"Stark?" says Kasabian from a million miles away. "Is that really you?" He laughs quietly, nervously. "Mason is going to shit himself."
My left hand shoots to the side, grabbing the .45's still-warm barrel and driving it into the floor. Kasabian's fat finger is still looped in the trigger guard, so he comes down with the gun. Meanwhile, my right hand flickers to my boot and tears free the black bone knife. I twist my body toward Kasabian and bring down the knife in a smooth arc. Kasabian's head tumbles to the floor and rolls away like a pumpkin. His body flops to the floor.
From beneath the Disney new-releases rack, Kasabian's head begins to wail.
"Oh God! Oh Jesus, fuck! I'm dead!" It's quality wailing. Downtown, I became kind of a connoisseur of wailing and this is prime stuff.
"I'm dead! I'm dead!"
Crawling shakily to my feet, I pick up Kasabian's shrieking melon by the hair, tuck the .45 in the back of my jeans, and grab his leg by the ankle with my free hand. In a situation like this, when you want to clear away the evidence, you want to drag the body. You might think it's faster to toss it over your shoulder in a fireman's carry, but lifting a limp body is like wrestling with two hundred pounds of Jell-O. It wiggles, shifts, and refuses to stay still. Dragging is slower, but much less aggravating.
I carry Kasabian upstairs, his head still screaming blue murder and his heavy torso bumping along behind us.
The second floor is one big room. It's large, with a nice big window on one wall, but sparsely furnished. There's a bed, a couple of desk chairs, and a table piled high with tape decks, DVD burners, and a big color printer-a mini video-bootlegging factory. I drop the body by the door and set his head on the worktable. The gun I toss on the bed. Kasabian is still shrieking like a banshee, which is pretty good for a guy with no lungs.
I grab a chair and drop down in front of him. Digging the cigarettes out of Brad Pitt's now-bloody jacket, I light one up and blow smoke in Kasabian's face.
"Smell that? That means you're not dead."
He stops screaming and looks at me. Then he spots his body on the floor and starts caterwauling again. I take a slow drag and blow an extra-long cancer cloud right in his face.
He gets quiet and finally seems to focus on me.
"Stark? You're dead."
"Tell me, Kas, how does it feel to wake up in the worst place you can imagine? Of course, you're luckier than me because you know why you're there."
"Fuck you! You think you're sneaky? You used magic. The whole Sub Rosa will know you're here. Mason will know you're here. He'll kill you."
I make a game-show-buzzer noise.
"Guess again, fat man. This knife doesn't disturb the aether and doesn't leave any magical traces. Pure stealth tech, which is sort of its point. That, and not killing its victims unless I tell it to."
"Oh God, look what you did."
"God's away on business, Kas. Talk to me."
He looks up at me with big moon eyes. "I thought you were dead. When you disappeared, we all thought you were dead. I mean, what Mason did, it worked?"
"I was alive and in Hell for eleven years, so, yeah, you could say it worked."
"How could you live through something like that? Mason was right about you."
"What did he say?"
"That you were the only other really great natural magician he'd ever met."
I have to smile at that.
"Sounds like Mason. I mean, it comes off like a compliment. But he calls me a great magician so he can call himself an even greater one."
I turn away like I'm checking out the room, but really my gut is killing me. I'm burned and bruised where the slugs went in and I'm pretty sure I have a couple of cracked ribs. They'll probably be all right by morning, but I'm not going to do much more walking around tonight. And I'm not about to give Kasabian the satisfaction of knowing I'm in pain.
"It must be true, though. You survived all those Hellions and you came back."
"Wringing your neck is what brought me back. Yours and the others'." The old anger comes boiling up, but I don't want to lose control. It'll scare Kasabian too much and he'll be useless for information. I need to catch my breath. I can't plan anything running around barking like a mad dog.
"For your information, I didn't use any magic Downtown. Our magic is a joke down there. It doesn't work. You might as well be shouting brownie recipes." I take a calming drag off the cigarette. "I don't even remember much of the magic we did in the Circle, but I did learn a trick or two down under. Hellion magic, and every bit of it is designed to make you cry all the way home."