Kill the Dead

Kasabian picks up his beer and chugs the bottle. It drains out of his neck and into the bucket, sounding somewhere between a light summer rain and someone peeing in a Dixie cup. “So, my options are: I can go back to Hell, be damned and tortured forever, but at least I’ll have a body, or I can be Zardoz on a skateboard up here with you forever. You’d think this would be an easy choice, but it isn’t.” “Does the Codex say anything about someone in your situation putting a body back together?” “No, but I’ll tell you one thing I’ve learned. Any spell cast can be broken. Any spell broken can be put back together.” “If you want I can have a word with the boss.” He shakes his head and drops the bottle into the recycling bin. “Forget it. The last thing I need to get into is office politics.” “I can see how your situation sucks, but in case you haven’t noticed, neither one of us is exactly free to go drink mai tais in Maui. Maybe if we don’t shank each other in the shower, we can do something to improve that stupid situation. I don’t know what exactly, but maybe something.” “You’re going to improve things? I’m so fucking relieved. Just remember to tell Santa I’ll need a stepladder when he brings me that pony next Christmas.” I get up and look for some clothes that don’t have blood on them. When I’m pulling on my boots, Kasabian says, “Beelzebub is the only one of the big generals left who hasn’t joined up with Mason’s bunch. He has all the other generals, but Beelzebub’s army is almost as big as all of theirs put together. But if he gets offed or switches sides, that’s it. Mason wins.” “And Lucifer has nowhere to go.” “Allegra can teach him to run a cash register. He can be night manager and we’ll be his bosses.” I check the drawers in the bedside table looking for something to smoke. I check my pockets for the electronic cigarette and then remember that I tossed it into a canal in the ballroom. Sometimes we do dumb things to amuse women. “There’s something else.” “Don’t tell me. Mason has a herpes gun. Or a bomb that gives everyone a fat ass and they get depressed and sit around eating ice cream all day while he takes over.” “Mason is working on something all right. He’s got his own Manhattan Project going with alchemists, sorcerers, witches—human and Hellion—all working together. One of Beelzebub’s spies found out and passed the word along. From what I heard, right after that, he ended up in Tartarus.” “You can hear things when Lucifer talks with other Hellions?” “Not always and not everything. But I heard enough of this.” I shrug and give up on finding smokes. That’s okay. I need to get out of here and walk off some of the knots in my legs and side. “This isn’t news. Mason’s always got two or three things going at the same time.” “Yeah, but nothing like this before.” “What is it?” “He’s trying to make a new key to the Room of Thirteen Doors.” I don’t know what I was expecting to hear, but that wasn’t it. But it makes sense. What’s worse is that the prick is talented and relentless enough to actually do it. “Is that what you didn’t want to tell me?” “You shot at me once. You threatened to drop me in the ocean and throw me to the coyotes, so I had some concerns you might overreact.”