She smiles at Howard, then at me.
“Go on then. Beg me. Beg me for a little more time or another chance. Beg me and I’ll let Howard make your decay easier. From what he tells me, without the right potions the process is pure agony. Hours of it. Beg me, Stark.”
“I have two hours left. You’re not going to cheat me out of them.”
“They’re gone. You forfeited them the moment you let Bruno touch me. For all I know, you were working together.”
“That’s insane. Why would I do that?”
“Because you’re deranged,” she says. “You said it to me in the bowling alley: ‘I thought deranged was why you wanted me.’ I suppose I did at the time. I should have known there was no way to be reasonable with someone like you.”
“Listen—”
“It’s over, Stark. You failed me and yourself, so you’re dead. And when you’re gone and the doctors have stabilized me, I’m going to come home and personally slit the throat of that faction whore downstairs.”
In the distance, there’s the sound of sirens coming up the hill.
I might have played the madman a bit too well. Sandoval is in shock and scared—as scared of me as she is of the faction. There’s not going to be any talking her out of her decision. Not now anyway, and I don’t have time to wait for her to come around.
Still, I have the Glock and the black blade in my jacket. I could kill every one of these pricks and make a run for it. But what will that get me? How long will I last? Between the arena and L.A., I’ve been stabbed, shot, burned, poisoned, blown up, and run down by cars and Hell beasts as big as cars. I was once almost snapped clean in half by the claws of a giant crablike thing. A couple of times, I’ve held my stomach together to keep my intestines from spilling out. But I’ve never decayed to death. If Sandoval is even half right it will be the worst thing I’ve ever been through, and I’ve been to Fresno.
A second later, and the sirens are right outside. Bright red lights strobe against the kitchen windows as medics bang on the front door. The roaches scuttle out to let them in. When the others turn to watch, I make my move.
I shove Sandoval out of the way, grab Howard, and haul him into a shadow.
WE COME OUT on Las Palmas, across the street from Max Overdrive.
Howard’s head swivels back and forth like a hyperactive pigeon’s.
“What happened? Where are we?” he says.
“Somewhere it’s just you and me and you can fix me up like you were going to tonight.”
“I don’t have my equipment,” he says. “My potions or books.”
“You mean you don’t have Sandoval’s permission. You don’t need it anymore.”
“Yes, I do. I can’t do anything without her say-so.”
He tenses and takes a step into what he hopes will be a spirited dash away from me. I punch him in the solar plexus. He goes down sputtering.
“You were going to say ‘You don’t know what Wormwood is like. Crossing them is worse than horseradish on ice cream.’ I’ve been hearing that from you assholes for days. Worry about Wormwood later. Right now, I’m the only monster you should be concerned about.”
I try to pull him to his feet, but he’s dry-heaving and can’t get his legs under him. Crouching, I toss him over my shoulder and carry him across the street to the store. The lights are off and I don’t see anyone, so I shadow-walk him inside.
When we’re there, I dump him on the floor between the Hammer horror movies and Giallo sections. He lies there like a pile of British beans. I need time to think. The one thing he said that concerns me is that he doesn’t have the equipment he needs to put me back together. In theory I could take him to Sandoval’s and have him get the gear, then take him somewhere safe to do the procedure. But how can I trust him to get the right tools? He could grab something that would kill me instantly. It’s what I’d do. I’m reasonably sure that if I could get the things together, I could make him put me right, but I don’t know what he needs. I need to find someone who has that kind of knowledge. Vidocq is the only person I can think of who might. But if I go to him, not only will he have to deal with my being back and ready to check out again, it will get him on Wormwood’s bad side. I’m not sure I can do that. That’s problem one.
Problem two is that until I can figure out problem one,I need somewhere to stash Howard. I suppose I could leave him in the Room, but that makes me nervous. Even if I sealed all the functioning doors, he’s a necromancer and that means he has a good knowledge of all sorts of hoodoo. Plus, he’s smart. He might just figure a way out. I could tie him up or knock him unconcious, but I still don’t trust him in the Room. What if he knows a way to keep me out? Then I’ll be truly fucked. No, I need somewhere on Earth to put him. Somewhere he doesn’t know and where no one is going to bother him.
There’s a footfall on the stairs from the upstairs apartment. I start to grab Howard when I hear a clank. I know the sounds of that walk.
A few seconds later Kasabian comes down. He isn’t scared when he sees me this time. He just looks exhausted.
“What are you doing here, man?” he says. “And who the fuck is that on the floor?”
Howard has raised himself up on one elbow and is looking around the store. I give him a little kick and he doubles up again.
“This is Howard. He’s a necromancer and he’s going to fix me. Make me fully alive again.”