“The really funny part is that I shouldn’t even have to do this. Lucifer can hop from Hell to Earth. I bet he can get to ghost central too but I still haven’t figured out ninety-nine percent of his power.”
The circle is nearly closed with blood.
“When you see me come back, it would be swell if you helped me out by breaking the circle. Just wipe up a little blood.”
“I was just sitting here thinking that what I’d love to do after a nice lunch is wipe up your body fluids.”
I toss off my sliced shirt and strip naked except for the armor.
“The Tin Man comes out of the closet at last.”
I toss him the ripped shirt.
“Shut up, and when you see me twitch, you can use that to break the circle.”
“You’re not going anywhere, are you? This is just some kind of frat hazing where I have to stare at your sack while standing on one leg and reciting the alphabet backward.”
He picks up a chair, limps over, and sets it down a few feet from me.
“Don’t get lost over there. Candy will find me and break my other leg.”
“That’s the trick. Anyone can go over. It’s the smart ones who come back.”
“I never thought of you as one of the smart ones.”
“Me neither. That’s why there’s Plan B.”
“What’s that?”
“I’ll let you know when I think of it. Hand me that bottle of Aqua Regia.”
He does and I take a big swig.
“One for the road.”
I put the bloody blade between my teeth. Normally I’d use a crow or raven feather for something like this but the wet knife will have to do.
Bleeding myself has left me light-headed. I lie down and wait for a little touch of death. I drift and sink and it swallows me up.
I open my eyes underground in a subway tunnel. L.A.’s subway system isn’t a system so much as a miniature golf course spread over a few miles and connected with trains. New Yorkers laugh when they see our puny line but it’s ours and we love it and mostly ignore it. This is L.A. Sitting in traffic in your own car is much more chic than actually getting anywhere. Only squares want to be places.
The tunnel looks clean but unused. There’s a layer of dust on walls and platform. I climb down to the tracks and walk toward a light maybe a quarter of a mile ahead. I bounce off the walls a couple of times and trip on the damned rails. I’m still woozy from the trip down, but when I reach the platform, it’s worth it. The sign above the tracks reads TENEBRAE STATION.
The escalator has come completely off its track, so I take the worn stone stairs up to the street.
Travelers only ever go to the open deadlands. No one except necromancers and fetishists ever goes to the populated areas. Now I see why.
I’m still in L.A. The Tenebrae might be another Convergence. Whatever it is, it looks like all the landfills west of the Mississippi have been dumping their trash here since the beginning of time. I stumble through debris like an arctic explorer in a snowstorm. Garbage drifts down the long boulevards of abandoned buildings and forms loose drifts of newspapers, parking tickets, menus, and shopping lists. Swarms of flies move through the streets like flights of migrating birds. I’m on Broadway near the old Chinatown gate. Burned-out cars lie everywhere in heaps like a giant kid got bored and dropped them here. If I can’t save a few of the dreamers, L.A. is going to look like this place soon. If we don’t fall into the Twilight Zone like Catalina.
Ghosts are funny. They have a lot of self-esteem issues. The Tenebrae place looks like some of the shittier neighborhoods in Hell, which is ironic since most ghosts are here because they’re afraid of crossing over.
It doesn’t take long before I’m noticed. Ghosts lying curled up on benches or sitting in windowless coffee shops stare at me. Some take a few tentative steps in my direction before losing strength or interest or both. Most look as windblown and worn out as the empty buildings. Most but not all.
I recognize Cherry Moon from all the way across Chinatown Plaza. Her spirit is still strong enough to look better than the other ragged ghosts. Closer to her ideal form, which for her is a walking, talking anime schoolgirl complete with loose socks and pigtails. That kind of thing was creepy enough when she was alive, but it looks worse now that she’s dead. Her skin is a pale gray and her eyes are bloodshot. She looks like Sailor Moon’s evil twin. Cherry comes over and looks up at me coquettishly like she’s practiced the move a thousand times in front of a mirror. At least she doesn’t smell as bad as she looks.
“You came. I can hardly believe it. My slightly smudged white knight.”
“Hi, Cherry. It’s nice to see you with a face.”