“We’re having this out right now. Everyone agrees I’m no good. Let’s do something about it. No one leaves until there’s a new Lucifer.”
They stare at me.
“You assholes love your rituals. Let’s try this one on for size. Kill me and you get the job. Wound me and I’ll give up. Trust me. I’m not going to fight hard to stay Lucifer.”>“You don’t even want the room cleaned?”
“Leave it just like it is.”
“I understand.”
He starts to leave.
“What did you say when you first came in?”
He goes to the end of the bed, picks up an envelope and a rectangular box from the floor, and brings them to me.
“I had your mail.”
“That all came today?”
“The box yesterday. The notes before. I don’t remember when.”
“You wouldn’t have given me any of this if we hadn’t had our little talk in the hall last night.”
“No.”
“Why these particular letters?”
He shakes his head.
“They weren’t the usual official correspondence. Holding them back would make sure you stayed isolated.”
“People pay you off to hold back certain messages and to give me others.”
Brimborion shrugs.
“Everyone in the palace has something on the side. It’s the generals who get rich. Not civil servants.”
“Who paid you to hold on to these?”
He looks at the bed.
“Lahash.”
That’s a nice way of covering your trail. Don’t just kill the guy who knows too much. Turn him into a suicide bug bomb.
“If someone wants to assassinate you, there must be easier ways,” says Brimborion.
“They tried easier. Now they tried this. Watch your ass. You work for me, so sooner or later you’re going to be on the bug list too.”
He touches his hand to his chest, about where Lahash burst open. He turns and goes out, pulling the doors closed behind him.
I use my teeth to pull the glove off my Kissi hand. I’ll be using it a lot the next few days.
I undo a couple of buttons on my shirt and slip my burned hand inside like it’s a sling. The feeling is starting to come back, meaning it already hurts like hell. I growl Hellion hoodoo and the blackened skin on my hand lightens to its skin color. I’ve never been great at healing magic but at least I can make the hand look normal while it heals. I just won’t be penning Candy any sonnets over the next few days.
I pull the black blade from my waistband. It feels weird doing it lefty. Prop the box between my knees and slice it open. It’s what I thought. The bottle Bill sent me. I stick the point of the knife in the floor, twist the cap off the bottle, and take a long drink. Bill was right. It’s not half bad by Hell standards.
I toss the box over by the dead bugs and look at the first envelope. Printed in a perfect, precise script on the first envelope is the single word Stark. The envelope is made of something almost transparent. Like rice paper, only tougher. Barely visible angelic script is woven into the paper’s fibers. I hold it in my teeth and, using the black blade like a letter opener, shake the envelope until the letter falls out.