The Perdition Score

“That’s great news. How did you do it?”

“Do you really want to know? I mean this is Wormwood we’re talking about and what they were up to in the toilet of the universe.”

He sets down his drink.

“We’re in this together. I want to know everything.”

“Well, I didn’t use the word ‘toilet’ a minute ago just to be colorful. It pertains to what I found out.”

I tell him everything. About finding Quay and Wormwood and Panzerschokolade. I tell him about how they use kids and about the souls sitting outside Heaven’s gates because of the war Wormwood prolonged. Abbot might be a blue blood, but he’s Sub Rosa and a scryer. He must have seen some strange things over the years. It takes him a couple of minutes to absorb it all, but he seems to take it pretty well.

“You’ll be happy to know that we found Abigail.”

“The other missing kid?”

He picks up his drink.

“Yes. She’s back at home with her family.”

“That’s great news.”

He looks at me.

“I have the awful feeling that you’re holding out a little on me. Maybe there’s something you don’t want to say. Something you think I won’t be able to handle?”

“Do you really believe the things people say about me? That I’ve been to Hell and back. That I was there again and I saw the dead members of Wormwood?”

“I told you that I do.”

I swirl the whiskey in my glass.

“Yeah. But there’s believing with your head and believing with your gut.”

“I’m not sure I know the difference, but I trust you and what you tell me.”

“Good. Then you need to know that I killed them all. Didn’t just kill them, but sent them somewhere worse than Hell. And I was able to do all that because of an angel. Her name was Hesediel. I want you to remember that name. It’s important. She’s the one who did the worst part of the work. Not me.”

He writes it down on a pad on the table.

“Hesediel,” he says. “It’s a pretty name. Would it be possible for me to thank her?”

“She’s dead.”

“You seem bothered by that.”

“I am.”

“But I thought you didn’t get along with angels.”

“I’m not big on kids either, but I saw one do a pretty good card trick at a party once. It was kind of like that.”

“The exception that proves the rule.”

“There you go.”

A flunky in a suit comes in with a loose-leaf binder. He gives it to Abbot and goes out.

Abbot drops it on the table.

“I had a feeling you might not be the computer type, so I printed out the list of suspected Wormwood members we put together.”

“All of them?”

“Council members, Sub Rosa families, and their civilian associates all of whom have left the country or disappeared since the deaths of Geoff Burgess and Charles Anpu.”

“That book’s for me, is it?”

He pushes it to me.

“You said you wanted to be part of the cleanup team. Unless you’ve changed your mind, it’s yours.”

I pick it up. It’s heavy. I flip through it. Names. Addresses. Work histories. Known associates. Where they were last seen. I weigh the binder in my hand.

“It’s like a goddamn phone book.”

He cocks an eyebrow.

“That’s why most of us prefer the electronic version.”

I drop it back on the table.

“Maybe it’s time for me to buy a laptop.”

“I know someone. I can get you a deal.”

“I bet you can.”

Abbot opens the book and flips through it.

“I’ve put together a small team to help with this. We’re meeting here in a couple of days. I’d like for you to be there.”

“Good. I will.”

“I’ll text you the details.”

I sit back in the chair.

“I don’t suppose you can get me a deal on a new phone too? I lost mine somewhere between Hell and L.A.”

“That sounds like a long walk.”

“Five days when you get lost.”

“That’s a long time.”

“Well, it could have been ten.”

“Days? I’m not sure I understand.”

I shake my head.

“Sorry. It’s a joke they tell Downtown. The fallen angels fell for nine days into Hell. So, when everything is fucked up, you say, ‘It could have been ten.’”

He stares at me, smiling.

“Funny. Do they have a lot of jokes like that in Hell?”

“No. That’s the best one. Most Hellion humor is just a notch above junior high fart jokes.”

“I learn more and more from you every day.”

“Just trying to be useful, boss.”

“Good job so far.”

I look around, a little uncomfortable.

