“You dug all this out of the Codex?”
“Well, Kinski helped. He pretty much knew what it was when I showed him the drawing. I found the rest after.”
“So what’s the Druj Ammun doing here?”
“You know how the Kissi like a little chaos with their morning coffee? The story is that they stole it off the gates and dropped it on earth just to see what would happen.”
“Okay. That still doesn’t explain how Eleanor got it or why it affects Drifters.”
“I don’t know about Eleanor, but the zed thing makes perfect sense. Remember the story that the first zombies were civilians who’d been attacked by the fallen angel that landed on earth? It must be true. Zeds were made by that dying angel’s blood and saliva. They have a direct blood link to Hellions, so the Druj affects them the same way it affects any of Heaven’s rejects.”
I make it to the morgue, but don’t go in since I might lose the phone signal.
“Nice work. It’s good to know what this thing is. I’d hate to end up gnawed to death because the batteries ran out.”
“Hey, man. I don’t know if you’re zeroing in on the big picture. Not only can you control those coffin jockeys from skull-fucking tourists, but the Druj is kryptonite to Hellions. That means you can stroll into Hell, make one of Lucifer’s generals tell you where Mason is, go right up to the son of a bitch, and put a bullet through his head and no one is going to stop you.”
I get out the gun, push open the morgue door with my foot, and take a look around. I don’t want any surprises when I step inside. The room is empty.
“Speaking of strolling into Hell, have you talked to Lucifer?”
“No. He’s not answering his phone. I’ve left messages, but the way things are, I don’t even know if my calls are getting through.”
“Okay. Thanks for the spook story. I’ll swing by the Chateau Marmont when I’m done making Cabal cry.”
I hang up and push open the wall to Uncle Cabal’s Haunted Mansion ride.
I don’t get more than a few steps inside the front room when my heart is broken. I’m not going to make Cabal cry. Someone has beaten me to it.
Cabal’s body is scattered in about fifty pieces around the table where Brigitte and I first talked to him. If Drifters didn’t do it, then it was someone doing an A-plus impression. I follow a trail of bones and splintered furniture through the curtain and into the room where Cabal’s party guests had been asleep the last time I was here.
It’s the same story. Shredded bodies spread across the floor and furniture and splattered up the walls. There’s one Drifter left. A female at the back of the room. She’s hunched over the body of a naked boy. His chest is cracked open and someone has been gnawing on his exposed ribs. The female has the boy’s heart in her hands and she’s working on it hard, trying to bite through the tough muscle. A couple of her teeth are embedded in the shiny meat. It’s a good few seconds before she sees me and gets up to attack. That’s when I see her face. It’s Cosima. I hoodoo her back against the far wall and pull out her spine fast with the na’at. Even though I never really knew Cosima, ripping apart someone whose face you recognize isn’t as much fun as gutting a stranger. Go figure.
Bottles are scattered around the furniture and bodies. I rescue an unopened bottle of Jack Daniel’s from the depths of a beanbag chair and a bottle of wine from a moldering stack of Italian Vogues. Go back to the room where Cabal lies in peace. He was nice enough to die on the other side of the room and not get blood or meat all over my chair.
Stark and not-Stark are going at it inside my skull. Jack Daniel’s versus no-name wine. Stark is too weak. Wine wins. I slice off the top of the bottle with the black blade and drink a toast to my dead host.
“You were a prick and a crook, but no one deserves to go out the way you went. I hope it was over quick and that you tasted like ass all the way down. Amen.”
So much for suspect number one. Under other circumstances, I might think Cabal ending up a Hot Pocket was just a case of bad juju or karma coming home to roost, but he was too good a magician to let some dumb Drifters wander in here. And he just came into a load of money, which sounds like he’d done some iffy magic for someone. I’m sure he’s the one who sold the glamour to Rainier, which makes him suspect number one in Cabal’s death.
But Cabal isn’t the only Sub Rosa who’s been fucked by Drifters. Someone let loose a roomful of eaters on Enoch Springheel. The Vigil sent two after me. I bet whoever sicced them on Cabal and Springheel rented Aelita my pair.
Then there’s poor Titus. The guy never hurt anyone. The worst thing Titus ever did was pad his hours when his client had money. And he was small-time. He never had a big-time or dangerous case in his life. He was just doing a back-of-the-milk-carton job. He must have seen something he wasn’t supposed to. What was it? Maybe whoever has the local zombie franchise? And now every flavor of Drifter is running—well, stumbling—down every street in the city. Was that the plan all along or is someone making a bigger mess to cover up the mess that Titus found?
Why would anyone bother to kill a loser like Enoch Springheel? And—sorry, Cabal—take out another loser like Cabal? Cabal might mix a good glamour cocktail, but he can’t be the only Sub Rosa in town who could do that. Vidocq could do it in his sleep. There have to be others as good as Cabal and more reliable. So, the glamour might have been only half the reason the buyer came to Cabal.
What did Cabal Ash and Enoch Springheel have in common? Nothing except that they were the heads of two important Sub Rosa families. But who fucking cares about that? No wonder Sherlock Holmes did all that coke. Math is hard.
I get out my cell and call Kasabian.
“Listen, is there anything online or in the Codex about old Sub Rosa families?”
“Yeah. What do you need?”
“Spencer Church. Are the Churches a big deal? In the history of L.A.?”
“Wait.”