I look at him. It’s hard to tell when angels are lying, especially one who used to be the Devil, but I still give it a try.
“Did you know that Maria Simon was Zadkiel?”
He holds up a hand.
“Honestly, old man. I was as surprised as you.”
He seems to be telling the truth. But he was the Prince of Lies, so I’m not sure.
“But you did nudge me toward the Zero Lodge.”
“That I did do.”
“Because you knew Zadkiel was a member?”
“No. Because I hated them and knew that sooner or later you’d explode and kill them all.”
“So, it was just a fantastic coincidence that of all the places your lost angel could be hiding, you got me to join the exact club where she was trawling for new boyfriends?”
“Absolutely.”
We stare at each other for a couple of minutes.
“Liar.”
He says, “How’s the coffee coming?”
“Soon.”
“Do you have any snacks around? I’m feeling a bit peckish.”
I look around the room.
“There are cookies full of splinters and smashed corn chips.”
“Corn chips sound lovely.”
I toss him the bag and go back to the coffeemaker.
“What did you know about Chris Stein?”
“That you were trying to save the poor spirit from wandering the earth, smashing everything to pieces forever.”
“I think I see it now. You prodded me to the Lodge to solve your problem knowing it would also solve my problem.”
He rips open the bag and grabs a handful of broken chips.
“The Lord moves in mysterious ways.”
“Why can’t you ever just tell me these things? I don’t like bastard angels and I do like steering poor, murdered, lovelorn slobs back to their eternal reward.”
Samael peers at the coffeemaker.
“Done?”
“Done.”
I top off the coffee in his cup but can’t find an intact cup for myself, so I dump most of the sugar out of the sugar bowl and drink it from there.
Samael says, “You know why I can’t always be straightforward with you?”
“Because it’s more fun for you to watch me bounce off the walls?”
“There is that. But there’s the other reason too.”
“Mr. Muninn.”
He makes a small embarrassed face.
“Father and his non-interference policies.”
“Hasn’t he figured out that his whole hands-off-no-matter-what policy is one of the things that screwed up the universe to begin with? At least the Earth.”
“He doesn’t look at it this way. Father has always been adamant about free will for humans.”
I didn’t dump out enough sugar. The coffee is awful. I set it down.
“How are we supposed to have free will and make our way in the universe when you people won’t leave us alone?”
Samael looks aghast.
“Are you blaming me for all this?”
“Not just you. All angels.”
He smiles and takes another sip of coffee.
“I hope you’re including yourself in that company.”
“No. I’m not. I’m just another clown trying to get by.”
He frowns.
“Don’t put on the innocent act for me. All this ‘half an angel’ business you’re so obsessed with. ‘I’m not a real angel, so none of this is my fault.’ Admit it. You’re right there in the muck with the rest of us. Just because you don’t have wings doesn’t make you any less of an angel than Michael or any of the big names.”
I remember fighting the archangel at the gates of heaven a year or so ago.
I say, “Whatever happened to Michael?”
“Oh, I killed him.”
“Thank you. What a complete dick.”
“He really was, wasn’t he?”
“The worst.”
There’s a sound from the other room. Abbot sticks his neck around the corner into the kitchen.
“Knock knock.”
I wave him in.
“Come on in. Want some coffee? There aren’t any more cups, but you can drink it from the pot.”
He shakes his head.
“No thanks. I’m good.”
He gives Samael a look.
“I’m sorry. You look very familiar. Have we met?”
“Probably. We’ve moved in similar circles over the years.”
“I’m sure we’ve met somewhere.”
Samael looks at me. I’m tired of dancing around things like this.
“Abbot, this is Samael. Samael, this is Abbot. Samael and I have worked together on some projects. Just like you and me.”
Abbot smiles.
“Really? What kind?”
“For a while I was the Devil,” says Samael.
Abbot tries not to look horrified. He covers it up a good 80 percent.
“Yes,” he says in his most professional voice. “You used to be Lucifer.”
Samael points to me.
“Technically, we both were.”
Now Abbot looks at me.
“What’s he talking about, Stark?”
“It’s nothing. Job titles. It’s like you. You’re the Augur. There were ones before you and there will be ones after.”
“That doesn’t really answer my question.”
I pop a PTSD pill and say, “Is everything okay in Little Cairo?”
He stops frowning, though not completely.
“Things are fine. We’ve had to administer some medical help. Modify some memories and basically repair the entire neighborhood in the last day or so, but thanks to you, the spirit infestation is over.”
Samael laughs. “Infestation.”
“What would you call it?” says Abbot.
“It’s not that. I was just thinking about how ghosts talk about you people. It’s a lot worse than ‘infestation.’”
Abbot hooks a finger toward the living room.
