“I know you cannot use the Qomrama Om Ya. Give it to me. Only a portion of me came through the rift. I will summon myself and then the other Angra. You will see. It will be glorious.”
“It’s not just me, you know. The Vigil will fight you. The Sub Rosa too.”
He laughs and I get a little hint of what he means by the void between the stars. The sound is deep, lonely, and cold.
“The Sub Rosa will come to us when the moment is right. They are part of us. Why do you think their portion of humanity is more powerful than the rest? Able to manipulate the forces of nature? What you call magic.”
“They ate all their vegetables when they were kids?”
“It is because like all demons, the Sub Rosa are simply another form of Qliphoth. The most sophisticated form, which means that when the time comes they will recognize us as their progenitors and return home to us.”
Holy shit. The Sub Rosa are just skin flakes from the Angra’s backside. Brainy, complicated Qliphoth, but in the big scheme of things no better than a Digger or an Eater. Wait until the gals around the watercooler hear about this.
“If I told you yes, you’d know I was lying, so I’m not going to bother. The answer was no before and it’s no now.”
He raises his hand, claw, tentacle.
“I could kill you right here, on this spot.”
I take a step back.
“I have the Qomrama, so I’m not sure I believe you. I’m not great at using it, but it’s killed for me before. Want to see if it will kill again?”
“If you can kill me why don’t you?”
“I don’t want to kill you. I just want you to fuck off and leave us alone.”
Shaky takes a step, closing the distance between us.
“You can’t kill me. The Qomrama won’t let you.”
“I told you. I don’t want to kill you.”
I pull the black blade and slash his throat, cutting through the vertebrae and muscle at the back so his head pops off and slops onto the wet ground. Shaky kneels down and picks it up.
“Let’s see if you can put yourself together before I figure out the 8 Ball.”
Shaky sets his head onto his shoulders and walks away into the dark.
Rain begins to fall again.
So, to sum up. Tonight I had my throat crushed. I was tossed around like a beanbag. I was beaten with a gun butt. I was shot. And now another God hates me. I want a smoke, but when I cough I taste blood. Maybe some bullet fragments in a lung. I put the Maledictions back in my pocket.
It’s nights like this that make me want to give up the glamorous work of world saving and take up woodworking or needlepoint. Something soothing and without quite so much ass kicking aimed in my direction.
I wipe the blood off my mouth and head inside.
THE PLACE IS still a mess. Marshals clear away wreckage and try to salvage equipment. They’re dispatching patrols to make sure the rest of the city didn’t fall down. Rain pours in through the roof, making the floor slick and dangerous. No one pays the slightest attention to me.
The Shonin’s lab is still a wreck, but a pathway has been cleared from the door to his worktable. He’s picking through the wreckage, looking for books and manuscripts he might be able to save. When he hears me he drops into his chair, cradling his broken arm in his good one.
“So, did you mess everything up, fatso?”
“They’re going to do it. Mr. Muninn is. Oh, and I met Zeus on the way in here.”
He sits up a little straighter.
“One of the Angra?”
“The Angra. The head cheese. Seems like a sweet guy, but a little pissed off.”
“You’re going to need the Qomrama.”
“You’re not going to rat me out, are you?”
“At the monastery, the only people punished more than rule breakers were tattletales.”
I help him up and we slowly pick our way over downed beams, crushed furniture, and ceiling tiles. He’s so full of poison he can barely lift his feet. It takes minutes getting across the room and I can feel every second ticking away.
Once we get to the magnetic chamber, he shuts it down and opens the door. I pull off my glove and take out the 8 Ball with my Kissi hand. The Shonin gives me the box Father Traven made to hold the Qomrama. I put it inside and drop it into my coat pocket.
“There,” he says. “If anyone is watching us, we are both complicit.”
“Thanks, old man.”
I help him back to his chair. He sits and scratches his head with his good hand.
“What time is it?” he says.
I get out my phone.
“A little past eight-thirty.”
He doesn’t say anything and doesn’t move when I go over to him. That’s it then. Four hundred years hanging around this rock and it ends in a broken-down Beverly Hills country club. A funny end to a strange life. But he came through when he had to, and that’s more than I can say for most people.
I straighten him upright in the chair and lay his hands in his lap in the Dhyana mudra, the only bit of dilettante L.A. Buddhism I can remember.
Someone is at the door. I look up and see Julie. She stops and grimaces.
“You’re shot.”
“Yeah. I’m hard on clothes.”
“Where have you been?”
“I just got my ass kicked in Hell. How are you?”
She comes in and looks around the room.
“I never know what to believe when you open your mouth.”
“Want to meet the Devil?” I put out my hand. “Just say the word.”
“I’ll pass.”
I try to angle myself between her and the magnetic chamber, hoping she won’t notice that it is gone. But she isn’t looking at me. She’s spotted the Shonin and goes over to him.
“My God. What happened?”
“I think the book finally finished him. Will you take care of his body?”
She shakes her head.
“I can’t. We have a report of a mob of Saint Nick’s corpses around Hollywood Forever Cemetery. They’re starting to move into the streets, destroying everything in the way. Believe it or not, there are still civilians in the city.”
Hollywood Forever. I can’t get away from the place. When I die for the last time, dump me in the ocean or a landfill or chop me up and serve me as corn dogs at the state fair. Just don’t bury me in Hollywood Forever.
“Let me handle it.”
“By yourself?” she says.
“I’ll have backup, but your agents won’t want to meet them. Give me an hour before you send anyone in.”
“Listen. After everything that’s happened, these cowboys want to get out and shoot something. I don’t know how long I can keep them here.”
“Think of something. I’m just asking for an hour. It’ll save some of your people’s lives.”
She thinks for a minute.
“Half an hour.”
“Good enough.”
I start out, but stop.
“You mind if I take some body armor?”
She looks at my bloody shirt.
“You look like you need it.”
“Yeah. I kind of do.”
“Let’s go find you something.”
“One more thing. I want you to do me a favor.”
Her eyes narrow.
“Why should I?”
“Because afterward you’ll own me.”
“Keep talking.”
WHEN I’M FITTED up with a vest, I take a shadow to Max Overdrive, fire up the Hellion hog, and head Downtown. Not to see Muninn or Samael or anyone else who can talk. I come straight out into the kennels, where a hundred-plus hellhounds wander restlessly. I’m in and out fast in case anyone wanders down here. I only have a half hour and I don’t want to spend it explaining anything to anyone.
As soon as I corral the last hounds I lead them into a shadow at the far end of the place. Their growls and the grinding of their gears fill the air. Their claws tear up the concrete. It’s beautiful.