There’s a band onstage, but no one’s dancing. Dead people are okay, but I guess metal bands are too harsh for this crowd. It takes me a minute to recognize them over the noise.
“That’s Skull Valley Sheep Kill.”
Lucifer sets his empty glass on a wandering golem’s tray.
“Is it?”
“Not the kind of band I’d expect at a party like this.”
“That’s because they were my daughter’s favorite music, not mine.”
It’s a woman’s voice, deep, melodious, and with an aristocratic German accent. Her skin is as white as a full moon and the irises of her eyes are gold.
Lucifer says, “Koralin, so lovely to see you.”
He takes her hand and she kisses both of his cheeks.
“It’s been too long, my dear,” she says.
“You’re one of the things that make coming to this silly world worthwhile.”
She laughs and means it.
“How interesting that your daughter chose tonight’s band. I think James here knew her.”
“Is this true? You knew Eleanor?”
“I don’t believe that she was using the family name at the time. What was she calling herself? Eleanor Vance?”
“Yes. It was some foolish thing from an old book.”
She looks at me.
“Did you know Eleanor?”
“No, ma’am. Mr. Macheath made a mistake. I didn’t.”
It’s true enough. I didn’t know her at all. I just put her down. Sorry, Eleanor. I’m ignoring your last request. No way I’m telling your mommy you stole whatever it was ’cause you wanted to make her mad. Not this woman. Not here.
“Is Jan around?”
“He’s helping Simon find his Prague whore.”
“They make some awfully good ones,” Lucifer says.
“Better than the French make their damned golems, I hope.”
Koralin accepts the cigarette Lucifer hands her.
“You must be the little monster I’ve heard so much about. The one who tried to burn Beverly Hills to the ground.”
“Just Rodeo Drive. And it wasn’t my fault. The other guy shot first. Sorry if I messed up any of your friends’ thousand-dollar jeans.”
“Fuck those hausfraus and their witless rent boys. I’m sorry I missed the fun. The next time you’re feeling genocidal, you must call me before acting on it.”
“It’s a date.”
I look at her gold eyes, but I can’t read them. Can’t hear her heart or get a feel for her thoughts either. Some Sub Rosa keep a kind of antihoodoo cloak over their homes. It keeps hexes and general magic mishaps to a minimum. I bet the Geistwalds have it cranked to eleven tonight. The most excitement we can hope for is Cabal getting drunk enough to pick a fight with Bruce Lee’s ghost.