“That worked out nicely, if I do say so myself,” says Deumos.
“It would have worked out even better if you’d gotten up here five minutes ago.”
She holds up her hands in a what-can-you-do gesture.
“Getting through the canyons without being seen took more time than we thought.”
I sit up and lean back against the wall. Grizzly’s blood soaks through my pants. I don’t care.
“I wasn’t sure you’d show at all.”
“But here we are, keeping our part of the bargain.”
“And I’ll keep mine. Just one thing. Did you bring a doctor or nurse?”
“We have a doctor and a nurse. Why?”
“The EMT they pulled out of here is probably pretty out of it. Someone should have a look at her. Also, can someone come in here to dig around for painkillers? I want to lie in a kiddie pool full of OxyContin.”
She pats me lightly on the shoulder.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
There’s no Oxy or Hellion Vicodin around, but Deumos comes back with someone’s flask full of Aqua Regia. It’ll do. We sit on the shoulder of the road looking back toward Pandemonium. Even falling apart, the place looks enough like L.A. to make me feel homesick.
The side of the hill where we sit crunches under our feet where the vegetation burned. But the place isn’t entirely dead. Scrubs of ghost thistle and even a few asphodel flowers have made it up through the layer of ash.
“You don’t look well,” says Deumos.
“With a month’s vacation, a face-lift, and a crate of Ecstasy, I might work my way up to feeling like shit.”
“General Semyazah isn’t going to be happy about any of this. Running around the hinterlands with weapons. Attacking his troops. And especially you conspiring with me.”
“He’ll be fine. I’ll send him a fruit basket.”
We sit for a minute, neither of us saying anything. There’s the kind of warm breeze that if you didn’t know you were in Heaven’s sewer you might find almost pleasant.
“So tell me, how does someone invent a new church in Hell? You run out of Sudoku?”
“I had a vision.”
“Of course you did. All you prophets do is have visions. And burn heretics. That’s like catnip to you people. Why don’t you take a pottery class or learn Japanese?
She frowns.
“You don’t believe in oaths or revelations. What do you believe in, Lord Lucifer?”
“I believe we’re going to be dead a lot longer than we’re alive, so anything you like you should do to excess. I believe America lost its soul when they took the big-block V-8 out of Mustangs. I believe Hollywood should stop remaking A Star Is Born.”
She looks at me and slowly shakes her head.
“I have to apologize for burning you in effigy. I thought you were our enemy. Now I see that your greatest enemy is yourself.”
“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Mary Magdalen. Aside from a couple of paper cuts I’m doing fine.”
“Of course.”
She pulls a folded piece of paper and a pen from inside her robes and hands them to me.
“Before we left, I took the liberty of drawing up an agreement. There’s nothing in here we didn’t discuss earlier. My church gets its own Tabernacle and funding not less than but not exceeding that of the old church.”
I sign the papers and hand them back to her.
“You’re not going to read them first?”
“You saved my ass. I’m fine with whatever’s in there.”
She puts her hands on my shoulders and turns me toward her. Looks at my scorched armor and the wound on my neck.
“You did that to yourself? You’re mad.”
I shrug.
“I had to be out of it enough that the killers would make their move. It was either the Gladius or a bullet, and I’ve been shot enough for one lifetime, thanks.” I say, “Tell me about your vision.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you don’t believe in anything. To tell it to you would be to cheapen it.”
“I just gave you a church.”
“I just saved your life. And we both did what we did for the same reason. We wanted something from each other.”
“You know I’ve only been Lucifer for like three months, right? I’m not the one that made you ride in the back of the bus all these years.”
She waves to one of her men. He comes over and she hands him the agreement. He goes back to wait with the others. Smart woman. She wants the paper away from me in case I change my mind.
She says, “It suits you, you know. Armor for the man who is always armored.”
“Visions and fashion tips? You do it all, sister.”
She leans back like she’s sizing up her kid for his first big-boy pants.
“I mean it. You look better in it than the other Lucifer. Look at the damage God’s final thunderbolt did to the metal.”
She touches the battered part of the armor.
“Even with the Lord’s mark on him, Samael was so anxious to play the tragic warrior king that he added the thunderbolt crest.”
She pats a blank spot in the center of the breastplate.
“I’m happy to see you removed it.”
I touch the armor where she had her hand. There’s a tiny divot where a bolt might have been removed. Suddenly I want to get back to the palace.
“I think I’m going to head out before someone realizes I’m gone. You can handle Grand Funk Railroad back there?”
“You’ll release the rest of my people?”
“I’ll make the call as soon as I get back.”
“We’ll drop off the prisoners when they’re returned.”
One of her crew, a tall silent woman with spiders branded into her arms and cheeks, drives me to the bike in the jeep Vetis took up here. She barely slows long enough for me to jump out before she’s tearing back up the road. So much for Hail Satan.