“Can we talk in private for a moment?”
I lean on the cracked kitchen counter.
“Anything you want to say to me, you can say in front of Samael. I’ll probably tell him or he’ll find out the same way he seems to find out everything.”
He nods.
“It’s true. I’ll know an hour after you tell him.”
Abbot looks a little exasperated.
“Fine,” he says. “It’s about the house.”
“Yeah. I’ve been meaning to ask you, who cleans it? Because I feel like I owe them some kind of tip or something.”
“The house cleans itself,” says Abbot. “It’s the semiautonomous physical ideal of a happy home.”
“Cool.”
“And you broke it.”
“I did?”
Abbot kicks some debris with the toe of his loafer.
“This has never happened before. I mean, we have structures like this in war zones and they don’t break. But you broke this one.”
Samael claps.
“Well done, Jimmy. I always said you were an overachiever.”
“Listen, Stark, I don’t know how to say this, but you have to leave.”
“The house? You said I could stay here as long as I wanted.”
“That was before you—”
“Broke the house,” says Samael.
The bastard laughs like this is the funniest thing that’s ever happened since the beginning of time.
Abbot says, “I’ll send in a Sub Rosa crew to take care of the current mess, but the Council would really appreciate it if you could be out by the weekend.”
“That’s tomorrow.”
“Yes.”
Samael won’t stop laughing.
“I’ll go under one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“Who ratted out Brigitte?”
Abbot gives me a hard look.
“If you’re thinking about killin
g him, there won’t be anything I can do to help you.”
“I promise you I won’t kill him. I’ve had enough killing to last me this lifetime and the next.”
“Careful, son,” says Samael. “Lying is a sin.”
Abbot looks at us both.
“I can do it, Stark. We already arranged for the man to be fired from his very prestigious job.”
“The costar of her show?” says Samael. “George something.” He looks at me. “He was just given the boot over some contract violation or other.”
I look back at Abbot. He isn’t happy that Samael follows celebrity gossip. He holds up a finger.
“If he turns up dead—”
“I told you. I’m not going to kill him.”
“You better not,” he says.
“What about Brigitte’s situation?”
“I have good news there. I’m making headway with my contacts.”
“Thanks.”
“Listen, I have to get going. The cleaning crew will be here in an hour. You might want to be gone. It’s going to be very loud.”
“Samael and I will go get some breakfast and I’ll come back for my stuff.”
“I’ll talk to you soon,” Abbot says. He looks at Samael and says, “Good meeting you too.” Then, warily, “Are you staying in L.A. long?”
“He’s not the Devil anymore,” I say. “And neither am I. Now, I want to get some pancakes. You can come along if you want.”
“No thanks,” Abbot says. “There’s still a lot of work to do after a crisis like this.”
He starts out but stops and looks genuinely unhappy. Says, “I want you to know that making you leave wasn’t my idea. I was outvoted.”
“Thanks for sticking up for me.”
With a short wave, Abbot makes his way out and away from my mess.
Samael looks at me oddly.
“Do you really want to get pancakes?”
“No. Want to go scare the shit out of this George guy?”
“There’s the Jimmy I love.”
At eight, the whole wedding party—plus Samael and a hundred or so artsy strangers—pile into the Starless Starlight Theater on a little side street in West Hollywood. Janet and a small band of other musicians from their school play a live original score to A Page of Madness—a wild 1926 silent horror movie from Japan. Over the course of the film the music morphs from a shadowy synthesized orchestra to a ferocious percussion machine, pausing in between to fill the theater with ominous industrial groans. It’s so perfect that even Samael applauds unironically at the end. Afterward, everybody heads to Bamboo House to celebrate. I kiss Janet and say that I’ll meet them there.
“You okay?” they say.
“Perfectly.”
“Did you like the show?”
“I loved it. We all did.”
Janet looks at me.
“I get the feeling there’s something you’re not telling me.”
“I just need to get my stuff out of the flying saucer house.”
“You need any help?”
“Nope. I’ve got it all worked out.”
“Okay. But if I don’t hear from you in an hour, I’m telling everyone to phone-bomb you until you come over.”
“I’ll be there. Don’t worry.”
I leave everyone and shadow walk to the flying saucer house one last time. Abbot’s cleaning crew did a good job with the mess I left, but the place just isn’t what it was when I moved in.
“Sorry, house,” I say as I shove my clothes into a duffel bag. “No hard feelings.”
Someone has piled all of the paperbacks Kasabian gave me on the bed. It annoys me that they took out Ellroy’s The Black Dahlia from the hole I punched in the wall. So, I punch another one and put it back. Something to remember me by.
