"The whole point of creating both you and the Firstborn was that you would have free will. You would be made in the image of the Creator. That is what distinguished you from all the other beings that had been created before, including the angelic host. This in itself is evidence that the Rebellion was part of the Plan. Lucifer, being an angel, had no free will. Ergo, he could not have chosen to rebel. Likewise, only beings with free will could be given dominion and bring the Divine Plan to fruition in the earthly realm."
"Okay, but version one-point-oh didn't go so well, so God had to try again."
"Yes. But the Eternal does not make mistakes. There is only one way it can do a thing. It is bound by its own perfection, by its own Plan."
"So, then…version two-point-oh, us, was going to end up the same as the Firstborn, created without knowledge of good and evil."
"Yes."
"But God's hands were tied, so to speak, and He would just have to keep trying, the exact same way, every time."
"Correct. And everyone knew it. The Infinite could not directly constrain the free will of humanity-"
"So Lucifer did it for him," I finished.
"Yes. Just as the Creator knew he would. As I said, it was all according to the Plan. This is why there had to be a War in Heaven. This is why the Morning Star had to Fall. It was his destiny."
"Wait, God knew Lucifer would betray Him?"
"Of course the Omniscient knew it. Duh." Mr. Clean didn't usually go in for slang. He must have been especially frustrated with my sluggish cogitating. "All that unfolds does so in accordance with the Will."
"But," I said, flailing desperately for Sunday school lessons, "something isn't right, here. Before Adam and Eve ate the metaphorical apple, everything was perfect. It was paradise."
Mr. Clean shrugged. "It's all fun and games until someone loses an eye. Things started out okay with the Firstborn, too, but they went downhill fast. Humans took the apple. They had but one rule, and they broke it. Free will without constraint-it always leads to the same place."
"But they only took the apple because Lucifer interfered!"
Mr. Clean nodded. "Indeed."
My head hurt. "It seems like a paradox."
"Things do get complicated when one contemplates the motivations and intrigues of eternal and omniscient superbeings."
"What were we talking about again?" I asked, rubbing my eyes.
"Demonic possession."
"Oh, yeah. So the Firstborn, demons, they do that sort of thing?"
"Yes. They were cast out before humans were made, and they still lust for the dominion of the earth that was denied them."
"So if my friend is being possessed by a demon, how do I get rid of it? Exorcism?"
"He's not."
"He's not? After all the heresy, now you tell me he's not?" I was pissed, but this kind of thing is par for the course with Mr. Clean. Like I said, I try not to turn on the TV any more than I have to.
"Demons were created of this world. When they possess a host, their corrupted, physical forms-forms you would call monstrous-assert themselves. This tends to have pronounced and readily visible effects on the victim." He shrugged. "You've seen The Exorcist."
"Yeah, green vomit, uninhibited head rotation, that kind of stuff."
"And more, if the possession persists. Eventually the host will be completely replaced by the demon, in both body and soul. From what you have described, your boyfriend does not exhibit any of these characteristics."
"No, he's hot," I agreed. "All I got were the black eyes and the creepy voice. Okay, not a ghost, not a demon, that leaves spirits. How did I know we'd have to run through all the options?"
"Not all. As I said, only the most common forms. If you would like, we can also rule out animal possession, sorcerous possession-"
"Sorcerous possession? What about that one? How do we know it's an evil spirit and not an evil sorcerer?"
"Because the possessor was channeling magic from the Beyond. Can you do that?"
I frowned. "Not that I know of."
"Of course not. A sorcerer's magic comes from this world."
"Okay, fine, an evil spirit then. How do I get rid of it?"
"Benevolent or malign?" asked Mr. Clean.
"Definitely malign. As in, ritually skinning and crucifying guys."
"In this case, the distinction I make refers to the effect on the host, rather than the moral quality of any actions that are performed in the course of the possession."
"Well, I don't think Adan's getting any good vibes out of it, if that's what you mean. As far as I can tell, he isn't aware of it at all."