“Tell me. When does the actual Wormwood manhunt start?”

“I thought we’d discuss that at the meeting. Is there a problem?”

“It’s just that I need a few days to take care of some things.”

“Anything I can help with?”

“Do you know any travel agents? I sort of promised someone that I’d take them to Disney World.”

He opens his eyes wide.

“You are full of surprises.”

“It’s not my idea. In fact, the whole thing is blackmail. But I promised.”

He nods.

“It will take us a while to get the logistics worked out. After the meeting, you can have a few days to see the Mouse.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“What are friends for?”

He holds out his glass and I clink mine against it.

It feels like I’ve been drinking a lot of toasts in the last few days. If I can trust my life to an angel, I guess it’s no stranger than partnering up with Abbot and some Sub Rosa 007s. It might even be fun. Maybe they can find me a new Colt.

Abbot and I shoot the shit for a few more minutes, but then he has to get to a meeting.

I take the binder and head back to the limo.

Willem is on the pier with some of his men.

“See you around, Willem.”

“Have a nice drive home.”

“Thank you.”

“Watch your back.”

“Love you too.”

We hit traffic on the drive home. While we’re sitting bumper-to-bumper, I thumb through the binder. I’m a little disappointed when I don’t find Willem’s name among the Wormwood suspects. I know it’s kind of a dickish thing to hope for, but I’m not used to this forgive-and-forget thing yet. Maybe Allegra’s PTSD pills will help. They still scare me, but what the hell? I’ll give them a try. But no yoga.

That’s a deal breaker.

IT’S ANOTHER DAY before I get on the Hellion hog. I wait until Candy’s at work, of course. No need to worry her. But if I can deal with Abbot’s whiskey, I think I can keep my balance long enough to make a couple of runs. My first stop is Griffith Park and Quay’s mansion.

Unlike his Hellion digs, Quay’s pied-à-terre in Earthly L.A. is underground. He might not have been Sub Rosa, but he was rich enough to afford a Sub Rosa mansion. Not many civilians can say that. I was only there once, but it was a memorable meeting.

The entrance to the place is in Griffith Park’s abandoned zoo. Through a graffiti-covered cage big enough for a bear or tiger. The mansion’s entrance is controlled by a hoodoo code you have to punch into a crack in the floor. I only saw it used once, so I never got a chance to memorize it. I should have brought Vidocq with me. He’s good at breaking into things. But I wouldn’t want to get him involved with this kind of trip, so it’s up to me. I might be able to blow the place open with Hellion hoodoo, but that would make the kind of awful racket guaranteed to attract a crowd. I could get in through the Room, but, well, you know. I can’t think of any way in that doesn’t wreck something, so I decide to do it fast and dirty.

I manifest my Gladius and cut a hole in the floor of the cage where I sort of remember the entrance is.

And get it right after just a couple of tries.

There aren’t any lights on in the dead man’s digs and I can’t find a switch, so I keep my Gladius burning and use it like a torch.

The place is just as I remember. A kind of faux-Greek palace full of sculptures and death charms. Not the kind that cause death, you understand. These are the kind that the user hopes will chase death away. The collection didn’t work out like Quay planned, but it left him with a nice assortment of morbid tchotchkes.

I wander the marble rooms checking out every flat surface. I’m looking for something very specific.

It doesn’t take long to find his office. The door is covered in wards and charms to keep prowlers exactly like me out. Only, none of this backwoods magic can stop a Gladius. I cut straight through the heavy oak door and kick it off its hinges. Now I need to pick up the pace. The charms might not have been a problem, but there’s a better-than-even chance that Quay still has a civilian alarm system running down here. He’s the type to want to protect his toys even after he’s gone. I probably have just a few minutes before hired goons come speeding up the hill.

I go for his desk first. Pull out all the drawers. Check underneath and along the sides for hidden compartments. Nothing. Next, toss all the furniture and pull up the rugs to check for a floor safe. Again, nothing. Pull all the paintings off the walls and the books out off the shelves. I still can’t find anywhere he might hide his most valuable possession.

