The Getaway God (Sandman Slim 6)

“And how am I supposed to win these small victories?”

“Don’t fight him. Play with him, not at him. When you don’t understand what’s happening—­”

“That’s all the time.”

“Mimic him. Move the way he does. Move for move, if you like. He’ll catch on but he won’t be able to stop you because to get you to play badly he’ll have to play badly himself and risk losing.”

“That’s not exactly the plans for D-­Day.”

Muninn looks at the kitchen door like he’s expecting Chaya to come back and apologize.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “As you can see, there are a few things going on here too. I’ve given you all I can for now.”

“Thanks. It’s more than I had when I got here.”

“Now I really think it would be a good idea if you left. I’m going to see if I can calm Chaya down.”

“I’ll see you around, Mr. Muninn. Sorry again about Nefesh.”

He walks out like he didn’t even hear me.

“Let him go,” says Samael. “Neither one of us can help him fight himself. I hate all this talk about brothers. It just covers up the fact that Father is slowly killing himself.”

“You think he’s going to make it?”

“I don’t know. I just hope that a piece survives and that it’s not Chaya.”

“Maybe I should get out of here before he changes his mind and reincarnates me as a tapeworm or something.”

“Don’t be so glum.”

“What should I be? Candy’s in jail. Muninn is coming apart. The Shonin is poisoning himself. Wells is busy corralling chop-­shop corpses. And Mason has me thumb-­wrestling scorpions. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m losing. We’re all losing. Muninn and you and all the good little angels in Hell and Heaven.”

“Take a walk with me,” says Samael. “You haven’t seen much of the palace since you gave up the throne. The hellhounds miss you.”

He goes to the elevator and I follow him.

“I think I could use some hellhounds in L.A. before all this is over.”

The elevator doors open and we get in. He touches the brass plate and we start down.

“Take a few,” Samael says. “Take them all. You taught them to love you. They’ll follow you anywhere.”

The elevator shudders to a halt underground. The door opens to the unmistakable machine-­lube-­and-­raw-­meat smell of the kennels. But there’s a faint trace of something else too.

Hellhounds are clockwork dire-­wolf-­size war dogs, run by a brain suspended in a glass globe where their heads should be. They’re smart and deadly and, like all dogs, loyal to their master, which they still think is me. I roofied them a few months back when some of Hell’s legions were seriously contemplating my demise. The addled dogs imprinted on me and even those hard-­core Hellion soldiers backed off when I strolled out of the palace surrounded by my mechanical hounds. It looks like the imprinting stayed strong. When the hounds smell me they move to the front of their cages and press their heads to the bars so I can pet them as we walk past.

Samael would never admit it, but I know he’s eating his heart out seeing his hounds so loyal to me. It’s his fault for leaving me in Hell on my own way back when. How long ago was it? Just a few months. This year, ever since I escaped from Hell, time has been like a carnival midway. Loud, twisting, and confusing. Full of dead ends and dark, empty places. I look at Samael for a second. Does he know what I’m thinking? Maybe. Not much I can do about it, off kilter like this. Anyway, pride isn’t the issue here. But I don’t think it’s hounds either.

“What are we doing here? It’s nice to see the pups, but I don’t have time to skip down memory lane.”

Samael says, “Of course you do. It just depends on what you’re skipping to.”

He leads me around a corner of the kennel to where a man is shackled to the floor. The slave collar around his neck is attached to chains with links as large as a man’s arm. They’re so heavy, the man is slumped on the floor. Samael walks over and kicks him in the ass. The man’s head jerks up like maybe he was asleep.

“Up, pest. You have company.”

The man slowly rises to his feet, the heavy chains clanging against each other. He staggers a bit when he’s up, trying to get his balance. His clothes are shredded and he’s filthy, but I’d never forget that face. It’s Merihim.