The Perdition Score

ABBOT CALLS ME around noon. Candy doesn’t wake up and Allegra is asleep next to Vidocq. I take the call in the kitchen.

“Elsabeth called. It sounds like you had a busy night,” says Abbot.

“Consider Burgess an early Christmas present.”

“You’ll be interested to know that a lot of powerful people vanished into thin air last night.”

“Write their names down. There’s your list of Wormwood heavies.”

“I’m already on it. Elsabeth is leaving the country,” he says.

“You told her I wouldn’t hurt her, right?”

“I did, but you did murder her husband. Even if she didn’t like him, it’s a shock.”

“That prick is fine. Probably having piña coladas in Hell with Norris Quay right now.”

Abbot takes a breath.

“It’s too bad we can’t do anything about that. A shock like that could bring Wormwood down.”

“Who says I can’t do anything about it?”

“You said you’d lost that kind of power.”

“There’s more than one way to skin a flounder.”

Abbot says, “If that means you can hurt Wormwood in their sanctuary, I’ll do everything I can to help.”

“You said I have insurance in that packet you gave me.”

“Yes.”

“Does that include life insurance?”

“No. Most council members have their own.”

“Guess what. I don’t. I’ll do what I have to do, but you promise me that if something happens to me—like you never hear from me again after tomorrow—you keep paying my salary to Chihiro.”

“I can do that,” says Abbot.

“Then we’re square, no matter what happens from here.”

“When should I expect to hear from you?”

“In a couple of days. After that, consider me in Oz with the flying monkeys.”

“Wherever you’re going, please come back.”

“If I don’t, have Willem tell Audsley Ishii better luck next time.”

“I’ll be sure to pass it along,” Abbot says.

“One more thing. For a blue-blood, pretty-boy asshole, you’re not the worst person I ever met.”

“For a terrifying reprobate, neither are you.”

“See you in the funny papers.”

I hang up. Candy yawns and opens her eyes. I pour us both more coffee.

BRIGITTE CALLS IN the afternoon. Mysteriously, production on her movie has gone into a “temporary pause.” I guess Pieter Ligotti lit out of Dodge on the Wormwood Express like the others. I’m sorry it screws up Brigitte’s job, but it works out better for us.

“You can pull guard duty on Vidocq and Allegra?”

“Of course,” she says. “Will she want to see me, though? I feel like all this is my fault.”

“Allegra knows it wasn’t your fault. Wormwood used everyone. She needs her friends right now.”

“Of course I’ll be there. Where will you be?”

“Candy and I are taking a trip. We’ll be back in a couple of days. Kill anyone who tries to get in that isn’t us.”

“With pleasure.”

IT TAKES FOR fucking ever for the sun to go down.

I go to a nearby gas station and hit the little grocery inside. It’s all road food, grease, and sweets in here. I pick up a carton of unfiltered Luckies on the way out. The clerk gives me a look. I lost the Hellion hog’s saddlebags when I rode it back from Hell, and I don’t have a backpack, so I have to use one of Candy’s. I stare right back at the clerk and strap on a Badtz-Maru pack. Get on the Hellion hog and head south on the Hollywood Freeway to where it forms a crossroads with the 110.

It’s early evening and the road is jammed with traffic. Not the best time to do what I’m about to, but I’m sick of waiting around.

I pull onto the shoulder and get out the black blade. Carve an intricate sigil into the roadbed. Then I light a Malediction. Nothing to do now but wait.

It doesn’t take long before I get an answer to my distress call.

She burns down the road, doing ninety in the bumper-to-bumper traffic. Every little space between the crawling cars, every opening where someone changes lanes, she blows through them without a care in the world.

After all, these are her roads.

Mustang Sally is the highway sylph. The queen of the freeways, the surface roads, and the filthy side streets. A spirit that’s been around in one form or other since the earliest humans left the first mud trails in the ground. She drives L.A.’s roads 24/7 and only stops when bums like me lure her over with tributes.

Tonight, she’s in a Porsche 550 Spyder. The car that killed James Dean and a lot of nameless other morons who couldn’t handle the horsepower.

Sally gives me a big smile as she stops. But she doesn’t get out of the car. Just fixes her hair in the rearview mirror. It takes me a minute to figure it out. Sally has helped me out plenty, but you always have to pay the toll.

I walk to the Porsche and open the door for her. She gives me her hand as she steps out.

“Hello, handsome. That’s a new look for you.”

I forgot that I still have Badtz-Maru on my back. I shrug off the pack and hand it to her.

“It’s for you, Sally.”

She opens it and peeks inside.

“Yummy,” she says, and tosses the pack onto the passenger seat. Then she walks past me.

“Love the wheels.”

Mustang Sally is the most refined lady you’ll meet. Tonight she’s in diamonds and an evening gown, but that doesn’t slow her down. She hikes up her skirt and settles down onto the bike.

“Custom?” she says.

“As custom as they get.”

She runs her hands over the fuel tank and the seat leather.

“It’s nice to know that they still do good work down below.”

“I don’t know about that anymore.”

She cocks her head at me.

“Well, you do have a way of breaking your toys.”

“What if I want to put one back together again?”

“You want to go back.”

“It’s the only way to make things right.”

She looks at me. Then the bike. Then her car.

“Want to trade? My Porsche for your bike? It would make a lovely tribute.”

She runs her gloved fingertips over the handlebars.

“Sorry, Sally. It has sentimental value. How about a ’68 Catalina fastback?”

She thinks about it for a minute.

“It’s not exactly a vintage Porsche.”

I come over and get in front of the bike. She could run me down and take it if she wanted and we both know it.

“It would make a nice second car. You can drive it to church and bingo.”

She leans back on the seat and takes off a glove. Spits in her hand. I spit in mine and we shake. She puts her glove back on.

I tell her, “But you can’t have it right away. It needs a little bodywork.”

“That’s all right. I trust you. And you always know where to find me. Now, what can I help you with?”

“I need to get back into Hell. Preferably, without dying this time.”

The first time Sally helped me get into the afterlife, the process included me splattering myself on a highway pylon. It was messy and gave me a headache.

She shakes her head.

“Sweet boy, sometimes you come to me with the silliest questions. The way to Hell—the road to everywhere—has been there for you since the day you came home.”

“Where? How?”

She puts out her hand and I help her off the bike. She takes a minute to smooth her skirt.

“I can’t help you directly, but Mr. Muninn can. Sometimes the most complicated way is the easiest.”

I look at her. Perfect hair and diamonds lit by a thousand headlights.

“That’s all you’re going to tell me, isn’t it?”

“There are rules to these things. Heaven and Hell are well off my roads, but if you’re determined not to die to get there, it’s the best I can do.”

She strolls back to her car and I hold the door open for her as she gets in. The backseat of the Porsche is completely full of burger bags, candy wrappers, and empty cigarette packs.

I look down at her.

“I hope the snacks and smokes will hold you until I get back.”

She reaches up and pats my cheek.

“Just make sure you come back, Mr. Stark. You owe me a car.”

“I’ll always come back for you, Sally.”

“And I’ll always be here for you.”

She blows me a kiss, finds an opening in the traffic, and peels rubber out into the night.

I sit there on the shoulder for a while. I’m not a goddess. I can’t flit my way through traffic like a heavy-metal butterfly and nobody is going to slow down to let someone like me in front of them.

Muninn is in Heaven. And what the hell does “Sometimes the most complicated way is the easiest” mean?

I just traded away my car for a fortune cookie.

Finally there’s an opening. I gun my way onto the freeway and pick up Candy at Vidocq and Allegra’s. Brigitte is already there, wearing her pistol in a shoulder holster.

“Are you two going to be all right?” Allegra says.

“Right as rain,” says Candy.

Allegra hugs her.

Brigitte doesn’t say anything. Just kisses both of us on the cheek. She’s a killer. She knows what’s what and how badly this could go.

Allegra gives us little waves as we leave.

Candy waves back. I give them a wink. Bullshit confidence on a bullshit night.

We get on the bike and head home. Neither of us is wearing a helmet, but I plan to blast out the tires of anyone who tries to stop us. Knowing I might get to shoot something, and with the warm spring night, it’s a nice ride back to Max Overdrive.

THERE’S ONLY ONE thing Sally could have meant about Muninn helping us. There must be something in his old shop that we can use to get Downtown.

We arrive at the Bradbury Building at around ten in the morning. Not so early that people will notice. A good time of day to blend in with the crowd.

We spent the night going through my guns, dipping everything in Spiritus Dei. Candy dipped her black blade in the stuff, so I dipped mine for luck. I packed the Colt and put a handful of speed loaders in one pocket. Put a stolen Glock in an old holster I cut from a leather tool belt. Candy got the Benelli shotgun I took off a dead Nazi piece of shit last Christmas. It fits nicely under the old coat I wore when I first got back to L.A. It’s big on Candy, but there are motocross pads in the sleeves and sides, so it should protect her if things get physical.

We’re not exactly inconspicuous when we walk into the Bradbury, but enough movies and TV have been shot here that people are most likely going to take us for a couple of eccentric show-biz nitwits location-scouting the place.

It’s a few minutes of milling around on the first floor before we can get on one of the metal art deco elevators alone. We take it up to the fifth floor, but when it stops we don’t get off. I press the one and three buttons simultaneously and the elevator starts down again.

When it stops, we get off. The thirteenth floor is completely dark. The first time I was here, the shop we want at least had candles in the window. Now it looks like the whole floor has been deserted since Mr. Muninn left.

“Where are we?” says Candy.

I point to a dusty shop ahead that looks like a cross between a Beverly Hills Pier 1 and the back room of the world’s saddest auction house.

“This used to be Mr. Muninn’s shop. Once upon a time, he was a kind of antiques dealer.”

“You’re a liar,” Candy says.

“Nope. I’ll show you.”

With only the lights on our cell phones, we get to the shop and I jimmy the lock with the black blade.

Inside is a collection of old furniture. Stuffed exotic birds, some of which bear a strong resemblance to dinosaurs. There’s a coin set from Atlantis. A glass cage that once held a Fury, now empty. Strange weapons. Canopic jars.

Candy turns in a circle.

“How are we going to find anything in all this junk?”

“We’re not. Muninn kept the good stuff in the back.”

Through the back is a door that leads to a steep stone staircase. Lucky for us, lucky for the world, the light switch at the top of the stairs still works. Floodlights flicker on for what seems like miles in every direction. If the collection upstairs seemed out of control, the stuff down here is worse, mostly because of the sheer scale.

Rows of shelves spread out in all directions. I know Muninn had a system for his junk, but I never understood it. Aside from small collections in the shop, the hoard down here he put together over, in his own words, “ice ages.” In the distance is the prow of an ancient ship. Part of a silent-movie film set. An old L.A. red car train.

“Double fuck me,” says Candy. “Upstairs was bad enough. We could spend the rest of our lives down here.”

“No. Mustang Sally said that Muninn could help us and the most complicated way is often the easiest. Something like that.”

“Maybe she’s talking about a puzzle. You solve it and it’ll open a portal or a hot-air balloon will pop out.”

“That’s what I was thinking. Let’s split up, grab anything that looks like a puzzle, and meet back here in an hour.”

Candy looks around.

“What if I get lost?”

“Yeah. That.”

I look around and find a bag of worn old Greek drachmas. Hand it to her.

“Do a Hansel and Gretel. Drop one of these every few minutes when you go, then you can follow them back.”

“Thanks, Nancy Drew. I know how the story goes.”

We take off in opposite directions. One row over, I find an old grocery-store shopping cart full of candlesticks and vases. The vases go on a shelf with no problems, but some of the candlesticks try to squirm away or wrap themselves around my arms. A pair of snake-headed sticks hiss at me. I turn the cart on its side and dump the rest of the sticks. Some crawl away under the shelves.

There are some kids’ picture puzzles in the next row and some puzzle boxes on a high shelf. There’s a whole carton of those fucking games where you roll a ball bearing around and try to get it on the clown’s eyes and mouth. I pile the whole damned box in the cart.

“How are you doing?” yells Candy.

“Finding junk. Nothing that screams ‘portal to Hell.’ How about you?”

“The same. But I did find a cute pair of velvet Mary Janes. They’re perfect for Chihiro. Do you think Mr. Muninn would mind if I take them?”

“He has a million pairs of shoes down here. Take them, and if he gets testy, I’ll trade him something.”

“Do you think we’ll see him?”

“Only if he wants to see us, so bring the shoes.”

“There’s no way I’m wearing these shoes in Hell.”

“That’s not the point. The fact you have something of his might get his attention.”

“Taking them is part of the mission? Awesome.”

“Did you talk to Alessa while I was gone?”

I hear her pawing through shelves from what sounds about half a mile away.

“Yes.”

“And?”

“She was confused. A little annoyed. But understanding. And had about a million more questions than I could answer.”

“Bring her a present. There must be something down here she’ll like.”

“Seeing me in these shoes is all the present either of you needs.”

“Somehow I believe that.”

We dig around for another half hour. I have the cart piled high with complete garbage. Even if one of these puzzles is the doorway to Narnia, going through them all could take years. Goddammit, Sally. You’re getting my car. You could have come across with a better clue.

“Stark?”

“Yes.”

“What’s this over here?”

“I can’t see around corners, dear.”

“Go back to the beginning and follow my coins, Hansel. I’ll wait here.”

It takes me ten minutes to get back to the staircase and another twenty to track her down. Her coat and face are streaked with dust. She has a wheelbarrow full of the same crap I have.

“Want to see the shoes?” she says.

“Now?”

“We’re going to Hell. Indulge me.”

“Fine.”

She puts them on the floor and steps into them. I’m no longer annoyed.

“Admit it,” she says. “You’re picturing me in nothing but these shoes.”

“Well . . .”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

She steps out of them and puts them back in her pocket.

I look at the shelves.

“Yes, I’m suddenly distracted by impure thoughts, but that’s not the only reason you called me over, right?”

“Of course not.”

She points into the distance.

“What’s that?”

It looks like a broken-down, dried-up cornfield from here.

“It’s a corn maze. Muninn has pretty much the entire history of L.A. down here. Corn mazes used to be a big item.”

She looks at me like I’m supposed to say something.

I shrug.

“What?”

“Mustang Sally said that the way to Hell has been there for you since you got back.”

“What makes you think it’s that fucking fire hazard?”

“She also said the most complicated is the simplest. Maybe we just walk the maze and it take us where we want to go.”

“Or maybe we’ll die of thirst next to some dried-up old jack-o’-lanterns. Those corn mazes were just Halloween hijinks.”

Candy crosses her arms. In the oversize coat, she looks like an angry tween who didn’t get asked to the prom. But I don’t tell her that.

“Then you tell me what it means. Are we seriously going to put every kitten and teacup puzzle together? And open every puzzle box ever made? How many years do we have to spare?”

I look at the maze.

“What if we’re wrong? We could get lost in there for days.”

“We won’t. I know it. Call it Jade’s instinct.”

I pick up a rusty picture frame. It tries to bite me, so I throw it away.

“Jade instinct? Where did that come from? You’ve never mentioned that before.”

“I just made it up. But it’s telling me that going in there is a better idea than jacking around with Rubik’s Cubes and crossword puzzles.”

“And if it’s a dead end? How do we get out?”

“We do Hansel and Gretel again. Leave a coin at each turn.”

I look at the shaggy thing.

“Can’t we just burn it down and find the exit that way?”

“That’s that subtle Sandman Slim thinking that gets all the girls worked up,” says Candy. “If we burn it, we’ll burn up the magic and probably this whole warehouse.”

I look at the hundred puzzles she must have in her wheelbarrow. I probably have even more in my cart.

“I’m worn out. You’ve worn me out. Just remember that if the world explodes, it’s your fault.”

“Yeah, but I’m going out in great shoes.”

She takes my arm and pulls me to the maze, filled with all the confidence I haven’t had since this thing began.

At the maze entrance I say, “What do we do? Just walk in?”

Candy punches me on the arm.

“Didn’t you have a childhood? You turn left. Then you keep turning left. That’s the best way through a maze.”

“Is that true?”

“It always worked on the napkins at IHOP.”

“I’m not risking the world on pancakes.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Yes. The rule of thumb with all mazes is to go to the left. It’s mathematical or something.”

“Do you have the coins?”

She holds up the bag.

“Fuck it. Let’s try.”

She takes my hand and drops the first coin. We step into the maze and take the first left turn.

A FEW MORE lefts. A few more coins. The light changes. The floodlights filter down through the dead cornstalks, throwing tiger stripes everywhere, flattening everything until it’s faded and two-dimensional. We’re videos of ourselves walking through a video of a place. After too many turns, everything gets dreamlike and I have to remind myself that we’re real, this place is real, and what we’re doing is just as real.

Shapes form in the shadows. Faces. Animals. Whole cityscapes. Glimpses of Pandemonium. Breaks in the stalks give glimpses into adjoining rows and I swear that sometimes I see figures moving past us in the opposite direction. I wonder if this dream state is an effect of the place’s magic or just boredom from looking at fucking corn for what feels like a fifteen-hour Berlin Alexanderplatz marathon?

I consider checking the time on my phone, but if we’ve been walking for hours it will depress me. If we’ve been walking for just twenty minutes it will depress me even more.

The air in the maze is musty. We brush against the stalks. Dried leaves break apart and drift into our noses. Candy can’t stop sneezing.

I didn’t think that bringing down Wormwood would include being annoyed to death. It might be time to turn back.

I watch Candy wipe her nose on my old coat for the hundredth time.

“How many coins do you have left?”

She sneezes.

“I haven’t had any coins for an hour.”

“Thanks for keeping me up-to-date.”

“I didn’t tell you because you’re a big crybaby and you’d have wanted to turn around.”

“I have my lighter. I can still burn the place down. Just say the word.”

“What’s that up ahead?”

Something flat hangs from the stalks a few yards ahead of us. It’s a sign. It says HELL and under that is an arrow pointing back the way we came.

Candy and I look at each other.

“Someone is fucking with us,” she says.

“Or it’s the maze itself. It’s screwing with us. Testing us. Sort a temptation of Saint Anthony situation.”

“What was his story?”

“He was a monk who went to play hermit in the desert. Lucifer wasn’t impressed and tried to kick Anthony’s ass with visions. Animals. Bugs. The seven deadly sins. He probably threw in a few Daleks.”

“The seven deadly sins sound good,” she says. “Wake me when we get to Gluttony. I could use a ham sandwich.”

I look at the sign.

“A pretty lame temptation.”

Candy pulls it down and tosses it on the ground.

“I suppose we’re going to have to question everything we see, huh?”

“Everything but us.”

We continue walking. Left turn. Then another.

Candy says, “How do you know everything but us? How do I even know you’re you anymore?”

“We can play twenty questions.”

“Okay. What’s your favorite movie?”

“The uncut version of Bambi. Before they took out all the nudity.”

“What’s your favorite food?”

“Definitely deviled eggs.”

“Your favorite sport?”

“Sumo soccer.”

“Who’s prettier, me or Brigitte?”

“Veronica Lake.”

“What do you like best about me?”

“Your velvet Mary Janes.”

“Did your father really try to shoot you or is that another tall tale?”

Another left turn.

A man and woman are waiting for us. The man is in his late thirties, but looks fifty. When she was young, the woman looked like Ann-Margret, but the chemo has left her nothing but bare bones and gray skin in a crooked wig.

“Jimmy,” she says.

The man raises a hunting rifle.

I pull Candy back around the corner.

A shot goes off, ripping through the brittle cornstalks.

