“Shut up,” Vigil said. The hissing blade sliced through the mythical beast’s enchanted collar. The warding symbols on the steel flared red-hot for an instant then faded as the smoking metal hit the stained floor of the stage. “I know people too.” The unicorn met Vigil’s gaze, snorted, and pawed the stage. It lowered its head, touching the tip of its horn to the knight’s shoulder. Then it reared up, its hooves pawing the air, and faded away in a soft white light into nothingness.
I helped the naked, traumatized sea nymph to her feet. Vigil sliced off her collar as well, and she gave him a slight sigh as she became seawater, soaking us and the stage floor. A few of Blue’s men, who hadn’t realized yet they were out of a job, were stepping onto the stage through one of the gate entrances. Vigil aimed the gun at them, thumbed back the hammer, and placed his finger on the trigger. “You looking for this?” he asked calmly. What they saw in his eyes made them slowly retreat. Vigil lowered the gun and looked around at the stage. “Now,” he said, releasing the hilt of the cracking, sputtering soul knife so that it evaporated back into nothing, “we can go.”
TWENTY-ONE
We made our way through the tide of panicked patrons at the Iron Cauldron, scrambling to the exits ahead of the sounds of screams and gunfire. I looked over to the Weathermen’s booth to give them the signal to cut out, but they were already long gone. Outside, we met up with Dwayne and Gretchen and started down the street toward the car. I didn’t see the golems.
“What a mess,” the urban shaman said, looking back. “Shouldn’t we do something to help?”
“We are,” I said, “we’re getting the fuck out of the way. We already unlocked our compassion achievement for the night.” Vigil gave me a dirty look. “That thing will run out of steam if the remaining security are smart enough to leave it alone.” There was a rumble of automatic weapons, which got the fleeing crowd shrieking again. “Roland always hired cut-rate help,” I said.
Back at the Trevita, the secure satellite phone Vigil had given me chirped. I looked at the screen and noticed I had missed three other calls, all from the same number. “Yeah,” I said.
“It’s Anna. I got a lead on your girl, Crystal. Can you meet me now?”
* * *
I convinced Vigil and Dwayne to head back to the Hard Limit. Strangely, Vigil didn’t give me any shit. He seemed lost in his own head. Some of the revelations from the Weathermen about Caern’s drug use and pregnancy had hit him harder than it had me. I also think the exposure to in-your-face grotto had created a toxic waste dump in his skull that he was still trying to decontaminate. Vigil was chasing the ideal of Caern Ankou, the princess, the little girl lost. He still believed in a just world. I just wanted to inspect the wreckage of the real world, and see what, if anything, could be salvaged. One of the few advantages to being a monster was that life seldom disappointed you anymore. This was going to get harder on Vigil before it got easier.
I met Anna and another woman at a coffee shop called Cafe Spot on West Sixth. It was three in the morning, and the place had only a few patrons. I was now officially at my deadline time to be out of L.A. I managed to bury my panic with a yawn. One of the local jazz radio stations was playing softly on the ceiling speakers. I slid into a seat and ordered a Cheerwine, got my usual response, and ordered a large coffee, black, and lit a cigarette. Anna’s friend tried to hide her disgust. I knew there was no smoking in here, hell most of L.A. was no smoking. I’m kinda an arch-villain like that. I seldom return library books in a timely fashion either.
“This is a … friend of mine,” Anna said to me. “Dr. Alexis Matos. I think she might be able to help you. Alex, this is Laytham Ballard.” It dawned on me that Dr. Matos, who was perhaps of Hispanic descent, bore a striking resemblance to Anna in build, hairstyle, color, and even her delicate features. The doc’s eyes were a warm brown as opposed to Anna’s blue, and her skin tone was darker than Anna’s. Still, I was pretty sure “friend” meant “client,” and the notion of the two of them together was a pleasant one. “Tell him what you and I discussed, please. You can trust his discretion.”
I looked like a street bum who’d been run over by a taxi. My hands shook with the beginning of the DTs as I sipped my coffee, and I was puffing away, killing random faceless hipsters with my secondhand smoke. Dr. Matos looked at Anna skeptically.
“Anna, I—”
“What did you just call me?” Anna said quietly, almost politely.
“Mistress,” the doctor corrected, her eyes darkening in fear, possibly arousal. “Are you sure he’s…”
“Tell him what I instructed you to tell him, Alexis,” Anna said, her voice still even, conversational, not a hint of threat or malice in it.
“Yes,” Dr. Matos swallowed hard, “mistress.” She looked to me and managed to get her composure back quickly. “You’re looking for a young woman who was working in adult entertainment out here. I’m a plastic surgeon. My practice is in Beverly Hills, and I do a lot of work for that particular industry, most of it through production companies, or agents. Your ‘Crystal Myth’ wasn’t one of my clients, but I have heard the name from some of my patients.”
“Do you know who Red Hat Productions used as doctors for their talent?” I asked.
“I’ve met Brett Glide at numerous social functions,” Matos said. “He’s charming, well-educated, compassionate—he donated over half a million personally last year to local charities that help children,
