vacant lot where Mason’s house once stood. I sit there for a minute, scanning the street for teenyboppers or insomniac joggers.
“Are we going?” Vidocq asks.
“In a minute.” I take out the Veritas, put it on my thumb, and give it a little flip. In my head is the question Is this a good idea?
When I turn the coin over, it reads in Hellion script, When you jump off a cliff, is it better to land on jagged rocks or burning lava? I know this one. The answer is obvious: It doesn’t matter where you land. You just jumped off a cliff.
I lead Vidocq to the edge of the vacant lot, near a street-light where the shadows are deep and wide enough for two. “I’ve never tried this with another human before. It might be a little weird. It’ll feel like you’re falling, but you’re not. If this works, just step into the room like normal.”
“What will happen if it does not work?”
“I have no idea.”
Vidocq gets out his flask and takes a big drink. When he’s put the flask away, I take his arm and pull him into the biggest, darkest shadow I can find.
There’s a moment of coolness in the transition, and we’re inside the room. Easy as a broken leg and we’re both still in one piece.
Vidocq looks at me, eyes darting around the room. “It worked, then?”
“Two arms, two legs. It worked.”
His lets out a breath and looks around, a little awestruck. “We’re at the center of the universe. The crossroads of creation.”
“I suppose. I never thought about it that way. For me, it was just the emergency exit out the back of a burning building.”
Vidocq turns in a slow circle. “My God. It really is a room full of doors.”
“Thirteen. What did you expect?”
“I assumed the doors were a metaphor. Each door would be a way to describe a different state of being.”
“No. It’s just a lot of doors.”
“Clearly. Where does this one lead you?”
“They change, depending on where I want to go. It’s all about associations. The Door of Fire leads to chaotic places, usually dangerous. Wind is mostly calm, but changeable. Dreams leads to, well, dreams.”
He points to the thirteenth door. “Where does that one go?”
“I never opened it.”
“Why not?”
“Because it scares me shitless, and, anyway, that’s not how we’re going. We’re going through here.”
“What is this?”
“The Door of the Dead.”
MASON’S BASEMENT SMELLS like a straw doormat that’s been left out in the rain too long. It’s also pitch-black. Vidocq takes a glass vial from his pocket and blows on it. The room fills with light. Who needs a flashlight when you have your own personal alchemist?
Paint is peeling off the basement walls and ceiling in jagged sheets. Thick roots grow down from the lot above and creep across the ceiling and walls, like black and brittle arteries. A knot of roots has rotted away the plaster from one wall, leaving exposed lath. The furniture sits exactly where I last saw it years earlier—tables, chairs, and a sofa woolly with mold.
In the center of the room is what
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