I get out the Colt. Pull the trigger as I round the corner. But there’s no one there.

Candy comes up beside me.

“Was that . . . ?”

“Yeah. Mom and Dad. The human dad who raised me. He wasn’t a happy person.”

I put the Colt back in my waistband.

“I’m so sorry,” Candy says.

I nod.

“Just be careful what you say in here.”

We take the next turn. And the next.

There’s a pile of bodies. The stink is mind-numbing. Corpses rise high above the stalks. I can’t count them all. Burgess and Charlie are fresh on the ground. I see Jan and Korlin Geistwald. Their daughter Eleanor. Azazel. Piles of Hellions and revolting hellbeasts. Nameless vampires. Mason Faim and his enforcer, Parker. Josef. Teddy Osterberg. Cherry Moon. Doc Kinski. Bodies of everyone and everything I ever killed or allowed to be killed.

I just stare.

Candy pulls my arm.

“Come on. Let’s go.”

“You know what that is?”

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

It goes on like that. Awful visions and fake salvation. Exit signs. Rest stops with rotten food and pitchers of putrid water.

Around a corner is Heaven. Armored angels throw human souls over the battlements, a nine-day fall to Hell below.

Pandemonium empty, the streets full of bones and sewage.

I’m lying dead in the arena. Starving Hellions eat my raw flesh.

I pull Candy away from that one.

Candy and Alessa are asleep in our bedroom at Max Overdrive. All traces that I’d ever been there are gone.

Candy pulls me away from that one.

Hollywood Forever Cemetery. A year ago when I escaped Hell. Only I can’t dig my way out of the grave. I claw at the dirt, but it’s hard as concrete. I’m trapped there forever, a foot from freedom, in my own idiot tomb.

Candy closes her eyes at that one and I have to lead her away.

And turn another corner.

It’s a few minutes until the next sideshow.

The smell of sulfur and filth is stronger as we near the vision.

The corn row opens on another bleak vision of Pandemonium. The empty street market. Off to the left and not too far away is Wild Bill’s bar. A pale light flickers through the window and under the door.

I start to turn left, but it feels wrong.

Leaving Candy in the corn, I take a step into the empty street. The abandoned market stalls stretch in one direction. The short street to Wild Bill’s in the other. Nearby is a car repair place where I once hid the Hellion hog.

“I think it’s real.”

“We made it?” says Candy.

“Looks like it.”

I put out my hand.

She takes it and steps into the street. I look back, making a mental note of where the entrance to the maze is. It’s through the entrance of a sushi bar that used to sell slices of animals that look less like fish and more like the Texas Chainsaw night terrors.

And yes, they have sushi bars, street markets, and car repair places Downtown. The place is a bit distorted and full of murderous shitcreeps, but you can still navigate it pretty well with a Maps to the Stars’ Homes.

“I wonder if the maze goes anywhere besides Hell?” says Candy.

“You looking to catch some rays in Maui?”

“I was thinking more like Disney World in Florida.”

“You can take a plane to Florida.”

She grabs my arm and jumps a little.

“Then we can go?”

“I suppose. If we live.”

“Finally. Incentive.”

I look back at the sushi bar.

“You’re probably right, though. I bet that maze will take you anywhere you want to go. If you can deal with its complete and utter bullshit.”

“Where to now, Dr. Quest?” she says.

“Fancy a drink?”

“Always.”

We head up the hill to Wild Bill’s bar.

Back when I did a stint as Lucifer down here, I had the engineers build me a watering hole that looked as close as possible to Bamboo House of Dolls. I gave the place to my great-great-great-great- (I’m not really sure how many greats is appropriate) grandfather, James Butler Hickok, better known as Wild Bill, the greatest shootist in the west.

It’s been a while, though. And because I’m not sure what we’ll find behind the door, I get out my Colt and Candy levels her Benelli, ready to fill any crabby Hellions inside with double-O buckshot.

As quietly as possible, I turn the handle on the saloon door. It unlocks easily. I give Candy a nod and shove the door open as hard as I can.

We charge inside, ready to blast at anything with too many heads. Nothing does because there’s no one inside . . . except for a depressed one-headed bastard behind the bar. He sets down the Hellion newspaper he’s reading and glances over at us.

“If you’re looking for trouble,” he says, “take it down the street. We’re closed.”

I put the Colt back in my waistband.

“I thought you were a better businessman than that, Bill. From what I hear, Armageddon is a thirsty business.”

He squints through the gloom. Walks slowly to the end of the bar.

“You silly son of a bitch,” he says, and comes over. He catches me in a big bear hug, something he’s never done before. Times change, even in Hell.

He takes a step back and looks me over.

“Ugly as ever, I see.”

“Even got a few more scars since we saw each other last.”

“Me too, son. Me too.”

He glances at Candy.

“That’s a handsome street sweeper you have there, miss. Mind if I have a closer look?”

Candy looks at me. I nod.

She hands Bill the Benelli. He takes it over into the light of the nearest candle.

“This is another one of your fashionable modern shooters with too many shots and no way to keep track of them.”

“It’s called a Benelli. It’s Italian.”

He turns the shotgun over. Tries it against his shoulder. Studies it with the interest of a man who appreciates guns and has been bored out of his mind for some time.

“I knew some fine ladies with Italian frocks, but I never took those fellers for gunsmiths. Live and learn,” he says.

He hands the Benelli back to Candy.

“Is anyone going to introduce the young lady or am I expected to spend the rest of eternity guessing her name? Not that I have fuck else to do these days. Pardon my language, miss.”

That makes Candy smile.

She slings the Benelli back over her shoulder and extends her hand.

“Hi. I’m Candy.”

They shake.

“Sweet to the ear and the eye,” he says. “Well, come on, you two. Belly up to the bar.”

We drag a couple of stools down to where Bill left his newspaper.

The shelves behind the bar, which normally hold rows of liquor bottles, are empty.

“Business a little slow?”

Bill raises his eyebrows.

“You could say that. I ran out of the good stuff a few months back. Sold it or traded it away for this and that. Mostly, and it shames me to say it, protection. I ran out of bullets before I ran out of liquor, so I had no choice. Bands of scoundrels ran wild in the streets. Looted and banditized the market. Back then, I could buy patrols from Hellion Legionnaires with hooch. Now both the scoundrels and the Legions have pissed off into the wind like everything else.”

“I’m sorry, Bill. This is my fault. If I hadn’t talked Upstairs into opening Heaven and then the deal falling apart, none of this would have happened.”

“Don’t fret,” he says. “You did your best and with good intentions. That’s all a man can do. If the world is determined to go bad, it will find a way.”

Candy says, “Stark has told me a lot about you, Bill. You’re one of his heroes.”

“Is that right? Well, you must take good care of him if he has time to contemplate such things as heroes.”

“We take good care of each other.”

“And yet you still call him ‘Stark.’”

She looks at me.

“It’s how I first met him and the name kind of stuck.”

“I understand,” he says. “Most strangers who met me toward the end of my days only knew me as Wild Bill, an adequate moniker at one time. But tiresome at the end.”

“What should I call you?”

“Since you haven’t used up ‘James’ on that obstinate creature next to you, that’ll do. Or ‘Jim.’ Some ladies called me that.”

“‘Jim’ it is, then. Did anyone ever call you ‘Jimmy’?”

“Not twice.”

“Stark is the same way. Except for some ladies.”

I lean on the bar.

“Brigitte picks up bad habits fast. And she enjoys tormenting me.”

“Buck up, boy. That means she likes you. The respect of men is important, but women, in my experience, usually have a truer sense of a man’s character. They see through the veil of horseshit we build around ourselves. Pardon me again.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Jim,” says Candy. “You should hear Stark at home. One little annoyance and he’d make a pirate blush.”

“You must be a good woman to put up with the likes of him.”

“She is,” I say. “Better than I deserve.”

Candy does a theatrical eye roll. Says, “Don’t fish for compliments in front of family, dear.”

Bill laughs.

“As charming as this reunion is, will one of you explain to me what you’re doing in this godforsaken pig wallow?”

“We’re here to fix things, Bill. Or try to. There’s trouble back in the world and some of it comes from here. If I can stop what’s wrong in Hell, maybe it will help both of our worlds.”

“Will it get folks into Heaven?”

“That’s what I hope.”

Bill holds up the newspaper he was reading when we came in.

“You see this? I’ve been reading this damned thing over and over again for months. It’s a dismal pastime and I’m ready for a fresh venture. So, how can I help?”

“We need to find a man named Norris Quay. Ever heard of him?”

Bill thinks for a minute.

“Can’t say that I have. Are you saying this Norris feller is the source of this affliction?”

“No. That’s a bunch called Wormwood.”

“Haven’t heard of them either. Damn. I thought a man would hear every kind of secret running a saloon.”

“Quay isn’t the source of the trouble, but he’s the man in the center. If we can get to him, maybe we can shut the whole thing down.”

“Well, I’m game,” says Bill. “Where is the son of a bitch?”

“That’s the problem. We don’t know,” says Candy.

“That a bit constraining. Hell’s a big place to wander with no sure destination.”

A candle at the end of the bar gutters out. Bill takes a box of similar candles from under the bar and lights a replacement. Putting the box back, he says, “This is currently my sole and most prized possession. Some days a little light is all that keeps a body’s spirits up.”

I take out the Maledictions and offer one to Bill.

“Don’t mind if I do,” he says.

He lights us up with one of the candles and takes a long puff.

“Like smoking skunkweed. But if skunkweed is what you have, be grateful for it.”

Candy looks at us. “You’re both going to get cancer from those things.”

“I’m beyond that, ma’am. But this young fool, who knows.”

I blow smoke rings at the ceiling.

“I’m not a person. I don’t get sick.”

“How do you know?” she says.

“Jade intuition.”

“Very funny.”

I look back at Bill.

“When he was alive, Quay lived in an underground mansion in Griffith Park. Maybe we should start looking there.”

“I don’t know about any underground lairs,” says Bill. “But a few months back, a whole load of Hellions built a big house in the park, way up by the barbican.”

“Then let’s definitely start there,” says Candy.

I flick some ash off the Malediction.

“Let’s.” To Bill I say, “Do you have any weapons at all?”

“I always have a weapon around.”

He takes an old but serviceable-looking bowie knife and sets it on the bar. Follows it with a well-worn sapper, a heavy weight the shape of a truncheon wrapped in leather.

“Never without them,” he says.

I take the sapper with my Kissi hand and rap it against my human one. Just once.

“You could crack some skulls with that.”

“Can and have,” he says.

“You’re going to need more firepower than that if you’re coming along, though. Here.”

I take the Colt from my waistband and set it on the bar. He picks it up, admiring the engraving along the body and barrel, then pops the cylinder. Spins it and slaps the gun closed. Sets it down again.

“Some admirable iron you have there.”

“Candy gave it to me.”

He looks across the bar at her.

“I’m liking you better all the time.”

“You too, Jim,” she says.

I take out some of the speed loaders and set them next to the pistol.

“These will help you reload faster. You open the cylinder and—”

“Boy, I was shooting the eyes out of eagles in full flight before your sorry ass was conceived of. I think I know how to load a pistol.”

“Sorry. And don’t worry about the ammo. They’re special. They’ll kill anything that comes at us.”

“I never doubted it.”

“Play with your popguns, boys,” says Candy. She pats the Benelli. “Mine’s bigger than both of yours put together.”

“I’ll drink to that,” says Bill.

He kneels and pulls up a couple of floorboards, digs around until he finds a dirty bottle, and sets it on the bar.

“The last man standing.”

“What shall we drink to?” says Candy.

Bill gets three shot glasses from a shelf behind him and wipes out the dust.

“To the end of tumult and the resurrection of delight.”

He pours three shots.

“I don’t see much down here to be delighted about,” says Candy.

“True. But there’s always hope for better days.”

Candy holds up her glass.

“Better days,” she says.

“Better days,” me and Bill say together.

We down our shots. I don’t know what the stuff is. It’s not quite as rough as Aqua Regia, but just barely. More like sweet red wine and motor oil.

Candy makes a face.

“What is this?”

“Hair of the dog,” says Bill. “’Course the dogs down here are mighty homely.”

“Remind me not to kiss any dogs while I’m here,” says Candy.

Bill gives a slight laugh and pours himself another.

“Shall we get moving?”

I look back, thinking about what’s beyond the door.

“I don’t suppose you have any wheels?”

“A motorcar? No. Never cared for ’em. But there’s plenty in the streets. Maybe one will work.”

“Let’s find out.”

There are hundreds of abandoned cars along Pandemonium’s version of Hollywood Boulevard. Some parked and some just ditched at crazy angles in the street. Any of them that look intact, I try. Jam the black blade in the ignition and turn. Candy does the same thing with her knife. We must try twenty cars without a single engine turning over. Then there’s a roar.

Candy got one of the Legion’s big Unimogs running.

“Woo-hoo!” she yells from the cab.

Bill and I run over and get in with her.

She guns the engine and I check the fuel gauge. Almost half a tank.

“You know how to drive one of these?”

She gives me a look.

“If you’re asking me, ‘Can the girl drive the truck?,’ you can get out and walk, Tiny Tim.”

“You might shut your yap, before you get us both booted,” says Bill.

I nod.

“My apologies, ma’am. Drive on.”

Candy grinds the gears a couple of times before gritting her teeth and finding first. We lurch forward, then move smoothly, weaving around the abandoned cars.

“Call me ‘Tank Girl,’ motherfuckers,” she shouts.

Bill and I don’t dare say a word.

WE TRAVEL WEST for maybe twenty minutes, then north on Los Feliz Boulevard into the park. Back home, they have kiddie pony rides around here. I don’t know what they used to keep in the fetid, boiling pits in these ruined Hellion stables, but I don’t think it was ponies and I don’t think they were for granola-and-kale-fattened L.A. cherubs.

The drive through the park skirts the crumbling 5 freeway, then turns inward, bringing you past the park’s famous merry-go-round. The ride is a gruesome thing in L.A., the way all merry-go-rounds are. They’re the definition of both staggering boredom and ruthlessly enforced merriment. They’re the amusement-park equivalent of sticking your hand in fire as a kid. You have to try it once, just to see what it’s like. After that, you never want to do it again. All those prancing, leering horses, with their frozen rictus smiles are most kids’ first introduction to Hell. Those horses, they think, must have been some murderous bastards to be captured and displayed in such a humiliating way. The wee ones picture themselves in the horses’ place, skewered through the gut by a brass pole and yanked up and down—suspended between Heaven and Hell—for all eternity. Parents who’ve forgotten or repressed their own terrifying merry-go-round memories snap shots of the kiddies in their torment, passing their traumas on to the next generation. Merry-go-rounds are a great shared lie of childhood. Cruelty masked as fun. Tedium cloaked as adventure. A great spinning vessel of torment getting the tykes ready for the damnation most of them will richly deserve, all because their minds were permanently twisted by this parade of pony horrors. I bet Charlie Manson and Ed Gein loved merry-go-rounds. In some weird way, I bet Wormwood was born around here. There is where all those tots first developed a taste for death, and their crimes were just them inflicting their memories of that eternally spinning Perdition on the world.

Luckily, Candy drives us straight past the ride and I don’t have to explain my amusement-park terrors.

From there, it’s just a few more minutes to the grounds of the old park zoo.

Bill was right. Where empty leaf-and-weed-filled animal cages once stood, is a sprawling Spanish colonial mansion. The moment it’s in sight, Candy pulls the Unimog off the road and into a thick grove of moss-heavy trees. Now we just wait to see what happens.

A smart guy once said that war is boredom punctuated by moments of terror. Stakeouts are like that, only they’re boredom punctuated by moments of ennui, monotony, and finally, an utter indifference to your own survival. If death was any less awful than a stakeout, there would be about six cops left on the planet.

Maybe an hour later, something comes over the rise from where we’ve driven up. Bill takes out a collapsible telescope and aims it at the road.

“Got a whole caravan coming this way,” he says.

“Can I have a look?” says Candy, and Bill hands her the telescope.

“It looks like three SUVs. I can’t see who’s inside them.”

The vans spread out across the grounds of the old zoo. Out of the first van, six Hellion Legionnaires emerge with weapons. Three angels step out of the second van. Out of the last van come six humans.

I put out my hand.

“Bill, let me see the telescope.”

He gives it to me and it takes a second to adjust.

I don’t recognize everyone from the lead van, but I know enough of them.

“See anyone you like?” says Bill.

“Not a single one. But I see a bunch I want.”

“Is that Quay feller there?”

“Yeah. And Geoff Burgess and Charlie Anpu. A couple of other men I don’t recognize. Probably more Wormwoods I never met.”

“I think there’s a woman down there,” says Candy.

“There is, but I don’t recognize her either. She looks cozy with Quay.”

They mill around the zoo for a few minutes, then the men go into the mansion. The woman talks to the angels while the Hellions fan out around the grounds.

The jabbering goes on for a few more minutes, until the woman heads inside the mansion and the angels spread their wings and swoop into the sky.

“How about that?” says Bill. “In all my years down here, I’ve never seen such a sight.”

I take out a Malediction.

“Yeah. Someone ought to do a fucking painting.”

“What’s your problem?” says Candy. “You wanted to see the place and we’ve seen it.”

Bill puts out a hand.

“Maybe you oughtn’t spark that right now. There are still guards around the front of the house.”

I put the smoke away.

“So? What is it?” says Candy.

“The six Hellions don’t worry me. We can handle them. They probably have a few more like them inside, but it’s unlikely to be more than what’s on the outside.”

“And how do you know all this?”

“I used to sneak into Hellion palaces and murder people.”

“Right.”

“That’s twelve guards in total. Anything else we should be worried about?” says Bill.

“They might have wards on the place, but I think that with a setup like this, they won’t. They’re Wormwood. They own this burg right now and no one is going to fuck with them.”

“Then what’s got your panties in a twist?” says Candy.

“The angels. Three warrior angels is a lot bigger problem than twelve Hellion mercenaries.”

“You’ll notice they didn’t go inside,” says Bill. “That woman talked to them and they flew away, peaceful as doves.”

“The question is, how often are they around and how many of them are here at any one time?”

“What you’re saying is that we have to stay here and see who comes and goes,” says Candy.

“I’m afraid so.”

“For how long?”

“I don’t know. A day maybe.”

“Makes sense to me,” says Bill. “But no use all of us staying up, getting in each other’s way the whole time. We can watch in shifts. Two hours each while the others rest. With three of us swapping turns, time shouldn’t pass too disagreeably. You two rest up. You had a long journey. I’ll take first watch.”

“Thanks,” says Candy.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

There’s a small storage area in the cab behind the seats. It’s just big enough for Candy to lie down. I shift over to the driver seat and lean it back a few inches. Bill scans the grounds with his spyglass. I close my eyes, trying to relax, and eventually drift off into a light doze.

BILL SHAKES ME awake two hours later.

“Your turn, sunshine,” he says, and hands me the telescope.

“Did you see anything?”

“Just that woman. She drove away and came back in an hour with maybe some papers in her hand. And she only took two guards with her. I think you were right. These people feel above petty things like bushwhackers.”

“That’s good news. I’ll take it from here.”

“That gal of yours is something special,” he says.

“She is indeed.”

“She’s not quite human, is she?” he says.

“Neither am I. Is that a problem?”

“It’s not commentary. It’s an inquiry into her nature.”

“She’s a Jade. Do you know what that is?”

He chuckles.