I start the bike and head out, keeping the speed subsonic. Between the Gladius and the ambulance crash, I’m feeling a little rough. Deumos and her people are just about to leave when I catch up. When I slow the bike, I can feel tension ripple through the air. People holding guns thumb off the safeties. Ones without guns get theirs out. I wait, gunning the throttle and waiting for something to happen. Deumos comes over slowly. Stands an arm’s length away, straight and defiant. I take the flask from my pocket and hand it to her.
“Tell the owner thanks.”
She takes the flask and I pop the clutch, burning rubber out of there.
I take the secret stairs up from the garage straight into the library, careful to step around the hexes in the floor. I pick up the phone and hit PISSANTS. Brimborion picks up.
“It’s me.”
“You’re alive.”
“Surprise. Release Deumos’s crew.”
“Security isn’t through questioning them.”
“You mean torture? They’re done. If any of them have a problem, tell them Lucifer said to put it in writing and shove it up their ass.”
“I’ll just say the order came from you.”
“You’re leaving out the best part but okay.”
“How did you . . . ?”
“Got to go.”
I hang up.
Samael knew I needed the armor to survive, so if I lived he knew I’d always have it with me. He was smart enough to hide the thunderbolt so that even if Mason won, he’d never have all of Samael’s power. Not telling me any of this stinks like more of his “figure it out for yourself” Socratic horseshit. Or did he tell me something more? I have a vague impression o
f talking to him about it and him telling me something else. What was it?
The more immediate question is this: where would I hide if I was a missing piece of armor?
Samael told me to read the Greeks, so that seems like a good place to start, which is exactly why I’m not going to do it. I’ve pawed through every Greek book on the shelves. I liked one book I found, Meditations by Marcus Aurelius, but then I found out he was Roman and not Greek and that just pissed me off. For a while I thought that might mean something but probably someone just put it on the wrong shelf.
If the thunderbolt is anywhere, it will be anywhere but where Samael told me where to look. Aside from actuarial tables, Hellion tax law, and sports stats, what section would I be the least likely to look in? What other sections are there in libraries? I’m not exactly an expert on book jail, and when I walked around before, I didn’t pay much attention to what books were where or how they were arranged. Time to get rigorous and organized.
I hate this already.
You know how when you drive somewhere new it always seems longer the first time? That’s how it is the first time you walk through an entire library trying to figure out how it’s put together. I could have done this when I first got here but I didn’t give a fuck what was on the other shelves and mostly resented everything beyond my little pied-à-terre for not having more, meaning any, movies. If Samael really wanted me to pay attention, he’d have stuck Herodotus between piles of Howard Hawks and John Huston.
Twenty minutes of looking and my eyes are already glazing over. There are no section markers. No Dewey decimal system or card catalog. (Yes, I know about the Dewey decimal system. I didn’t spend a lot of time in libraries but I’m aware of their existence.) Just rows of books with titles in Hellion script. And I was just in a crash. My neck hurt before. Now it’s aching from holding it sideways to read the titles.
I should have brought a pencil and paper and been drawing a map as I go over the place. I find a general-history-of-the-universe section, including Heaven and Hell. There’s a section on science, which is broken down into categories I’ve never heard of. What the hell is Quantum Melancholia?
There’s politics, which is total bullshit. All Samael needs is one book with LIE AND CHEAT LIKE A SON OF A BITCH in neon on the cover.
There’s also art. Instead of Sodom and Gomorrah clusterfucking and Giger monsters, it looks like Samael has a thing for Rembrandt and mortal portrait painters. Probably looking for the right dead soul to put his mug on a Hellion dollar bill.
Military theory. Ha. I bet he wishes he had these books back in Heaven.
Law and economics. Was he studying for his goddamn SATs? I guess the Devil needs to know things like mortal rules and money. But still. I’m learning Samael’s darkest secrets and they’re really boring.
Philosophy. Okay. He gets some slack for this one. His argument with God seems legit. Is it the sin of pride not wanting to be a slave?
I’m about to start making my own sections. Despair. Boredom. I Want a Nap. And Fuck This Shit Entirely. I’ll push them together in one big pile with a noose overhead.
This whole time I’ve been hoping to find a secret trove of romances or westerns but the long shelves of true-crime books are probably Samael’s pulp pop reading. He’s exactly the kind of guy who flips to the end of every crime book looking for his name in the index. I wonder if I’m in one of these things. Which reminds me. I need to check the Sandman Slim entry on Wikipedia. I’ve tried killing it a couple of times but it’s always back up the next day. If some psychic prick gets wind that I’m temping as Satan, I don’t want it online. Satanists make junior high Goths look like NASA.
There’s a reading area in the corner of the room. I drop down into the soft leather chair, mentally exhausted. There’s a small table with a lamp and an ashtray with a few old butts. I forgot to pick up a pack of Maledictions before coming in, so I poke around the ashtray like a wino looking for one that might still be smokable. None of them are. I’m on a real winning streak tonight.
