Sandoval glances at her roaches.
“Just do your job and leave the rest to us.”
Before I start for the door I say, “Where’s Howard?”
“In the library. Why?”
“I’ll try to keep the driver safe. You do the same with Howard.”
“Why do you think he might not be safe?” says Sinclair.
“No reason. It’s just that I’ll be very cranky if anything happens to him.”
Sandoval looks back at me.
“The car is waiting.”
Sinclair says, “Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
As I reach the front door Sandoval calls after me.
“Don’t get any grand ideas about betraying us or running off. The spell Howard used to bring you back is very specific and not something just any necromancer can duplicate.”
I open the door but pause. “That reminds me. Does Howard like movie trivia?”
“I don’t know. Who cares? What does that have to do with anything?”
“Just curious. If he brings me back right, I know the place to take him for a drink.”
IT’S A HOT day, even for L.A. The sky is clear, but the cat-piss smell of Sandoval’s eucalyptus trees makes the air feel heavy. The driver is holding the limo door open for me at the head of the circular driveway. I get in and it’s twenty degrees cooler. Is the driver from the Arctic or does he know about my not-quite-alive situation and think he needs to keep me on ice so I won’t stink? Or maybe he knows what’s going to happen next and he’s trying not to sweat. There’s nothing I can do to help that, so he better buckle up tight.
As he pulls away from Sandoval’s house and takes us out through the gates of the estate I say, “You’re Philip, right?”
He glances in the rearview mirror.
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, Philip, do you know who you work for?”
“Ms. Sandoval? Of course.”
“You know what she does for a living?”
“I know that’s she’s in international finance.”
I wish I could see his eyes. It would help me know if he’s lying. His heartbeat’s up a little, but he’s not panicked. Just curious about getting the third degree from a stranger in the backseat.
There’s a small but well-stocked bar on the left wall of the limo. I find the bourbon and pour myself a few fingers. Look at Philip again in the rearview.
“You ever heard of Wormwood?”
He shakes his head. “No, sir. Should I?”
I try to think of a delicate way to ask the next question but don’t come up with anything.
“Is this car bulletproof?”