“Oh my, yes,” he says. “I met a load of those ladies once on a trip to the Barbary Coast. San Francisco. They were guarding a Chinese merchant ship in port. Six little gals no bigger than her. And no one dared step toward ’em. An old sailor told me that their types guarded Chinese emperors and rode with Genghis Khan and Alexander himself.”

He half turns toward me.

“I’m not averse to a tall tale here and there myself, but what those men said had the ring of truth. Those gals were different. Mythological. Fierce and loyal.”

“That describes Candy.”

“Then we’re lucky to have her on our side.”

“I tell myself that every day.”

“Good. Vagabonds such as we need good sorts, human or otherwise, to watch our backs. If I’d had a gal like Candy with me in Deadwood, things might not have transpired as they did. I can still remember that pair of aces I was holding, and the pair of eights, but I’m goddamned if I can remember the fifth card. The assassin Jack McCall shot the memory clear out of my head. I’d be very pleased to someday have it returned. But I’m not counting the days on that.”

“Someday, Bill. Someday, you’re going to meet someone who was in the bar and sober and then you’ll know.”

“And how will I track down this benefactor?”

“I don’t know, but you have all of eternity to figure it out.”

He curls his lip at the thought.

“Eternity passes slowly when you’re alone. That’s why you need to be good to young Candy there. I haven’t had much luck with that kind of companionship, back home or here.”

“Don’t worry. I’d kill for Candy.”

“Oh hell, boy. She’s your friend and companion. That means I’d kill for her too. That’s not enough.”

“What is enough?”

“If I knew that, I might not be sitting with a numb bunghole talking to a young fool about the vagaries of love.”

He looks at me.

“You do love her.”

“Of course.”

“Then never let her forget it.”

“That’s the plan.”

From the back, Candy says, “As much as I appreciate you gentlemen declaring your undying devotion to me, would you mind shutting the fuck up so I can go back to sleep?”

“Sorry, ma’am,” says Bill.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

Everyone is quiet for a minute. Then Candy kicks me through the car seat.

“You loooove me,” she says like a little kid.

“Shut up.”

“No take-backs. You loooove me.”

“Go to sleep.”

“You’ll make such a blushing bride when we get married.”

“Please. I’ll take you to Disney World if you’ll just stop talking.”

She kicks me again.

“Jim, you heard him. You’re a witness. We’re going to Disney World.”

“She has you trapped there,” says Bill.

“I know. Now go to sleep.”

She lies down and gets quiet. Then, in a tiny singsong whisper I hear, “You loooove me.”

Finally, she drifts off and Bill closes his eyes.

It’s going to be a long day.

A FEW HOURS later, Candy sits up and says groggily, “Has it been two hours?”

I check the time on my phone.

“More like eight.”

“Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“It was a long boring night. I got hypnotized by it.”

“No, you didn’t. You just didn’t trust us. You had to see it all with your own eyes.”

“Careful. Disney World is slipping away.”

She climbs back into the driver’s seat and pushes me over.

“Oh, we’re going to Disney World. And you’re going to get some sleep.”

“What’s going on?” says Bill.

“Dirty Harry here didn’t wake us for our shifts. He’s been watching the place for hours.”

“Is that true?”

“I just got into a groove and didn’t want to break it.”

“Well, I don’t know what any of that means, but we had an agreement and you broke it.”

I nod.

“You’re right and I apologize.”

“Apology accepted. If it don’t happen again.”

“It won’t.”

“What did you learn?” says Candy.

“Lots. Let’s go back to Bill’s.”

“It isn’t good news, is it?” says Bill.

“It’s mixed. Come on. I want to get out of here.”

Candy backs us out of the stand of trees and we move down the hill.

When we get to Bill’s place, we park the Unimog by the front door so we can keep an eye on it.

“What’s the story?” says Bill.

Candy sits down next to me and lightly butts me with her shoulder.

“Come on. Talk to us.”

“Here it is. The person I saw most was the woman. Angels came and went. Some brought boxes and some took boxes away. My guess is they were exchanging raw black milk for the processed, nonpoisonous version. I don’t know what the other Wormwood guys were doing, but they were inside most of the time.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” says Candy.

“Here’s where it gets worse. A lot more Legionnaires arrived last night. Maybe twenty. So, there’s a lot more firepower for us to contend with.”

“Anything else?” says Bill.

“I’m worried about those angels. The woman had a schedule, but the angels seemed to come and go when they wanted. If we make a move against the house, we might have to fight not only Hellions, but warrior angels.”

“Goddamn,” says Candy.

“Yeah.”

Bill scratches his lower lip, moves his finger up to brush his mustache into place in one smooth motion.

“What you’re saying—and correct me if I’ve misconstrued the thing—but we’re not preparing for an attack. This is a suicide run.”

“Not necessarily. But that’s a possibility.”

“In my experience, not necessarily usually means yes. So, we’re preparing to throw ourselves on the sword for king and country.”

“Like I said, maybe.”

“Twenty soldiers and maybe angels?” Candy says. “I’m with Jim. This is suicide.”

“Not if we don’t run straight at them. Yesterday I wanted to rush in and kill everyone. That was when there were maybe twelve guards. Now we might be able to do something else.”

“What?” says Bill.

“The woman is the one outside doing all the work. And seeing her with Quay a couple of times, I think they’re an item.”

“So, we snatch the filly.”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

“How do we do it?” says Candy.

“We use the Unimog to ambush the SUV. Grab Miss America, and get Quay to come to us.”

“Which is all a fine plan, unless there are warrior angels about.”

“In which case we’re fucked. Worse, we won’t know if there are angels until we start the ambush because sometimes they ride in the SUV with her.”

“Well, this is all depressing,” says Candy.

She rests an elbow on the bar.

“I agree with Candy,” says Bill. “You folks are alive. The worst that can happen to you is you get killed and end up right back here in the Devil’s shitter with me. On the other hand, I’m already a spirit. If I should be cut down . . .”

“It’s Tartarus.”

“What’s that?” Candy says.

I look at Bill.

“It’s the Hell below Hell. Hell for the double damned.”

“And Jim might end up there?”

“Only if he comes with us.”

“I’m coming with you. That’s not a point of discussion.”

“But you wouldn’t have to do the heavy fighting, like in the house. You can stay at a safe distance and be our sniper. Take out who you can.”

Bill leans back on the shelves behind the bar.

“I never shirked from a fight back home and I’m not about to start here. I’ll not be sitting in the trees like a jaybird.”

“Do we have anything going for us?” says Candy.

Bill looks at me.

“Not much. We don’t have enough information or enough people. But we really don’t have a choice.”

Bill lays out the shot glasses.

“We may not have a choice, but we can have a drink. I’ll get the bottle.”

Three hard knocks come from the front door.

Bill sets down the bottle.

I say, “You expecting anyone?”

“Not a soul.”

Everyone raises their gun. I move as quietly as I can to the door. Just as I’m about to grab it, it bursts open.

An angel in glowing battle armor stands there. I recognize her.

It’s the angel I fought in Hollywood.

I put the Glock to her head.

She drops to one knee and holds out a piece of parchment.

“Shoot me if you must,” she says. “But Samael has sent me to you.”

WITHOUT MOVING THE Glock from the angel’s head, I call Candy over.

“Keep the shotgun on her. If she even looks up, blow her head off.”

“Sounds like fun.”

I take the parchment from the angel’s hand and get one of Bill’s candles so I can read it.

Dear Jimmy,

You’re no doubt reading this with a gun to my poor emissary’s head. If I say that you can lower it, will you listen? Of course not, so I won’t. Her name is Hesediel and she is a good and loyal ally in Father’s war. I’m sending her to you because I suspect you could use help in whatever fool’s errand sent you Downtown. By the way, how did you get there, clever boy? You’ll have to tell me about it sometime.

Hesediel is quite the warrior and, like the rest of us, ready for this inconvenience to be over. She’s as ruthless you, Sandman Slim, so you should get along like two peas in a barrel bomb.

Good luck and try to avoid scars during your visit. Any more and you’ll just be showing off.

Samael

P.S. Tell Candy she can keep the shoes.

If the note didn’t call the war in Heaven anything but an “inconvenience,” I wouldn’t believe it.

“Let her up,” I say to Candy.

“Are you sure?”

“Her note says you can keep the shoes.”

“Okay, then,” she says brightly, and lowers her gun.

I hold on to the Glock.

“Get up, Hesediel.”

She stands. In her armor, she’s every bit as imposing as she was when hammering me into the ground with her Gladius. It also looks like the eye I shot out grew back. Neat trick.

“Thank you,” she says.

“I just have one question before I trust you: Why the hell did you try to kill me back home?”

“That wasn’t me,” she says. “It was my sister, Hadraniel.”

“I didn’t know angels had sisters and brothers.”

“A spiritual sister. We were once as close as any human siblings.”

“But she changed sides.”

Hesediel nods.

“Hadraniel broke many hearts that day.”

“I used to have a friend named Mason. It hurts when they go bad.”

“Then you understand.”

“You know that I don’t have a history of getting along with angels, right?”

She looks down at me.

“Samael remarked on that.”

“Plus, I used to be Lucifer.”

“That too.”

“But you’re willing to work with me?”

“Strange times make for strange allies. Samael was once the greatest enemy of all, but he saw the light. If I can ally with him, I can ally with the Abomination.”

I put the Glock back in its holster.

“And I guess I can work with a halo polisher. Come on over and have a drink.”

She follows me to the bar.

“Hesediel, this is Candy and Wild Bill.”

She stares at Candy for a minute. Candy stares right back.

“You going to call me Abomination too?”

“No. We’re alike. Inhuman, but fighting a war that will benefit mortals.”

“It’ll benefit everyone, so don’t go putting your war off on regular people. They didn’t start it.”

“It’s not pleasant to contemplate.”

“Then let’s have a drink,” says Bill.

She looks at the bottle.

“Is that a Hellion brew?”

“They no longer deliver champagne down here, I’m afraid.”

“I’ve never had it before.”

“No time like the present.”

“If I refuse?”

Bill looks at her, the only one in the room tall enough to go eye to eye with her.

“Where I’m from, friends have a drink before going into a fight. Makes sure no one supposes they’re above anyone else.”

Bill pours and I hand Hesediel a glass.

“It’s just a ritual. As an angel, you should understand that.”

“If I must,” she says.

“It’s the polite thing to do.”

She looks at the glass like it’s full of bear shit.

“Samael said there would be trials and tests with you.”

“We Abominations are picky bastards.”

“Then we’ll drink to that,” says Bill. “To as motley a crew of bastards as I’ve ever partnered with.”

Everyone drinks.

Hesediel hesitates, then downs the whole thing. And goes into a coughing fit I’m afraid is going to blow her wings off.

She doubles up and leans a hand on the bar. I lean over to her.

“You okay?”

She chokes out, “Yes.”

A few more seconds and she can stand again.

“Is that it, then? If there are more rituals and tests, I’d like to get them over with now.”

Bill holds out a handkerchief for her. She shakes her head.

I set down my glass.

“No more tests. And if it’s any comfort, the first time I tried Hellion booze, I did the same thing.”

“Good,” she says.

“So, maybe we’re not a suicide mission anymore?” says Candy.

“Maybe not. With Hesediel, we might actually survive this.”

I look at her.

“You ready to kill some Hellions?”

“I’m here to do whatever is necessary.”

“Even if it’s killing other Heavenly angels?”

“You mean rebels against Father? I’ve dispatched many of them already. If more are necessary, so be it. I’ll take care of it.”

“I can help there.”

She shifts uncomfortably.

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Why?”

“It would be distasteful.”

“The Abomination thing?”

“Yes.”

“If you can handle them, fine. But if they’re too much, I’m jumping in.”

“That’s acceptable.”

“Then welcome to the team. Here’s the deal: we need to get to a man named Norris Quay. He’s the head honcho of Wormwood down here. The problem is that he’s protected and we don’t want to go charging through the front door without knowing what’s inside. So, we’re going to kidnap his lady friend and make him come to us.”

She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

“It’s a sound plan. Where and when do we act?”

“Griffith Park and as soon as we can.”

I look at the others. “Okay, bushwhackers. Let’s get bushwhacking.”

Candy gets behind the wheel of the Unimog and the rest of us pile in. It’s a snug fit. Bill is squeezed up against Hesediel.

“Sorry about the tight quarters, ma’am,” he says.

“I’m a warrior. I’ve suffered worse.”

“I’ve had whores and drunks in my lap before, but never one of the Lord’s own.”

Hesediel just stares out the window.

“What Bill is saying is we’re glad you’re here, Hesediel,” I tell her.

“The sooner the battle begins, the sooner it will be over,” she says.

Candy starts the truck and we take off.

“I like your armor,” she says.

“Thank you,” says Hesediel.

“Stark wore armor when he was Lucifer. It was sexy. I called him ‘Tony Stark.’”

Hesediel looks at her.

“You know. Like Iron Man. Stark’s name is Stark and so is his.”

“How interesting.”

“You don’t know Iron Man? You should come with us to L.A. We have all the movies.”

“Perhaps,” says Hesediel, staring out the window again.

Candy says, “Angels don’t make a lot of small talk, do they?”

“It’s not in our nature.”

“No shit.”

WE HIDE THE Unimog along a bend in the road in Griffith Park out of sight of the mansion. Then we wait. Candy stays behind the wheel with the engine running. The rest of us wait in the trees.

An hour or so later, Bill sees something moving below us. He takes out his telescope and surveys the road.

“One of them vans is coming.”

I move up next to him.

“You sure it’s just one?”

“My eyes work just fine. It’s one.”

“Then let’s get ready. Remember, we leave one of the guards alive to tell Quay what happened.”

“What if there are angels?” says Bill.

“Them we kill. Right?”

I look at Hesediel.

“I’ll dispatch the rebels,” she says.

“Then it’s a plan.”

We wait for the van to come up the hill. When it’s almost abreast of us, Candy guns the Unimog’s engine and plows into the side of the van, pushing it off the road. No one gets out for a minute. Then the passenger-side door bursts open and a Legionnaire lurches out. He swings his rifle at the Unimog.

Bill and I step out of the trees, but Candy blasts him with the Benelli before we can even take aim.

The van’s side door slides open and more Hellions stumble into the road, shooting in all directions. There are four of them, and none is in good shape. Bill shoots one and I get another. The other two freeze where they are when Hesediel comes out, her armor glowing in Hell’s dim light like it’s made of fire. When the two idiots get the idea that maybe it’s a good time to shoot, it’s too late. Their bullets bounce off Hesediel’s armor. She cuts one down with a single stroke of her Gladius. She swings again and cuts the other one’s arms off. His rifle tumbles to the ground and he falls against the van, his wounds seared closed by the Gladius’s burning blade.

I jump into the van while Hesediel and Bill watch my back.

The woman is pressed against the interior on the far side of the van, her eyes as big as weather balloons. I look her over for weapons and wounds. I don’t see any guns, but she has a cut over her left eye.

I aim the Glock at her.

“You can get out with me or let the angel drag you out.”

She puts her hands up and slides across the seat. I take her arm and help her into the road. She stumbles, a little wobbly after the crash.

I give her to Bill and kneel by the armless Legionnaire.

“Can you hear me?”

“Yes,” he says.

“Tell Norris Quay to meet us at the Hollywood Bowl in two hours. If he doesn’t come alone, we’re going to barbecue Miss America and serve her with beans. Got it?”

“Two hours at the Hollywood Bowl.”

“What else?”

He looks down at where his arms used to be.

“He’s to come alone.”

“Who said you Legionnaires were all blockheads? Wait, it was me.”

Bill taps me on the back.

“We’d best be moving,” he says.

We pile back into the Unimog, shoving Miss America into the space behind the seats. Candy gets us turned around and we haul ass down the hill. Franklin is blocked with debris from looted houses, so we speed down Hollywood Boulevard to Highland and head north to the Bowl.

It occurs to me as we go that I don’t even know if Hell’s Hollywood Bowl is even there anymore. I should probably have checked that out. See? Thinking. It’s always my downfall.

The good news is that while half of its dome is caved in, the Bowl and grandstands are basically intact. The stage area is covered with dried blood in a charming variety of colors. A lot of Hellions, beasts, and who knows what else have been killed here for the cheering crowds. I wonder if the old arena is still standing. I feel a weird pang of nostalgia for the place. Sure, it was possibly the most awful place in the universe, but it was my most awful place. If it’s gone, I’ll miss it. I never even got to take a selfie there. Of course, I don’t mention any of this to the others, but I make a mental note that if we have enough time, I want to take Candy there. If she’s going to make me miserable at Disney World, she can be miserable for a few minutes at my old alma mater.

We stash the Unimog by the road beside the Bowl. Hesediel and I manifest our Gladiuses and hack our way through the fences and trees, clearing a path to the front of the stage. She takes a couple of steps back when my Gladius first comes out. I’m not sure she believed that I had one. Now that she does, I’m not sure she entirely trusts me with it. But she does her job and I do mine.

Bill and Candy bring Miss America, and we climb over stage junk until we’re backstage in the Bowl.

Bill looks back at the grandstands and grounds.

“Not a bad place for a meet. Lot of open territory. A road nearby.”

He points to the line of black, twisted trees on the hill overlooking the grandstands.

“They could put snipers up there.”

“Not if Quay wants Miss America back.”

“We’re really going to kill her?” says Candy. I can tell that she doesn’t like the idea. But I don’t want to sound soft.

I look hard at Miss America.

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

She looks at our sorry group, terrified.

Candy goes over and puts a hand on her shoulder. The woman recoils and Candy moves away.

“What’s your name?” she says.

Miss America looks around.

“Holly,” she says. “Holly Cranor.”

I lean against a half-burned table.

“What did you do for Wormwood back in the world, Holly?”

“Nothing,” she says. “I wasn’t in Wormwood.”

“Then you joined when you got down here.”

“No. I’m not in Wormwood. I’m just friends with Norris.”

“You’re with Quay, but you’re not with Wormwood? That’s just a little hard to believe.”

“Norris says that people have to prove themselves useful to be in Wormwood.”

“And you’re not particularly useful yet.”

“Oh no. I’m useful. I work with Netzach and the other angels. Norris promised that I’ll be in Wormwood soon.”

“Sounds like true love,” says Candy.

Holly half smiles, not sure if Candy is kidding or not.

I say, “The stuff you do with Netzach, it has to do with black milk?”

She hesitates then says, “Yes.”

“They bring the raw stuff and you get them the refined product.”

“Yes.”

“How does it work?”

“I don’t know. Norris is very secretive about it. He promised to tell me all about it when I’m in Wormwood.”

Her eyes are steady but she doesn’t have sweat or a heartbeat for me to check. I go to Hesediel.

“What do you think? Is she telling the truth?”

“I think so.”

“Me too. Which stinks. I was hoping for more from her.”

“Mortals will believe many things if they think it will relieve their suffering, if even for a moment.”

“We just hate missing The Brady Bunch is all.”

Not a peep from Hesediel.

Tough crowd.

“Holly sounds stupid enough to hook up with Quay without even knowing what Wormwood is.”

Hesediel calls to Holly.

“Did you know the mortal Norris Quay when you were alive?”

“No. We met here. When things were getting bad. You know? He saved me.”

“Naturally.”

Bill and Candy come over. Bill keeps the Colt on her.

“If she’s not in Wormwood, we should let her go, right?” says Candy.

I shake my head.

“She’s not in Wormwood but she’s doing important work for them. And she’ll probably do even worse when she gets in.”

“Yeah, but she hasn’t done it yet. If Quay doesn’t show or does something stupid, I don’t want to kill her. She’s just scared and lost.”