Another shadow walk and I’m home. Back to the magic apartment that I once shared with Alice and that Vidocq has been living in for twelve years. I guess I’ve come full circle.
Vidocq’s stuff is still everywhere. I don’t want to touch any of it until Allegra comes over and we figure out what to do with it all. Some she’ll hold on to as keepsakes. Some will go to the clinic. Other books and equipment she’ll give to Ray and some of Vidocq’s friends in the alchemy underground. Not one test tube will go to waste.
I take my duffel into the bedroom and drop it on the floor. Sit down on the bed. I can still feel him here, in the smells, the crazy art and mystical charts on the walls. His clothes and some of Allegra’s still hang in the closet. We’ll sort that out in the next few days too. What I don’t feel is a trace of me and Alice. And maybe that’s a good thing. Here I am, safe in an invisible apartment that’s rent free and only a few people know about. I know the neighborhood bodegas and all the best streets where I can hide the Hellion Hog. This is a chance to recover and regroup from the last few months. Kind of start over again. And it’s not a bad feeling.
Still, I can’t quite relax. All through the movie tonight and now in the apartment, I can’t get Zadkiel’s last words out of my head.
I’ve done something awful. Just awful.
What could the Opener of the Ways have done that’s so bad? I know I’ll find out. At least I have a place of my own to face it from. No Sub Rosa to answer to. No Wormwood. Nobody at all. It feels a little lonely at the moment, but the first few minutes of freedom are always like that, I think. When you have all the possibilities in the world, how to choose any one of them? From here, I have time to figure it out.
I’ve worked out one thing about myself and I don’t like it. I always pictured myself as in control, if not of my life, of my mind. My sense of who I am. I thought I was strong. I pictured myself as a kind of leader. But I couldn’t have been more wrong. I haven’t controlled my life in years. Maybe ever. Mason led me around and sent me to Hell. Samael has played games with me. Mr. Muninn has used me. The Golden Vigil. Wormwood. Abbot and the Sub Rosa Council. I’m not strong. I’m not the monster who kills monsters. I’m a yappy little dog being led around by owner after owner.
I want to take a stand. Say that it stops tonight. But I’ve been this way for so long, I’m not sure how to change. Do I leave? Walk away from everyone and everything and start over somewhere else? Right. Who am I fooling? I can’t even set foot out of L.A. without getting the shakes. I’m the weakest person I know. And the biggest fool.
Something has to change. But I don’t know how to do it. Maybe being here—home again—will help me figure it out.
I drive the Hog to Bamboo House of Dolls and park it in a loading zone out front. No one bats an eye. Inside, Fuck Hollywood bounces over to me with a bourbon the moment I walk inside.
“I heard your bike.”
I take the drink and say, “Keep bringing me drinks like this and I’ll take you for a ride someday.”
She smiles like it’s her birthday and Christmas morning at the same time.
“Awesome.”
I go over to where my friends are gathered. Samael is buying the drinks tonight. When he sees me, he drapes an arm over my shoulder.
“It’s a good night tonight, squire. All of our problems are solved.”
We toast to the good times to come.
I’ve done something awful. Just awful.
No. None of our problems are over. They’re just different now.
Janet comes over and gives me a big kiss. I take their hand.
Something is coming and I know right down in my bones that it’s going to be bad. But I also know that not me or anyone else in here tonight is going to have to face it alone. And that makes it all right. That’s something to fight for. That’s something to die for.
Now, though, it’s just people and drinks and Martin Denny’s cover of “Misirlou” on the jukebox. And that’s as good a night as anyone could ever ask for.
Acknowledgments
Thanks to my agent, Ginger Clark, and everyone else at Curtis Brown. Thanks to my editor, David Pomerico, and the whole team at HarperCollins. Special thanks go to Dav
id Southwell for insights into the wonder of Hookland. Also, Cassandra Khaw, Kace Alexander, AdriAnne Strickland, and Elsa Hermens.
About the Author
RICHARD KADREY is the New York Times bestselling author of the Sandman Slim supernatural noir books. Sandman Slim was included in Amazon’s “100 Science Fiction & Fantasy Books to Read in a Lifetime” and is in development as a feature film. His other books include Hollywood Dead, The Everything Box, Metrophage, and Butcher Bird, and he also writes comics and screenplays. He lives in San Francisco.
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.
Also by Richard Kadrey
Sandman Slim
Sandman Slim
Kill the Dead
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Kill City Blues
The Getaway God
Killing Pretty
The Perdition Score
The Kill Society
Hollywood Dead
Another Coop Heist
The Everything Box
The Wrong Dead Guy
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The Grand Dark
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Metrophage
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Butcher Bird
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ballistic kiss. Copyright © 2020 by Richard Kadrey. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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