“I want to hear it from you. Tell me what he’s like.”
“He’s exactly what you think he is. He’s good-looking, smart, and the scariest son of a bitch you can possibly imagine. He purrs like a cat one minute, and the next, he’s Lex Luthor with a migraine. He’s David Bowie, Charlie Manson, and Einstein all rolled into one.”
“That sounds pretty hot.”
“Of course he’s hot. That’s his job. He’s the guy you meet at a party that you take home and fuck even though every sensible part of your brain is screaming at you not to.”
“What’s so scary about him?”
“He’s the devil.”
“I mean have you ever seen him do any devil stuff. Anything really evil?”
“I live with a dead man’s talking head. I’d say that’s pretty fucked up.”
She hands me back my coffee, but is clearly not satisfied.
“That’s not what I mean.”
“I’ve never seen him turn a city into salt or make it rain blood. He doesn’t do that kind of thing. Why should he? We do most of the shitty stuff in this world. He can just sit back and watch us like HBO.”
I take a long swig of my coffee. It burns my tongue and throat all the way down. It feels good and tastes better. Allegra walks to the window and crooks her head at me.
“Come over here.”
I set down the coffee and go to her.
She holds my face in her hands, moving my head back and forth, looking me over in the sunlight.
“Your cuts have all healed, which is pretty normal for you.”
“Why’s this happening to me?”
Vidocq says, “It could be a curse or some residual effect from being stabbed by Aelita’s sword. I just don’t know. I’m sorry. Your case is pretty unique. I’m still looking through my books.”
“Your scars haven’t changed much since the last time I checked,” Allegra says. “Whatever’s happening, I think it’s happening at a steady rate and not getting any faster. Once we stop the healing where it is, we can figure out what to do next.”
“How do we do that?”
“I’m making you a magic cocktail. It’ll take just a few more minutes.”
“And my scars will stay?”
“For now.”
“What can I do to help?”
“Relax.”
She pats me on the cheek, goes back to the worktable, and grinds up ingredients with a mortar and pestle. I stay by the window.
Vidocq says, “What does the Golden Vigil have to say about socializing with le diable?”
“Nothing. Why would they? I sure haven’t told them anything about it.”
“Do you really believe that Lucifer can come to Los Angeles and the Golden Vigil be utterly unaware of his arrival?”
“Who cares? I owe him. I’m supposed to go to a party with him so he can show off Sandman Slim.”