Damn Him to Hell

12

It wasn’t quite noon yet on my day off, and I was completely wiped already.

Milo licked my face but I didn’t have the energy to view whatever chaos Andre had generated on the street. I wanted to wish myself into a quiet law library, but I was pretty sure now that the red-rage juice provided the energy for my visualizations and I couldn’t wish myself anywhere without it.

Lying on the balcony, watching smoke drift by, I realized that if I’d made copies of the case the judge was working on, I could have taken the file over to the university law library today and worked on it on my own.

Back in the good old days, that’s exactly what I would have done. I’m goal-oriented.

But my mind was apparently being controlled by a planet. Or Satan. Or insanity. Depending on the day of the week, maybe. I no longer thought like my old self. I thought like the Avenger of Justice or some other dingbat instead of a type-A legal beagle.

Maybe Max was right. Maybe I needed to move out of the Zone and its environs.

I was thinking of taking a nice nap when I heard voices in the attic. Invisibility would be a neat trick if I could pull it off. Maybe I’d ask Tim for pointers.

“Schwartz is the law,” Andre shouted. “He’s gone off to write a report, a freaking report, when Acme just blew up my warehouse and sent armed troops after my fucking family! The line was drawn and Gloria crossed it.”

“We’re not hurt. Calm down and be sensible. Where’s Tim? Did he get out of the warehouse?”

I recognized Julius’s soothing murmur. I also recognized that Andre had reached a plane beyond reason. I waited to hear about Tim. If Tim had been hurt, I’d probably go all red-ragey again, but I just didn’t have it in me otherwise. I lay on the balcony and clung to mellow.

“The kid’s not stupid,” Andre yelled at his father. “He sneaked out and bashed one of the van drivers. He drove off with two of the old guys, but the other van got away with our people. Do you want to be responsible for whatever the hell they’re doing to them up there in that frigging Frankenstein lab?”

Well, I could say the same about Julius’s infirmary and Paddy’s weird attic, but admittedly, neither of them had gassed a neighborhood and gone to extreme lengths to hide the fact that their chemicals had knocked people comatose.

Tim was safe. He hadn’t been dragged into Acme’s dungeon. No one was shooting at us. My mellow stayed mellow. I wondered if Tim had rescued the van with Leibowitz inside and if he’d done it while invisible. Not having to worry about him, I could breathe again. Andre’s curses weren’t all in English. I amused myself by making up translations. Vaca was cow, wasn’t it? Cow-fornicating bastards?

“I’m just asking you to wait, clear your head,” Julius said. “Check on your businesses. See if anyone is feeling any effects from the gas. Don’t do anything hasty until you’ve had time to cool down.”

“If I don’t act now, the storm troopers will be back. Do you want to move Mom out of here? Put her in a nursing home somewhere?”

The silence was telling.

“I rest my case.”

The snapping of locks and slamming of cabinet doors followed.

I waited for Andre to notice me through the French doors, but he apparently really was in his own world. I glanced up and saw Julius standing in front of me—deliberately?

“You can’t confront Gloria,” Julius said firmly. “Acme provided your scholarships at her behest.”

Yup, deliberately. He was telling me where Andre was headed. Andre had told me once that his father had once worked with the Vanderventers. Pretty closely, apparently, if Gloria had provided Andre with a scholarship.

Julius was protecting Granny Vanderventer. Or Andre. I wasn’t sure Gloria needed or deserved his friendship. But going after Gloria wasn’t smart.

Controlling stockholder of Acme Chemical, Gloria Vanderventer had bloodthirsty goons out the wazoo, I knew from personal experience. They killed first and asked questions later. I figured the rotting corpses of her enemies composted her rose gardens. Or maybe since Dane’s departure, she’d taken up knitting baby booties.

I stretched out and annoyed myself by wondering if I’d killed anyone today, and if I’d be rewarded in the morning. But I’d avoided damning people to hell, so maybe not. My, my. I yawned. Milo settled on my tummy. Now that I’d publicly blown up my boyfriend and sent him to hell, unseen deaths were reasonably anticlimactic. Or so I’d like to believe.

Andre slammed out of the attic. Julius followed. I could stroll on home, check my e-mail. I really needed to figure out how to find Themis one of these days. My mother’s friends could have responded about body dumping by now.

I knew I wouldn’t do any of the above. Really, I was too predictable.

I needed food if I was going to take the next step. Waiting until both sets of angry feet pounded down the stairs, I dragged myself off the balcony. Milo tagged along at my heels. Noticing a stout canvas tote bag hanging on the back of the door, I appropriated it. Milo needed a larger mode of transportation. I dropped him in. He poked his head out.

“I don’t like war,” I told him conversationally. “Do you think I could wish for peace on earth? Visualize ammunition melting?”

He gave a kitty snort. Yeah, that was my thought, too. My brain was too fuzzed to even picture the sandwich I intended to make. Maybe those old gurus got it right by living the hermit life on top of mountains where they could concentrate without interference. Unfortunately, I’m not much into masochism.

Besides, from what I’d learned so far, I needed a personal connection before I could zap someone. I’d wanted to find the invisible thief so badly, the Universe had to throw Tim at me or I’d probably have exploded. All my other visualizations had been of a similar category—highly emotional and directly related to me and mine. Imagining impersonal warehouses around the world full of melting bullets was simply beyond my capacity. Achieving world peace would probably require blowing up the planet.

Maybe the Why me? question was answered by Because I’m rational. But for how long?

Sirens were screaming down the street by the time we reached Julius’s kitchen. The outside world tended to ignore the Zone, but an explosion had probably tripped a few seismic waves. I found Tim in the kitchen with a sub bun in hand, loading on every piece of processed meat and cheese he could locate in the refrigerator. I took tomatoes out of a hanging basket and sliced them onto his chemically enhanced protein bomb. He shot me a nasty glare, but he needed veggies. I added some basil leaves and lettuce. Andre kept his father’s kitchen well stocked. A pity Julius had never learned to cook.

Tim slathered on mayonnaise. I added mustard and bean sprouts and cut the bun in half. He took his half and peeled off all the veggies.

“You’ll get scurvy and rickets if you don’t eat your fruits and vegetables,” I warned. “Your hair will fall out. Your bones will crumble.”

“Bunny Bread builds strong bones and muscles,” he countered, but he slapped one tomato back on before biting off a chunk bigger than he was.

“I told Andre only to buy his father brown bread. You’re eating whole grains. Want to go for a bike ride?” I nibbled my sandwich. It needed onions, but I didn’t have time to peel them.

“Can I drive?” He knew I owned a Harley and didn’t mean a Schwinn.

“Doubtful, unless you’ve had lessons.” I headed down the back stairs, still nibbling.

He didn’t laugh at my bad joke or the grammar correction. “How will I learn if I don’t have a bike?” he complained through a mouthful of bread.

“You need some driver’s ed first. Maybe there’s a motorcycle school.” Of course, given that he’d just driven off in one of the vans, he already knew the basics. “Where’d you leave the van?” I asked.

“One of the medics took it away after I delivered the patients,” he said resentfully.