"Malign, then. He probably will not be aware of it until the spirit gains full control and his soul is consigned to the Beyond."
"How does the spirit gain full control?"
"The spirit will continue possessing the host, as frequently as it is able. You can expect more rituals. I have no way of knowing how many it will require. The more powerful the spirit, the more difficult it is to sustain itself in the mortal world."
"So the more powerful it is, the more time I have before it gains full control?"
"Yes."
"Great." Wimpy and slow would have been even better, but at least this gave me some time. "So why is it squeezing the murder victims?"
"I have no idea."
"What?"
"I do not know the answer to your question." This was the first time Mr. Clean had said this to me. I'd have expected him to admit it reluctantly, but it didn't seem to bother him. "I can speculate, if you like."
"Will that cost me extra?"
"Of course."
"Damn. Okay, go ahead. But only a candy bar or two worth of speculation."
"If the spirit is very powerful, it may need to prepare its vessel for permanent inhabitation."
"I thought you said all it needed was full control?"
"In this instance, such a spirit would require full control of a host that was capable of sustaining it. The spirit may need to first prepare the host in order to possess it completely without unwanted side effects."
"What kind of side effects?" I asked.
"Destruction of the host."
"Oh. So why would it need to squeeze my guys for that?"
"The spirit needs to prepare the host, but filling it with juice from the Beyond would also destroy it. Think of it as interior decorating or home improvement. The host needs fresh paint and flooring, maybe some new cabinetry and granite countertops in the kitchen, but the spirit has no such materials of its own. It has to acquire them from somewhere else."
"You watch way too much TV."
"I'm missing Springer," said Mr. Clean, the barb passing safely over his shiny dome.
"Okay, this is good. So how do I stop the spirit from gaining full control?"
"You could kill the host," Mr. Clean suggested.
"I'd really like to go out with him again. Next?"
"You could find the spirit and destroy it."
"But it's not possessing him all the time. Do I just follow him around and jump him if he tries to skin someone?"
"No, you cannot destroy the spirit in the mortal world without also destroying the host. You will have to confront the spirit in the Between."
"What's that?"
"What does it sound like, ape-girl?"
"Uh, the place between this world and the Beyond?"
"Right."
"There's a place between this world and the Beyond?"
"Yes."
Damn. That one was going to cost me a Hershey bar.
"Fine. How do I get there and find the spirit?" I mentally congratulated myself on the twofer.
"That is two questions."
Damn. "Fine, just answer."
"I can show you a spell that will allow you to walk in the spaces Between."
"Cool, and?"
"Where the host is, the spirit will be. The Between is a shadow of this world. Find the place where the spirit possesses the host."
&
nbsp; "Like his loft?"
"Probably."
"Okay, let's do it."
"You will need a guide." Mr. Clean arched his eyebrows. "I could arrange one."
"I can't find his apartment on my own?"
"Yes, the Between is an analog of this world, so you should be able to find this place. But something will probably find you first."
"So it's dangerous?"
"It's the kind of place inhabited by evil spirits that possess mortals, and many other such things."
I remembered the ghost dogs that attacked me when I tried to summon Jamal. "Yeah, I can see that. A guide then. More Hershey bars?"
Mr. Clean shook his head. "No, this is more along the lines of a fatted calf, once a month."
"Pizza, once a year."
"Extra-large Texas on the solstices."
"Is that the one with refried beans and salsa?"
"Yeah."
"Done."
The spell turned out to be difficult. It was probably the most complex magic I'd ever tried, and it took me the rest of the day to get the knack of it. Mr. Clean, I had to admit, was a big help, but he wasn't very nice about it. Once I had the basics down, I picked a quotation for it and ran through the incantations until the pattern imprinted itself in my mind.
The guide was a lot easier. "When you arrive, call Honey," said Mr. Clean. "She owes me a favor."
"I can use my cell phone there?"
Mr. Clean glowered at me, his eyebrows bunching like two charging caterpillars head-butting each other. "No. Just call her name. Put some juice into it."
"Who is she?"