Next, I head for his bedroom. Yank the drawers out of the bedside tables and check under his bed. Pull down more paintings and kick up more carpets. Not a goddamn thing.

Where would a fucker like Quay hide his ticket to immortality?

On a stand in a corner of the room is an interesting object. I turn to the frontispiece to make sure I’m right, and bingo, I am. It’s a Gutenberg Bible, dated 1452. Now why, of all his death charms, would he keep this one in his bedroom? Quay never struck me as a sweet-blood-of-Jesus type. I turn a few pages looking for markings, ciphers, codes, anything that might lead to a secret hiding place. Naturally, I’m overthinking the whole thing. That’s why people like Quay get away with so much. Those of us trying to guess their supervillain moves get so clever with ourselves that we miss the most obvious answer. The smart guys like Quay expect that, so while we’re looking for Dr. Moriarity puzzles within puzzles, they go with the simplest solutions possible. And Quay’s is wonderfully simple.

I flip to the end of the book, wondering if maybe he’d get a giggle from writing his clues in Revelation, and find that he’s outsmarted everyone, especially me.

At one time, Quay was the richest man in California. He probably has a whole stack of Gutenberg Bibles lying around this dump. It wouldn’t be a big deal for him to sacrifice one.

Sure enough, the whole last half of the Bible is gone. What’s left is a compartment carved out of the heavy pages. Lying inside is a little 1908 Colt .25 pistol and a vial of black milk. But poor, poor Quay didn’t live long enough to get one of the syringes. He was that close to immortality, but because he wanted to hedge his bets by following me into Kill City, he was never able to use the one potion that might have saved him.

I pocket the pistol and take the black milk to a bathroom off the bedroom. Pour the vial down the sink, then burn the rest with the Gladius so there’s nothing left for anyone to scrape out. That’s one less dose of black milk in the world. One baby step toward ending the war in Heaven.

There’s an adorably gruesome little bronze Kali on one of Quay’s bookshelves. I pocket it with the pistol. On the way out—partly to keep his other trinkets away from Wormwood and partly because it seems like fun—I drag the Gladius across Quay’s bed so it bursts into flames. Do the same thing to the paintings and drapes on the way out. The sprinklers kick in while I’m going up the marble stairs to the zoo. That’s fine. I never intended to destroy the place, just char it up to mess with the snoops whose job it is to figure out why someone broke in.

On my way to the bike, a whole gaggle of private security storms past. None of them looks at me twice, just another asshole having a cigarette by the FIRE HAZARD signs.

I get on the bike and make one quick stop before heading out of Hollywood. The drive down Highland is a lot faster than it was with Quay or when me and Bill had to walk home. I blow past the I-10 and the 105 in record time.

Security around this treatment plant is just a wee bit tighter in L.A. than it was in Hell. There are no guards, but a lot of security cameras and KEEP OUT signs. That’s okay. I don’t need to go inside.

I leave the roses between the links in the hurricane fence by the gate. A couple of guys in vests and hard hats give me funny looks, but none of them bothers coming over. Good. I’m not in the mood to explain the situation. “An angel died in here to save your shitty souls. Touch the roses and I’ll come back and saw your arm off. Have a nice day.”

That’s what’s been bothering me since I got back. The final good-bye I never got to say Downtown. It’s stupid and pointless and sentimental, and if anyone I knew saw me doing it, I’d say it was a gag. But sometimes we have to do pointless things because that’s all that’s left for us. It’s a ritual. Something an angel would understand perfectly.

When I’m sure the roses won’t blow away, I kick the bike into gear and head back to Max Overdrive.

It hasn’t been a long day, but I’m tired all the same. Not like I was when I was sick. It’s more like the weight of what happened Downtown is back on my shoulders. But it won’t be there for long. With that last good-bye, I’m done with this part of the story and ready for the next. I wonder if Abbot will fly me first class when I James Bond around the world, strangling Wormwood hotshots in their sleep. I like those little airline liquor bottles. They’re like the fun-size candy bars you get at Halloween. I’ll be treat-or-treating at six hundred miles an hour and eight miles high.