This is getting me nowhere. There must be a million or more books in here. I could wander the aisles for years and not find anything. Maybe I’m wrong about the missing armor piece. Even if he left it for me, it might not be in here. That means more wasted years wandering the whole palace, searching it one room at a time.
No.
Samael is a dick but he isn’t that random or cruel, at least not to me. As much as he’s fucked with me over the years, there was always a point and he’s always given me something to work with. Saint James would have figured out this bullshit hours ago. It makes me want to hurt him even more.
First no cigarettes and now I realize I left my Aqua Regia back at home base. My neck hurts. My chest burns. My right hand aches from picking up books. I’m sore and sweating like a fat man chasing a taco wagon across the Mojave.
Sitting here and closing my eyes feels good.
Then it comes back to me.
“Right in front of you. Stop looking. Sit down and you’ll see.”
I open my eyes and see I’m sitting in the middle of a huge section on magic. Samael takes the subject more seriously than I ever did. Because I was born a nephilim, I never learned much real magic. Even as a kid I had enough power to improvise my own hoodoo. The first and only real magic I ever learned was down here killing in the arena and later as Sandman Slim. There’s probably a lot of useful information in these books. Too bad the whole reading thing is starting to give me hives.
A book lies facedown on the other side of a reading lamp. I didn’t notice it before. It’s a paperback with a bright yellow cover, the first paperback I’ve seen down here. I pick it up. The title is in big block letters.
ANGER MANAGEMENT FOR DUMMIES
Like I said, Samael always leaves me something to work with and a cheap joke is better than no clue at all.
I flip through the book looking for highlighted passages or dog-eared pages. I even read most of a chapter. It’s all the usual straight-arrow self-help babble. No clues. No codes. Just sensible advice for sensible people, which leaves me out in the cold. I throw the book across the room. For all I know, Aelita brought it down so Mason could use it to mess with my brain.
I need a drink. Many drinks. And I need them now.
I kick over the chair as I get up, knocking over the table and sending the lamp flying.
There’s something on a shelf that had been hidden behind the table. On a bottom shelf all the way at the back of the magic section is an old book whose cover is the same shade of yellow as Anger Management for Dummies. I kneel and pull it out.
It’s musty and a little mildewed and the leather binding cracks when I touch it. The lettering and illustration of a kid on the front looks Victorian. Gold lettering reads A Magic Primer for Little Gentlemen. Magnificent Feats and Rousing Conundrums for Boys of All Ages. I open it. Inside, the pages have been hollowed out. Lying at the bottom of the empty book is something wrapped in purple linen. I unroll it. And find a golden thunderbolt. Bingo.
I stand up and clip it into place.
Nothing happens. Zero. Zip. Nada. I didn’t think I was going to roll around the floor growling like Lyle Talbot sprouting Wolf Man whiskers but I was hoping for something. I’m so jacked up on adrenaline that all traces of exhaustion are gone, but that’s still a letdown when you expect to feel like the second most powerful being in the universe.
Then something hits me like a baseball bat to the kidneys. My guts knot up and my body temperature shoots up a hundred degrees. Darkness spills out of me, rolling onto the floor
and spreading like black Hellion blood. I’m spewing darkness from every pore of my body. The darkness isn’t solid. It’s a cold dead void like a drop into a bottomless pit. Things curl up from the nothingness, icy and sharp, like freezing rattlesnakes. Suddenly I’m a supercharged nitro-burning Hell beast with teeth the size of the Rockies and hands the size of Texas. If I bend down, I can lift all of Creation onto my back.
And then, like a supersonic orgasm, the feeling is gone. There’s nothing left and I’m back on the floor gasping for air.
What the hell just happened? Does this mean I had Lucifer’s power for a second but my human body couldn’t contain it? Or did it just feel like it passed into me?
There are voices. They don’t come through clearly. Whispers of Hellions all around me in the palace. Even though I can’t hear individual words, the meaning still filters through. Most words are nothing. Empty compliments or straight-up information. Other things hang in the air. Faint wisps of vapor like steam coming off hot coffee. They’re veiled threats and lies. The half-truths, evasions, and bullshit that’s the blood in the arteries of this place. They float in through the walls like a ghost mist.
Okay. Right. This is new. It’s not much more than a trick from one of those shitty amaze-your-friends-and-half-wit-relatives magic kits you buy off late-night TV but it’s something. Maybe the superhero stuff will kick back in later. I like the darkness thing that just happened. I hope I didn’t blow all my power in one big death-dive money shot. Maybe being Lucifer isn’t about power but just being more aware of your Luciferness. That would be a hell of a letdown. I swear on every pointy little Hellion head if I start to grow bat wings and a tail, I’m going to cut them off and feed them to Samael through the wrong hole.
There’s one supertrick I want more than anything, and even if I still have the power, I don’t know how to get at it. How did Samael leave Hell? I never got a chance to ask. Maybe a hoodoo chant? Something you do in a Magic Circle? Walking through a waning arch? Maybe he just had a pair of ruby slippers like Dorothy.
Devil Said Bang ss-4 Page 13
