“Thank you. I will.”
On his way to intercept Howard, Vidocq runs right into Allegra. They back away, a little shy and awkward. I get the feeling that this is the first time she’s been to the apartment since she moved out.
“Pardonne,” he says.
“It’s okay,” she says. “It’s nice to see you. You’re looking well.”
“You too.”
Fuck me. In a minute they’re going to start talking about how nice the weather is. Almost every relationship in this room is broken or bruised in some way. Carlos and Ray are the only happy people, and they’re only here because I roped them into something I shouldn’t have.
When I look back at Allegra and Vidocq, she’s going over to check on Candy and he’s heading for Howard. Teen angst crisis averted.
Ray calls me to a side table. He’s leaning over an old book the size of a goddamn washing machine. On the page the book is open to is an enormous gruesomely detailed image of a flayed man. Someone has scribbled notes in Latin all over the page. I can’t read a word of it.
“You’re going to need a new coloring book. Someone finished this one.”
Ray flips the page and runs his fingers down a crowded panel of what looks like Cyrillic text.
“People call this the Flayed Man Codex. Sometimes the Flayed Bible,” he says. “It’s an amazing repository of ancient dark magic.”
“You think there’s something in there that can help me?”
“I don’t know. It’s a mix of languages. Between Vidocq and me we can read the French, Latin, and most of the German, but this section on death magic seems to be in Russian. We’re stuck.”
I look around the room and spot her.
“Brigitte, can you read Russian?”
“A bit,” she says. “Why?”
“We can’t tell if this borscht recipe says sour cream or marshmallows.”
She comes over and pushes me out of the way.
“You’re such a nuisance.”
Ray moves aside and Brigitte stares at the page for a minute, then looks at us.
“You’re both idiots,” she says. “It’s Ukrainian.”
“Can you read it?” says Ray.
“My mother is from Kiev. But this is an old dialect. I’m not sure I can make out all of it.”
“Why don’t we go over it together and see if anything sounds useful?”
“Is it to help Jimmy?”
“Yes.”
She looks at me with a sly smile.
“I have my own TV show now, you know.”
“So I heard.”
“I should be drinking champagne at the Chateau Marmont.”
“But instead you’re on the run with a bunch of crazy people and a dead man.”
She flips pages of the book.
“Do you remember what I told you long ago?”
“No. What?”
Brigitte touches my duct-taped cheek.
“If you were just ten percent less scary …”
We both smile.
“Not much chance after this I guess.”
“First you must live. And then we shall see.”
She takes her hand away and points to some bolded letters.
“This says something about the resurrection of the dead.”
“Really?” says Ray. “What else?”
She reads a bit more and frowns.
“No. It’s about the resurrection of farm animals. Sheep and cows.”
“Keep reading. Maybe there’s something about people later.”
I lean into her ear and say, “Moo.” Give her a peck on the cheek.
She smiles and shrugs me away.
“Move, you silly oaf. Some of us are working.”
Everything I do or say at this point feels like some version of good-bye. At least I’m getting the chance this time. When Mason sent me to Hell and when Audsley Ishii killed me, it happened too fast to say anything to anyone. It’s good to have a little more time before I might make a last exit.
Kasabian is eyeing Vidocq’s liquor cabinet.
“Be careful,” I tell him. “Not all this stuff is for drinking.”
He points to a brown bottle near the top.
“My first clue was the frogs in this one.”
I pull out a bottle of Angel’s Envy rye from the bottom shelf.
“Try this. They make a bourbon, too, but the rye is better.”
He looks at me suspiciously for a few seconds, then holds up the bottle to inspect it for pickled vermin.
“I’ll think about it,” he says.
“That’s sipping whiskey, not the plastic-bottle generic stuff you buy.”
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t tell me how to drink.”
I give him back his cigarettes.
“What are these?” he says.
“Your cigarettes.”
“You never give back cigarettes.”
“Don’t take it personally. My brain probably isn’t getting enough oxygen.”
He puts the cigarettes in his pocket.
I look at Brigitte studying the book with Ray.
“You never told me if Brigitte’s show is any good.”
“It’s real good,” says Kasabian. “Stylish, you know? All neon and hot guns and shiny skirts.”
“And she’s good in it?”
“They’re talking about making it into a movie, so you tell me.”
“That’s good to hear.”
I put out my hand to him.
“See you around.”
After a second’s hesitation, he shakes the hand.
“You leaving?” he says.
“I’ve got a couple of things to do.”
He looks away and nods.
“You know all that stuff I said about things being better without you?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, they’re true. But that doesn’t mean I want you to croak or anything.”
“Good to know.”
“Okay,” he says. “Later.”
“Later.”
I check the room for a good shadow. There’s one in a corner where the wall separates the living room from the kitchen.
“Hey, Stark.”
I look around. Candy is sitting on Vidocq’s battered sofa with Alessa on one side and Allegra on the other. She beckons me over.
“Where do you think you’re going?” she says.
“Who said I was going anywhere?”
“I know that look when you’re scoping out ways to leave.”
