The Seal of Solomon (Alfred Kropp 2)

“No. Yes. A peanut butter and jelly sandwich. With a pickle spear. Claussen.”

“Claussen?”

“Or any crisp pickle, but Claussen’s my favorite.”

“Is that all?”

“Isn’t it enough?”

She started out of the room. “Oh, and a bag of Cheetos,” I called after her. “The crunchy kind.”

She left. Op Nine studied me with his dark eyes. He wasn’t smiling.

“What?” I asked. “Cheetos over the top?”

“Your appetite has returned. A good sign, Alfred.”

“Not too many of those lately—good signs, I mean. What happened in the battle, Op Nine, after I . . . ?” I couldn’t finish. He didn’t seem to mind.

“Once Paimon obtained the ring, it gathered the legions together and the battle was abandoned. They fled as fast as thought, Alfred.”

“Mike too.”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“How do we know he has the Vessel?”

“The area was searched thoroughly after the encounter. The Lesser Seal is gone, Mike has vanished, and Paimon now demands its return. I do not doubt Mike has the Vessel.”

He took a deep breath and pressed his fingertips hard into the corners of his eyes.

“We lost forty-three of our helicopters and all but four of the insertion team.”

“Ashley?” I asked.

“Fortunately, she survived with only minor injuries.”

Hearing that made me feel better, but then worse for feeling better about her being alive when practically everybody else was dead.

“It’s my fault,” I said. “Once I got the ring from Mike I should have brought it to you. You would’ve known how to use it.”

“Yes,” he said. I didn’t know if the yes was to it being my fault the demons had the Seal or to him knowing how to use it. Maybe both.

“So I blew it—again. And now the demons are free with no way to control them.”

“No way that we can discern—yet. I have no doubt we shall find the way through our difficulties, Alfred.”

“How come?”

“Because, as I said a few moments ago, the alternative is despair.”

He excused himself after that, and I waited for my food. I was still waiting when Ashley stepped into the room. I sat up a little and ran a hand through my hair. I needed a haircut.

“Hi,” I said.

“Hi.” She was dressed in a pale pink cashmere sweater with a soft, high collar, jeans, and these pink suede boots with fuzzy fold-over tops. She looked like she was on her way to the ski lift.

“Well,” I said. “I guess we made it.”