Devil Said Bang

“Is it over?” asks Traven. “Did we win?”

“No and I doubt it.”

The Charger cuts right and gets behind us again.

“Keep talking, Father. I like hearing stories when I’m killing people. Lamia is a demon of an Angra. How did she get here? What does she want?”

Traven’s voice quivers a little. I can’t tell if it’s fear or the uneven road.

“The weapon is your answer. She, and we can assume the rest of the Angra, will return to take back what’s theirs.”

“The Qomrama?”

“If the books are right, they’ll want everything. The entire universe.”

The Charger moves up on us again. I can see Cairo shouting at the driver.

“Candy, shoot that son of a bitch.”

“Which one?”

“Any of them. Just pop a couple of shots at them and see what they do. Keep talking, Father.”

Candy leans out the window and shoots twice. One shot misses and the other takes out one of the Charger’s headlights. Not a bad start. It gets them to put a little more distance between us.

“Father?”

“We once talked about the idea that the being we call God is merely the Demiurge.”

“More like the universe’s janitor than an all-powerful creator. Got it.”

“The book you saw in my office when we first met. The one you called the Angra Om Ya Bible has an alternate Creation story. It’s entirely possible that the entity that we call God didn’t create this universe. The Angra Om Ya did. God merely usurped it.”

The Charger pulls up right on our bumper and Cairo climbs out of the sunroof.

“Slow down,” I shout.

Traven backs off the accelerator.

Behind us, the Charger lurches, trying to keep from hitting our bumper. Cairo slams into the side of the sunroof and falls back inside.

“Keep going.”

“Talking or driving?” says Traven.

“Both. See if you can hit the windshield, Candy.”

“In math there’s something called M-theory. It says that we live in a universe with many parallel dimensions and many universes all separated by infinitely large membranes.”

Candy pulls the trigger just as we hit a bump and the shot goes high. The second shot hits the Charger’s windshield.

“Nice work, Calamity Jane. Get back inside the car and wait for me.”

Traven says, “I believe that the Angra are in one of the parallel universes and that the changes in reality we’re experiencing have been going on longer than we think but have only become noticeable now.”

“With all the dreamers dying, I’m not surprised.”

“The breakdown of reality caused a crack in one of the membranes and a tiny piece of Lamia leaked back into this universe.”

“How did the Angra end up in another universe?”

“According to the alternate history, God tricked them. The Angra were already here when our God manifested Himself. When He made Himself known, He gave the Angra an offering.”

“What kind?”

“The books don’t say. But it was a trick, and exiled them beyond the edge of our universe.”

“And now they want back in to take what’s theirs. Which is everything.”

“I’m afraid so.”

We hit a deep gulley that rattles everyone’s teeth.

“And they’ll kill God to do it,” Traven says.

“That old man has more enemies than Stalin.”

The Charger accelerates. It comes around parallel to us. The road is getting worse. It rattles my bones and balls but it forces the heavy Charger to slow down.

“What happens to us if they come back?”

“The book doesn’t say. But there are other texts that talk about battles between Gods in other dimensions.”

“And?”

“In every one, the winner scours the universe clean and starts over.”

“Scouring sounds bad,” says Candy.

“Can we stop them?”

“I have no idea,” Traven says.

The Charger pulls up parallel again. Cairo climbs out the sunroof on top of the car.

“Look at the bright side, Father. When the Angra destroy everything, there won’t be a Hell for you to go to.”

“Every Apocalypse has a silver lining,” says Candy.

“That’s my girl.”

“Can I shoot some more?”

“Almost. When I get out, you come back here. If anyone in the Charger shoots at us or tries to get out, you shoot them. Don’t waste ammo. Unless Cairo looks like he’s going to win. Then spray the fucking car and kill as many of them as you can.”

“Neat,” she says.

I put my hand on Traven’s shoulder.

“When you hear me stomp on the roof, hit the brakes. Don’t worry about me.”

He nods.

I pop the sunroof and crawl out on top. The cheap plastic hinges snap and the sunroof flies off the car and into the street behind us. Cairo opens his arms in greeting. I give him the finger.

He’s fast. He crouches and throws a shower of fire my way underhanded, like a softball pitcher.

I drop back halfway down into the sunroof and the fire passes over me.

“Shoot,” I say to Candy. She does, whooping like she’s at the rodeo. Glass explodes out of the Charger’s side windows.

I toss some arena hoodoo Cairo’s way. It’s an old crushing hex. Supposed to break an enemy’s bones. Cairo dodges the hex but I didn’t throw it at him. I hit the car’s engine.

There’s a horrible grinding and snap as the Charger’s engine drops and hits the street, gouging deep ruts in the road. Cairo flies off the roof, bounces off the hood, and falls in front of the Charger. I stomp my boot and Traven stops the Geo. I jump off the back, throwing protection hoodoo around me as I hit and roll. Cairo lands on the street in front of his car. From where I’m lying, I’m at just the right angle to see the Charger roll right over him.

Candy blows the rest of her clip into the side of Cairo’s car. His boys duck out the passenger side and take off down a side street.

Traven backs up. I climb into the car.

“Turn us around. I’ll hurt Teddy later. We’re going to Blackburn’s.”

Candy blows across the tip of her gun barrel like a cowgirl, leans between the seats, and gives me a kiss. She uses her thumb to wipe lip gloss off my lips.

“Why Blackburn’s?” she asks.

“Cairo was using hoodoo in the open right in front of God and Joe SixPack. Either he’s nuts or they’re not after Saint James anymore but me instead. Permission could only come from Blackburn or Aelita and I know where Blackburn is.”

