Hollywood Dead (Sandman Slim 10)

“You got to be careful around those people. Necromancers are weird little fucks. I still think you should come by trivia night. Maybe we can find one of those guys to fix you up.”

I set down my cup, realizing that it wasn’t coffee I wanted, but a cigarette.

“I’d love to, but, what did you say, that’s Tuesday or Wednesday? I’m not going to last that long. According to the people who brought me back, I’m only going to have a few more hours.”

Ray says, “Maybe I can talk to the necromancer. See what’s going on. Maybe convince him to help out. Where is he?”

“Unconscious behind a stack of porn in a closet. I kidnapped him.”

Carlos laughs. Ray gives him a look, and I must also be giving him the cockeye, because he says, “I’m sorry, man, but you are such an asshole. You never make anything easy.”

I lean back and laugh too. It feels good.

“I thought kidnapping him was the easy way,” I say. “But all it did was scare him. And we don’t have access to his equipment.”

Ray is more serious.

“Do you know what kind of spell he used?”

“No. But it’s supposed to be something obscure. The people who brought me back were real clear that he was the only one who knew how to do it.”

“Let’s hope they were exaggerating.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot,” says Ray.

“You’re not quite like other brujos I’ve met. Though, I suppose that’s not a question. I guess I’m curious what kind of brujo you are.”

Ray hangs his head down for a second, then brings it back up.

“That’s another one of Carlos’s dumb jokes. I’m not a brujo.”

“You’re my brujo,” says Carlos.

“Thank you, but that doesn’t really help Stark, does it?”

I say, “If you’re not a brujo, what do you do? Are you Sub Rosa?”

“No,” says Ray. “My grandfather was, but he rejected the community and never did any magic. I’m strictly home-schooled by my grandmother. She had a lot of old books, including some of my grandfather’s. She taught me things.”

Carlos says, “His abuela. She was a real bruja.”

“That she was.”

Ray takes another sip of his coffee.

“Okay, Stark, let’s get you upstairs and check you out.”

FROM THE OUTSIDE, it’s an ordinary room in any suburban house. There are no runes, wards, or charms on the door to indicate that it’s anything other than a guest room or where someone ties flies for fun. But it’s very different when Ray ushers us inside.

The room immediately reminds me of Vidocq’s apartment. Lots of old, stained tables covered in potion ingredients and glass lab equipment for mixing magical brews. There are books everywhere and an old apothecary cabinet the size of a steamer trunk.

I say, “Nice setup,” and Ray beams.

“I put some of it together, but most of it comes from my grandparents. My folks got me the alembic and the Erlenmeyer flask for Christmas when I turned eighteen, though. They wanted me to quit all this silly magic business when I was younger, but when they realized I was serious, they were very supportive.”

“They sound like good people.”