Made it, Ma. Top of the world.

IN THE EVENING, I take Candy to Musso & Frank’s for martinis. I feel a little guilty for drinking somewhere that isn’t Bamboo House of Dolls, but there will be a lot of nights to make up for it.

I can’t remember how many drinks we have, but it’s too many, which is just the number we came for. We even find a cab to take us home. Maybe Heaven has been keeping tabs on me after all. Decided to throw me a bone when they knew I was disastrously incapable of walking home in a dignified manner.

Thanks for the ride, Mr. Muninn. I’ll be seeing you around, but not for a while, okay?

Back at Max Overdrive, me and Candy tear each other’s clothes off on the way up the stairs to the apartment. We make it as far as the sofa, fully intending to wreck a lot of furniture, but we’re too drunk and ridiculous to get very far.

We wake up around ten in the morning still on the sofa, with gin headaches and surf music blasting from the stereo. Our clothes aren’t piled by the door so much as they’ve been hurled with great force, no doubt by Kasabian when he found the evidence of our indiscretion while opening the store. Candy makes coffee while I carry our wrinkled rags into the bedroom. I think I fall asleep again because when I sit up, the coffee by the bed is cold and Candy has gone to work. I take about fifty aspirin and head downstairs to shelve discs. It’s the least I can do after forcing Kasabian to handle our delicates.

“You planning to pull that stunt often?” he says when the there’s no one in the store.

“Sorry for the inconvenience. But we were suffering from an acute case of martini poisoning.”

“Just make sure to clean up after yourselves next time. I’m going to need psychiatric help after finding all that crap on the stairs. I thought you’d done some of your half-assed magic and disappeared like the Wicked Witch of the West.”

“I’m melting. I’m melting.”

“Yeah. That.”

I carry a pile of discs to the racks. The most famous movie David Lynch never made, Ronnie Rocket, has been a popular new title this week. I haven’t even had a chance to watch it yet. Maybe tonight.

“I’m starting to feel guilty about not paying royalties on all these movies. We need to send some anonymous money to the AFI.”

“Sure. Bankrupt us. Good plan.”

“I’m serious.”

“I’m ignoring you.”

I go over to the counter.

“Are you and Fairuza talking?”

“Yeah,” Kasabian says. “Thanks for scaring the holy hell out of her, then throwing her at me. There’s nothing better than your ex calling you at three in the morning with night terrors.”

“Sorry. But you’re still getting along?”

“It seems that way. It’s been nice having the band around, you know? Her and Candy having fun. Like old times.”

“I hope things work out for you two.”

He stares at me.

“Wait. Did you just say something nice? Call Allegra. Your fever is back.”

“Nope. It’s just me. I’m turning over a new leaf. Saving the shit for Wormwood and those that deserve it and keeping things low-key at home.”

“So, we have to choose between you being an asshole or a hippie? I vote for asshole.”

“Be sure to put that in the suggestion box.”

“I’ll leave something for you in the box. But trust me, it won’t be a note.”

THE BAND FINISHES rehearsing around ten. I’ve never heard them sound better. They’re moving back to Alessa’s place tomorrow, where they’ll have more room. And she and Candy will be going on their first official date. I take this as a vote of confidence in my recovery since it means Candy will leave me alone at night with no one but Kasabian to babysit.

The four of them pile out of the room, sweaty and excited. Fairuza heads over to Kasabian and doesn’t seem freaked out at all anymore. It looks like she just enjoys being with him. Good for her. It takes a while to get over seeing your first corpse, but since Kasabian has been a corpse, I knew he was the guy to send her to.

Candy and Alessa chat with Vidocq and Allegra while I go around checking the doors and turning off lights. When that’s done, I order everyone out and lock the front door.

