Larry trembled. Ran his hands down his ghostly face. “Where do those things take the souls they capture?”
Another uncomfortable question. Especially for a ghost he was trying to get rid of.
“You could call it purgatory, I guess,” Hilario said.
“I’m not Catholic,” Larry said, “My…my people don’t believe in purgatory.”
“And who are your people?”
Larry looked away. Changed the subject. “The lady who lives here…she is your friend you say? She can keep those…things away? I don’t want to go with them.”
Hilario sighed. His greasepaint makeup was getting hot. Had been hot for hours. It was going to melt off soon. His bald scalp twitched and itched under the fluffy purple wig. His empty belly rumbled. Dank air from the Black River drifted through the two inches of open window beside him. It stank of dead fish.
He just wanted to go home, take off his uniform and watch TV. Watch it while plowing through two or three pepperoni and sausage pizzas from his big chest freezer. Wash it down with a half gallon of butter brickle ice cream.
Since he wasn’t getting any pizza from the Stung Sparrow tonight.
And immediately guilt twisted his bowels.
Larry was having a lot worse night than he was. His friend had literally lost everything. Including his life. And Hilario had taken him away from the Black Angels. They would have taken him to the place in-between. Which wasn’t as bad as the dark places.
Kinda sorta.
At least the in-between place had exits. If you could find them.
Exits to other layers of the unseen world. Which may or may not be better than the place you left.
Usually not.
“Hilario? What were those things?” Larry said.
“They’re called black angels,” Hilario said, “And they’re not as bad as they look.”
“They were stabbing my friends, my customers,” Larry said, “Disappearing with them.”
“Yeah, well, they’re not angels like you think of.”
“My beliefs don’t encompass angels,” Larry said.
Hilario turned a sharp eye to Larry Sparrow. He’d taken Larry more or less at face value over the years. A Native American trying to pass as the Italian owner of a pizzeria. Larry had an almost magical touch with food. Though Hilario had never detected an ounce of magic in the man. But then how deeply had he looked?
Larry didn’t seem to have knowledge of the unseen world and its complicated layers.
Unless he was connected to it in a different way.
“Larry, what do your people believe in?”
Larry stared off to the dark waters running a short distance away.
“We believe in the earth, and the sky and the stars,” he said, “And in the harmony among them. We don’t believe in hell.”
“But you believe in heaven?”
Larry nodded. “We believe in a place where there is no more pain. Where no one will go hungry. Where you will find your loved ones and be happy with them again.”
In other words, heaven. A nice concept. Though somewhat improbable. From what Hilario had heard, the best anyone could hope for was a release from bondage.
“Right, well, sorry to burst your bubble, but hell exists, in a fashion,” Hilario said, “Though human spirits don’t usually end up there.”
But some did.
“That does not fill me with happiness to hear, friend Hilario,” Larry said. He slumped further down. Then suddenly sat up, a bright smile creasing his ghostly features. “But that means Rachel is going to hell, right? Murderers go to hell, don’t they?”
Hilario groaned. He wanted to slap his hands to his face. But that would have smeared his greasepaint armor. Might have even exposed bare skin. And bare skin could be touched.
“It’s complicated,” Hilario said, “It depends on the circumstance.”
“But she murdered me and my restaurant,” Larry said, “So many lives. So much pizza.”
Hilario’s shoulders twitched. He’d been through a lot of strangeness in his long, long life, but even this was getting surreal.
“We don’t know for sure what she–or anyone did,” Hilario said, “That’s why we’re here. The Sapphire Witch can–”
“She’s a witch?” Larry said. He ducked his head down to look up at the gothic tenement. He had a strange expression on his face. Longing? Fear?
“It’s not what you think,” Hilario said, “She doesn’t ride broomsticks or have a cauldron or anything like that.”
“Then why do you call her a witch? Do you think she is not a nice person?”
“Depends on how you talk you her,” Hilario said, “Just be polite. Okay?”
“You’re sure she can help us?” Larry asked, “What if she…doesn’t like me? Us.”
Hilario studied Larry’s face. There was something there. Something Larry was holding back.
“She has more connections than I do in the unseen world,” Hilario said, “And a lot more power.”
Larry closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. He gave a curt nod. “Very well,” he said, “Perhaps it will be okay to see her. Just one thing.”
“What?”
“How do I get out of your van?”
5
The Sapphire Witch lived at the very top of the five story tenement building.
Hilario stood in front of the crumbling brick steps and craned his neck back. The gray stone facade was covered with all kinds of stupid victorian gingerbread decorations. And not tastefully done. No, it was like some fanboy of gothic architecture had ejaculated all over the outside of the building. It was layer on layer on layer of curlicues and swoops and fish scales that made absolutely no sense whatsoever.
It was like the bad taste fairy had dropped by and beat the place with a stick.
Maybe she had. It
