Just as the dancing girl Maria seduced from a stage upheld by the Seven Deadly Sins, her sky-cast image had transfixed Torbellino’s hundreds of human cartel “soldiers” in suspended motion to be mowed down by Tallgrass’s bullets and the resurrected femicides’ power to avenge.
What had really happened there?
All other CinSims were the image of the actor and the role. The Silver Zombie had many roles and a silver metal face and form to hide her true intentions behind.
Ric’s religious vision of the Virgin Mary made more sense and soothed the savage soul he’d had to resurrect to destroy El Demonio and his human and unhuman armies.
I’d never forget that swarm of avenging Amazons, hundreds of brutalized girls rising strong and whole, clothed not in the “sun and stars” of the Virgin Mary but in the piecemeal Joan of Arc armor of the shattered Silver Zombie as she drew on the might of machine to vanquish the demonic lord’s robotic male zombies and also used the hypnotic succubus powers of the Eternal Feminine to destroy brutal human men and the demon who commanded them.
In my mind’s eye, our insubstantial savior had been one hot mama with the sensual, paranormal power of a succubus gone CinemaScope. That’s what I’d seen Ric animate with the gaze of his silver iris, magically, without resorting to dowsing rod or blood, as he always did.
So the three faces of Maria in the film still lurked in the sky above and haunted and worried me. When she was good, she was very good. When she was bad, she was catastrophic. And when she was the link between the Good and the Bad, the anatomically correct sexy silver robot destroyed at the film’s end—and the tool of somebody else—she was badder than anything.
Those thoughts jerked me out of my speculations. I had my own secret moments of being badder than anything, especially if they involved Snow.
During the duel in the sky, Ric had unconsciously drawn on both sides of Maria, saint and succubus. The Seven Deadly Sins’ featured appearance, however, could have only been sent by the resident power at the Inferno Hotel, Cocaine, who played the lead deadly sin of Pride in the rock group’s lineup and was
Snow.
El Demonio Torbellino, or whatever remnants of him that might still be circling out there like a mist of evil struggling to take physical form, was not sitting down for a debriefing with me, but I could certainly put Snow to the question.
He always enjoyed destroying my illusions about my world, and myself. In this town, that meant that he was also the best thing that passed for truth.
Chapter Thirty-five
“GODFREY,” I SAID.
He stood at my Enchanted Cottage front door, as formal as usual in white tie and black morning coat, but held a most unusual silver salver in one hand. His pencil-thin mustache took a stern downward turn.
I wasn’t dressed for company, wearing my Betty Boop sleep shirt and a bedhead.
“Miss Delilah, a personal invitation for you was delivered to the main house. I saw early this morning that your Miss Dolly was parked aslant in the driveway and her normally shiny black coat was dulled with dust. I took the liberty of assigning an individual named Woodrow, who was idling about the area, to have her seen to.”
“Oh, you didn’t, Godfrey.”
“I just told you I did.”
“Woodrow is a yard troll. If it’s green and growing, or, uh, brown and dirty and in need of picking up, he will do that, the brown part very reluctantly.
“Apparently he found some unemployed pixies to handle the chore. Miss Dolly is her usual self again. I’m afraid I can’t say the same about you.”
I’d slept about sixteen hours and stumbled down to the kitchen for a hearty breakfast of sliders and McDonald’s fries from the kitchen witch. Apparently she was annoyed with me as well. Quick and I were about to make short work of the fast food when the doorbell had rung.
I gazed again at the salver. At least somebody wasn’t. A large square envelope was centered exactly on its center, held in place by a slender Mexican quartz letter opener.
“You say that’s for me?”
“If you are Miss Delilah Street and not some unkempt pretender.”
“Can it, Godfrey. I’ve had a rough road trip to Mexico and back.”
With that I snatched the letter opener and pushed it through the heavy rag paper so hard I got a jagged edge instead of a neat slit.
I pulled out an embossed card on pristine white stock and read the wedding invitation script very slowly, because it was so ornate it was almost unreadable.
Christophe invites you to be his special guest
at a private party at 8:00 p.m. tonight
for the unveiling of a dazzling new Las Vegas landmark.
The Penthouse, Inferno Hotel and Casino on the Strip
Black Tie
“Nerve incarnate,” I complained. “Not even an RSVP, as if he was certain I’d come running. Who delivered this?”
“A most unique individual from a messenger service.”
I believed I’d received something from just such a messenger once before, the silver familiar.
I looked at my wrist, which was . . . watchless. Godfrey lifted his left arm, shook down his formal white cuff, and offered his round-dialed wristwatch for my perusal.
“Four fifteen? Must be p.m.,” I mumbled.
A nearby whimper made me wake up even more to spot Quicksilver beside me, presenting Godfrey with a furry and furrowed brow.
“Master Quicksilver, good afternoon,” Godfrey said. “Thank you for the heads-up. Miss Delilah, you’re exhausted. Why didn’t you say so? Do sit down. There’s a clever little bench just inside the door.”
I took his advice, surprised that my knees were a bit wobbly. No food in sixteen hours will do that to my metabolism. For some reason Godfrey was reluctant to cross my threshold. I didn’t know if it was because a proper butler would never do that, or because, as a CinSim, he wasn’t chipped to roam that far.
“May I see?” Godfrey extended a hand. It did not cross the threshold.
I handed the card over it.
“I see,” he murmured after a couple moments. “Rather formal for a piece of public relations ballyhoo. Are you going?”
“Of course not.” I pushed a hand through my hair. Hornet’s nests would be more manageable. “It’s unspeakably rude.”
“Certainly on inexcusably short notice.”
“As I said, rude.”
“Inarguably.”
“And I could never get ready that fast.”
“The last straw.”
“That’s right, Godfrey. The cardinal sin against Miss Manners. How could I possibly attend a formal affair tonight? Last night I slept in a sleeping bag on the floor of a fleabag motel in the murder capital of the world. The night before that I was up to my knees in rattlesnakes and lizards and tarantulas, big ones, Godfrey, running behind an army of desert dust devils and—”
“Please.” Godfrey’s palms were raised. “No more sordid confessions of the great outdoors. I am an urban animal, Miss Delilah. However, if your emergency is of a social nature, I’m your man. I’ll return to the main house to
