“I can beat the shit out of you with a claw hammer. That’d be easier than working up a scar potion.”
“What about something that’ll just stop the healing where it is?”
“I don’t know about that.”
The door opens as Allegra is talking.
“But I do,” says Vidocq.
He comes in with a paper bag full of what looks like weeds, bugs, and most of the animal parts the dog food company rejected. He holds up a jar full of turquoise liquid.
“Blue amber.”
He hands the jar to Allegra, who gets up and gives him a peck on the cheek.
“That’s mazarine ice?”
“Oui. If you look in The Enochocian Treatise, the large gray book by the old alembic, you’ll find notes on the Cupbearer’s elixir. Take the amber and start gathering the other ingredients.”
“That will bring my scars back?”
“No, but we might be able to halt the healing. The Cupbearer brewed and served the gods the elixir that gave them eternal life, keeping them as they were forever. Her elixir doesn’t cure; it holds illness and infection in place. Teutonic knights brought it back from the Holy Lands during the Crusades for comrades who had contracted leprosy. I suspect that if it will stop the spread of a disease, I can make it hold your scars where they are.”
“But you don’t know.”
“How could I? Only un homme fou asks for a way to stop healing.”
“Fou me up, man. Give me skin like rhino hide. Make me look like the Elephant Man.”
“It might take some time to get it right, but we’ll see what we can do.”
Vidocq and Allegra gather plants and potions, cutters and crushers, on the worktable. They don’t have to talk much. Just whisper a word or two to let the other one know what they need. They’re a nice team. Batman and Robin, but without the rough-trade undertones. For a second, I really hate their guts. I could have been like that with the right partner, but I’m stuck with the Beast That Wouldn’t Shut Up. I wonder how smooth these two would be after a week of Kasabian screaming for porn and cigarettes. I should bring him over for a family dinner. Vidocq must have a ball gag around here somewhere.
Damn. What a childish little prick I am. There they are, working to save my ass, and all I can do is whine about poor, poor pitiful me. I need to go kill something real, not snuff dead cheerleaders, but something alive and nasty, something that deserves it.
“It’s ironic, isn’t it?”
I look up into Vidocq’s eyes.
“You spent all those years in Hell fighting to stay alive, becoming injured and earning your scars. Then you come back home in hopes of destroying both your enemies and yourself, but instead you find yourself healing and becoming your old self again.”
I get up and glance at my phone. There’s still time to make a couple of stops before I have to be at the Chateau.
“Fuck my old self. My old self got his life stolen by morons and the person he cared about most killed. If I start turning into that asshole again, I’ll peel these scars off myself and put a shotgun to my forehead.”
“But how do you really feel?” asks Allegra.
“Thanks for fixing me up. I’ll see you later.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’ve got to buy a prom dress.”
I MAKE A quick stop at the Bamboo House of Dolls. You don’t want to play into the “do me a favor, I’m a rock star” thing too often, but when you’re being followed around because you’re the celebrity killer of the month, why not use it occasionally, like when you need a human in the paranormal biz and you don’t have time to screw around?
Mediums, exorcists, and sin eaters at Bamboo House aren’t the big-money kind, so most of them have to do odd jobs to stay afloat. When you’ve been career-counseling ghosts all night, it’s hard to answer phones or sling lattes for yuppies all day. Most human paranormals tend to dabble in things like gambling, sex work, and cream-puff crime. I only have to ask a couple of people to find a well-stocked thief. He sells me a new leather sport jacket and a rifle frock coat for a hundred, which even by booster standards is cheap. Of course, now he can tell his clients that he sells to Sandman Slim and jack up his prices. Let the circle of celebrity be unbroken. Amen.
There’s still time to kill before I have to head over to Chateau Marmont and I’m restless. I haven’t stolen a car in a month. All death and no play makes Stark a dull boy.