“She’s in Hell. She did something to get here.”

“Still.”

I look at Candy and remember what a mess she was when Doc Kinski died. A bit lost and freaked out herself.

“We won’t kill her. But we can’t let her or Quay know that.”

Candy takes a breath.

“Thanks.”

Hesediel looks at me funny.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing. I simply didn’t expect compassion from the Abomination.”

“If you liked that trick, you should see me juggle.”

“How long do we have to wait?”

I check my phone. The battery is down three quarters.

“Not long. Everybody relax.”

Candy finds a folding chair and brings it to Holly. She’s too nervous to actually sit. She sort of perches on it like a bird ready to take off at the slightest sound.

Bill and I have Maledictions. Hesediel moves to the other side of the room to avoid the smoke. Candy keeps an eye on Holly.

“If this all goes askew, it was good seeing you again, son,” says Bill.

“You too. But don’t worry. We’re going to make it.”

“You that certain?”

“I am.”

“Why?”

“I’m taking Candy to Disney World.”

“I hope you make it too.”

“I hope I survive it. I hate that mouse.”

I check my phone.

“Any minute now.”

We toss our cigarettes and everyone goes on alert. I get Holly to her feet and kick the chair away. Take her to the front of the stage. The others keep lookout behind us.

In a few minutes, Hesediel says, “There.”

She points at a figure moving through the grandstand halfway up the hill. He’s waving a piece of cloth like a white flag.

We wait. Let him come to us. Bill and Hesediel scan the tree line for shooters.

When he finally gets to the stage, Norris Quay says, “Holly, dear, are you all right? Have they hurt you?”

“No. I’m okay.”

She touches the cut over her eye.

“Except for the accident.”

Quay looks better than the last time I saw him. He was a broken-down old man then. Free of his body, he looks a lot more spry.

“Hell agrees with you, Norris. You look like a young Tony Curtis.”

“Don’t kid me. I look like an old man who’s been taking his vitamins.”

“Does that include black milk?”

He shakes his head.

“The black milk isn’t for us. But celestials can’t get enough of it.”

“You always find a profit angle, don’t you?”

He moves closer, around some broken stage lights.

“Don’t act surprised, Stark. It’s what we do.”

“What kind of odds are there on me killing you and Miss Cranor?”

“Less than you letting us go.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I’m going to give you everything you want. I’ll take you right to the source of black milk. Explain everything. What you do about it after that is your business. That’s if you promise to let me and Holly leave afterward.”

“Why would you show us black milk?”

“Because there isn’t a damned thing you can do about it.”

“You’re that sure.”

“Quite,” he says happily.

“If you’re straight with us, we’ll let you go.”

He points at the stage.

“I want to hear it from the angel. They’re a bit more trustworthy than a murderer.”

I look at Hesediel.

“It’s agreed,” she says. “If you take us to the source, you will be free to go.”

He slaps his hands together.

“See how easy that was? Well, should we get started?”

When I let go, Candy takes Holly’s arm. I point with the Glock.

“Our truck is over there.”

“Yes. I saw it on the way in. A little small for all of us, don’t you think? I have a van out front. It’ll be much more comfortable.”

I look back at the others.

“The man has a point,” says Bill. “Any closer in the truck and we’ll all know each other in the biblical sense.”

I turn to Hesediel.

“He’s right.”

I call down to Quay.

“Same deal as before, Norris. Any tricks and you both die. Holly first.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Norris?” says Holly quietly.

“Relax, my dear. These champions of the oppressed will have what they want and we’ll be on our way soon.”

“If you say so.”

“I do, my dear. Now, let’s away, shall we?”

“Stop,” I say.

Everyone looks at me.

This whole thing might be the end of every human soul, but I have to know something and now.

“In case I have to shoot you later, tell me about Liliane. I get that she was working for you, but why sic her on Vidocq?”

Quay looks disappointed in the question.

“Do you think your friends are special? That they should be exempt from our work?”

“Is that all it was? Hurting my friends to get to me?”

“It was Liliane’s idea actually. We gave her Vidocq as a gift. Hurting you and your Merry Men was a bonus.”

“Wormwood should leave my other friends alone.”

He flicks something off his shirt.

“We’ll take that under advisement.”

QUAY LEADS US through the grandstands to where one of his black vans is parked. Holly walks with him. I hold my gun to his head. Candy, Bill, and Hesediel keep a lookout for an ambush. But nothing happens.

We make it to the van and everyone piles in, Norris behind the wheel while the others get in the back. I stay up front with my gun in his side. He starts the van and we drive back down Highland the way we came. Then we keep moving south.

We go all the way down Highland until it turns into South La Brea Avenue. Moving around the debris and burned-out cars, it’s a long, slow drive.

“Tell me, Norris. What’s black milk?”

“You’ll see soon enough.”

“Is this where it’s manufactured?”

“In one sense, yes. In another, no.”

“Don’t be cute. I can still shoot Holly Golightly.”

“And then you’ll end up with nothing but a heartbroken old man for your troubles.”

“You said you’d tell us, so tell us,” says Candy.

“Are any of you history buffs?” says Quay. “No? I didn’t think so. Then you won’t be acquainted with the term Panzerschokolade.”

I keep the gun in his side.

“I know the word ‘panzer.’ It’s German for tank.”

“And chokolade is exactly what it sounds like. Chocolate. Panzerschokolade. Tank chocolate.”

“You’re feeding angels metal bonbons?”

“In a sense, yes. Panzerchokolade was a treat the German high command gave their tank drivers back during the war. It kept them awake for days. Made them brave. Even reckless, but able to accomplish remarkable things and win battles they should have lost.”

“You’re talking about speed. Black milk is speed for angels.”

He glances at me.

“The angel who paid you a visit on Hollywood Boulevard, what was her name?”

“Hadraniel,” says Hesediel.

“That’s it.”

He glances at me.

“Did she seem a bit different to you? Not like other angels you’d met?”

“Yeah. She was out of her fucking mind.”

“Oh, she was in her mind, but her mind had been transformed by Panzerschokolade into something more formidable than before. You must be acquainted with the word ‘berserker’?”

“Crazy fucking Vikings who worked themselves up into a screaming lather and ran straight into a fight. You’re saying that black milk turns angels into berserkers.”

“Precisely.”

Keeping my gun pressed into Quay’s side, I look at Hesediel.

“Does that sound right to you?”

“I’m afraid so,” she says. “Their strength and courage is unexplainable by any normal standards.”

I turn back to Quay.

“You’re keeping the war in Heaven going. Why?”

“One secret at a time, Sandman Slim. One secret at a time. Now, you wanted to know how black milk is manufactured.”

“Stop stalling.”

“The raw materials for black milk are found only here in Hell. Isn’t that interesting?”

“Fascinating. Now I’ll win next time I’m on Jeopardy!”

He steers us around a line of overturned school buses. There are no bodies anywhere. All the dead Hellions and damned souls are in Tartarus.

“We use rebel angels to move the raw black milk to Earth, where it’s transformed from a poison into a miracle drug.”

“How is it done?”

“Geoffrey Burgess was about to cook us a new batch, but you ruined it.”

“I didn’t see any potions in his house.”

“Of course not. It hadn’t been manufactured yet. Think hard, Sandman Slim. I know that’s not your best quality, but it’s important.”

Slow as I am, I don’t have to think about it too long.

“It was Nick. Burgess had Nick and I fucked that up.”

Quay claps his hands on the steering wheel.

“See? You can put those brain cells to work if you try, try, try.”

“What does Nick have to do with anything?”

“Black milk is processed in their bodies. Poison goes in and Panzerschokolade comes out.”

He looks at me. There’s practically a twinkle in his eye.

“We milk the little bastards like cattle. Hence the term ‘black milk.’”

“You fucker,” sputters Candy. “You fucking fuck.”

“You’re every bit as eloquent as I would expect Sandman Slim’s paramour to be.”

I jab the gun into Quay’s ribs.

“There’s another kid missing back home. She’s more cattle?”

“Of course. Her family is nothing. This is their chance to move up in the world.”

“And join the immortality club.”

“Yes, we keep a small amount of processed black milk for ourselves. Any family that sacrifices a child is admitted to the program.”

No one says anything for a minute. We spot some broken-down hellhounds. Gears and metal limbs scattered across the road.

“Admit it. It’s a bargain,” says Quay. “Eternity for one brat. If it makes you feel better, the families are free to produce all the little tykes they want after that.”

“Are the new kids immortal too?”

Quay shakes his head.

“I’m afraid not. New kids mean new sacrifices. You see, shared secrets like this bind people together. It’s the foundation of Wormwood.”

“A ritual,” says Hesediel.

“See? The angel understands.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“I don’t have the words for what a low scoundrel you are,” says Wild Bill. “I thought I’d seen the worst in men back home. Clearly I was wrong.”

“Thank you, Bill. In Wormwood, we aim for excellence.”

I don’t want to think about Quay’s story. There’s no way to prove it from down here. It could all be lies. Then again, why would he tell a lie he knows might piss us off so much that we kill him?

“What about the war in Heaven? Why is Wormwood picking sides?”

“We’re not. And I’ll explain all that in just a few more minutes. Until then, let’s take in the sights, shall we?”

We continue across the I-10 freeway, all the way down to the 105.

On the other side are the ruins of an old water treatment plant. Quay parks the van by the entrance and starts to get out. I move the gun back to his head.

“Hold it. Bill, I’m going around to Quay’s side. Keep him covered.”

“With pleasure.”

I move around the van slowly, looking for shooters or traps. When I get to the driver-side door, I pull Quay out. He doesn’t resist. Bill steps out, then Candy—still holding her gun on Holly, though she’s not even trying to look like she’s serious.

The wind changes direction and the stink from the water plant is blinding. Quay just takes a deep breath and smiles.

“Here we are.”

“Are we going for a dip?”

“I wouldn’t if I were you.”

He heads into the plant and we follow, me with my gun on him.

“Is this what you’re telling us, Norris? That black milk is water? I don’t believe you.”

“Of course it’s not water,” he says.

He walks straight to the edge of the closest holding pond.

“Come closer, Sandman Slim. Take a whiff of the future.”

I have to hold my hand to my face until I get used to the stink.

“What are we doing here, Norris?”

“Here’s the story. We’re not in a water treatment plant. We’re in Hell. Who cares if Hellions have clean water? Yet as awful as this place is, what’s the one thing Lucifer, you included, wouldn’t tolerate in his streets?”

Holly coughs like she’s going to throw up. Candy pats her on the back.

“Effluent,” says Bill. “Even these Hellion pig fuckers don’t want shit on their boots.”

Quay points at Bill with one hand and taps his nose with the other.

“You win,” he says. “Behold. The only source of black milk in the universe.”

I go up with him to the holding pond.

“Black milk is Hellion shit?”

“Of course not. This is a sewage plant, not a shit plant. There’s every kind of Pandemonium trash and runoff in here. It’s the complete brew that’s the secret. It’s Pandemonium itself. But you’re right to the extent that Hellion shit is the most essential ingredient. Think of it like saffron. Every squatting, sitting, diarrhea-ravaged fallen angel is leaking the most valuable substance in the universe from their puckering assholes.”

I look down into the black, clotted mess. Then point the Glock at Quay’s head.

“This is a joke. When I met you in L.A., you were surrounded by all kinds of death totems. You were looking for a way not to die. If you’re in Wormwood, why weren’t you in the immortality program?”

“I wasn’t in Wormwood then. Not until right at the end.”

“What changed?”

He clasps his hands behind his back.

“I gave them my son. You didn’t know I was married, did you? One dead wife. One living child. I was in. On my way to eternal bliss.”

“Then why did you follow me into Kill City if you were set up with Wormwood?”

“Well,” he says, “you were hunting for a mystical object. One likes to hedge one’s bets with these things. I died before I could use my dose of black milk. But I was repaid for my good works.”

“By making you head of their branch headquarters.”

“Exactly,” he says, giving me the most beautifully smug smile in history.

I lower my gun. Hesediel is on the other side of Quay listening to everything. She doesn’t look happy.

“You sold this filth to my kind. You polluted celestials with the bowels of the fallen.”

“They polluted themselves with black milk. And the corrupt blood of poisoned children, don’t forget,” says Quay merrily.

I tap the Glock against the side of my leg, trying not to use it.

“I still don’t get it. Why take sides in the war?”

“I told you. We’re not taking sides. We’re just working the odds.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course not. Hush and let me explain.”

“Hush” is a funny word. It makes me want to cut someone’s head off. But I let it pass for now.

Quay continues: “Heaven is a closed market without the war. Very little profit to be made there. Hell, on the other hand, is wide open. Think of it as Wormwood’s offshore bank account,” he says.

“What if the rebel angels lose and souls can enter Heaven?”

“Then Hell will remain a haven for Wormwood. The damned who reject Heaven will stay and the rebel angels will ally with us. Who doesn’t want an army of angels on their side? Think of what they could do for us on Earth.”

“What if the rebels win?” says Hesediel.

“Then human souls and Hellions will be exiled to Hell forever. And, again, Wormwood will be in charge. And as long as there are Hellions in Hell, we’ll have a steady supply of black milk.”

I finally get it.

“And Wormwood on Earth stays immortal.”

“Exactly.”

“They need a steady diet of the stuff to stay alive.”

“Yes. It’s an unpleasant brew, from what I understand, but immortality is the lollipop one gets after the medicine.”

I turn him around to face me.

“That means all we have to do is destroy the source of black milk and your whole plan falls apart. The rebel angels lose. No one in your Boy Scout troop stays immortal. And if Wormwood comes apart down here, how long will it take to fall apart back home?”

Quay gives Holly a big grin, then looks back at me.

“Is that your plan, Sandman Slim? You’re going to murder all the millions of Hellions in Perdition?”

“If I have to.”

“You really are an egomaniacal child, aren’t you?”

I want to say something clever, but nothing comes out.

Quay goes up on his toes for a second, then back down, happy but restless.

“Now that I’ve kept my part of the bargain, I assume Holly and I are free to go?”

I look at him. Then the storage pond.

“Are you a good swimmer, Norris?”

Hesediel looks at me.

“We gave our word,” she says.

“She’s right,” says Candy.

“A man’s word, son. It’s all we have in this putrid swamp,” says Bill.

I know all this. And yet.

Quay never stops smiling.

And I really want him to stop fucking smiling. Or to see his head rolling into the parking lot. It’s tempting.

After a moment, though, I take a step back.

“You and Holly are free to go.”

“Of course we are,” he says. “The odds were always in my favor, you know. Someone upstairs just made a big profit from your wise decision.”

I take the van keys from his pocket.

“We’re keeping the van. You can walk back.”

“Don’t you worry about us. I had my team leave a van for us on the other side of the plant. You’re so predictable, Sandman Slim.”

He walks over and takes Holly’s arm.

“Oh, Geoff Burgess and Charlie Anpu say hi. And no hard feelings.”

As they walk away, I call after them.

“If you’ve rigged our van to explode or something, when I get back to Hell you know I’m going to track you down.”

Quay turns to us, but doesn’t stop walking.

“Don’t worry. There aren’t any bombs or tricks. You’ve done enough damage to yourselves already.”

He and Holly walk away and no one says a word because we know he’s right.

IT’S A LONG drive back to Bill’s place.

We park the van and go inside without a word. Bill lights some candles and uncorks the bottle. Pours three shots.

“I don’t suppose you’ll be joining us,” he says to Hesediel.

“I’d rather not.”

“No need. This ain’t exactly a celebration.”

Bill and I drink. Candy just stares at hers. I don’t think she likes the stuff any more than Hesediel.

“What do we do now? Go home?” she says.

I pour me and Bill another.

“We can’t. We didn’t just come for Wormwood. We came for Vidocq.”

“Who is that?” says Hesediel.

“Just another mortal to you. A friend to us. One of Wormwood’s people poisoned him with black milk.”

“And he lives?”

“He’s in the Winter Garden. It’s like a hoodoo coma.”

“Did you really think that Norris Quay and his kind would help save your friend?”

“No. We came here hoping to find an angel.”

She comes over to the bar.

“For what?”

“A little blood. It’s the one thing I know of that will cure pretty much any civilian disease.”

She picks up the bottle. Sets it down again.

“Bill. Do you have an empty one?”

He finds a dusty pint bottle under the bar. Hesediel takes it from him.

“How much will your friend need?”

“Just a few drops,” I tell her.

She stretches out her arm, pushing her wrist just past the edge of her armor. I offer her the black blade.

“Hellion made?” she says.

“Yes.”

“I’ll use mine.”

She takes a dagger out of a sheath at her side. Puts the tip to her wrist and lets blood dribble into the glass until it covers the bottom.

“Is that enough?”

“More than enough.”

She puts the cork back in the top and hands me the blood.

“I hope it helps your friend.”

“Thank you. This means a lot to us.”

She nods. Lets the blood flow a little longer. Some kind of strange penitence.

I give Candy the bottle.

“You should take care of it. I break things.”

She puts it in her pocket with the shoes.

“Thank you, Hesediel,” Candy says.

“I was wrong before,” says the angel. “This thing you’re doing, it won’t help just mortals, but celestials too. I didn’t want to say it before because I didn’t want to reveal any weakness on our part. That was foolish. After seeing Norris Quay’s secret, weakness is all I feel.”

“Me too,” says Bill. “Weak, foolish, and low. These Wormwood folks, they’ve run rings around us.”

“What are we going to do?” Candy says. “Just sit here and drink?”

I nod. “For now. We’re waiting.”

“For what?” says Hesediel. “There are no more of my kind coming.”

“We’re not waiting for angels or anyone else to rescue us.”

“Then what are we doing?”

“We’re waiting for old Norris to get home.”

I finish my drink.

“Then we’re going to go up there and kill every one of them. Send them all to Tartarus.”

“Isn’t that what they’re expecting?” says Bill. “We all saw Norris goading you on.”

“I was wrong before when I said we had to go through the front door. I was angry and I was dumb.”

“So what do you want to do now?” says Candy.

“Me and Hesediel, we’re going to burn the whole damned hill they’re sitting on. You up for that, angel?”

She stares into the candle at the end of the bar.

“The rebel angels, misguided as they are, fight for a cause they believe in that’s greater than themselves. This Wormwood fights for nothing.”

“That’s it, then. We go up and set off some fireworks. Kill anyone who makes it out of the mansion.”

“What about the Legionnaires?” says Bill.

“They’re mercenaries. What are the odds they’re going to stick around when we burn the whole damned forest?”

“And we have Hesediel,” says Candy.

“Exactly—we have our own angel. That should give some Hellions bad dreams.”

Hesediel smiles wanly.

“After Lucifer’s defeat, I never thought I’d be fighting my own kind again. Even fallen angels. Each death is a knife to the heart.”

“Don’t worry. Look at me. I’ve been stabbed plenty of times. Scars just make you look distinguished.”

She looks at the ceiling.

“I don’t understand you. One moment you show courage and compassion and the next you’re as cruel as the rebels we fight above.”

“Because I tell a few jokes? It’s how we pass the time on Earth waiting to die. You angels are immortal. Mortal life is just one long square dance in rotting meat.”

“That explains nothing. The Abomination isn’t a mortal man.”

“Maybe if you angels ever did anything but try to kill me, I’d be more like you. From where I sit, celestials are all Eddie Haskell. Pretty lousy role models.”

Candy goes over to her.

“He doesn’t mean you personally,” says Candy.

“She right. You’re the only angel that didn’t take a dump on my head the moment you saw me.”