“I was just going to take a walk.”
“Where?”
“No place special.”
She frowns. “This is a very bad time to be lying.”
“I have some business I have to finish up.”
“You’re going to save the world in your condition?”
“No. I’m just going to break some things and scare some people.”
“Wormwood?” Candy says.
“Yeah.”
“You said Wormwood was everywhere. How can you hurt them?”
“I can’t destroy the organization, but I can take down some of its leaders. Knowing those rat fucks, there’ll be a power struggle to see who’s in charge. That ought to slow them down for a while.”
Allegra says, “And you’re going to do that all by yourself?”
“If I pray real hard, I’m sure I can get the baby Jesus to watch over me.”
“You just blew up a church,” says Candy.
“Okay. The Devil then.”
“That’s more like it.”
I take a couple of steps away.
“See you soon.”
“Wait,” Candy says. “You need to stay here. What if they find a spell or something to fix you?”
“I have my phone. And let’s be serious. I appreciate what they’re doing, but what are the chances of them finding anything in the next couple of hours? The only person who can help is Howard and he’s not going to budge.”
“I could make him,” says Ca
ndy.
“I know you could, baby, and I appreciate it. But don’t. You’re already hurt because of me. I want to go knowing you’re safe.”
She gets up. “I want the same thing. If you’re going to go, I want to know it’s not lying in some alley somewhere or in a Wormwood jail.”
“That’s not going to happen this time. I’m doing one small thing and coming right back. I promise.”
Candy starts to say something, but Alessa cuts her off.
“Let him go,” she says. “He knows what he’s doing. This is his thing, right?”
“Right,” I say.
Candy’s face gets red.
“I’m afraid if you go you’ll never come back.”
I go over to her.
“I’ll be back. I promise. No matter what shape I’m in. I’ll be back.”
She looks away.
“I’m not going to forgive you if you don’t. Not this time.”
“I’ll be back.”
Alessa tugs her hand and Candy slowly sits down again.
“Take care of her,” I say.
“Go do whatever it is you’re going to do,” says Alessa.
Vidocq and Howard are arguing about whether getting high on ayahuasca is the door to universal consciousness or just a good way to meet girls at parties.
I put a hand on Howard’s shoulder and turn him toward me.
“Eva Sandoval. She’s not the type to stay in the hospital long. With all the shit that’s going on, where would she hide? And bear in mind that if you lie, I’ll hurt you more than being dumped on prom night.”
“At home,” Howard says. “The mansion is the only place she feels safe. It’s protected by powerful curses.”
“The faction got through them pretty easily when they shot up the place.”
“She’ll have added more layers of protection. By now, the mansion will be impregnable.”
“We’ll see. Is there any chance you’ll help Vidocq and Ray keep me from turning into Frosty the Snowman?”
“Not while I’m held against my will.”
“Trust me. No one wants you here. But you’re not going anywhere until I say.”
“I’ll keep an eye on him,” says Vidocq.
“Between you and Candy I don’t think he’s going anywhere. By the way, I used to have bullets here. Are there any left?”
“One box. I’ll get them.”
He brings them to me and I load the Colt. I feel a little bit better. I put it in my waistband at the back.
“I’ll see you soon.”
“Where are you going?” Vidocq says.
“Bowling.”
This time I don’t look around. I don’t want any teary eyes, plaintive looks, or what-the-fuck-are-you-doing stare-downs. I shadow-walk out of the apartment, giving myself 90 percent odds that I’ll never be back.
I COME OUT in Sandoval’s bowling alley. It’s dark and when I turn on the lights, it looks like no one’s been there since I let Marcella go.
Out of nowhere, my leg and arm joints stiffen. I flex them hard, trying to break up whatever is happening inside. It feels like there are wads of broken glass under my skin. Eventually, though, everything gets loose again. I don’t know how regular corpses deal with this shit.
While I catch my breath from the bout of rigor mortis my phone rings. I answer it quick before anyone in the mansion hears it.
“Hello?” I say, barely above a whisper.
“Stark. Where are you? And why are you whispering?”
It’s Abbot.
“I’m in enemy territory, that’s why I’m fucking whispering. Whatever you want, make it quick.”
“We found the headquarters of the Wormwood faction. You won’t believe who they really are.”
“The Golden Vigil.”
There’s a pause.
“How did you know that?”
“Because I escaped from there like a half hour ago.”
“That was your coin that called us? I gave you that for your personal protection.”
“I didn’t have a chance of taking them down and I figured you did. You did, didn’t you?”
“We have control of the facility and most of the personnel. A few of them got away and I know there are others in the field. We’re in the process of rounding them up.”
“Do you know where Eva Sandoval lives?”
“Of course.”
“I’m pretty sure there are Vigil people outside right now. But leave them alone. I’m going to need them.”
“For what?” Abbot says with an edge in his voice. “What are you planning?”
“You can arrest anyone you want in twenty minutes. Is there anything else?”
I already know the answer to the question, but I want to hear it from him.
