Howard nodded and pointed at me. “Cal here wants to talk to Primal. Cal’s a lawyer.”
Clay’s eyes wobbled up to meet mine. They were strange eyes. One of them seemed to focus in a different place than its mate. They held an expression of perpetual surprise, probably because of the curved eyebrows penciled in arcs above them. “A lawyer? Why does a lawyer want to see Primal?”
“He wants to … er … serve notice,” Howard informed him.
“Notice? What sort of notice? I need more specifics, Cal…?” His brows rose with the inflection of this voice. “Griffin. Cal Griffin.”
“Ah, Cal Griffin, attorney at law. Do you have a business card?”
I glanced at Howard, who looked the other way. Primal had interesting taste in toadies. “Sorry, I seem to have left them in my other pants. Primal has a musician under contract named Enid Blindman.”
Clay’s eyes fluttered and his lips formed a wordless O. “You’ve heard of him.”
“Oh, my, yes. Everyone here has heard of Enid. Primal’s been waiting for him to come home. He thought he might be in the neighborhood. Have you brought Enid home, Mr. Griffin?”
“That’s an issue I need to raise with Primal.”
We locked eyes for a moment, then Clay’s lips curved into a smile. “By all means, come up. I’ll announce you.”
We followed him up the escalator into a broad second-floor gallery, then turned the corner, mounted a second escalator and climbed to the third floor. He turned left down a wide, marbled hallway, Howard moving just behind him, the rest of us walking three abreast like a trio of gunslingers.
“Freaky,” mumbled Colleen. “I feel like I’m in a production of the Wizard of Oz.”
The words were no sooner out of her mouth than Goldie began intoning the chant of the Witch’s Guard, “All we owe, we owe her,” under his breath.
“Wrong scene, Goldman,” Colleen murmured.
He switched to a mumbled rendition of “Follow the Yellow Brick Road.” I glanced at him sharply. His eyes glittered and a grin was tugging at the corners of his mouth, giving me vertigo.
The end of the corridor disappeared into red twilight. Up ahead I could see people moving back and forth across intersecting halls. We traveled all the way to the end of the north-south corridor and turned left toward the front of the building, which gave us every opportunity to see the denizens of Primal’s domain up close.
“Normals,” murmured Goldie.
They seemed to be. Among the dozen or so people we saw roaming the corridor, not one was a tweak. At least, not as far as we could tell. Just like the rest of the Loop. At the same time, Howard’s presence didn’t seem to cause them any pause at all. He had pushed off his hood, fully displaying his distinctive features, but no one had given him any but the most cursory notice.
We reached a point in the east-west corridor where a huge set of wooden doors, decorated with the CMG logo, halted our progress. Clay did an about-face and looked from me to Colleen to Goldie. “Do you need to bring your people with you or shall they stay outside?”
“They’re not my ‘people,’ ” I said. “They’re my friends. We stay together.”
His eyes repeated the journey from Colleen’s face to Goldie’s. “I see. In that case, they may enter.”
I steeled myself for my first sight of the monster that might be Primal, and followed Clay into the room. Somewhere in the back of my mind I think I actually expected to enter a boardroom-the sort of regal wood, chrome, and glass chamber that Ely Stern had favored, decorated to intimidate or impress. But this was a grotto, a cavern, dimly lit, seemingly boundless, a place the dragon-Stern would comfortably hang out in now, if he still lived. The walls and ceiling were invisible, obscured by gloom and glistening streamers of what looked like wet silk. Woven among those were strands of something like silver Christmas garland. Some of the banners hung so low I had to duck to avoid them. Eerie light in shades of blue and green oozed from unseen sources overhead.
There were people here, collected in small groups and draped in long, strangely kinetic shadows. Their voices made soft, pink noise like the murmur of moving water. I thought of the Indian Caves at Olentangy and was surprised at the depth of my longing for the place. As we passed through the chamber, a wave of silence followed in our wake.
“It’s like an underwater cocktail party … or a disco,” murmured Colleen. “All it needs is the damn glitter ball.”
I barely heard her over the trip-hammering of my own heart. Looking up, I had found the source of the spectral light. Floating high up amid the trailing banners were several flares, gleaming emerald and aquamarine. They watched us, lazy-eyed, and drifted aimlessly, as if their only purpose here was to light Primal’s world. I found myself trying to make out the features, coloring, and clothing hidden beneath Saint Elmo’s fire. Hoping to surprise something familiar and beloved.
“Wraiths,” whispered Goldie. “They’re like lost souls.”
Colleen peered up at them. “Really? They look downright comfy to me. Well, as comfy as you can be on a leash.”
I didn’t have time to ask what she meant. Our progress through the long, cavernous room had stopped. I looked up to where Clay stood waiting for us. There was nothing there at first, only an inky, sticky blackness that filled the northeast corner of the room. But the blackness eddied and, as if on cue, light sprung up around it, revealing a dais, a throne, and the undisputed Emperor of the Red Zone.
Suddenly I was Alice. Having just eaten the wrong side of the mushroom, I was too small. I would have to flood the room with giant tears to get face-to-face with Primal. He was immense-seated, he was at least ten feet tall-and gave the impression of great mass. He was human in form, but his naked, coiled body gleamed blue-black, as if it were carved out of solid obsidian. It reflected the tendrils of light in the room and gave up a kinetic radiance of its own. Beneath the skin-or whatever passed for skin-delicate traceries of red pulsed, like neon tattoos, like veins full of luminous blood. His face had the smooth, perfect features of a pharaoh’s death mask, frozen but for the eyes. Those were the size of baseballs and bright as burnished brass. He was horrible and he was beautiful, and I was confused and disturbed by the paradox.
And the eyes were on me. On us.
Beside me, Colleen had come up short, her stance changing subtly, as if she meant to spring or run. She drew in a hissing breath and exhaled, “Holy shit.”
I don’t know if Primal heard her, but Clay did, and raised a hand to his mouth to hide a grin.
Primal spoke. In a voice like rocks being crushed, he asked, “What amuses you, monkey?” The aurora brilliance increased, spiking with reds. I didn’t see the lips move or the eyes blink.
Clay’s entire demeanor changed. His face went flat and colorless, as if made of wax, and he groveled-literally, groveled-rubbing his hands together in their obscuring sleeves, twisting his head sideways like a beaten dog. “I’m not amused, Primal. I’m pleased. Pleased that you have such… presence. You really wow ’em. It, eh, it tickles me a bit.”
“Tickles you?” Primal repeated. Without preamble, he swung one huge arm in a sweeping arc. A flash of bloodred light rolled down the length of the arm, caught Clay under the chin, and tossed him a good six feet through the air.
Colleen shouted, flipped open her jacket and reached for the crossbow strapped to her hip. I grabbed her arm hard, stopping her.
Amid derisive laughter, Clay unfolded slowly upright, like a paper doll. He shook off hurt and derision alike, straightened his robe, and turned toward us, a smile on his lips. His hat was gone and blood from his nose had run over lips and chin to stain the silk.
“You’ve ruined your outfit,” purred Primal. “Why don’t you go change into something else?”
Clay merely nodded and bobbled away, stopping only to pick up his hat. The rest of the people in the room ignored him. Their attention was on us again.