She turns and stares into the dark.

“What a world we’ve made. Samael, the betrayer, is now Father’s staunchest ally, while my sister Hadraniel is my sworn enemy. And here I am with a damned mortal, an inhuman, and a jesting monster as my companions in battle. It’s all so confusing.”

“I felt the same way when they changed Darrin on Bewitched.”

She shakes her head like she’s trying to wake herself up. I actually feel sorry for an angel.

“Look, nothing ever makes sense. I’ve never met a happy angel. Even at the beginning of time when you could pretend it was just you and Mr. Muninn, you knew the Kissi were hiding in the dark. Monsters under your bed. But you pretended like they weren’t there. That kind of thing makes mortals crazy too. It’s called denial.”

Hesediel looks at me hard. I scratch my head.

“Mortals, angels, and Abominations, all we get are moments between shit storms. So, have a fucking drink or have a fucking laugh or go sit in the fucking dark and pout because the universe forgot your birthday.”

Hesediel stares at the blood on her wrist.

“No one has ever spoken to me like that before. Not even Hadraniel.”

“It’s a habit. How do you think I got all these scars?”

She does the universe’s tiniest laugh.

“Do you think Quay is home yet?” says Bill.

“Only one way to find out. Let’s go light a barbecue.”

“Thank the Lord. I thought you’d never shut up.”

WE LEAVE THE van on Franklin Street and head up into the park. Instead of taking the nice, smooth, probably-not-going-to-break-your-ankle-in-three-places road, we duck into the vegetation and climb through Hell’s little Eden.

Griffith Park back in the world is a lot of brittle scrub, annoying bushes, and thirsty trees covering what’s essentially a big rock hemorrhoid looming over Hollywood. Most people go there for the big observatory. Others for the zoo. Still others like the view, though they’re the strangest bunch of all. Hollywood in broad daylight is a miserable place. Maybe sixty years ago some vestiges of golden-age glamour still clung to the place, but even then it was less like romance and more like a particularly enchanting strain of tuberculosis.

Now the Boulevard is a parched dump full of tourist T-shirts and mournful bars, with a few expensive restaurants so out of place it’s like they crashed to Earth on a meteor. At one end of Hollywood Boulevard, you’ll get your pocket picked outside an all-night liquor store, and at the other end, you’ll be outright mugged by alcoholics who couldn’t get SAG cards, but could afford secondhand Spider-Man or Wonder Woman costumes. They’re clingier than lampreys and scarier than ticks, and the only cure is to give them twenty bucks for a shitty Polaroid.

But Hollywood at night is a different story. Hollywood has always been a night city. A place built for vampires and insomniacs. It’s all blinking lights, neon, the dully glowing stars on the Walk of Fame, and the outlines of not-so-healthy palm trees, but it’s okay because they’re as spectral as the rest of the place and more alive because of it. Hell, on the other hand, doesn’t have real nights. Just an endless, dirty twilight, perfect weather for a teen goth tea party. Because of this, when we go up the hill, we have to move far from the road; otherwise there might be just enough light to see us.

Of course, Hellion Griffith Park doesn’t have the same stupid trees and irritating bushes as regular Griffith Park. No, this park is more twisted, vicious, and thorny than Sleeping Beauty’s bastard castle.

There are bushes with poisonous berries that burst if you make the slightest contact. Black, twisted trees drop rotten fruit full of venomous centipedes the size of dachshunds. There are shallow pools of toxic algae and deep pools full of deadly puffer fish that look like balloons covered in tiny chain saws instead of spines. A miasma blows through the forest that corrodes your lungs and stings your eyes. Basically, everything in the fucking place is infectious, malignant, noxious, and lethal.

I fucking hate nature.

We have to go slow to minimize our contact with all the vicious vegetable bullshit. And by “we” I mean everyone but Hesediel. Yeah, the stroll makes her as filthy and foul-smelling as the rest of us, but angels are immune to these Downtown poisons. While the rest of us are hopping around roots and barbed vines like we’re in the finals of a St. Vitus dance contest, Hesediel tromps ahead like the world’s most annoying Sherpa, blazing the trail, but leaving us in her virulent dust.

I run a few steps to catch up to her, snagging my coat on mustard-gas seed pods and tromping on flowers that smell like an alligator’s ass.

“Slow down a little. Goddammit.”

She stops and looks back at the others.

“I’m sorry. I simply wanted to begin as soon as possible. You were right what you said at the tavern. We’re only afforded mere moments of pleasure. It will be my pleasure to deal with these conspirators and return to Heaven and the pleasures of a simpler battle.”

“That’s great and I hope you have a nice drive home, but we’re losing the others. Let’s just ease back a little, okay?”

She looks back, her wings moving restlessly. I don’t think angels are used to being in such closed-in places. For all her talk about wanting to get into the fight, I think she wants out of this nauseating, brambled puke garden more than we do.

Bill and Candy are scratched pretty nicely when they catch up. Bill is breathing hard. It has to be toughest on him. A damned soul, this kind of torment is designed to make him as miserable as possible. But Candy isn’t looking so great either. I’m glad I gave her my old coat. At places it’s ripped all the way down to the motocross pads. She’s breathing hard.

“You okay? Want to slow down a little?”

She shakes her head.

“It’s just this mist. I can’t get a good breath. It’s making me dizzy.”

I look back at Hesediel.

“Maybe you were right. Getting out of here fast might be the best move. Let’s keep going, but take a chance and move a little closer to the road. We’ll get better air over there.”

No one argues with that. Hesediel cuts over to the right a few dozen yards and the rest of us follow, trying not to fall too far behind.

We hear the sound of a van going down the hill. As it passes, we can just make it out through the trees. I was right. The air is better over here, but we’re still too deep in this shaggy shit pit to be seen. We keep moving.

Finally, there’s a break in the tree line ahead. Now we move slowly again, getting right to the edge of the forest. We’re to the side of the mansion, almost around back. Hesediel looks fine, even with a couple of scratches on her perfect face. But Candy and Bill are pale and panting.

“Let’s rest here for a while. We need to check out the scene to get an idea how many guards are around.”

All Candy and Bill can do is nod. They walk back a few yards to a clear patch of filth. Bill slides down the side of a tree, ripping his shirt on some thorns. Candy drops down next to him, landing on some stinking flowers. Hesediel and I follow the tree line to the front of the house.

What we see is just peculiar. Outside the mansion, four Hellion guards don’t even pretend to patrol the place. Their rifles are slung low on their shoulders, the muzzles pointed down. They pass Maledictions and flasks of Aqua Regia around the circle like they’re on a corporate playdate without a care in the world. Hesediel frowns at me. I shake my head because I don’t have a clue what’s going on either.

I whisper, “Maybe there are more inside?”

“There are sure to be more, but if they’re like these miserable creatures, we won’t need a fire or a Gladius. We’ll send them running with a sharp rap on the nose.”

As we watch, the front door opens. A couple of more Hellions come out, but they just join the others drinking and smoking. Hesediel and I move around so that we have a better view of the front of the mansion. We have a few more boring minutes, but it’s worth it, because we find out why Moe, Larry, and the other Hellion Stooges are in complete fuck-off mode.

A small man dressed all in gray comes outside. His name is Arwan and he and his men saved my life in Kill City.

Back home, people call them Grays or Gray Folk. They’re not like the Sub Rosa or Lurkers. They come from a whole different ancient line of hoodoo. No one even knows if what they do can be considered regular magic. The don’t use spells or potions or clever puns. They simply will things to happen and they happen. They’re like weird little forces of nature. Also, they fight like ninjas with a finger jammed on the fast-forward button. I owe them a pretty big favor after Kill City and I wasn’t able to pay it back at the time. I don’t know why they’re here, but if I can clear my ledger, I’ll worry about what they’re doing in Hell later.

It takes another twenty or so minutes for the Hellions to stop fucking around. A couple of them go back inside the house and the other four wander off to pretend they’re doing their jobs. There’s a pretty good chance that Arwan could kick my ass in a straight-up fight, but I hope it won’t come to that. He’s a warrior, but he’s also a hustler, and that works in my favor.

I motion for Hesediel to move back farther into the trees. She gives me a what-the-fuck face, but I wave her off. When she’s back far enough, I get as close to the tree line as I dare and sort of whisper-yell.

“Arwan.”

He looks around.

“Arwan.”

He zeroes in on my voice and stares for a minute. Then he laughs at me. He takes his time wandering over.

“Do my eyes deceive me or is it the welsher come calling?”

“Arwan, what the hell are you doing down here? You look like you’re still alive.”

“Of course I’m alive, you dolt. And so are my men.”

“Then what are you doing in Hell?”

“I told you when we last met and you cheated us out of our bargain, the Gray men go where there’s paying work. We’re not scrounges like some I could mention. Now you tell me, what is a silly bastard like you and that angel hiding over there doing here?”

“We have a problem with the people inside the mansion.”

He looks over his shoulder at the house and makes a face.

“Aye. That, at least, I understand. They’re not what one would call a jovial lot.”

“Those are blue-blood shit-heel murderous fucks you’re guarding.”

“That sounds about right. But it’s our job to guard them and I get the distinct impression that you and the ravishing winged one are exactly who we’re guarding them from.”

I come a little more out of the trees and show him my hands so he can see I don’t have a weapon.

“So, what’s your story? Are you in love with them? You and your men are willing to die for those waddling shit bags?”

“Waddling shit bags,” he says, and laughs. “And yes, since they are our employers, we are in a sense laying down our lives for them.”

“But you don’t like them.”

“They’re pompous, grandiose, puffed-up dogs. But their money is good and it comes in large, lovely piles.”

I look around for the other guards, but they’re off merrily skipping stones with the other loafers.

“What if I can pay you a lot more? Would you stand down? I’m not asking for your help. I just want you and your men to walk away.”

“That would be dishonorable,” he says. “But what are you offering?”

“Look at me. I’m in Hell and I’m alive. There’s another mortal right back a few yards and she’s alive too.”

“Yes. You could always do your traveling tricks. That’s why you were supposed to take us back to our homeland. But you didn’t, did you?”

“I couldn’t back then. But I can now.”

“How?”

“Stark,” someone calls.

I look around and see Wild Bill.

“It’s Candy. She’s sick.”

I turn back to Arwan.

“Don’t go away.”

“Run off, then, like you always do. You know where to find me.”

Me and Hesediel follow Bill through the trees. When we get back to where we left them, Candy is on her back coughing. There are flecks of blood on her lips.

I lean over her.

“You’re being melodramatic.”

She opens her eyes.

“I couldn’t find a fainting couch, so I thought I’d just take a nap here in the Shire.”

I take one of her hands. It’s cold and there’s a long gash along her middle finger.

“She must have pricked herself on one of those damned poisoned begonias,” says Bill.

“Stay with her.”

I take Candy’s hand and squeeze it.

“I’m going for burgers. You want chili fries or onion rings?”

“Waffle fries, dumb-ass. You always get it wrong.”

“That’s ’cause waffle fries make the baby Jesus cry. I’ll be right back.”

I pull Bill aside.

“Stay with Candy. I’m getting her out of here.”

“How?”

“By pissing off God.”

“If anyone can do it, it’s you.”

“Be ready. With luck, the next people you see will be considerably shorter, but just as dangerous, so be nice.”

“That don’t sound the least bit ominous.”

Hesediel and I go back to the edge of the trees.

Arwan has wandered over by the door again and is smoking a pipe.

“Arwan.”

He looks up and, again, takes his sweet fucking time wandering over.

“Look who’s back. The big talker.”

“Listen to me. I know that you don’t like those people any more than I do.”

“Like doesn’t enter into it. Pay does.”

“I’m going to make you the deal of your lifetime.”

“Are you, welsher? Do tell.”

One of the poisonous centipedes strolls across my foot. I start to step on it. I’m fast, but Arwan crushes it under his boot and goes back to smoking almost before I can see it.

“I can get you home. And I can make you rich.”

“And pray tell, how will you accomplish these feats of legerdemain?”

“A friend of mine a little down the hill is sick. If you take her with you, I’ll tell you how to get home.”

He thinks about it for a second.

“I don’t think so. But it was lovely seeing you again. Feel free to attack anytime.”

“Wait. There are riches.”

He stops and turns.

“What kind of riches?”

“There’s a cave under the city where I live. The person who used to live there has been collecting gold, art, magical objects, and every other kind of mad shit you can imagine. You can have as much as you can carry if you’ll take my friend out of here. You’ll go home richer than even you ever dreamed of.”

He cocks his head.

“We Grays, we dream big.”

“Well, dream bigger and multiply that by ten.”

He puffs his pipe.

“Why should I believe any of this?”

“Because the woman you’re carrying out of here is the only thing in this whole fucking universe I care about. And I’m trusting her to you. That’s how you can believe me.”

He looks at Hesediel.

“Lovely armor.”

“It’s not for trade,” she says.

“Pity.”

He looks back at me.

“How big is she, this woman of yours?”

“Not big at all. Two of you could carry her.”

He looks back at the mansion.

“I truly do not enjoy the company of our current employers. And I do like the sound of fabulous riches.” He turns back to me. “You know if you’re lying we’ll kill you and the woman, right?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“How do we get home?”

“There’s a maze. You take her through it and you’ll get to the cavern. Take everything you want. Take it all. Then go back through the maze, keeping in mind where you want to go. You’ll see some scary shit along the way, but they’re just illusions. Just keep turning left and you’ll get home.”

“It’s that simple, is it?”

“Just that simple.”

He finishes his pipe and taps it on his boot.

“And there’s enough treasure for us all?”

“More than enough.”

“What about the owner of this vast fortune? Will he or she be coming after us once we help ourselves?”

“The owner only knows me. I’m the one he’ll come after.”

He raises his eyebrows.

“Vicious, is he? Cruel?”

“The worst.”

“I do like the sound of you having to explain us to a big heartless bastard.”

“He won’t be happy. And I have nothing to repay him with. Who knows what he’ll do to me?”

Arwan grins down at me.

“Look at you now. Selling your soul for true love. It’s like a sonnet.”

“Yeah. I’m goddamn Shakespeare. Do we have a deal?”

“As long as you understand, and not to belabor the point, that you’re dead if we’re disappointed in the least.”

“And I’ll dance a jig while you’re doing it.”

“Careful. Don’t tempt me.”

He stares at the ground, thinking. His boots are looking a little threadbare. He glances back at the house.

“Wait here,” he says, and walks into the mansion.

Hesediel says, “Are you mad? Trusting these brigands with Candy and our whole scheme?”

“We don’t have any other choice. Just be cool. This is all going to work out great.”

“He doesn’t seem to like you very much.”

“I grow on people. Sometimes it takes a while.”

“It truly does.”

Arwan comes back a few minutes later, trailed by a dozen small men dressed in the same gray cloaks and jerkins as him, all carrying bows and swords.

Hesediel starts to stand. I wave her back.

When he comes to the tree line, he nods.

“It’s a deal. Where’s this woman of yours?”

“Won’t your bosses notice that you’re all missing?”

“I told them that we’re buggering off into the woods for a look around. We were each delighted to be rid of the other.”

“Come on.”

I lead them to where Bill is sitting with Candy. She’s paler than before.

Arwan gets close and looks her over.

“She’s not so big for us to carry.”

“I told you.”

“And she knows the way to the treasure?”

“She’ll lead you straight to it.”

“All right, then.”

“Give me a minute.”

I kneel next to Candy.

“Change of plans. Remember the little guys from Kill City who saved my bacon? They’re taking you home.”

“What? No. I want to stay with you.”

“You’re sick. You need to get out of here. And someone needs to take Hesediel’s blood back to Vidocq.”

She grabs my sleeve.

“What if you get lost again down here?”

“I’m not getting lost. Me, Bill, and Hesediel are doing this one thing. Then I’m heading straight home. I’ll be right behind you.”

“Promise?”

“I’ll get Abbot to advance me some salary and take you to fucking Florida. How’s that?”

“Will you wear one of those hats with the mouse ears?”

“You’re a horrible woman, but yes. I will.”

“Okay, then.”

She looks at Bill and Hesediel.

“Thanks, guys. I’m glad I met you both.”

“Me too, ma’am,” says Bill. He leans over and kisses her hand.

“Go with God,” says Hesediel.

I look at Arwan. He motions to his men. A couple come over and easily lift Candy between them.

As they start down the hill, Arwan comes over.

“Well, I hope for both our sakes that this is a fond farewell. If it’s not . . .”

He draws his thumb across his throat.

I point down the hill.

“Take care of her.”

“She’s as safe as a goose chick tucked under its mother’s belly,” he says. Then walks away. It’s only a few seconds before he and the other Grays disappear into the trees.

I get out my na’at.

“What might I ask is that?” says Bill.

“A Hellion weapon.”

“Huh—never seen one of those before.”

“You’ll get a good look at one now. Once we’re done with the guards, I’m using it on Wormwood.”

“Then let’s get to it.”

“Let’s,” says Hesediel.

BILL STAYS UP front while me and Hesediel go into the forest around back.

She starts the party by manifesting her Gladius and sprinting through the woods torching everything like a pyromaniac who got a gallon of high octane for Christmas. I bark some Hellion hoodoo I haven’t used since the arena. The tops of the trees along the far edge of the woods explode in flames, sending burning tree limbs onto the roof and through the windows at the rear of Wormwood’s playhouse.

As the first Hellions run out to the woods, Bill steps into the clearing and blasts away with the Colt. Cuts down three before they know what’s happening. The rest, maybe ten in all, come out of the trees firing wildly. A few at the rear of the pack are burning when they run into the clearing. Hesediel strides from the inferno and downs them all with her Gladius. That gets their attention. The rest make a break for the mansion. Bill hunkers behind one of the vans and fires. The guards open up in his direction, pumping automatic rifles into the side of the van. This really pisses me off, but gives me a chance to get into the fight.

While they’re all looking in Bill’s direction, I come out of the trees, firing and throwing more hoodoo. I wound a couple, and when the rest fire in my direction, I bring down one of the burning trees on top of them.

It barely misses the group and I’m left with my ass hanging out in the open. I hit the deck, firing blind as bullets kick up clods of dirt around my head. That’s fine, though. Really, Bill and I aren’t even trying to hit them anymore. We’re just keeping them interested in us and not the sky.

A few of the real hard-ass Hellions stand their ground, firing, reloading, and firing again. The rest look around for somewhere to run that isn’t on fire or full of flying bullets. It never occurs to them how fucked they are.

Graceful as a feathered torpedo, Hesediel swoops from the sky, her Gladius slicing and dicing the guards in the back. She lands and the hard-asses empty their clips into her armor. The sound is deafening, but doesn’t last long. Bill and I take out a couple of pricks with our last bullets while Hesediel beheads the last two in one smooth motion.

Hesediel stands guard with her Gladius while Bill and I reload. If there are any guards left in the woods, they’re Kentucky fried. Not a problem.

The grounds of the mansion, the hillside—everywhere we look—is a wall of flame. Sparks arc onto the mansion’s smoldering roof. The back of the place is already on fire. All we have to do is wait for the scared dummies inside to decide they want to be dead dummies outside. The light from the flames is weirdly beautiful. It illuminates everything in a wavering, liquid pattern of reds and yellows.

A shadow streaks across the flickering light.

