He doesn’t need that much encouragement. Kasabian half turns and kicks the bottle at me with six of his legs. It goes somersaulting at my head.
When it’s a foot away, I bark some Hellion and the bottle explodes into a million pieces. Okay, it wasn’t exactly shield magic, but I didn’t get hit.
“Don’t even dream of asking me to clean that glass up.”
“I’ll get the maid to do it. Come on. Boot something else. I need to practice.”
I don’t have to tell him twice. He kicks an empty DVD case, a wire-mesh penholder, and a pile of printer cartridges at me.
This time I hold back and throw a big mental marshmal-low around me. The DVD case bounces and ricochets off the ceiling. The penholder bounces and flips into the bathroom. I block two of the printer cartridges.
“My wings are like a shield of steel!”
I’m so pleased with myself that I miss the third cartridge and it hits me over the eye.
“Touchdown!” yells Kasabian.
“Damn. That hurt.”
I take another sip from my tumbler. The pains in my stomach and side aren’t getting any better, but they’re getting farther away. Like I’m looking down at them from the third floor. My cell phone rings. It rings again. Kasabian is back working on the computer. After the third ring, the phone stops. A second later, the phone at Kasabian’s desk rings. He picks it up and gives me a look.
“Yeah, he’s here. Sure it rang. He’s just being a little bitch today.”
I have a pretty good idea who’s on the other end of the call. Kasabian mostly listens and grunts every now and then.
He has Black Sunday playing on the monitor with the sound down. Some very bad men are nailing a devilish witch mask to Barbara Steele’s pretty face. I’ve seen that done for real. I’m glad this version is in black-and-white.
A couple of “okays” followed by a “yeah” and Kasabian hangs up.
“Guess who that was,” he says.
“Unless it was about me winning the lottery, I don’t care.”
“Lucifer says for you to answer your damned phone.”
“What did he want?”
“He doesn’t need you today and maybe tomorrow, too. Ritchie and some bigwigs are coming to the Chateau for a meeting.”
“Does he know them all? Does he trust them?”
“He said you’d ask that and says not to worry. He owns all their souls. They wouldn’t dare cross him.”
“Those are exactly the people who are going to cross him.”
“He says he’s got it under control.”
“I hope he has fun and only agrees to tasteful nudity.”
“You know, you’ve been drinking a lot lately, even by your standards.”
“‘There was moonshine, moonshine to quench the devil’s thirst. The law they swore they’d get him, but the devil got him first.’ Robert Mitchum wrote that for Thunder Road, the year of our Lord, 1958.”
“You’re not Robert Mitchum, this isn’t Cape Fear, and the devil is pissed at you. You might think about spacing out the Jack with, I don’t know, anything that’s not Jack.”
“You heard anything new about Mason?”
“Nope.”