Lucifer heads for the first gondola he sees, cutting off an angry Sub Rosa woman who was stepping into it. She starts to say something, sees me, and shakes her head.
It’s Medea Bava, head of the Sub Rosa Inquisition.
I step down into the boat and she says, “Judge a man by the company he keeps.”
“Admit it. You live alone with thirty cats, all named Mr. Whiskers.”
She stands there scowling at me as the golem gondolier poles us away.
“Friend of yours?” Lucifer asks.
“She either wants to burn me at the stake or shut off my cable. I forget which.”
“Why don’t you kill her?”
I look at him. I can’t tell if he’s serious or not.
“’Cause she hasn’t done anything yet.”
“Don’t be an idiot. If you always wait for your enemies to move first, you’ll be dead before breakfast.”
“But it’s your fans, not your enemies, that ruined your night. You just can’t win.”
“We might have put your no-killing policy on hold. Amanda and her people can be unruly, but they have to be dealt with one way or another.”
“You want me to slaughter thirteen people in the hotel lobby?”
He shrugs.
“Do it in the parking lot if you’re worried about the rugs.”
“These aren’t sulfur-sucking Hellions. I’m not promising to kill anyone.”
He lights a cigarette and doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t offer me one this time.
“If you need to play at being the humanitarian, deal with Amanda first. Put her down and the others will most likely slink away home. I’ll deal with them later.”
“While we’re dealing with annoying situations, fuck you very much for that Eleanor thing back there with the old lady.”
“Don’t be so serious. You hate the Sub Rosa because you don’t know how to have fun with them.”
“Light Bringer sounds fun. Great title, by the way. It makes you sound like Luke Skywalker’s harelip cousin. Maybe they can get Ewoks to play the other fallen angels.”
When the golem docks us by the reservoir stairs, Lucifer dials the chauffeur and tells him to wait back where he dropped us.
When we get back to the street, he isn’t there. Does this moron want his throat slit all the way around back, too, so it matches the front?
I say, “Go back inside. I’ll wait.”
“Calm down. Here he is.”
The limo pulls up to the curb and Lucifer heads straight for it. I grab his arm and hold him until the driver gets out. When he does, I do something I’m pretty sure no one but God has ever done before. I knock Lucifer down. The guy getting out of the limo doesn’t have the heartbeat or the nervous breathing of someone who’s just kept the lord of the flies waiting. He sounds more like me when I’m hunting.
Five more men follow him out of the car. They’re dressed in black jumpsuits, boots, and balaclavas, typical tactical drag, but they don’t have insignias on their suits. For all I know, they could be LAPD, Dr. No, or the SPCA.
Next time, no matter how tight the damn jacket is, I’m bringing a gun.
The six men split into two groups. The four with what look like nonlethals go for Lucifer. Two with guns come at me.