Hesediel’s armor rings out again. A hundred church bells clanging at once. Something slams her onto her back, leaving a deep, scorched dent in her breastplate. A few yards away Hadraniel drops lightly to the ground, the glare from her Gladius brighter than the blazing forest. She looks every bit as crazed as she did on the boulevard. Her angelic flesh is dry as sandpaper. Black lines ring her eyes. She’s so tweaked she can’t even hold her Gladius still. But it doesn’t make her look weak. It just reveals her true face, the grimace of a celestial berserker ready to burn down Heaven, God, and every mortal soul there ever was.

Hesediel rolls easily onto her feet. I start toward her, but she holds up a hand to stop me. Hadraniel looks from her to me, then back to Hesediel.

“Is this your new lord, sister? The Abomination? How desperate your God must be.”

“He’s still your father too, Hadraniel.”

Hadraniel looks at the sky.

“Not mine and not yours anymore. But you’re too sentimental to see it.”

“Better to have a heart than a twisted soul.”

“Better a twisted soul than no future.”

Hadraniel flicks her Gladius through the air. Ash and burning cinders fall on the angels’ armor. On their faces and hair.

“I know better than to ask you to come with me again,” says Hadraniel.

“It would be a waste of both our time.”

“So be it.”

I thought I was fast. Hell, I thought Arwan was fast. But with their wings outstretched, the charging angels are just a haze of fire and flashing armor.

They fight on the open ground in front of the mansion and in the burning forest. Swoop around each other above the flaming treetops. Their armor clangs and peals when they slam into each other. Shrieks when they glance off each other, metal sliding across metal.

It’s hard to tell the two apart. High in the air, one of them spins, catching the other flat across the back. Burning feathers explode into the air like skyrockets. The injured angel tries to stay aloft, but can’t. She weaves uncertainly, clearly groggy. Tucking in her wings, she dive-bombs just beneath the attacking angel’s killing blow.

She comes in low for a landing, but misjudges it. Hits the ground hard and slides across the road almost to the mansion door, tearing up tarmac, soil, and concrete. Hesediel staggers to her feet and takes a fighting stance but the armor on her back is burned open, like someone took a plasma torch to it. A lot of her hair is singed off and half of her face is black. But she doesn’t back down. Neither does Hadraniel.

She turns slow circles in the sky above us. Taking her time. Letting Hesediel’s injuries do their work, tiring and weakening her.

Hesediel stumbles. Catches herself. Her Gladius flickers.

Hadraniel swoops like a falcon in free fall, and batters Hesediel’s Gladius with her own, knocking her off balance. Hesediel staggers back a few steps. Her arms shake like the Gladius is suddenly too heavy to hold. I run through the falling embers to her. Bill fires shot after shot at Hadraniel, who doesn’t even bother to acknowledge them.

Hesediel is trying to stand when I get to her. I pull her to her feet. She pushes me away. Her speech is slurred, but I can understand her.

“Get away. This is not your fight.”

I manifest my Gladius and stand beside her.

She pushes me again.

“No,” she says. “No.”

Overhead, Hadraniel laughs at us.

“A lovers’ quarrel, is it?” she shouts, turning slow circles.

“Stark, please,” says Hesediel. “Let this go. Let me go.”

“I don’t leave friends behind.”

“If I’m your friend respect my wishes. Go.”

I hesitate for a moment, but I get it. I let my Gladius go out. Hesediel can’t even stand up straight anymore, but she manages to say, “Thank you.”

I want to give her my gun. My knife. My na’at. Something. But I know she won’t take any of them. So, I press the only thing she might take into her hand.

And walk away, leaving her there in the open ground.

Bill comes running over.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“It’s what she wants.”

“You’re going to stand there and let her die?”

“It’s her fight. She doesn’t want me.”

Bill looks up into the sky, sputters, “Shit and damnation.”

I take his arm and pull him away.

“We’re not going anywhere. If things go wrong, I’m perfectly happy to stab Hadraniel in the fucking back.”

When we’re clear, Hesediel manifests her Gladius again.

Hadraniel makes a couple of more turns in the sky. Then drops. I can barely see her.

When she hits Hesediel, she knocks her twenty feet, through the side of a van. Hesediel stumbles back into the open, but her Gladius is out. She takes a few steps. Collapses onto her back.

Hadraniel lands and lets her Gladius go out too. She takes a knife, like the one Hesediel used at Bill’s bar, from a sheath at her side. She doesn’t rush. She savors the moment. Yeah, she’s gloating, but she also wants to see if Hesediel is playing possum. It goes on like that, with Hadraniel circling Hesediel, for several more minutes. They talk, but I can’t hear them.

Finally, Hadraniel steps over Hesediel. Drops her full weight onto the other’s damaged armor. I can hear Hesediel moan all the way across the yard.

Hadraniel holds her knife so the fire dances off the blade.

“Are you watching, Abomination? I want you to see this.”

“Fuck you, Almira Gulch. You and me. We’re next.”

“Glorious. I so hoped you’d say that.”

She raises the knife and, in a blur, drives it through Hesediel’s breastplate. Holds it there while her sister screams.

Hadraniel leans back and looks over at me and Bill. Opens her arms, giddy at the kill.

Lowers her guard.

Hesediel’s arm moves. Just a few inches. Into a tiny space where Hadraniel’s armor has shifted, revealing a sliver of skin.

Hadraniel jumps up, pulling at her armor. Trying to get to where Hesediel hit her. She runs her hands over her skin. Looks at the palms and holds it up for us to see. No blood.

Hadraniel goes back to Hesediel and pulls out her knife. The blade breaks off in the armor. She throws the hilt into the dirt and walks our way.

She gets about ten paces before she falls over, choking.

Hesediel sits up, but can’t get to her feet. Bill and I run over. Get on either side and lift her up. When she’s standing on her own, she loosens the buckles on the sides of her armor, letting her ruined breast- and back-plates fall to the ground.

She puts a hand over her chest wound and comes back with only a little blood. She smiles at us through her burned face.

“It’s good armor,” she says. “And I’m a better actor.”

Bill and I help her over to Hadraniel, who’s tearing at the ground, trying to crawl away. Hesediel slips a foot under her sister’s belly and flips her over.

Hadraniel’s face is going from blue to black. She gasps for air. Clutches at her throat.

Hesediel unbuckles Hadraniel’s breastplate and pushes it away. Takes out her knife. Hadraniel is barely breathing. Her arms are limp. Hesediel bends and kisses her forehead.

She says, “Forgive me, sister.” And drives her blade into Hadraniel’s heart. The fallen angel lurches just once. Hesediel stands and slides the knife back in its sheath. When she looks again, Hadraniel is gone. Vanished like all dead angels, good and bad alike.

Hesediel looks at me. Hands me the syringe with the raw, poisonous black blood I gave her earlier. I wasn’t sure she would use the thing.

I toss the syringe into the fire.

“Guess I interfered after I told you I wouldn’t. Sorry.”

“It was my choice. Black blood made Hadraniel what she was. It’s fitting it was her downfall.”

“You were her downfall. Not that rotgut,” says Bill. “In this world and the other, I never saw anyone fight like that.”

“I hope you never have to see it again.”

Me and Bill help her to one of the undamaged vans. We get her into the back, where she slumps against the seat.

The top floors of the mansion are roaring. A lot of panicked faces I recognize peer out of the windows on the bottom floor.

“Stay here with her,” I tell Bill.

“I’ll keep her safe.”

I get out my na’at and go into the burning house.

I COME OUT a few minutes later, alone. Except for Holly. That’s how Candy would have wanted it.

With the black blade, I start the only other undamaged van and leave it for her. She stands by the house and watches it burn like she’s expecting Norris, or Jesus, or Santa Claus to come out of the flames and make it all better. But no one does. After a while she gets in the van and puts it in gear.

Bill closes the door of our van and I turn us back to Hollywood, letting the mansion and hill burn itself to ashes behind us.

Hesediel dozes for a few minutes, then wakes with a start. She looks around the van, not sure where she is. When she sees Bill she relaxes back into the seat.

“Where are we going?” she says.

I look at her in the rearview.

“Back to Bill’s. Unless you want to stop for chicken and waffles.”

She stares back at the burning hillside for a minute.

“I have a thought. We have to go back to where Norris Quay took us.”

“What are you thinking?”

“Do you trust me?”

Something I never thought I’d say to an angel comes out of my mouth. “Of course.”

“Then drive.”

THE VAN SPUTTERS and coughs as we make our way back down Highland. Everyone is bone goddamn tired. It makes the drive feel even longer than before. Eventually, though, we cross the 105. I pull us up to the gates of the treatment plant and the van shudders to a stop.

Bill opens the side door and we help Hesediel out of the van. Back on flat ground, she can walk again, but she’s slow and moves with a bad limp. The skin is cracking under the burned part of her face so that the black is cut through with thin streaks of livid red.

We enter the plant and head to the treatment tank Quay took us to earlier. The place doesn’t smell any better on a second visit. She goes to the tank.

“Think of it. A whole war over this,” says Hesediel.

I walk up beside her.

“It’s going to go on for a lot longer, isn’t it? If all the bad guys fight like Hadraniel?”

“Forever, possibly.”

“Now there’s a pretty thought,” says Bill.

Hesediel turns back to us.

“But if we, now, could destroy the source of black milk, it would end sooner. Correct?”

I shrug.

“Of course. But like Quay said, we can’t exactly execute several million Hellions.”

“Maybe we don’t have to,” Hesediel says. “This is the source of black milk. We must destroy this.”

“But those Hellions are just going to keep shitting and shitting,” says Bill. “Destroying this batch won’t stop that.”

“I misspoke,” Hesediel says. “Everything all of us have done and seen and learned comes together here. Your return to Hell. Bill and Candy’s offer of help. The destruction of Wormwood down here. We have a chance. A single moment to destroy it all.”

She looks at me.

“And perhaps kill Wormwood in the mortal world. Without them, black milk will be useless.”

“But how do we do it?” says Bill. “You two incinerated the hell out of that forest back there, but I don’t think effluent even this vile will burn.”

“Not burning,” she says. “Befoulment.”

Hesediel takes a few steps away from the holding tank back toward the van.

“I’m glad I met you both,” she says. “I’ve defended mortals, but I never truly thought much of them, Bill. Thank you for opening my eyes.”

“Well, I think a lot more highly of angels ’cause of you. Thank you for that.”

She turns to me.

“And you. Abomination incarnate. I wasn’t pleased when Samael asked me to help you.”

“I can imagine.”

“But you’re a fine ally and companion.”

“Same to you.”

She looks past us into the distance.

“Who is that?” she says.

Bill and I turn. Find ourselves launched through the air all the way back to the van. Bill comes to a skid by the bumper. I crash into the windshield. Blood runs down my forehead into my eyes.

I try to get up, but my legs won’t hold me. The best I can do is crawl onto my hands and knees. Bill moans and rolls over, in as bad shape as I am.

I look around for Hesediel. Can feel a lump rising on the back of my head from where she hit me. Finally, I see her by the treatment tank. She has her knife out and is cutting a long slit from her wrist up to her elbow.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I yell.

She looks back at me, as happy as I’ve seen her.

“Saving us all,” she says.

I manage to get to my feet and stumble like a drunk to the gate of the plant.

Bill pulls himself up on the van’s bumper.

She holds her arm over the sewage.

“You said it yourself, Stark. My blood is the cure for disease. What is more pestilential than war?”

I push myself off the gate and head for her.

“Stop this shit. You’re in no shape for this.”

“But I am,” she says. “Clearheaded. Happy. I thought for so long that the war would consume us all. Now I can finally see its end.”

My head clears a little and I can stand upright.

“Let me help. Cut me too.”

She slices into her other arm.

“That’s noble, but clever as you are, this is something half an angel cannot do.”

Bill staggers up beside me. Pushes away and starts for her. I follow him.

Hesediel stands on the lip of the tank, her arms covered in flowing blood.

“Tell Samael thank you for opening my eyes to so much. Take care, my mortal. And my little monster.”

She draws the knife across her throat and falls backward into the tank.

Bill and I run to her. But we’re too slow. Too stupid. Too late.

She’s gone.

We get on our knees, scrabble around there like fools, waiting for her to bob to the surface safe and sound, her sacrifice just another ritual, and when it’s over, we can pull her out and take her home.

But she doesn’t come up. There’s no sign of her. Not even bubbles.

Bill and I stay there on the lip of the tank for a long time, breathing in the stink, neither of us wanting to move in case we’re wrong.

Finally he gets up. Taps me on the shoulder.

“Come on, son. It’s been a long day. I need a drink. So do you.”

It takes me a while to get my legs working.

What did I do wrong? What did I miss? Why did Samael send Hesediel to us? Did he know Hadraniel would break her heart? Did he know this is how it would end?

Is he that big a bastard?

“Please don’t be,” I say out loud like an idiot. “Please be as surprised as us.”

“What are you talking about?” says Bill.

“Nothing.”

We climb back in the van and I jam the black blade in the ignition. The engine coughs a couple of times, but won’t turn over. We get out.

It’s a long walk back to Bill’s bar.

IT DOESN’T TAKE long to finish the bottle.

I wonder if Candy is through the maze yet. If she isn’t, if the Grays didn’t keep their part of the bargain, I’ll find them wherever they are. Part of me wants them to cheat. I’ve never wanted to hurt someone—anyone—more than I do right now.

When Abbot puts the Wormwood member list together, I’m getting it, even if I have to take it from him. I wouldn’t mind facing off with Willem. Which probably isn’t fair. In the larger scheme of things, he’s nothing. Not a good guy or bad guy. Of course, he doesn’t see it that way, but Willem isn’t a big-picture guy. Just another dog in the pack. Sit. Fetch. Bark. Bury a body if his master needs it. He’s the kind of guy who thinks he has a grip on good and evil because he made some big busts and got a few commendations. In the end, I don’t really want to fight him. I want to show him the locked doors of Heaven. All those damned souls and pitiful fallen angels stranded between the pearly gates and Hell’s scenic vistas. I want him to hear the rebel and righteous angels fighting it out for his future. I want him to know that the difference between salvation and damnation is small and getting smaller. Maybe he’d understand and maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe people like him and assholes like me are built to butt heads. But if an Abomination and an angel can get along for even a little while, who knows? I don’t want to be his friend, but it would be nice if just once, someone like him understood that I’m not his enemy.

Wormwood, on the other hand, is done. No one is innocent. No one walks away. No more clueless spouses. No more deals, car rides, or stories. No more dead kids.

I’m done with words.

They’re dead, every one of them. And when they’re in Hell, I’ll make it my job to send them to Tartarus. But not before they go for a nice, long swim in Quay’s sewage tank. Those fuckers want black milk? I’ll give them all they can choke down.

But not right now. Right now I picture Arwan and his crew carrying Candy through the sushi bar that leads to the maze.

Please make it home, Candy. I can’t lose you too. Allegra will fix you. She can fix anything. She’ll even fix Vidocq with what you’re carrying. Everyone is going to be all right. They have to be.

I’ve been fighting Heaven’s battles for so long.

Seriously: listen. You bastards forgot about me when I was in Hell. Please remember me now. Give me just this one thing.

I take out a couple of Maledictions. Hand one to Bill. He lights them both with a candle. I puff mine until it’s red as a poker. Hold it to my wrist until it blisters.

“What the hell are you doing?” says Bill.

“It’s where she cut herself for Vidocq. I owe her this much.”

“Hurting yourself won’t bring her back. You’ve got to gather your strength for what’s coming next. In a funny way, we’re lucky.”

“How’s that?”

“It isn’t often that vengeance and a righteous fight coincide so completely. But it’s not over. We both have work ahead.”

“You’re right there.”

I rub the knot on the back of my head.

“You take care of those Wormwood pig fuckers back home,” says Bill. “Send ’em down to me. I’ll handle them from there.”

“I might have to come back and help you with that.”

“I wouldn’t object. Just don’t let thoughts of revenge blind you to your responsibilities to those you love.”

“Don’t worry about Candy. She’ll be right with me when she finds out what happened.”

Bill looks under the counter for another bottle. Looks frustrated when he comes up with nothing.

“Send me some souls soon. Bereft is not my natural state. I fear I’ll go a little mad without a useful task to occupy me.”

“It won’t be long, Bill. I promise.”

He gets a rag and wipes off the top of the bar. It doesn’t matter that there will probably never be another customer in here; nervous energy has to go somewhere. Even the smallest things can help.

“Any chance there’s more Wormwoods down here that we missed? If there’s tracking to be done, I’m ready,” he says.

I blow on the blister. Watch it bloom on my skin.

“I think we got them all for now.”

“Pity,” he says.

“Yeah.”

“Maybe it’s time for me to get out of this hovel,” he says. “I was a lawman once. Maybe I could make myself useful down here.”

I set the Glock on the bar, along with all the ammo left for it and the Colt.

“Keep both guns. I have more.”

“The Colt was a gift.”

I stack the bullets in rows.

“Candy will understand. She likes you—she’d want you to have it.” I think for a moment. “We should go back up the hill to Quay’s place. Pick up some of those rifles and whatever ammo is left.”

He puffs the Malediction. In the candlelight he looks older than his Earthly years.

“That’s a good thought. But later. It will give me something to do after you leave.”

“Let me show you how the Glock works.”

He picks it up. Weighs it in his hand and gives it to me.

“I never thought this would be the time or place I’d modernify myself.”

“Life is funny.”

“And death is riotous. So, show me how your toy pistol works.”

I pop the clip and take out the bullets. Show him how to load the gun and rack in a shot. Playing teacher feels good. Gets me out of my head for a few minutes.

When we’ve run through it enough times that Bill can do it smoothly, he pulls a crooked smile.

“I guess this ain’t such bad iron after all.”

“I hate to tell you, but there’s not much iron in there.”

He sights down the barrel.

“Iron enough for my purposes.”

I look around the bar for a clear spot. Over by the wall there’s a long table where we served food when I was Lucifer.

“You mind if I lie down for a while? My head hurts, and like you said, it’s been a long day.”

He hooks a thumb over his shoulder.

“I have a cot in the back. You’re welcome to it. Don’t use it much myself. I lost the habit of sleep when I came to this elegant burg.”

I shake my head.

“Thanks. The table is fine.”

I take off my coat and shoulder holster. Set the black blade and the na’at on a corner of the table. Wad my coat into a lumpy pillow.

“Good night, son.”

“Night, Bill.”

MAYBE LYING DOWN wasn’t the best idea after all. In my dreams, I’m drowning. My lungs fill with black, stinking muck so thick it pulls me down like there are cinder blocks around my ankles. I dream of the Tar Pits back home, only I’m not throwing Liliane into the black lake. I wade in myself. First, to my ankles and then my knees. By the time I’m up to my waist, it’s hard to move, but by then it doesn’t matter. The sticky stuff pulls me down like some dumb bear who didn’t watch where he was going. I pass through the preserved branches of trees. The skeletons of small animals. Birds and runty gazers. Tangle myself in a forest of wolves and saber-toothed cats, their ribs folding around me like I’m a bug in a venus flytrap. Then there are the big bones. Pool-table-size mammoth skulls. Legs the size of filing cabinets. I come to rest on the tip of a long tusk. The tar weighs me down so that the sharpened ivory goes all the way through me. I float there for years, a Flintstones shish kebab.

Hands reach down and grab my wrists. Pull me up through the muck.

I want to look around when I hit the surface, but my eyes are gummed tight by the tar. Someone holds my face. Uses their thumbs to wipe it away. When the hands let go, I cough up gallons of the thick black stuff, until my lungs work again.

Eventually I can get up on my knees, I grab hold of the tusk and pull it out of my stomach. Another bad idea. It’s like I’m back in the arena, where some fucking hellbeast has sliced me open. I have to grab my abdomen. Only the tar and my hands keep me from falling apart.