"A friend of mine," answered Mr. Clean. That's all he would say, but his eyes twinkled. That made me nervous.
I still had Anton following Adan around town, and it was getting late. Mr. Clean said it would be best to cross into the Between during the daytime.
"There's daytime in the Between? I assumed, you know, shadow world, it was probably always night. Maybe twilight, that sort of thing."
"I would ask you not to be daft," offered Mr. Clean, "but I know you can't help it. As I have already told you, the Between is an analog of this world."
"Analog, yeah, so it's like an analogy."
"It's not funny anymore, Dominica," said Mr. Clean.
I called Anton to find out where he was, and then met him in the parking lot at Gold's Gym. Adan was inside working out, and Anton was eating a chili dog he'd bought from a street vendor.
"I didn't lose him, Domino," he told me when I pulled up. "And he didn't see me."
"That's good, Anton. Where has he been?"
Anton shrugged. "We were at mall. He was looking at the suits, but I don't think he bought them. Then we come here." He nodded to the gym. "He goes in maybe twenty minutes ago."
"Did he meet anyone?"
"No, he is alone when he goes in. I didn't follow him in there, because I thought he would spot me."
Good thing, too. Anton wouldn't exactly blend in at the fitness club.
"Okay, nice work, Anton," I said, slipping him a hundred. "Keep this quiet and get yourself another hot dog, on me."
Anton smiled and nodded. "Thanks, Domino. It's pretty fucking good." He jerked the hand holding a napkin over his shoulder. "You want me to get you one?"
I declined, and Anton drove away in his Monte Carlo. I saw him pull up by the vendor and order two more hot dogs like he was at the drive-through.
I settled back in my seat and watched the gym, where Adan was lifting, treading or stepping his way to cardiovascular fitness. Or pretending to-his father's magic probably had more to do with his delicious figure than the elliptical trainer.
While I waited for Adan to finish his workout, I looked for a way to fit this new development into my theory. Papa Danwe wanted to make a move against Rashan's outfit. He summoned a spirit from the Beyond, or maybe the spirit contacted him. The Haitian made a deal, just like I bartered with Mr. Clean. He agreed to help the spirit possess a host in the physical world, and loaned out his soul jar so the spirit could do some remodeling on its host. Papa Danwe got to pick the host-Rashan's son-and the ritual victims. The spirit was okay with that-it needed victims with some juice, and at least in L.A., that meant gangsters. It also needed a host who could get close to connected guys. Adan had to look like a pretty good candidate. Papa Danwe also got a pledge from the spirit to back him when he moved against Rashan. He got a powerful ally deep inside his enemy's organization.
It fit pretty well-hell, it was right out of the evil wizard's playbook. It matched what Jamal told me, too. He'd said the killer was flowing juice from the Beyond. That was the same reason Mr. Clean had ruled out sorcerous possession. A sorcerer's magic comes from this world, he'd said. I'd been wrong-the killer couldn't have been a sorcerer. In fact, the killer couldn't have been anything other than a spirit from the Beyond.
I sat there for thirty minutes, wondering what I was doing. I didn't really want to leave Adan alone, on the off chance the spirit might stop by for a visit. But I couldn't be in two places at once. For a moment, I regretted sending Anton home. I could have kept him on Adan-he seemed to have done an okay job of it, despite the constant distractions provided by junk food. But if the spirit wasn't coming, there wasn't much point in it. And if the spirit did come, I knew Anton would just get himself killed. I really didn't need to see him without his skin.
The simple fact was that I couldn't watch Adan twenty-four hours a day. The only way I could stop the possessions and derail Papa Danwe's scheme was to cross into the Between and destroy the spirit. And I didn't like my chances at that if I stayed up all night following Adan around. I had to sleep, and Adan would have to take care of himself for a while. I took one last look at the gym, then pulled out of the parking lot and headed home.
The next morning, I prepared myself to cross over into the shadow world. Mr. Clean explained that I wouldn't be taking anything with me but me, so this really just amounted to a few minutes in the bathroom. Then I sank into my recliner in the living room, relaxed my body and mind, closed my eyes and worked my magic.