I’m putting my keys in my pocket when I remember something.

The rest of them are already down the street, heading for Bamboo House. I take the little statue out of my coat.

“Candy! I forgot to give you something.”

They turn and look at me standing in the doorway holding Kali. Oblivious to the fucking world. I head over to them when Candy points at something.

“Stark! Behind you!”

I turn around, but it’s way too late.

Where the hell did he come from and how did he know we’d be here? We never close this late. Maybe he’s been hiding by the corner of the store all night. Maybe he floated down in a gauzy bubble like Glinda the Good Witch. Whatever it was, I don’t see Audsley Ishii until the last minute and his knife is already halfway into my heart.

Kali hits the ground and I go down flat on my back.

Whatever Audsley stuck me with, it isn’t a normal blade. I’ve been knifed plenty of times and I know what it feels like. This time it’s all electric sizzles and paralysis. Down on the ground, I can’t move a goddamn muscle.

Which gives me a great view of my friends. Candy is halfway to me and Audsley when I hit the deck. As she runs she transforms. Her nails curve into claws. Her mouth is full of white shark teeth. Her eyes are red slits in black ice. Audsley doesn’t stand a chance.

As she’s tearing him apart, I see the shock on Alessa’s face. I guess Candy didn’t tell her about being a Jade after all. She’s going to have a lot of explaining to do.

Allegra kneels down next to me.

“Stark. Can you hear me?”

All I get out is “Only got me one time. It could have been ten.”

And then I’m dead.

NO, REALLY. I’M dead. I’ve been dead before and I know what it feels like. Except this is weird.

The last time I died, the angel half of me—the immortal Heavenly bit—broke away and ran off to play Robin Hood without human me. That doesn’t happen this time. I feel around for him and he’s there, at the back of my skull, and he’s as pissed off and puzzled as me.

I was right. That sure as shit wasn’t an ordinary knife. Wish I’d gotten a better look at it.

I’m flat on my back on parched ground, but at least I can move now.

I sit up and look around.

Gravestones. A dried-up fountain. A big iron gate out front. I know exactly where I am.

Hollywood Forever Cemetery. My home away from home. Only, this isn’t my Hollywood Forever. There’s only one place this ragged, broken-down version can be. The Tenebrae.

I get to my feet. Nothing to do but what I always do. Walk out the front gate and head for Hollywood.

I don’t get far before I notice Samael next to me.

He’s in an immaculate suit. I’m in my usual ex-con finery.

“I sort of feel like I’m dead. But I can’t be dead.”

“Sorry, but I’m afraid you are.”

“But the angel half of me is still here.”

“I didn’t say it was a natural death.”

We turn up Gower Street. I stop and jab a finger at him.

“I have some serious questions for you about Hesediel.”

“No. I didn’t know she was going to do what she did. But, let’s walk as we talk.”

We take our time getting to the Tenebrae’s open plains.

“I wonder why Abbot didn’t mention the possibility that Ishii would come after me? He’s a scryer. He must have seen the possibility. Did he rat me out?”

“You’re always looking for enemies. Maybe it’s simpler than that. Think.”

I light a Malediction.

“Want one?”

“I can’t. No smoking during working hours.”

“That stinks.”

“Another reason I never wanted to be the angel of death. All the protocol.”

“Maybe you can shake the job up. Loosen your tie. Wear a tracksuit.”

“And have people think they’re being taken to the afterlife by an Eastern European mobster? I don’t think so.”

We turn east on Sunset.

“Have you thought more about Abbot and Ishii?” says Samael.

“Yeah. Maybe Abbot didn’t set me up. Maybe Audsley threw in with Wormwood. Abbot said they were protected from his seeing. Shit. That means they might come for him.”

“That’s not your problem right now.”

“Yeah, but they might go for Candy too.”

Samael stops. Looks at me.

“There’s nothing you can do about any of that at the moment. You really need to concentrate on your current situation.”

