of the feathers inside. I dip a finger into his blood and, with it, paint a circle over my third eye.
The one remaining unopened, unbroken bottle of Jack is under the mattress with the guns. I crack it open and have a couple of long drinks. Whatever I thought of Kasabian, whatever I thought that I might do to him when I tracked him down, painting him with his own blood and wearing some of it myself was never on my original agenda. One more drink and I’m ready to hit the road.
I lie down in the Cube next to Kasabian so that our shoulders and feet are touching. I use the black blade to cut one of my wrists, deep enough to really get the blood flowing, but not so deep that I lose control of my hands. I upend the bottle for one more shot of liquid courage, and then slice the other wrist.
Nice and relaxed now. Warm and drifting. The Jack and the flowing blood are doing their job. I’ll be unconscious soon. Just before I lose consciousness, I put the second crow feather between my teeth and hold it there.
I’m standing on the floor of an empty desert. The alkali plain is cracked and glistening. There’s a shaft of light at the horizon, but it never moves. It’s always just before sunrise or just after sunset. Take your pick. The air is thick and hard to breathe. The light is a watery blue green.
Kasabian is standing a few yards away wearing the same Max Overdrive T-shirt and chinos that he was wearing the night he shot me.
“So, this is it?” he asks. “This is death?”
I walk across the packed earth to where he’s standing.
“Not really. You’re kind of in between worlds right now. There really isn’t a desert and there really isn’t a sunrise or sunset. This is just something to look at while you wait. You’re sort of on hold and this is the Muzak.”
“While I’m waiting to see if I’m going to Heaven or damned to Hell, this is the best the all-knowing occult powers that run the universe could come up with? Talk about being underachievers.”
“Be fair, man. Everyone knows where you’re headed. Maybe they just didn’t break out the A material for you.”
Kasabian nods.
“You’re right. Why bother? I fucked up my life and I even fucked up dying.”
“So we’re clear, you know that wasn’t me who killed you just now, right? It was Parker.”
“I should never have trusted those guys. Why would Mason help me after all these years? I thought it was different now. I thought that with you back, he’d need me again.”
“Where is he?”
“Listen, you were straight with me before. You know, saying you were sorry for locking me up in that closet and everything. I want to be straight with you.”
“Don’t worry about it. There isn’t a lot of time. Where’s Mason hiding?”
Kasabian looks over his shoulder to the mountains in the distance. There’s a low rumble of thunder. It won’t be long now. He turns back to me.
“I knew something was up that night. I knew Mason had something waiting for you. I thought he was just going to hit you with a leech charm or something. Suck out all your power and keep it for himself. But when those Lurkers showed up …”
“Kissi. They’re called Kissi.”
“I didn’t know he was going to do that.”
“What did you know about Alice?”
“Nothing. I’m not into doing stuff like that to women. And a civilian? That’s messed up.”
“Would you have told me if you’d known?”
He shrugs. Looks down. Shakes his head.
“Come on, man. That’s not even a real question. Going against Mason feels like you’re going against the devil.”
I can’t read a dead man like a living one. No heartbeat. No breath. Fixed pupils. But I don’t need any of that now.
“I believe you,” I tell him. “And Mason isn’t the devil. He just likes to play dress-up. Tell me where he is and I’ll get him for both of us.”
“I don’t know where he is exactly. It was sort of like here. Spooky and wrong, but a lot weirder. Somewhere far away and dark. Not regular dark, either. Dark like it had no idea what light even was. Like light was Kryptonite to the place. There was no one there, but it wasn’t empty. In fact, it was crowded. But it was full of nothing.” He holds up his hands in frustration. “If any of that makes sense.”
Thunder rolls down the mountains again. A dot of light appears at the base of one a couple of miles away. A door has opened. I take Kasabian by the arm and start walking him that way.
“Listen, when you get to Hell, look up a guy named Belial. He’s one of Lucifer’s generals. Tell him I sent you and ask him for a job. Tell him I said not to send you to the pits.”
“The pits?” asks Kasabian. “What pits?”
“When you tell him who sent you, make sure you tell him it was Sandman Slim. And remind him that the Sandman knows where he lives.”
Kasabian gives me a look.
“What the fuck is Sandman Slim? It sounds like a Japanese cartoon.”
“Just tell him,” I say, and let go of his arm. “This is as far as I go. I have things to do back in the world.”
Kasabian looks at the door and then at me.
“I know,” he says. He turns and heads for the mountain. “I’ll see you around.”
“Probably.”
Flat on my back again. I gulp and the crow feather almost goes down my throat. Rolling over, I spit it onto the floor. Home again, home again, jiggity jig.
I’m not bleeding anymore, but I’m a mess. Again. Besides getting my ass kicked, my main accomplishment on this trip has been to massacre an incredible number of completely innocent clothes. I’m the Joseph Stalin of laundry. I take off the shirt, toss it onto a pile of other junk, and slip on the silk overcoat.
My ears are still ringing, but I’m pretty sure there aren’t any sirens headed this way (the crackheads aren’t going to call it in and who else hangs out here at night?). But some passing Joe Citizen could call in the noise. And the morning crew will be opening the place at eleven tomorrow. I can’t leave Kasabian’s corpse lying here. First, I have to find something.
I find it under the splinters of the bedside table. Alice’s magic box. It’s been crushed a little by the blast. Inside, the bloody cotton has come loose, but it’s still in one piece. I put it under the bed, near the wall.
I pull the blanket off the bed, roll up the body, and use some duct tape I get from behind the counter to hold the blanket tight. I take Kasabian downstairs and out the back way. Also grab a couple of cinder blocks that the day crew uses when they’re on a cigarette break. I’m trying very hard not to think about anything I’m doing. Of all the iffy things I’ve ever done in my life, I’ve never had to ditch a body before. While it’s giving me a migraine right now, I think the fact that I’m not an expert on corpse disposal says a lot of good things about me and my life choices.
About a block away, I find a shiny new BMW SUV, which is way too many random letters strung together. It makes me feel less guilty about stealing it.
I drive it around the block, pull up to Max Overdrive, and load the body and the cinder blocks in the back. Then I drive to Fairfax and turn south. At Wilshire, I make a left and hit the gas until I see mammoths.
Animals have been falling into the La Brea Tar Pits since the last ice age. Not so much recently, since the pits are fenced in and part of a pretty slice of upscale urban green called Hancock Park. There’s a big museum. A lot of wolf skulls and bird bones. A gift shop. And, soon, a dead video store-owning ex-magician.