Merihim and Marchosias are backed up against shelves full of Hellion art books. Merihim has gone dead white. I throw each of them over a shoulder in a kind of half-assed fireman’s carry, holding them low. Keeping their bodies between me and Semyazah. The general is flat on his back but he could be playing possum and he has at least one bullet left in the pocket gun. Merihim starts thrashing when he figures out he’s a human shield. I pull my arm a little tighter and squeeze the air out of him.
When I’m over Semyazah, I step onto the arm holding the gun. The general’s eyes are open but he doesn’t move. I don’t think he’s broken. Just a little dazed. I toss Merihim and Marchosias down on either side of him, take the derringer, and drop the hammer so it won’t go off in my pocket.
A minute later Semyazah sits up. I take the knife from a scabbard on his belt and slap it into his hand.
“We aren’t done yet. It’s still three against one and I’m not armed. You drew first blood, General. Take your shot. Kill me.”
He doesn’t move. I can’t tell if his gaze is uncertain or unfocused.
“Afraid you’ll miss?”
I grab him with the Kissi hand and press the tip of the blade into the base of my throat.
“Now you can’t. Kill me. Become Lucifer.”
When Semyazah doesn’t budge, Merihim grabs his hand and pushes. The blade goes in far enough to draw blood. I feel it run down my neck and under the armor. Semyazah twists and punches Merihim in the face. The preacher lets go of the knife when Semyazah elbows him in the throat. He looks at Marchosias like he’s about to deck her. She holds up her hands, shaking her head.
Semyazah slides the knife back into its scabbard.
“This doesn’t change anything. You’re still a coward and a fraud.”
“And you won’t do anything about it ’cause you’d rather have a coward and a fraud on the throne than sit there yourself.”
I find my knife where it’s embedded in the wall and slip it into the waistband at my back. Walk back to where the last of Bill’s bourbon fell. The bottle hit the floor but didn’t break. Lucky me. My desk is cracked and splintered but still has four legs. I pull it upright and sit down, taking a couple of pulls from the bottle. The wound on my head throbs but is already scabbing over; my burned hand, though, got bounced around enough that it throbs and aches.
“You Hellions think you’re so fucking special. What’s that stuff on the ceiling? The Thought. The Act. The New World? You think God threw you out because you bravely stood up to Him? Bullshit. You started a fight and you lost and you’ve been whining about it ever since. Hell isn’t righteous exile. With all your secret handshakes and horseshit rituals, you’ve made the place into one more members-only gated community. All you people need are Mercedes SUVs and illegals to clean your pools and you couldn’t tell Hell from Brentwood. That’s why you hate Deumos and her heretic ducklings. It’s not because they’re crackpots, which they definitely are. What gets under your skin is that they want to move into the house down the street. Old money hates the nouveau riche. It’s a sad, stupid story even down here in the stupidest place in the universe.”
Merihim and Marchosias get to their feet. When Marchosias starts to help Semyazah, the general shakes her off.
“Are you going to open the door or are we your prisoners?” he asks.
I bark some Hellion and the library doors unlock.
“May I have my gun?”
I get the derringer, pop out the remaining bullet, and toss the pistol to him. He heads for the door without waiting for the other two. Merihim pulls a book from his robes and throws it on the floor.
“Here’s the book you asked about, you ungrateful lout. Read it before you do anything else stupid. Pay particular attention to the final passage. It’s more apt now than ever before.”
When they’re gone I go over and get the book I never asked Merihim about.
It’s an old copy of Hellion psalms. Battered and annotated in the margins. Complete bargain-bin shit. The book doesn’t matter. It’s the note inside. I recognize Merihim’s neat writing.
Last night Ipos sent word that he found evidence of someone or possibly more than one person in maintenance uniforms using building plans to move about the palace. This morning Ipos is dead. I’ll send updates when and if I can. Until then, do not contact me.
Looks like I just burned a few more bridges. Fuck ’em. I was always the dog-faced boy to Semyazah. A sideshow freak in a suit. Merihim might have been on Samael’s side but he knows I don’t give two shits about his church. Marchosias, well, she likes to be where the action is.
I feel bad about Ipos. One more face to go up on the wall of the people who’ve died for me one way or another.
I check the peepers in the bedroom. It looks all clear. I go in and grab everything I need. Clothes. Toothbrush. I toss the na’at into the drawer with the Smith & Wesson, the singularity, and the Magic 8 Ball and carry it like a TV tray into the library.
The front doors feel safe for now. I put down arsenic and sulfur in front of the secret door that Ipos and Merihim used. The truth is, I feel pretty good. I shook things up. I got to break things. I got shot without dying. And I didn’t even have to go to the arena to do any of it.
The list of my enemies was the size of a phone book when I got here and it’ll be a whole set of encyclopedias by the time I leave. If the enemy I’m counting on doesn’t come through, at least I’ll have a lot more to choose from.
I’ve tried to avoid everyone, so I haven’t used the hotel phones much. The one in the library is like the others. Even though the Beverly Wilshire is my demonic palace, it’s still a hotel and the phones are put together hotel-style. A regular push-button model with a row of specialty buttons at the top. Instead of direct lines to the concierge and front desk, this phone only has two buttons. They read VIAND and PISSANTS. I pick up the receiver and push PISSANTS. Brimborion picks up.
“Lucifer?”