We drive past Cairo’s car. The engine steams and spits. Spills gas all over the street. There’s blood on the bumper and a long wet streak on the asphalt like something was dragged but Cairo’s body is gone.

I give Traven Blackburn’s address and we head over.

“I hate to point out something to you,” he says.

“If it isn’t ‘Great job. I’m thrilled to be on your side,’ I don’t want to hear it.”

“We’re on a major thoroughfare. Half the streets we just passed had traffic cameras. Tomorrow LAPD will have the entire fight on tape.”

Shit.

“No worries, Father. With the street fucked up, the cameras are probably out and half the police force will be hunkered down at home. By the time someone looks over the tapes, we’ll either be dead or heroes.”

“Or dead heroes,” says Candy.

Traven thinks for a long minute.

“At times of crisis, my mother used to recite an old Hungarian saying. ‘The strength of the serpent and the peace of the dove.’ ”

“I don’t know the last time I saw a dove,” Candy says.

“Then let’s do some slithering.”

Traven parks across the street from Blackburn’s abandoned hotel mansion.

“Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going inside to talk to people and hurt them. Not necessarily in that order. You two are going to stay out here and watch my back.”

“I want to come with you,” says Candy.

“You can’t. I have to get through layers of heavy protective hoodoo. I don’t know if I can take anyone with me and this isn’t a great time to start experimenting.”

It takes her a minute but finally Candy nods.

I give her the Sig pistol.

“This is a .45. The bullets are bigger, so there aren’t as many as your nine-millimeter and the kick is a lot harder. If you have to shoot, do it slowly and carefully.”

“I still want to go with you.”

“I know.”

When I’m outside the car, my cell rings. I’m not in the mood for a chat but my blood’s up, so I’ll give the crank caller a friendly “fuck you.”

“Hello.”

A voice breaks up then repeats itself.

“Stark? Where the hell are you? I’ve been waiting.”

It’s Patty Templeton.

“I told you I’d call you. Wait for me in the lounge.”

“What are you talking about? I’m outside. On the corner by the freeway. You called and said you were coming by to pick me up.”

The anger turns to a sick feeling in my stomach.

“Listen, it’s a trick. Go back to the dreamers’ building now. Run!”

“Oh God.”

She forgets to hang up. I listen to hear her running. Panting. She excuses herself and then curses, pushing through crowds.

Over the tops of the nearby buildings, black plumes rise like twisters into the sky. Somewhere, the city is burning.

Patty screams, her voice distorting into an animal wail through the tiny phone speaker. Then the crowd screams. What follows is a sound I recognize from the arena. A blade cutting through the air. Little girl’s laughs drift from the phone with the bloody, drowning gurgle of someone choking on their own blood.

The ground shakes beneath my feet. I expect to see Cherry but the shaking goes on. Windows up and down the street shatter and fall. The sound is like another thousand knives going into a girl’s throat. I brace myself against the Metro until the shaking stops. It takes a few seconds, and when it stops, I know that Patty Templeton is dead.

I don’t know how many people, Hellions, and hell beasts I’ve seen die over the years. The ones in the arena or the streets all went down the same way. In front of me. The worst times in the arena were when the games were going while I waited in my cell. All I could do was listen to the fighting and dying. Listening was so much worse than seeing. It was like dying by whispers. You were never sure if that other fighter was dead, paralyzed, or being eaten alive by a scaly beast. Dying by phone is no way to go. Not for anyone. Not for anyone I know.

Candy puts her head out the window.

“Are you okay?”

“Great. Peachy.”

“Who was that on the phone?”

I shake my head.

“No one. Wrong number.”

I start across the street.

Getting through Blackburn’s wards is just like last time. Slow and steady wins the race. He’s added two more layers since I was here but I move through them just like the others. It’s all about concentration and channeling Lucifer’s hate through the armor so it radiates like hellfire. No earthly magic is going to stand up to that.

No one is in the front of the house, so I head straight into the parlor. Blackburn is sitting at his desk like he’s waiting for me. Tuatha, his wife, is in a chair across the room. She looks worse than last time. Like she gave up martinis for formaldehyde. Perched on the end of Blackburn’s desk is Brigitte.

“Hello, Jimmy,” she says. “I was hoping you wouldn’t come back here.”

She shifts her eyes from me to her right then back to me. I take a step into the parlor and snap out the na’at to where she looked. One of Cairo’s men drops to the floor.

I go over to Brigitte.

“What are you doing here? Tell me you’re not part of this shitstorm.”

She puts her hand on Blackburn’s arm.

“Saragossa is a friend. That’s all.”

Blackburn just sits there. Useless and staring at his wife. He puts his hand over Brigitte’s. It the gesture of an old man trying to find something to hold on to while his ship is sinking.

I pull Brigitte off the desk and push her into a chair. Drag my arm across Blackburn’s desk, knocking everything to the floor.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Killing dreamers? Playing with reality? Do you have any goddamn idea what you’re doing?”

“Please. My wife.”

He holds out his hand to Tuatha.

“Fuck you and your wife. You’re not just turning the sky the wrong color. You just killed a girl whose only sins were having an asshole for a boyfriend and wanting to keep the world from falling apart.”

Blackburn’s hand falls on a pen that was still on the desk. He delicately straightens it and then clasps his hands together.

“I’m sorry. It started well. We would replace the dreamers with our people and mold the world into our own image. A better place for Sub Rosa and civilians. No one was supposed to die.”

“That’s what every amateur killer says when they’re up to their elbows in blood. Not only did you kill all those people but you poked a hole in the universe. Opened us up to angry Godeating motherfuckers who want you and me and Brigitte and your precious wife flushed down the cosmic toilet.”

He shakes his head.

“I had no choice,” he says. “You see, they took her soul.”