“I’m not a maniac, Roger. I’m a killer. And I’m asking you all these questions because, while I was out there under the lovely trees, I started wondering if Eva and Barron planned to kill me after I do their job, and if you roaches are the ones who are supposed to do it.”
He hands me back the body armor.
“You made a bargain with Wormwood. We honor our bargains. If we didn’t, how would the organization have survived this long?”
I look at him for a minute. He’s finally telling the truth, or what he thinks is the truth.
I say, “That actually makes sense.”
“Of course it does. We’re Wormwood. Not the government.”
“Okay, you’re dismissed. But don’t sneak up on me like that again. Next time, I might not miss.”
Roger goes to the back door of the house and calls, “Have a good time tonight. I hope you don’t get killed or anything.”
Then he gives me the finger and goes inside.
I watch him go and think about my stupid life. I’m working for Wormwood. Killing for Wormwood, in fact. I’m half-dead. I have no home. No money. No girl. No friends that I’m sure of. Food tastes like shit. Whiskey tastes just a little better than fruit punch. I have no Maledictions. No Aqua Regia. I’m afraid to let anyone important know I’m back. And I just got told off by a middle-management twerp. I’m not saying that I should have stayed in Hell, but if anyone who knew me from the old days Downtown—back when I was Sandman Slim, the monster who kills monsters—saw me now it would be downright embarrassing.
AFTER I SHOWER off some of my humiliation, I put on my old coat and go to Sandoval’s office. She and Barron are both on their laptops. She’s at her desk and he’s at a table nearby. There are prescription bottles and a bottle of water. He catches me looking at them.
“Don’t worry. It’s nothing contagious,” he says. “And it’s not cancer.”
“Then what is it?”
“A curse, as far as anyone can tell. I was poisoned by something not in any normal medical journal.”
“It must be high-level stuff if none of your magicians can cure it.”
“It is. Top-notch.”
“Hurts?”
“Like a son of a bitch.”
I want to say, Good, but instead I say, “Sorry.”
“Forget him,” says Sandoval. “Do you have everything you need for tonight?”
“Probably not. But I have everything I can think of.”
“That will have to do then.”
She looks at my duffel bag.
“Do you have any more room in that?”
“A little. Why?”
“You have one more task tonight. Since the faction will be performing an unknown ritual, we would like any and all mystical materials and artifacts they’re using. That way, we can analyze their methods and perhaps get a step ahead of them.”
I drop the bag on the floor.
“I thought I was just supposed to stop the damned ritual. You now want maid service too?”
“Yes.”
“Forget it. I’m going to kill everyone, then burn the place.”