like a high school
pep rally up front by the flames. I should have a camera. Hellions laughing at a
tower of fire. Now, this is the Hell I’ve been looking for. Flames. Mad cheers.
And the tingling feeling of things right on the edge of getting out of
control.
The fire is up over the wicker man’s waist. I have
to admit, he’s staying upright better than I am. I toss the candle and watch as
it tumbles into the flames.
Turning away, I duck deep into the crowd. And I
can’t help but laugh. This has got to be the strangest day of my whole damn
strange life.
It’s me in the barbecue pit. They’re burning
Lucifer.
I circle around the market and back to where I left the Hellion hog. I tweak the
glamour one more time, giving myself a new Hellion face. I don’t toss off the
glamour until I’m back in the palace heading up the secret stairs to the
library.
I’m not in the mood to deal with assassins,
Brimborion, or arsonist Joan of Arcs, so I use Vidocq’s friend’s trick of
stacking furniture against the bedroom door.
In the morning I kick the bloody clothes I left at
the end of the bed into the pile I want cleaned instead of burned.
I seriously don’t like the idea of Brimborion being
able to walk in here anytime he likes. Just because I took his passkey doesn’t
mean he doesn’t already have a spare squirreled away somewhere.
My whole life is ruled by magic keys and the
assholes who do or don’t have them. I found a key in Mason’s room, but unless I
want to start prying open Hellion skulls, it’s not going to do me any good.
Hell’s carved enough meat off me that there’s no
way I’m touching the Magic 8 Ball with my real hand. I use my Kissi hand to move
the ball from the pocket of the peacoat to the bottom dresser drawer with the
revolver. Until someone can tell me what the thing is, I don’t want it near me.
Which means no one down here. Not after what I saw it do in the market.
My head pounds from all the Aqua Regia last night.
I let the pulsing pain behind my eyes take over, an old arena trick. Dropping
down into the center of the pain means I don’t have to think, and not thinking
means I don’t have to find answers, and not needing answers means I might be
able to get through the day without homicide.
I don’t feel one bit bad about killing those
leggers last night. But I don’t know how it happened or how that thing got in my
pocket. Down here in the pain, I don’t have to know. I just note the question
and move on. Answers are rare and come in their own time but hangovers are
reliable and never in short supply.
After a while the pulse of the pain syncs with my
heartbeat. Some old Greek philosopher said there’s nothing but atoms and empty
space. My head is one very big empty space right now. I take the bottle of Aqua
Regia from the nightstand and swallow a short gulp. Hair of the dog. Got to
balance the humors. Hippocrates said so. Blame him.
I open my eyes and look out the window. It’s around
four o’clock. Clouds tumbleweed across a bruised sky. A few fires have flared up
again south of the city. The backlight looks like a slow-motion nuclear blast.
My Golgotha L.A. has never looked more beautiful.
I don’t hear from Brimborion all day. I wonder if
he got someone to sew the finger back on. I don’t even know if they do that kind
of thing down here. Probably they think if you’re dumb enough to lose a finger,
you deserve for it to stay lost.
Vetis comes by to check on me later.
“You were burned in effigy in the market last
night, lord.”
“I heard. And don’t call me ‘lord.’ ”
“I’ve doubled your personal security and stationed
more legion troops downstairs.”
Ms. 45 pokes her head around the door. Vetis takes
a step back. She waits a couple of beats and moves down the hall.
“Thanks. I’m feeling pretty well protected these
days.”
It’s the middle of the night when the bedroom phone
rings. It’s never done that before. I’ve never used it. I pick
pep rally up front by the flames. I should have a camera. Hellions laughing at a
tower of fire. Now, this is the Hell I’ve been looking for. Flames. Mad cheers.
And the tingling feeling of things right on the edge of getting out of
control.
The fire is up over the wicker man’s waist. I have
to admit, he’s staying upright better than I am. I toss the candle and watch as
it tumbles into the flames.
Turning away, I duck deep into the crowd. And I
can’t help but laugh. This has got to be the strangest day of my whole damn
strange life.
It’s me in the barbecue pit. They’re burning
Lucifer.
I circle around the market and back to where I left the Hellion hog. I tweak the
glamour one more time, giving myself a new Hellion face. I don’t toss off the
glamour until I’m back in the palace heading up the secret stairs to the
library.
I’m not in the mood to deal with assassins,
Brimborion, or arsonist Joan of Arcs, so I use Vidocq’s friend’s trick of
stacking furniture against the bedroom door.
In the morning I kick the bloody clothes I left at
the end of the bed into the pile I want cleaned instead of burned.
I seriously don’t like the idea of Brimborion being
able to walk in here anytime he likes. Just because I took his passkey doesn’t
mean he doesn’t already have a spare squirreled away somewhere.
My whole life is ruled by magic keys and the
assholes who do or don’t have them. I found a key in Mason’s room, but unless I
want to start prying open Hellion skulls, it’s not going to do me any good.
Hell’s carved enough meat off me that there’s no
way I’m touching the Magic 8 Ball with my real hand. I use my Kissi hand to move
the ball from the pocket of the peacoat to the bottom dresser drawer with the
revolver. Until someone can tell me what the thing is, I don’t want it near me.
Which means no one down here. Not after what I saw it do in the market.
My head pounds from all the Aqua Regia last night.
I let the pulsing pain behind my eyes take over, an old arena trick. Dropping
down into the center of the pain means I don’t have to think, and not thinking
means I don’t have to find answers, and not needing answers means I might be
able to get through the day without homicide.
I don’t feel one bit bad about killing those
leggers last night. But I don’t know how it happened or how that thing got in my
pocket. Down here in the pain, I don’t have to know. I just note the question
and move on. Answers are rare and come in their own time but hangovers are
reliable and never in short supply.
After a while the pulse of the pain syncs with my
heartbeat. Some old Greek philosopher said there’s nothing but atoms and empty
space. My head is one very big empty space right now. I take the bottle of Aqua
Regia from the nightstand and swallow a short gulp. Hair of the dog. Got to
balance the humors. Hippocrates said so. Blame him.
I open my eyes and look out the window. It’s around
four o’clock. Clouds tumbleweed across a bruised sky. A few fires have flared up
again south of the city. The backlight looks like a slow-motion nuclear blast.
My Golgotha L.A. has never looked more beautiful.
I don’t hear from Brimborion all day. I wonder if
he got someone to sew the finger back on. I don’t even know if they do that kind
of thing down here. Probably they think if you’re dumb enough to lose a finger,
you deserve for it to stay lost.
Vetis comes by to check on me later.
“You were burned in effigy in the market last
night, lord.”
“I heard. And don’t call me ‘lord.’ ”
“I’ve doubled your personal security and stationed
more legion troops downstairs.”
Ms. 45 pokes her head around the door. Vetis takes
a step back. She waits a couple of beats and moves down the hall.
“Thanks. I’m feeling pretty well protected these
days.”
It’s the middle of the night when the bedroom phone
rings. It’s never done that before. I’ve never used it. I pick
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