The Jehovah Contract

In an instant, the carnelian stains vanished from our clothing. It didn't dry up or fade or anything. It just wasn't there anymore. The Porsche's interior sparkled like new.

'It's gone,' I said, standing her up carefully.

'It'll be back,' she said with grim certainty. Nervous hands wiped at her eyes. Her heels clacked loudly against the sidewalk.

I strode up alongside her. 'Where are you going?'

'I've got to get to Hollywood Boulevard. There's a place there...' Her golden mane fluttered in the breeze that blew from the north. Her skirt rippled, clinging and sliding around her legs and thighs. Not a bad sight, had I been in a more receptive mood.

I looked back at the car. Shadows flitted around it like an outtake from

Fantasia.

I didn't go back to find out if they could drive.

I fell in stride with Ann. She took long, leggy steps with a panicky determination.

'What's on Hollywood? More gremlins?'

The walk calmed her a bit. She inhaled deeply the afternoon air. After a moment's thought, she said, 'It's a sort of shop. It's been there for years. The woman who currently runs it is... sensitive to these things.'

'Splendid,' I said. 'Now we're dragging in fortune tellers.'

She stopped to stare at me as straight and as pointedly as a spear. 'Maybe

you

can explain the blood. And why the others didn't see it.'

I tried to think of causes, reasons, rational explanations. 'The drugs?'

She frowned. 'I'm not having a flashback, if that's what you're getting at.' She smiled stiffly. 'A friend of mine once told me that practically no one is so lucky as to get a free trip that way.' She increased her stride with even greater intent.

The hair on my arms prickled. The icy feeling spread across my shoulders and up the back of my head.

Something

was happening. The air grew rank and stale. More so than usual for Hollywood, that is.

Ann pointed to the side of a building on Melrose Boulevard. With a tone of hysterical triumph, she said, 'See?'

I squinted. The vague outline of something-it looked like a moosehead with drooping antlers-shimmered almost invisibly on the south side of the building.

Blood flowed down the building, staining brick and glass, turning brown where it dried.

We weren't the only ones to notice it this time. Scores of cars squealed to a halt at the intersection. Not all of them did, though. The traffic jam was almost instantaneous.

Dozens of people climbed out of their cars, pointing and staring. One man gestured wildly at the building. The woman with him shook her head in confusion. He pointed again. She shrugged as if nothing were wrong with the building but

plenty

were wrong with

him.

He looked one last time, gave up, and drove into the snarl of confusion at Melrose and Van Ness.

'See that?' Ann asked again, pointing to the crowd. Some people stared in shock at the building. Others stared in amazement at the people craning their necks. 'Some see it. Some don't.'

'Can't be holograms,' I offered weakly.

'Holograms don't feel slick. Or taste salty.'