“We haven’t found a fix for your situation, I’m afraid.”
“If it’s any help, the ritual is called Ludovico’s Ellicit. I probably should have told you before.”
“I really wish you’d said something earlier. We could have been looking this whole time.”
“Sorry. I was busy getting shot and trying to navigate a tricky relationship situation. Love sucks sometimes, doesn’t it?”
“Stark?” he says in a funny tone. “Are you all right? You sound a little strange.”
“What? I can’t have relationships? I once ruled Hell for a hundred days. Did you know that? There are plenty of people in L.A. who’d appreciate seeing that on a dating profile.”
“You’re not making sense. Wherever you are, I want you to come back to the Golden Vigil facility. It’s safe here now and we have medics who can help you.”
“I don’t need a Band-Aid. I need to finish up some work before I fall apart.”
“Come in now,” says Abbot. “We can protect you while we look for a way out of this.”
“Thanks. You’re okay for a guy who owns a yacht. I’ll talk to you later. Remember: Ludovico’s Ellicit.”
I hang up and listen at the door to make sure there’s no one outside. When I’m sure, I go upstairs quietly.
There are six armed guards in the mansion foyer. I go through a shadow and come out by the kitchen. Four more guards in there. That means there are going to be guards scattered all over the mansion. The grounds too, probably. I mumble some Hellion hoodoo. The guards in the kitchen and foyer drop to the floor and start babbling like babies. The sounds of falling bodies come from upstairs too. It wasn’t my best hoodoo or the strongest. It’s a confusion curse that won’t last long, but I’m hoping it’ll hold just long enough for me to get my work done.
BECAUSE SHE HATES it, I shadow-walk into Eva’s office. She and Barron are having a nightcap and watching the news on her million-inch TV. On the screen is a helicopter shot of vans and cop cars around a warehouse in East L.A. The news is reporting it as a raid on a terrorist compound. That’s a smart way for Abbot to have played it. There are enough Sub Rosa in the police department and local FBI office that he could call in some favors and make it look like the Golden Vigil takedown was good, clean law enforcement. Your tax dollars at work. Let Marshal Wells count rosaries, meditate, chant, or whatever the Vigil does in jail for a couple of days. Then, if Abbot can play it right, the badass part of the Sub Rosa—the part no one likes to talk about—will swoop in and haul the Vigil’s true believers off to a hoodoo black site. I have no idea what happens then and I’m not asking. Life is too short. Way too short for some of us.
I say, “You two must be breathing easier, huh?”
Barron chokes on the pill he was trying to swallow. I walk over and slap him on the back a couple of times. He drains a glass of water and just sits there, too exhausted by the choking fit to care that I’m close enough to snap his neck.
Sandoval, on the other hand, cares a lot. She’s on her feet, clutching the TV remote like it’s a gun.
I put my hands up.
“Don’t shoot. Think of the children.”
She turns off the TV and tosses the remote on her desk.
>
“I was praying you’d be dead by now.”
“I couldn’t leave without one last good-bye.”
She stands there coolly, like she’s staring down a poodle that just shit on her chinchilla long johns.
“Have you killed Howard yet or just tortured him, hoping he’ll save your precious life?”
“How do you know he hasn’t already told me how to fix my complexion problem?”
“You wouldn’t be here if he had. From the looks of you you don’t have much time left. You’d be spending it doing the ritual.”
I walk slowly around the room. Sandoval stands her ground but doesn’t want me behind her, so she has to follow me, turning around in place. We’re like an ugly little carousel covered in bones and bad meat instead of bouncing horses. Barron sits in his easy chair gobbling pills like they’re sweet potato fries and he hasn’t eaten in a year.
“What if I told you that I don’t care about the ritual anymore? That I’m not afraid of Hell, I’m not going to get fixed in time, and I want to have one last little blowout before I go?”
Sandoval looks at me.
“If you were a normal person I’d say you were lying, but it being you, I don’t know. I can’t imagine the life you came back to is what you’d hoped for. Your lover in the arms of someone smarter and much less ugly than you. Your business thriving without you. Finding that many of your friends are doing better without you and that the ones who aren’t are still happy that the chaos you drag with you like Jacob Marley’s chains is no longer infecting their lives. Now that I think about it, even someone as crude and dull witted as you must find it almost unbearable.”
I say, “You left out the part where I haven’t had a proper drink or smoke since I got back. You think I want to live without Aqua Regia and Maledictions forever? I’ll have all I want in Hell. And I won’t share any of it with you.”
“This is where we’re supposed to cower in fear, isn’t it? The threat of eternal damnation hanging over our sinful heads. I’m positively quivering. Are you quivering, Barron?”
With drugs in his belly, he’s looking a lot better now.
“Like a violin string, Eva,” he says. “I don’t know when I’ve been more terrified.”
They both laugh.
I wave a finger at them.
“I know the punch line here. You have a secret. You’re immortal. While everybody else slinks around the Hellion shit pits, you’ll live forever on caviar and ambrosia.”
Hollywood Dead Page 23