Traven stares at me. If eyes could scream, run home, and hide under the blankets, he’d be blind.
“Is that what Hell is like? What else did they do to you? I couldn’t psychologically survive something like that.”
Father Traven used to translate old books for the Church. Then he translated the wrong one. An evil Necronomicon thing. The Bible of the Angra Om Ya. The gods before God. He got excommunicated for his trouble, and in the priest game, excommunication is a one-way ticket to Hell. Traven is the dirtiest guy in the bar. His sin signs are deep and awful. Almost every bare inch of skin is black. His hands look like he dipped them in tar. They practically drip with sin. Then I remember. Traven’s a sin eater, from a long line of sin eaters. He’s swallowed more sins than a thousand of the worst killers and bastards you can think of. The weight of it must break his back. And he says he couldn’t survive getting an arm like mine. I think he’s selling himself short but we all define horror in our own way.
“Don’t sweat it, Father. I met God. He isn’t what you think He is. I know the Devil pretty well too. He isn’t what you think either. Trust me, Heaven or Hell, consider yourself taken care of.”
“I know that should reassure me but somehow it doesn’t.”
“Then let’s have another drink,” says Vidocq.
I call Carlos to bring over a round of drinks. We clink glasses and throw them back.
Vidocq raises an eyebrow at Traven.
“Have you told him about the Via Dolorosa?”
“Not yet.”
“The Via Dolores? What is that?”
Traven shifts his weight. The subject makes him uncomfortable.
“Via Dolorosa,” says Vidocq. “ ‘The Way of Sorrow.’ It’s something the father learned while you were gone.”
“I suppose you inspired me,” says Traven. “I’ve spent my whole life sitting by myself among books. I thought the work I was doing was important and that I was important. The sin of pride. Then I watched you march off to Hell by yourself and I knew that reading old books wasn’t enough anymore.”
“And that’s what Dolores is?”
“You could say that.”
“Is it a trick or something? Show me.”
Traven shakes his head and looks at the sparse mix of civilians and Lurkers. He isn’t used to seeing humans mixing with what he probably considers monsters. But he’s dealing with it all right.
He says, “At the right time and place. When you tell me more about what happened in Hell, I’ll tell you about the Dolorosa.”
“Deal.”
My legs shake so slightly it’s barely noticeable.
“Did you feel something just now? A little earthquake?”
“No,” says Vidocq. “Father?”
Traven shakes his head.
“Never mind. It’s probably me. I’m still getting my land legs.”
The bar doors open and standing there is my favorite professional zombie hunter, Brigitte Bardo. Ex-professional. It’s not like she quit the business, but when there aren’t any zombies left to hunt, it’s hard to stay pro. She was also a porn star in Europe. Lots of civilians in occult work and Lurkers do sex work because the money is good and they can’t deal with regular jobs. There’s something else about Brigitte and it’s not pretty and it comes to me every time I think about her. A zombie bit her while we were hunting together. We found a cure and Vidocq gave it to her but it was my sloppiness that almost turned her into maybe the worst thing in the world.
When Brigitte sees me, she smiles and comes over, every bit the legit starlet she is these days. We lost touch when she dumped me for a movie producer who could help her career and because I’m a shit magnet. It’s nice to see she doesn’t hold a grudge.
She gives me a quick hug and kisses my cheek.
“Hello, Jimmy,” she says in her breathy Czech accent.
“What are you doing here?”