The Getaway God (Sandman Slim 6)

The Mithras is the first fire in the universe. A tiny flickering flame in a glass jar right now. But if I ever let it out, it would burn all of creation to cinders.

The Singularity is sort of the opposite of the Mithras. If he made universes instead of orchards, it’s what Johnny Appleseed would carry. Crack it open and you get a new Big Bang, followed by a brand-­new spit-­and-­polish universe, ready to move into and suitable for children and pets. Of course, if I set it off outside the Room it would eat our universe and everyone in it to make way for the new one.

As long as the Mithras and Singularity are here, I feel safe. I’m the only one with a key to the Room and no one, not even God or Lucifer can get in here without me bringing them. And I’m not about to do that. They’re exactly who I want to keep the Mithras and Singularity away from. Especially Ruach. He’s crazier and a lot more dangerous than Aelita ever was.

Pandemonium, Hell’s capital, is laid out like Hollywood, which puts Lucifer’s palace in the Beverly Wilshire Hotel near Rodeo Drive. I could come out nearer, but I like to get the feel of the city when I go down. Big mistake this time.

Like Kasabian said, it’s raining in Hell. Being Hell, it’s raining blood. Good thing I put on the coat Candy Scotchgarded for me. Too bad I didn’t put any of the stuff on my pants. The blood soaks into them, weighing down the leather. It drips through my hood too and runs into my eyes. I step into a doorway before I look like one of those poor slobs back at the chapel.

I’m on Hell’s equivalent of Hollywood Boulevard. It looks about the same as the Hollywood back home. Pretty much deserted. But I can see lights on in some of the stores and bars, so someone is around. They’re just smart enough to get in out of the blood. No way I’m walking to Beverly Hills from here. I find a shadow under the streetlight and step through. I do something I’ve never done before. I come out right in Mr. Muninn’s—­Lucifer’s—­penthouse at the hotel. He once said I could. Let’s see if he’s a devil of his word.

I come out by his private elevator. I lean into his living room, ready to duck out if he gets all wrathful.

“Mr. Muninn? Hello. It’s Stark.”

I take a tentative step into the room.

Muninn comes in from another room in a long crimson robe, a little shocked anyone would just walk into Lucifer’s apartment. The room is dark. He squints until he can make me out.

“James. It’s you,” he says, and turns on a desk lamp. “And you’ve tracked blood all over my carpet.”

I look down. He’s exaggerating a little. I only have one foot on the carpet, but the blood dripping off my clothes has made a nice red stain there and on the tile floor by the elevator.

“Please step off the carpet and wait there,” he says.

He walks out of the room and comes back a ­couple of minutes later with a bundle in his hands. There’s a towel on top.

“You left some clothes here before you departed so quickly. Please clean up, change clothes, and meet me in the kitchen.”

I just nod. Getting God and Lucifer pissed at you at the same time isn’t a good way to start a visit.

I clean up and pile my dirty clothes on the tile floor. The clothes Muninn gave me were some of my better Lucifer gear. Gray creased linen pants with a pressed black shirt. I see myself reflected in one of Muninn’s windows. My hair looks like it was combed by a five-­year-­old, but the rest of me is completely Playboy After Dark. I go down the hall to where I remember the kitchen is. Mr. Muninn is inside making coffee.

Making such a great entrance, I’m feeling a little tongue-­tied.

“It’s raining,” I say.

“Is it? I hadn’t noticed.”

“It’s raining in L.A. too.”

“It will be raining everywhere soon,” he says.

“But why blood down here?”

He points a finger upward.

“We can thank Ruach for that. Don’t worry about the blood being contaminated with any of Hell’s ills. It doesn’t come from here. It’s falling from Heaven.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“It isn’t. From what I gather, there’s a new war brewing up there. Ruach’s followers versus, well, I suppose mine and my brothers.”

“I’m covered in angel blood?”

“I’m sure it’s quite benign for you. It’s just hell on my carpet.”

“Sorry about that.”