“The one where I’m dead.”

“Yes.”

“Well, fuck me.”

We walk out onto the Tenebrae’s endless cracked plains. On one side are the ruins of the ghostly L.A. where I woke up. On the other side are the mountains. Decision time. I have to choose to be nowhere or somewhere.

“Any wisdom you care to throw my way would be much appreciated.”

“Just be yourself. It’s what you do best.”

“That’s it? You sound like a high school guidance counselor.”

Samael sighs.

“Death has never stopped you before. Why should it stop you now?”

The door to Hell opens in the side of the mountain.

Nowhere or somewhere?

My Malediction went out on the long walk over. I take out the pack to get another one.

It’s empty.

I ball up the pack and toss it away. Samael watches it roll to the horizon on the light breeze.

“Littering. What a classy way to start eternity.”

I look at the mountains.

“I guess I’ll be seeing you around.”

“You’re going in, then?”

I shrug.

“Can’t spend eternity without smokes.”

“I’ll walk you over.”

It always takes a while to reach the mountains.

I look at Samael in his suit.

“Just the two of us walking along like this, it would be a perfect time to make a Casablanca joke.”

“Please don’t.”

“‘Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.’”

“I take back what I said. Don’t be yourself. You’ll make everybody else in Hell miserable.”

“That’s the idea. And when they’re good and sick of me, they’ll kick me out and I’ll go home.”

“See? You always have a plan.”

“Death can’t hold me.”

“I never said I could.”

Samael gives me a sympathetic pat on the back and I go inside.

The door to Hell rumbles closed behind me.

Home sweet home.

Only it isn’t.

Where are the sorting pens for new souls? For that matter, where are the other new souls?

And where the hell is Pandemonium?

I turn in a slow circle, looking for familiar landmarks, but come up empty.

Where did Samael leave me? Is this a favor? Mr. Muninn’s punishment for wrecking his playpen? Or is it someone’s idea of a joke?

Cupping my hands, I yell, “Olly olly oxen free.”

Nothing comes back, not even an echo.

There’s nothing but jagged lava peaks overlooking a dusty valley. My boots crunch on razor-sharp stones as I walk around the ledge where I came out.

Something hisses behind me.

I whirl around, my hand going under my coat for my na’at. But it’s not there.

Right. I’m dead. All of my weapons are back with my body. It doesn’t matter. The sound behind me was just a fine rain of black stone slipping down the face of the mountain.

I pull up my left sleeve. My Kissi arm is gone too. It’s all me in here, just one more asshole soul out for a stroll in paradise.

Far across the valley, a dust plume rises into the dim sky.

My hand goes in my pocket for my phone, but it isn’t there either. Dumb move. A stupid reflex. I’ll have to watch that if I’m going to be here for a while, and I have a bad feeling I’m going to be.

To my left are the remains of an old trail cut into the lava stone. It looks steep and slick and dangerous, but from what I can see, it’s the only way down.

Unless my eyes are playing tricks on me, the dust plume is heading in my direction, which raises all kinds of fun questions. Is it a storm? A lost pack of stampeding hellhounds? Maybe it’s the damned souls of old Rockettes rehearsing a new show.

Yeah. Let’s go with that.

A couple of steps in the direction of the trail, my foot comes down on something soft. It’s a pack of Maledictions. I pick it up and put it in my pocket. Now I know someone is fucking with me. They left me smokes, but no way to light them since my lighter is back with my na’at in L.A. Nothing I can do about it now.

I head down the trail.

The dust plume is definitely moving toward me. It looks less like the Rockettes and more like a hurricane with every passing second. Nothing else moves. Everything in the valley is dead except for that roiling dust. It’s hypnotic. Kind of pretty in an End of Days kind of way. I suppose I could stay up here on this peak and be nowhere or take another chance and be somewhere. Maybe I’ll get lucky and the wind will carry me home to Dorothy and the Tin Man.

I walk down the mountain, heading straight into the storm.