“No.”
I wait, wiggling my toes. Not saying a word.
Finally, Sinclair blurts, “It’s a ritual. A magic ritual.”
Sandoval whirls around and slaps him hard enough to leave a mark on his cheek.
I say, “What kind of ritual?”
Sandoval stares at Sinclair, breathing hard. Sinclair touches his face where she hit him. Despite things, he says, “When you joked about a nuclear launch you were closer than you realize.”
“The other Wormwood has a bomb?”
“They might as well have,” says Sandoval. She turns from Sinclair and looks at me. “The splinter faction are in possession of a ritual that will utterly destroy Los Angeles.”
Sinclair says, “It will trigger similar destruction all over the world. Berlin. Tokyo. Sydney. Anywhere we, the true Wormwood, are concentrated.”
“They hope to wipe us out in one massive action,” Sandoval says.
I listen to their hearts. Check the microtremors on their faces. They’re telling the truth.
Well … fuck.
I say, “With all due respect to Berlin, Tokyo, and wherever the fuck else, I don’t care. Let’s talk about L.A.”
“They’re out to destroy our entire infrastructure,” says Sinclair.
Sandoval says, “Then they can pick off the stragglers one by one.”
I look over at the roaches.
“Any of you have a cigarette?”
“There’s no smoking in the house,” says Sandoval.
“I wouldn’t think it matters, seeing as how you’re all going to die.”
“What do you mean?” says Sinclair. “You won’t take the job?”
“Not if you keep lying to me.”
He frowns.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you’re Wormwood. Why do you need a dead man to do your dirty work? You’re global and yet you can’t find one single asshole who can handle this job for you?”
“I think you might overestimate us at the moment,” says Sandoval quietly.
“The other faction took many of our best and brightest,” says Sinclair. “Or killed them.”
“Besides, you have a unique set of skills,” Sandoval says.
It’s making more sens
e now.
“That’s why you gave me back the Room of Thirteen Doors. You don’t just need someone who can stop the ritual. You need someone who can get to it.”