"I have harnessed the shadows that stride from world to world to sow death and madness," I said, and unleashed the juice.
I opened my eyes and found myself sitting in my recliner in the living room. The spell had worked, though. There was no moment of disorientation, and no precious seconds were lost thinking the spell had failed.
The colors in my living room were all wrong, mainly in that there weren't enough of them. Everything had a kind of washed-out yellow tint, like an old sepia-tone photograph.
Plus, there was an old woman screaming in my face and trying to strangle me.
"Jumpin' Jesus!" I yelled, for the first time since I was eleven. I grabbed the bony wrists and shoved the crone away from me. She flew across the room and landed in my fichus tree, a tangle of spindly limbs both human and arboreal. At first, I was surprised at my own strength, but then I realized I'd put a little juice behind the shove. Apparently, the effect was magnified in this place.
The woman was moaning and untangling herself from the tree. She looked to be at least eighty, and her clothes were elegant Jackie-O specials from the early sixties. Her hair was a chaotic white halo around her skeletal head, and her eyes might have been a pale blue if everything hadn't been painted in some variation of yellow or brown.
And she was cursing me. I was a slob. I was inconsiderate. I came in at all hours of the night and woke her up. I brought men into her home and made her watch the unspeakable things I did to them. And so on. I wasn't sure why she had to watch.
"Sorry," I said. "I didn't know I was sharing my condo with a ghost."
The woman stood up and straightened her dress. She sniffed disdainfully-of course, more sniffing. "I was here a long time before you, young lady. I was here before there were any of these wretched condominiums in the building."
"Well, yeah, I can see that now. Anyway, like I said, sorry. What's your name?"
"Mrs. Robert Daw
son," she said haughtily. I suspected she'd say everything haughtily or disdainfully, at least when she was talking to me. "My Christian name is Margaret, but my friends call me Maggie. You may call me Mrs. Dawson."
"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Dawson. I'm Dominica Riley. Sorry about throwing you into the tree."
"I know who you are. I've been living with you since you began squatting in my home. In my day, there were no wet-backs in this neighborhood unless they were cleaning house or tending the lawn."
Great. I was sharing my condo with Maggie the Bigoted Ghost. She'd probably fit right in on the playground in Crenshaw. "Yeah, well, nothing much has changed. These days it's mostly white folks with a few of us gangsters to add some color."
"It's tragic," she said. "In my day, we kept the criminal riffraff in the ghettos where they belong."
"Yeah, we've gotten uppity, lady. Anyway, now I know you're here, I'll try to be a little more considerate. I can't make any promises about the men, though."
"Flowers," said Mrs. Dawson.
"Huh?"
"You could brighten the place with some flowers, Miss Riley. It's so terribly drab, what you've done with this place."
I looked around the washed-out living room. "Yeah," I said, "something in a nice yellow, I think. Tulips or carnations, perhaps."
"That would be lovely."
I stared hard at her, but there was no trace of sarcasm on her wrinkled face. I shrugged. "Done, first thing when I get back. Right now, though, I have some business. Nice meeting you."
"Goodbye, Miss Riley," she said, and sniffed. Jesus.
I left the building and walked out onto the sun-bleached street. It looked like my neighborhood, like L.A., just with all the color sucked out of it. It looked and felt dry, lifeless-more so than usual, I mean.
"Honey?" I said, putting a little juice into it. Nothing happened. I sat down on the steps in front of my building to wait.
The streets were empty, deserted. I almost expected to see a tumbleweed roll by. There were no cars, which was especially strange for L.A. Occasionally I saw a shadow move in a window or a furtive form dart out of sight around a corner. Ghosts, probably, I couldn't be sure. It was quiet. No sounds of traffic, no birds singing, no children laughing or howling miserably. The only sound was a dry wind blowing, though the fronds of the palm trees lining the street were utterly still. A pale mist or fog clung to the ground and obscured my view of the streets beyond a couple hundred feet.
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