I’m not at the Tar Pits anymore. I’m by the other black filth at the treatment plant. I look around for Hesediel. She’s the only one who could have pulled me out, but I’m alone.

I stumble out of the plant and head north, crossing the freeways, then up Highland. Turn east and begin the long walk into Griffith Park.

Everything is on fire. The tar on my skin bubbles and burns as I follow the road up the hill.

By the time I make it to the mansion, the boiling tar has sealed my stomach closed. When I can use my hands again, my first instinct is to pull my gun. I reach back for the Colt, but the tar has fastened it to my body.

Shadows circle overhead.

In the sky, two flying things claw at each other. There’s so much smoke, I can’t tell if it’s angels or eagles.

I try to pull the Colt free. Turn round and round in a frantic moron dance. The gun won’t budge.

A golden, angelic knife falls blade first into the ground.

I get it now. I can help. I can make things right.

The knife sticks to my tarry hand, but the blade is clean enough to use.

I draw it through the tar and flesh holding my insides in place. It hurts so much I have to laugh. When the hole is big enough, I force my hand through the opening and cut a hole in my back. As the skin parts along my spine, I throw the blade away. Reach through my body and pull the Colt out through my stomach.

Free now, I point the pistol into the sky and shoot. Fire all six shots, but the gun keeps going. I pump round after round through the burning treetops.

One of the angels falters. Spins and nose-dives to the ground. I run to the body. I was so set on using my gun that I didn’t bother to see who I was aiming at. My heart is going a million miles an hour.

The body is Hadraniel. Her armor is twisted. Her wings broken.

Hesediel lands a few yards away in the circle of burning trees. Her armor is new and perfect.

I point with the Colt to Hadraniel. Try to say something, but my lips are sealed by the tar. I find the knife and cut through the stuff until I can open my mouth.

“It’s okay now. See? I killed her. Not you. None of this is your fault. It’s mine. You can come back now.”

She smiles at me. It’s all so perfect and beautiful.

“My little monster. Do you really think it’s that simple?”

“Yes. It’s over. I fixed it.”

She takes out her knife.

“You can’t fix things that haven’t broken. Some things just are, even if we don’t like them.”

“Please.”

She draws the blade across her throat and falls back into the tank.

The forest is one solid sheet of flame reaching to the sky. The tar boils and bubbles on my skin.

I put the Colt to my head.

And pull the trigger.

I WAKE UP on Wild Bill’s table. He’s standing over me.

“Bad dreams?”

“You could say that.”

He walks away and sits on a barstool.

“That’s why I gave up on sleep. The visions are acute. Never had a lie-down that didn’t end with me shouting like a fool at ghosts.”

“I talked to Hesediel.”

“Did you now. What did the lady have to say?”

I rub the back of my head.

“Stay away from rodeo clowns. They’re drinkers.”

He straightens his mustache with the knuckle of his index finger.

“Sound advice from anyone.”

I roll off the table still feeling the gun barrel against my head. It takes me a minute to get my balance. When it comes back, I put on my coat. Slip my knife and na’at back into place.

I sit next to Bill at the bar.

“Now that the thing’s been done, how long do you reckon until those rebel angels and Wormwood feel the pinch?” he says.

I pick at a splinter on the barstool.

“We don’t know how much refined black milk there is. It could dry up tomorrow or it could take a year. All that matters is there’s an end.”

“Amen to that.”

I look at him.

He nods.

“A funny thing to say down here, I know. But I think apt.”

“I wasn’t going to argue with you.”

Bill looks into the dark.

“I suppose you’ll be heading home.”

I rub my human arm. My hand comes away wet.

“Huh.”

“What?”

“I think I got shot.”

Bill gets up and comes around me.

“Let me see.”

I shrug off half the coat and he tears open my shirtsleeve. Holds up a candle and shakes his head.

“It’s not a shot. More like a bugbite or prick from one of those damned bushes in the park.”

“Good. I’d be embarrassed taking a bullet from one of those Hellion mercs.”

Bill helps me put the coat back on. Now that I’ve noticed it, the bite or whatever itches.

“As I observed earlier, I suppose you’ll be wanting to get back home.”

“I do. But there are a couple of things I need to take care of.”

“You feel up to going back out there?”

“’Cause of the arm? I’m fine.”

“You’re a little white is all. With them scars, your face is a bit like an ice-skating rink.”

“Are you saying you went ice-skating, Bill?”

He shakes his head.

“Me? No. But I saw it once on a lake. All these kids and ladies twirling around. I thought it must be what Heaven looks like.”

“If we do our work right, maybe we’ll both find out.”

He gets up. Dusts off his pants.

“I didn’t think you were too keen on getting to Elysium.”

“I didn’t say I wanted to stay. But if I can stand Disney World, I can handle an afternoon with halo polishers.”

“Where are we headed?”

“To Tartarus.”

He frowns.

“Why there?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do. And because it’s what Hesediel would have done.”

“Then let’s get moving. The sooner we’re done, the sooner we’ll get you home.”

Bill heads for the door. I blow out the candles and we go outside.

“First we’re going to need another car.”

He drops his head a little.

“Try to pick a better one than last time. I don’t want to spend eternity walking home from one of your damn errands.”

There are vehicles abandoned by the outskirts of the old street market. I get out the black knife and start testing ignitions.

It doesn’t go well.

I CLEARLY DON’T have Candy’s luck when it comes to cars.

It takes a couple of hours to find one that starts. A rusted-out Corvair with seats that are mostly springs. That’s bad enough, but the fuel gauge is almost at empty. After some looking, I find a length of hose and bucket in one of the old market stalls.

Did you ever siphon gas from a car by sucking on a hose? It’s pretty much the worst thing you can do with your mouth. To make it more fun, Hellion fuel tastes even worse than regular gasoline. It’s like gas that’s been filtered through a bloated whale carcass and served with a side of overcooked broccoli. I have to hit a dozen cars to fill the damned Corvair, but after another hour it’s done. Bill was a big help throughout the ordeal, smoking and shaking his head at me from the back of an old pickup truck.

“You anywhere near a conclusion? You’re making damnation boring.”

I give him a thumbs-up. Then go behind a VW Bug and throw up.

Bill hands me a handkerchief when I get back to the Corvair. I spit and wipe my mouth.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t bother giving it back,” he says.

I toss it away and we climb into the car. It’s a tight fit, but we manage it after Bill figures out how to push his seat back.

“Where to, Magellan?”

“Tartarus.”

“I should have stayed at the bar.”

“You’ll love it. There’s a river view.”

“It sounds rapturous.”

“That’s exactly the word I was thinking of.”

TARTARUS, THE HELL below Hell, a Holiday Inn for the double damned, is a place of eternal darkness. A stinking cattle car crowded with all the suckers unlucky enough or stupid enough to die a second time. Then there are the Hellions. Unlike Heavenly angels, the fallen don’t blip out of existence when they die. No, they get to fall a second time.

Bet Lucifer didn’t mention that on the job application.

The entrance to Tartarus is through the river under Hell’s creaky version of the old Fourth Street Bridge. The landscape is a wasteland crisscrossed with old railroad tracks running beside a blood-filled tributary of the Styx. I bet all those dead L.A. real estate developers are tortured by dreams of condos and shopping centers as they’re sucked down into the dark.

A year or so ago, I broke out of Tartarus, releasing the schmucks below. Then I sealed it again as the final resting place of Mason Faim. A shitty move, I know, but cry me a fucking river. I thought that would be the end of the place, but now it’s full again and that’s rotten for so many reasons, one of which is visible from half a mile away.

“What in the Lord’s name is that?” says Bill.

“It looks like Jurassic Park.”

“Boy, this is not the time for riddles.”

“You know I used to fight hellbeasts in the arena, right?”

“Of course.”

“And you noticed the Griffith Park Zoo was empty.”

“I ain’t blind.”

I stop the Corvair on a frontage road by the railroad tracks.

“I’ve been wondering what happened to all those animals.”

Bill stares into the distance.

“You silly son of a bitch. What have you brought us to?”

“A hellbeast buffet.”

The entrance to Tartarus might be through the river, but the exit is on dry land. And at the moment it’s surrounded by a wandering, snarling, crawling, slithering herd of the ugliest hellbeasts I’ve ever seen.

“They must smell the souls.”

“May I point out to you that I’m a soul?” says Bill.

“Don’t worry. They won’t even notice you with the hot lunch down below.”

“Am I to assume you have some blockheaded idea to take them things on?”

I tap the steering wheel.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Is it too late to disown you?”

“Calm down. Let me think for a minute.”

I look at the bloody river. It’s low along the banks.

I look at the hellbeasts. They’re moving slow. I bet they’re starving.

There’s not much around us except for a train yard to the north.

“Fancy a train ride, Bill?”

“That’s not a real question, is it?”

I start the Corvair and we head across the wasteland to the depot. We take it slow. Nothing to see here, monsters. We’re barely a morsel. Not worth your time.

Eventually, we make it to the yard without being eaten, a good omen if there ever was one. I wish I believed in omens.

“What now?” says Bill.

“How do you like the look of that train over there?”

He squints through the windshield.

“It looks like Lucifer’s iron cock.”

I see his point. A lot of machines down in Hell might work like Earthly machines, but they’re not exactly based on the same aesthetic. The locomotive is a hundred-ton tube with steam pipes that look more like bloated arteries stretched across diseased and pockmarked flesh. The front of the train is a leering skull with smokestacks recessed into the eyes. About fifty freight cars stretch out behind it.

I look at Bill.

“Ever drive a train?”

“Every Sunday after church.”

“You’re being sarcastic and that’s okay. I’m nervous too.”

“Thank you for your permission. Now, what are we doing here?”

I get out of the car. Bill follows.

“I just said it. We’re stealing a train.”

“You plan on driving it by those brutes?”

“Nope. You are.”

“Like hell I am.”

“Not right away. After I distract them.”

“Going to dance a monster can-can, are you?”

I head for the train.

“Let’s see if we can get it started.”

Bill and I climb up into the engine.

“Do you know anything about trains?” he says.

“Nope.”

“Then how are you planning on running it?”

“Magic, Bill.”

“Show me.”

The train’s drive panel looks like the interior of a rocket to the moon. There are enough gauges, dials, and knobs to make Neil Armstrong blush. With a little luck, I don’t need 99 percent of them.

I point to a lever on the side.

“That’s probably the throttle. Help me find something that might be a brake.”

Bill looks over my shoulder.

“All these buttons and whatnot are labeled in Hellion gibberish.”

“Fuck it. I’ll stop it with hoodoo too.”

“Not if I’m driving it.”

“It’ll be fine.”

“You’d be more convincing without all them scars.”

I look out the side of the train at the Orc party over Tartarus.

“Okay. Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to stay here in the train. I’m going back to Monster Island and get them to follow me. When they do, you drive the train right up to Tartarus. I’ll open it and let the souls on board.”

“What if the beasties don’t all follow you?”

I look around the cabin and spot a button.

“See that? That’s the air horn. Push it a few times. Maybe it will scare the rest off.”

Bill looks at the button.

“I’d prefer a cannon.”

“Me too, but it’s what we have.”

Bill looks out the window.

“You know, if I get eaten, I’ll be down with them others in the dark.”

“If I can’t pull the hellbeasts off or they come back or won’t leave, you just hit the throttle and keep going.”

“And leave you behind?”

“Exactly.”

He takes a breath.

“Damned stupid thing to say.”

“Well, none of this is going to happen if I can’t start the train.”

“Try it now.”

I look at the control board. If I use Hellion hoodoo I’ll probably blow up the whole thing. But I’ve always been pretty good at improvising spells. Good, but not perfect.

“Here we go.”

I whisper a few words. Nothing happens. A few more. Some of the panel lights come on. Another little whisper. The panel lights blink a few times and the engine rumbles to life.

“Dammit,” says Bill.

I pat him on the back.

“Remember. You don’t do anything until you see them back off.”

He points. “That’s the throttle thing and that’s the horn. Where’s the brake?”

“I think it’s this thing.”

“You think.”

“If it doesn’t work, just pull back the throttle all the way. You’ll stop eventually.”

He stares at the controls.

“How do you plan on getting them beasts to follow you?”

“Dance a can-can.”

“Lord preserve us from your brilliance.”

“See you soon, Bill.”

I go back to the Corvair and manifest my Gladius. Slicing the roof off is easier than I expected. Once it’s out of the way, I get in and fire it up. Gun the Corvair and head straight for the herd. The trick isn’t to find the head of the pack. I need the one that’s dumber than me.

I hang back far enough that I can make a run for it if things don’t work out, but I have to get close enough that one of the morons can see me. The problem is, they’re all concentrating on the tasty treats below.

Fine. I’ve got to do everything myself.

Hanging around the edge of the herd is a sort of giant crab/spider creature. A full-grown adult male. About twenty feet tall and dumb as a sackful of pudding. They’re fierce bastards in a fight, but I’ve killed their kind before. Of course, I’ve almost been cut in half by those claws, so that’s on my list of things to avoid.

As quietly as I can, I pull the Corvair right under its belly and honk the horn.

The thing quivers and its big armored legs scuttle around so that it can see me with all five of its black, hairy eyeballs. I’ll admit it. My fight-or-flight instinct kicks into full run-home-to-mommy mode. But mom is dead and I don’t have enough gas to get to L.A., so I throw the car into reverse and floor it before I get skewered by one of those legs.

I have mixed feelings at this point. On the one hand, the plan seems to be working, and on the other, I’m being pursued flat out by around thirty tons of angry stupid.

I head straight for the riverbank and stop. Honk my horn again to make sure it can find me. No problem there. It heads straight in my direction. I hop out of the car and start running, waving my arms and shouting.

This is where I really start to have mixed feelings. Before they were only kind of mixed feelings. But once I’m running, everything comes back to me. The smell of the arena. The screaming crowds. Multicolored blood pools in the dirt. Sometimes other hellbeasts and sometimes other fighters around me. I’ve imagined being back in the arena so many times since I crawled out of Hell, and here I am, my wish finally fulfilled. And part of me is enjoying it. I swear, if I could import a few of these hungry freaks back home, I’d never get a Trotsky headache again.

But that’s not what I should be thinking about. Right now it’s all about looking delicious without letting them find out if I am.

Crab Cakes follows me along the river to where an enormous drainpipe dumps blood into the tributary. The pipe is a few feet below me. I jump and slide down the riverbank, landing right next to the metal inlet.

Behind me, my new best friend runs at full speed.

Interesting fact: Most crabs don’t have even a basic grasp of physics. I don’t either, but I know that thirty tons running at full speed is going to have a lot harder time stopping than me.

Sure enough, Crab Cakes sprints right to the edge of the river, skitters, and falls, rolling onto its spiny back before sliding into the flowing blood. Its legs wave in the air as it tries to right itself, but it’s wedged in tight.

From the pipe, I climb up onto Crab Cakes’ belly and look for one particular break in its shell. It’s midway between its front set of legs and its moving mandibles. When I find it, I extend the na’at to its full length and plunge it as hard and as deep as I can between the armor plates.

It bellows like a foghorn and its legs twitch like it’s running the hurdles in the Olympics. With luck, the bellow got the attention of the other hellbeasts. All I have to do now is make sure they don’t lose interest.

Wet with river blood, I climb back up the bank. Shout some Hellion hoodoo while I run for the car.

Crab Cakes’ belly explodes in a foul-smelling shower of fish guts. Some thumps on me and into the car, but this isn’t the time for tidiness. I jump into the Corvair and peel out as the other hellbeasts get a whiff of the jumbo fillet-of-fish sandwich waiting for them in the river.

A moment later, the herd turns and lumbers and slithers toward the river.

I fucking hope Bill sees what’s going on. Revisiting the arena for a few minutes was fun, but like the fight pit back home, I don’t want to like it too much. I made and broke too many promises to Candy to let myself drift back into old habits.

When I’m far enough from the feasting dino bastards, I pull up near the train yard. The area around Tartarus is almost clear. Only a couple of extra-slow and dumb beasts remain, pawing at the ground.

The train starts to move. Picks up speed as it heads straight for Tartarus. Steam billows from the skull on the front of the train. Bill lays on the air horn. The last beasts turn toward the sound, but stumble back as the giant metal fire-breathing monstrosity thunders toward them. One of the beasts runs off into the train yard while the other heads for brunch at the river. Tartarus is clear.

I hit the accelerator and speed along the tracks, bouncing over ruts and tracks. The Corvair creaks and grinds as I completely fuck up the undercarriage. I’m never going to get my deposit back.

I reach Tartarus just after Bill hits the brakes and the train screams to a stop.

Guess he found the right lever.

The exit to the pit is a circle of Hellion steel, sort of like a big manhole cover. I manifest my Gladius and cut away a section big enough for people to get through, but not too big for me and Bill to move.

The crowd below must be pretty shocked. Most haven’t seen even Hellion daylight in a while. It takes a few minutes before the first faces nervously appear in the hole.

We help about ten of them out, then give them people-pulling duty while I run around asking everyone if they happen to know how to drive a train. I get a lot of funny looks, but most of them are so dazed and happy that they don’t waste time asking stupid questions. While I play Alex Trebek, Bill hustles the crowd onto the train.

We get several hundred people out of the ground before I recognize the first Wormwood face. I don’t know his name, but he’s one of the pricks I killed back in Griffith Park. He gets it that he’s persona non grata when I wave my Gladius in his face. Other souls and Hellions come out while he crawls back into the dark.

I must have asked a couple of hundred damned souls about trains when one of them says, “I can.”

“You can drive a train?”

“Sure. When I was alive I was a conductor on the Norfolk Southern line.”

“Congratulations. You just got your job back.”

He looks at the Hellion engine.

“I don’t know if I can run that.”

“Sure you can. Anyway, you’re not going far.”

“How far?”

“Around Long Beach. Basically, you keep going south until you see a shitload of souls and Hellions. It’s like Woodstock, but instead of a stage, you’ll see Heaven.”

His expression brightens.

“You mean we can get in?”

“Not quite yet, but you’ll want to be there when the gates open, right?”

“Oh yes.”

“Then get up there, Casey Jones. Once we get everyone out, you’re in charge.”

He seems a little confused by the whole thing, but he heads for the train engine and that’s all that counts. Me, I hang around Tartarus, happily kicking every Wormwood face back into the pit. It takes hours to clear everybody out.

Me and Bill are pushing the metal slab back into place when one last face appears.

“Hello, James.”

“Hello, Mason.”

“I don’t suppose . . .”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“You always were the smart one.”

“Who are my new roommates?”

“They’re from a group called Wormwood. You’re going to love them.”

He looks past us at the train, then back into Tartarus.

“Well, lovely seeing you.”

“Good-bye, Mason. Enjoy eternity.”

“Eternity is a long time, James. Who knows? Maybe we’ll meet again.”

“Nope.”

We shove the metal back into position and I weld it in place with the Gladius.

The conductor runs back to me and Bill.

“I can do it,” he says. “The controls are a little different, but I can handle them.”

“Then get moving. Those hellbeasts are going to be finished eating soon.”

He looks at the river.

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Good-bye,” he says. “By the way, who are you people?”

“That’s Wild Bill Hickok,” I say, hooking a thumb at Bill.

He points at me.

“That’s Sandman Slim right there.”

Casey Jones looks at me.

“Funny name,” he says.

“Tell me about it. Now get going.”

He runs back to the engine. The air horn howls twice and the train starts moving.

