She puts on her robot sunglasses. The ones with pictures from some anime TV show I’ve never heard of on the frame. When she presses a button between the lenses, the glasses sing the show’s theme song in a tinny voice.
“What makes you say that?”
The civilians all have dirty faces streaked with sin but the Lurkers are clean. I guess Lucifer isn’t in charge of them. My friends aren’t any exception when it comes to sin signs. Most of their faces are smeared, but not like Kasabian’s. Allegra and Carlos aren’t too bad. Vidocq is the dirtiest among my friends. His signs reach from his face to his hands, but I’m not surprised. I know he killed some guys in France a hundred years back. Like LAPD says, there’s no statute of limitations on murder, even if someone deserves it. I checked my own face in the hotel mirror. No sin signs at all. Is that because I’m Lucifer or because I’m still not entirely human?
“I missed you, you know. I wrote you notes and left them around hoping Kasabian could see them and tell you.”
She glances back at Rinko.
“Yeah. I missed you too. A quarter of a year’s worth.”
She’s plenty pissed at me. Not as pissed as Rinko but pissed. I can’t blame her. I promised her three days and gave her a hundred. This is going to take a time to pass. If it ever does, now that she’s moved on to someone else. Still, she went to the hotel with me last night. Was that a welcome home or a good-bye fuck? I guess I’ll find out. I’m so fucking good at being patient.
“I should go see how Rinko is doing,” she says.
She takes her drinks and starts back to the table. She stops and turns.
“You were going to tell me something about Lucifer last night. What was it?” she asks.
“Nothing important. Go see Rinko before she eye snuffs both of us.”
She goes and Allegra follows her over. Vidocq and Father Traven are together at the end of the bar, so I head down that way. When I get there, Vidocq drops his arm on my shoulders again. Damn French.
“Hey, Father. When did you get in?”
I put out my hand. When Traven shakes it, he lays his other hand on top like I’m the pope or Little Richard. Liam Traven is my favorite priest. Partly because he was excommunicated, which means he doesn’t take corporate shit, and partly because he’s nuts. He reads, writes, eats, and breathes ancient languages no one has ever heard of. He knows the names of more old gods than the Vatican and every Dungeons & Dragons player in the world.
“I just walked in,” he says. “When Eugène called me, I wasn’t sure whether or not to believe him. And here you are.”
“If it’s any consolation, I’m not sure if I’m here either. I feel like a bad Xerox someone put through the shredder.”
“I’m sure that will pass.”
“Sorry about your car. Did you get it back?”
On my way back to Hell, I had to abandon Traven’s car on the street near the body of a dead cop. It was an ugly scene but it was Josef’s fault not mine and there was nothing I could do about it.
“Eventually. The police held on to it for a few weeks. I feel awkward asking you this right away but I need to.”
“No. I didn’t kill that cop. But for what it’s worth, I killed the guy who did it.” And slept like a baby. But I don’t tell him that part.
I say, “I’m glad I caught the two of you together. There’s some stuff I want to talk to you about. Things that happened to me in Hell. Changes I’m still trying to get my head around.”
“Is that what the glove is for?” asks Traven.
I look down, relieved I remembered to put it back on.
“This? No. I just lost my arm and the new one is kind of ugly.”
“You lost your arm? My God.”
“Don’t sweat it, Father. Now I can get handicap plates.”
“What do you mean ugly?” asks Vidocq.
I scan the room. No one is looking, so I slip off the glove and let them get a good look at my demon mitt. Immediately I realize that it was a mistake. Traven has gone white.
Vidocq says, “Allegra tried to describe it but didn’t come close to capturing la horreur exquise.”