“That is Regina’s number in Mumbai. That’s far away in a country called India. You might have heard of it. If you adjudge to ring her, please give the old girl my best.” I hand Brigitte the number and she looks it over. I let her hold on to it because her clothes probably don’t get destroyed as often as mine. “What kind of problem did you have with the Springheels?” He looks genuinely puzzled by that. It caught him off guard and I can feel the edges of his mind sifting through old memories. “None. They were like water buffalo shitting in the streets of Kathmandu. Like any lifelong resident of that fair city, they were something I neither noticed nor particularly cared about.” “They were an important family once.” “Virgin sacrifice and bloodletting were considered of the utmost importance once, but when they outlived their efficacy they were abandoned along with the other discarded refuse of an earlier, though in some ways more graceful, time.” “You old Sub Rosa families are pretty concerned about your place in the social pecking order. The Springheels were the first family in America. You didn’t think that kind of history might overshadow you just a little?” “The Springheels were a dusty diorama. A museum display illustrating Neanderthal man’s first crude efforts to control fire and not shit themselves at every opportunity. The only reason the Springheel family still existed was as a concession to nostalgia and sentimentality. They might have begun their days well in this green and verdant land, but through shrewd planning and incandescent gamesmanship, they managed to metamorphose from ancient royalty into dirt-scrounging hillbillies. They threatened my house as much as this luminous worm.” He holds up his pink cigarette. “What happened to them?” “Time. The world. Charles Springheel, the one who repatriated the family to California, designed and constructed exquisite charms, protective objects, talismans, and the like. He was, at heart, a tinkerer. And a brilliant one, but sitting in your ivory tower fiddling with Lilliputian cogs and thingamabobs is no way to maintain one’s standing in the world. Many of us purchased Charles’s contraptions over the years, both to bolster the old boy’s sense of purpose and to add a bit of lucre to the family’s dwindling fortune. But there’s only so much one can do. A fool determined to saunter off a cliff will find his way around even the most formidable barricades.” I’m learning to really hate Cabal. I don’t want to believe the words coming out of his skull-white face, but after seeing the pathetic and maybe deliberate death scene at the Springheel house, I can’t argue with what he’s saying about the family. “Since you’re our resident demon expert, did Enoch Springheel ever ask you for advice on how to summon or control them?” “Enoch seldom discoursed with anyone. Certainly not with me. The few times a year he would deign to appear at Sub Rosa soirees, he left the distinct impression of a man marooned in the Sahara of his own psyche.” “Who would we go to if we wanted to learn about Drifters or perhaps hire one?” Brigitte asks. Cabal shakes his head. “No one mucks about with the resurrected these days. Too dangerous. You’d be making yourself vulnerable to a veritable avalanche of peril, both from the families and our lovely local Inquisitor, Medea Bava.” “So, there aren’t any Drifter experts in L.A.?” “There are a number; however, by publicly acquiescing to such a dubious practice, they would be aiming a gun to their own precious skulls. To put it in blunt terms that you’ll understand, they won’t talk to you. I’m not so rude as to call myself an expert, but I have more than a passing knowledge of the resurrected. Is there something specific you wish to know?” “Unless you know someone in town who runs with them, no.” Cabal drops the last few inches of the burning worm on the floor and crushes it out with his bare foot. “I’m curious about the depth of your knowledge concerning our hungry friends. If I had a sense of your understanding, perhaps I could speed you along in your investigations.” “Out of the kindness of your heart?”
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