I stand there watching them go. I know I did the right thing, but I’m still not entirely happy.

I wish there was time to tell them about Hesediel and how she sacrificed herself for them. But none of these people will have heard of black milk or probably the new war in Heaven. Hesediel’s death would just be an abstraction to them. A Sunday school homily you tolerate because you know there’s juice and graham crackers later. Hesediel deserves more than that.

Sometime down the road, when the rebels are gone and Heaven’s gates finally open, someone will tell them about her. They’ll get it then. And someone better build a statue and have a holiday where the banks close and some asshole does a movie about her and it plays all day like It’s a Wonderful Life at Christmas. If they don’t, I promise to make my one and only trip to Heaven and put my boot severely up someone’s ass.

As the train disappears Bill says, “We should get going. I think some of them behemoths are still hungry.”

He’s right. A few of the hellbeasts are wandering back in our direction.

“You sure you don’t want to hop on that train, Bill? I think I can still catch it.”

“Don’t ask fool questions. Take me home.”

We get back in the Corvair and speed back to the city.

The bugbite doesn’t itch anymore. Now my whole right arm is numb. But I don’t tell Bill that.

WE FIND AN abandoned liquor truck on the way. Bill selects a bottle of good Hellion whiskey and we head to the bar. The Corvair runs a little rough on the way back. Something is out of alignment and we’re leaking oil. Still, it gets us back to Bill’s before coughing its last.

He leads the way in and uncorks the whiskey while I go around lighting candles. When I sit down, Bill has laid out several shots in a row.

“What all we drinking to?”

“First, making it back to hearth and home in one piece.”

We down a shot.

“Second, to a good day’s work, even if you smell like the innards of a trout.”

We have another.

“Third, to a fine angel and friend.”

Down it goes.

“Last, to seeing the backside of you for a while. Vaya con Dios.”

I raise my glass, hoping he’s not going to keep pouring.

“Same to you, Bill.”

We drink.

He leans his elbow on the bar.

“Is there anything left for us to do down here? Any demons to smite? Bears to wrestle?”

I cork the whiskey.

“Can’t think of a thing, except wondering what you’re doing next.”

He thinks for a minute.

“I might wander south in a bit. That is, unless you think you’ll be sending some Wormwoods down here soon.”

I flex my arm a few times, hoping to feel something. There’s nothing at all.

“It will be a while, I think. They’ve run off in a dozen different directions. I have to find out where and then get to them.”

“Tell you what. I’ll wait a little while, then. Maybe set up camp at whatever’s left of the house in the park. If no one wanders up in the next week or so, I’ll take it as a sign to be moving on.”

I scratch my arm.

“Sounds like a plan.”

He straightens his mustache.

“That bite still bothering you?”

“Just itches a little.”

“Be sure to get it looked at. Don’t go playing a hard-ass.”

I nod.

He holds up the bottle.

“One more for the road?”

I hold up a hand.

“I’m done for now. I have to walk a straight line if I’m getting home.”

“Then let’s get you started.”

We take our time walking back to the sushi bar.

Bill frowns at it.

“I don’t think I want anything to do with fish for a good long while.”

“Do I really smell?”

“I’m afraid so.”

I take off my coat. Hang it on a loose nail outside the restaurant. Maybe it won’t stink when it dries and some wandering soul can use it.

The na’at I put in my back waistband where I usually keep the Colt. The black blade I slip into my boot.

I turn to Bill.

“You sure you’re going to be okay on your own?”

“I’ve been in Perdition a good while, son. I know how to take care of myself. And thanks to you, I have plenty of firepower if anyone gets ideas.”

“Okay, then.”

I hold out my hand.

Bill grabs me in a brief bear hug. Nods as he steps back.

“Safe travels. Be sure to give Candy my regards.”

“I will. Bye, Bill.”

He holds up a hand.

I go into the restaurant. Keep going until the light changes.

And walk right into a wall of cornstalks.

Great. The maze. I’m halfway home.

Now I just have to figure out the other half.

A HALF HOUR in here and I’m sweating. My right arm has gone from numb to throbbing.

Wait. Has it been a half hour?

I get out my phone.

The battery is dead. No chargers in Hell. Got to remember that the next time I go down.

The next time . . .

That won’t be for a while, not if I have to haul my sorry ass through this hayseed labyrinth. I keep waiting for Minotaurs or Victorian floozies to come running by, high on ether and absinthe. Now that I mention it, I wouldn’t mind some of that myself. It would make the time pass faster. Or pass at all. How long have I been here? Right. No phone. No clock.

I’m really starting to feel a little ragged. Maybe I should have crashed at Bill’s a little longer. No. That’s dumb. If this bugbite is anything, then I have to get home and see Allegra.

Man, it’s hot in here.

Candy and I got to Hell by turning left the whole way. Logically, I should get back by turning right. Wait. Does that make sense? You turn left to get through a maze. Maybe right is wrong. Ha. That was funny. Right it is, then.

Are the rows narrower going back? I swear they are. I keep bouncing off the sides.

Shit.

Just fell through one of the walls into a different row. Does that mean I turn left or right from here?

Right. Keep turning right. I’m sure of it.

Fuck.

Look for something familiar.

Hey, it’s more corn. That helps.

Shut up and keep turning right.

Is my leg getting numb too?

I get out the black blade and poke my calf a few times.

Yep. Can’t feel a thing. And I think I’m bleeding.

Is it hot in here? I’m really thirsty.

I turn another corner and start up a steep hill.

That doesn’t seem right. Still. Nowhere else to go but forward.

It’s a long way up and the ground is slippery. I look down at my feet. The road is covered in those centipedes from the park. I crush them with every step. Pale green guts explode on the road and my boots. There’s nowhere to stop now and I can’t go back the way I came. Got to get out of Deadwood with my head in one piece. That’s the most important thing.

How long have I been here? It’s really hot.

At the top of the hill is the Wormwood mansion. Which is bullshit because I saw it burn. Great. I’m hallucinating. Or was the other time a hallucination? Wait. Was I really in Hell at all? Maybe I’ve been in the maze this whole time. I wasn’t bitten by a bug. I just feel lousy because I haven’t had any food or water for a while. That means I’m lost, right? Or maybe the maze is just longer than we thought.

Wait. Where’s Candy? If we’re still going through the maze, she’d be with me. Unless we got separated back at the mansion. Was there a mansion? I remember one, but maybe it was just that place I broke into in Beverly Hills. Where was that? Beverly Hills. Right. I just said that. Concentrate.

Stop falling. And stop going up the hill to the damned mansion. It wasn’t even real. You’re in the maze. Still. The mansion looks awfully real. As I go past, I look at the upstairs windows. See Nick’s face staring down at me. He waves. I wave back. Good news. Beverly Hills. I’m almost home.

My leg really hurts. Maybe I poked it too hard with the knife. Maybe I ought to look. Can I do that without falling over?

Nope. Ow. Fuck my head. I can’t see right.

Along the cornstalks are playing cards. They’re all aces and eights. But there’s a fifth card ahead, skittering along the floor in a breeze. I get up and follow it.

Funny. I think my leg is bleeding. Or is that another hallucination?

That must be it. Anyway, I lost the card. Damn. I’d like to know what it is. It’s important, but I can’t remember why.

Is it hot in here?

I’m on the ground. That’s the first thing I’ve been certain of in a while. Face in the dirt. It doesn’t smell that bad. Like corn and earth.

A centipede runs by.

Time to move, only I can’t. My head is funny and my leg is numb.

Someone reaches down and helps me up. I limp as I walk.

“Why did you send her to us?” I ask Samael.

“You needed help. I thought she’d be a good ally. Was she?”

“The best. Did you know she was going to die?”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t waste a good warrior like that.”

“No kidding?”

“No kidding.”

We walk for a while.

“You’re not here, are you? You’re a hallucination.”

“Probably. But I’m not sure how to tell.”

“Can you see all those bugs in the corn?”

“No.”

“Then you’re a hallucination.”

“How do you know they’re not the hallucination?”

“Don’t fuck with me.”

“I’d never do that.”

“I know. How’s the war in Heaven?”

I look over and he’s gone. I turn.

There’s my father with a hunting rifle.

I duck.

A shot goes over my head.

Now I’m definitely hallucinating. Good for me. Confirmation. Wait. Hallucinating is bad.

Goddammit. I fuck everything up.

Turn right. Again. And again.

I think maybe I should have been turning left. Is it too late to start over?

Was Samael just here? He’s the angel of death these days. He can be a lot of places at once. Does that mean I’m dead? Maybe I should stick myself with the knife again to see if I feel it.

I reach down for the knife. My leg is covered in blood.

Let’s forget the knife and just assume I’m alive.

There’s someone in the corn ahead of me. I think it’s Candy. She’s back to her old self. No Chihiro glamour. Leather jacket and Chuck Taylors over black jeans. It’s wonderful to see her again. I run to catch up, but my legs don’t want to cooperate.

If I had the Room of Thirteen Doors back, I wouldn’t be lost in this Kansas weed patch. I’d be me again and everything would be all right. I’ve got to get it back. No matter what. All right. Start a list. First action item, get the Room back. What’s the second thing I need to do? Get home. Maybe that should be first? I don’t know. I just work here. You’ll have to ask the manager.

I turn a corner and I’m home. There’s L.A. spread out before me. The Hollywood sign on the hills. Capitol Records building over there. The Chinese Theatre there. Musso’s in between. I should catch up with Candy. See if she wants to go for chicken and waffles.

Thinking about food wasn’t smart.

I fall on my knees and vomit. It’s full of thorns and bugs. I get back up and head for L.A.

And bump into another goddamn row of corn.

I’m starting to think I’m lost.

I look up.

Mr. Muninn’s floodlights are overhead. That means I’m back in the cavern. Have I been here the whole time? I don’t want to be in the cavern. I want to go home. The maze took me to Hell. Why won’t it take me back to Max Overdrive?

Maybe I’m going in circles. Let’s stop and think.

I’m in a maze. Candy and I walked through it in a few hours. The maze fits in Muninn’s cavern, so it can’t be that big. Of course, it’s magic, so maybe it’s bigger on the inside than the outside. Still. If I go in one direction long enough, I have to come out or to a wall or something. Right? There’s no such thing as an infinite maze, is there?

Only one way to find out.

I reach back for the na’at, but have to use my Kissi arm because my right isn’t working too well. Extend the na’at into a sword. Then hack at a row of corn.

It comes down exactly like dead cornstalks should. I step through into the next row and hack again. And again. The dry corn falls in heaps before me. This is such a good idea. I’m really smart. I’ll be home in no time.

The only downside is that each time I cut through a row, it sends dust and pieces of corn into the air. After a few rows, I’m in a corn snowstorm. And I’m pissing off all the bugs. Wait. Are the bugs even real? I can’t remember. A lot of this has been real and some hasn’t. Or the other way around. Fuck it. Keep cutting.

I plow through row after row after row, looking back every now and then to see if I’m moving in a straight line. It gets harder as I go and the corn dust gets thicker. After a while I stop looking. There are too many insects and it’s starting to freak me out a little. Also, the corn is growing thorns. It cuts my hands and arms as I slice through the rows. The corn keeps changing and the light grows dim. I’m hacking through the woods leading up to the Wormwood mansion in Griffith Park. Only now I know it’s a hallucination. I’m in the corn maze. Just keep cutting. Just keep going.

How long have I been in here? I take out my phone. It’s dead. No chargers in Hell.

Man, I’m thirsty.

I look back the way I’ve come.

Centipedes. Spiders with Nick’s face. A tentacle thing sprouts heads as it moves. Burgess. Quay. Charlie Anpu. Their teeth are little hatpins that the insects cling to like the cornstalks.

My legs get weak. I’m hot. Then cold. The insects mass around my feet.

I smash headfirst through the next couple of corn rows. Get up the na’at and slice through the rest. But I’m not going fast enough.

The insects are on my legs. I feel them crawl inside my leg where I cut myself. They’re moving through my veins and arteries.

I run.

Someone is up ahead.

If it’s my father, I’m going to punch him in his fucking face.

It isn’t my father.

Hesediel slits her throat and falls into the tank.

I jump for her.

And land on concrete. I roll. Smash into the side of a parked car.

I pull myself up on the bumper and look around.

This feels real. I smell the exhaust fumes. Feel the too-hot sun on my back.

I turn and look behind me. No bugs. No dead angels.

Maximum Overdrive is just across the street.

I want to run, but all I can do is limp.

I stumble into the shop. It’s full of customers. They look at me. Is this real? It could be a movie. But which one?

“Oh, my ears and whiskers,” I say. “How late it’s getting.”

“Fuck me,” whispers Kasabian. Then he yells, “Candy!”

It’s definitely too hot in here.

I THINK I’M asleep for a long time.

Allegra comes by a lot. Vidocq comes by too.

“Hey old man.”

“Hey yourself,” he says. “Look at you. Always getting in trouble. Always worrying people.”

“A born drama queen,” says Allegra.

“You have to admit, when you get sick it’s always something exotic,” says Candy.

“Next time, you get bitten.”

“I did.”

She holds up her hand. It’s wrapped in gauze. I didn’t notice until now.

“You all right?”

“I’m fine. Just a little sore. I was counting on you being my houseboy for a while, but, well, that’s not going to happen is it, Camille?”

I look at Allegra.

“What did that bug get me with?”

“Some kind of Hellion neurotoxin. Nasty stuff. Between that and the fever, we were amazed you made it home.”

“Thanks for fixing me up.”

“Thanks for getting medicine for Eugène. Candy told me about the angel.”

I look at the blister on my wrist. It’s already gone, but there’s a new circular scar.

Candy sits down next to me.

“You need a shave,” she says.

“How long was I gone?”

“Six days.”

“I left a day after you. I was in the corn for five days?”

“You didn’t turn left, did you?”

“I thought I had to turn right to get home.”

“It doesn’t work that way.”

“No shit.”

I sleep some more. My arm and hand are bandaged. The leg hurts more. I must have dug in deep. Remind me not to do surgery when I’m high on neurotoxins.

I can hear people in the store. Then it’s quiet. Later, I can hear people again. That’s how I count the days. People in. People out.

Kasabian comes up one afternoon with a bag.

“Apple fritters from Donut Universe.”

I take one.

“Thanks.”

Take a bite and limp to the bathroom, where I throw it up again.

Kasabian helps me back into bed.

“Don’t tell Candy,” he says on the way out.

Later, Candy and I are in bed.

“I thought I’d lost you again,” she says.

“I told you I’d come back.”

“And you didn’t bring me a thing. Not a T-shirt. Not a bumper sticker.”

“I gave the Colt to Bill. I hope that’s all right.”

“It’s okay. We’ll find you something else. Maybe one of those pink Charter Arms revolvers.”

I sit up and Candy puts another pillow behind my back.

“Did I tell you what happened to Hesediel?”

“Yeah. You seemed pretty broken up about it.”

“I need to find Samael and have a word.”

“When you’re better.”

“If I died, the fucker would be here in a flash.”

“Don’t even joke about that.”

I put my arm around her. It feels good to have it sort of working again.

“Sorry. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good. You haven’t even heard the band yet.”

“Have you been practicing?”

“Not while you were gone, but we’re back at it.”

“I want to hear.”

“Soon.”

A FEW DAYS later, I can actually walk out of Max Overdrive on my own. I get a new frock coat and new boots entirely free of bug juice. I know that the bugs were probably a hallucination, but I still can’t look at the coat or boots without seeing centipede guts.

I’m still weak for a few more days. It’s pissing me off. I want to call Abbot, but I lost my phone.

Some days, I help Kasabian in the store. Mostly I shelve returned discs. Nothing that requires a lot of brainwork. At night, the band practices in the storeroom. I know they’d rather be at Alessa’s rehearsal space, but Candy still doesn’t want to leave me alone for too long. They sound really good. One night, I manage to make it to Donut Universe and back on my own. The band devours the whole bag while they take a break.

I think about Bill a lot. It’s been a few days. He’s probably headed south by now. I hope the train made it to Long Beach. It wasn’t fun seeing Mason. He’s good at mind games, but I know we’re not going to be meeting again. From now on, people only go into Tartarus. No one comes out. Ever, ever, cross my heart.

Oh man. I killed Muninn’s maze. And I told a bunch of little guys to loot the cavern. I have a feeling that there are going to be consequences. But what’s he going to do? Send me to Hell?

Wait. Maybe he will. He can always have some angels round up the wandering hellbeasts and put them back in the zoo. Then make me the zookeeper. I don’t want to shovel monster shit until the end of time. I’ve got to make it up to him. Maybe one of those fruit bouquets. It will probably cost extra for delivery because of the exotic address, but it will be worth it.

How am I going to pay? Where’s my money? In my wallet? Do I even have a wallet? Maybe I’m not ready to see Abbot yet. Give it a couple of more days. Maybe sleep a little longer.

CANDY CALLS ABBOT, and in a couple of days, he sends a limo for me.

That bugbite must have been special high-octane stuff. I don’t get sick like this. Now I’m not sorry I burned Wormwood’s hill. Maybe clearing out the forest was a good thing. Nothing worse can take its place, I’m sure. I don’t want to think about it too hard.

I have the knife and my na’at in my coat, not because I think I’ll need them, but because I feel naked without them. My back doesn’t feel right without the Colt pressed against my spine. I tried a SIG P220, but the smooth body felt funny after the roundness of the Colt. Guess I’ll have to get used to it. I’m not likely to find another revolver I like as much as that Peacemaker. In the end, I put an M&P Shield 9mm in my pocket. It’s a little walking-around gun, but the bullets punch regular-size holes in things. Armed up, I feel more like myself, but still not right. And it’s not the poison.

It’s something else I can’t put my finger on.

The afternoon ride to Marina del Rey doesn’t take long. The gate to Abbot’s boat is already open when I get there. A guard waves me through. Another guard motions on board the boat when I reach the gangway.

Willem is on the deck looking as Eliot Ness as ever.

“Hi, Willem. Is the boss home?”

“He’ll be up in a minute.”

“Thanks.”

He gives me a look. I’m talking to him like a person and it makes him nervous.

“I hear you’re back from a trip,” he says.

“Been back a few days. But I picked up a little bug and didn’t want to spread it around. You know?”

He nods.

“People say that you went down to Hell.”

“Is that what people say?”

“You know what I say?”

“Bullshit?”

“Exactly.”

I look around the deck. It’s nice here by the water. Smells better than dead corn. I still dream about that crap.

“That’s okay, Willem. I forgive you.”

“Don’t talk to me like that. I don’t want anything from you.”

“I know. But I’m tired and I don’t want to fight with you anymore, so I’m just going to stand here quietly and think deep thoughts.”

He gives me a look and goes into the cabin.

A minute later he and Abbot come out.

Abbot gives me a big smile and shakes my hand with both of his. We go inside.

“I thought for a while we’d lost you,” he says. “I’d already started the paperwork to transfer your stipend to Chihiro.”

“I had a feeling I could trust you. It was unsettling.”

“Don’t worry. I spent most of your time away eating babies and overthrowing third-world governments.”

“So, you admit it.”

“Guilty as charged.”

He gets us drinks. I haven’t touched liquor since I got home. The whiskey tastes good.

He crosses his legs. His pants have a crease you could cut diamonds on.

“So, did you finish what you set out to do?”

“Mostly. We rounded up all of Wormwood Downtown. More important, we destroyed their entire supply of black milk. I don’t know how much there is up here, but they won’t be getting any more of the raw product.”