in pain from our feeble attack, but the wall goblins come roaring back at us a second later.
At the door, Vidocq shoves me away. “Let me go!” he shouts, and tears his arm free. He’s back inside the possessed room, with the walls just inches away from him. He reaches into the very bottom of his coat lining and pulls out a bottle the size of his brandy flask. Screaming, “Tas de merde!” he smashes the bottle on the writhing mass of arms and fangs and throws himself back into the room with me, knocking us both to the filthy floor.
The secret room is on fire, but the creatures in the walls are still trying to get at us, only they seem to be trapped behind an invisible barrier. Unfortunately, the fire is not. The rotten wood in our room ignites the moment flame gets near it. In a few seconds, the place is blazing like Nero’s Roman holiday. The good news is that a burning room creates a lot of excellent shadows. I grab Vidocq and drag him down into a deep slash of darkness at the edge of the Circle. We emerge, stumbling into the Room of Thirteen Doors, eyes tearing, lungs burning with smoke. I don’t stop moving, but guide Vidocq through the Door of Memory and out onto the cool and silent streets of Beverly Hills. The Porsche is at the other end of the block. We run for it.
By the time we get there, Mason’s vacant lot is cracking open and flames are shooting two stories into the air. By the time I get the car started and do a screaming one-eighty, the whole lot has collapsed in on itself, shaking the street like an earthquake and blasting a fat orange fireball into the night sky. I floor the Porsche, taking the first turn out of Beverly Hills on two wheels.
THERE’S AN UNLIT parking lot behind an out-of-business movie multiplex between Hollywood Boulevard and Selma Avenue. I park in a far corner so no one can see us from the street. I’m still rasping. I know it’s the smoke in my lungs, but it feels like I’ve been holding my breath since we got out of the ground. When I kill the Porsche’s engine, we can hear the scream of fire trucks echoing off the buildings all the way across town.
“Sounds like a lot of them.”
Vidocq snorts. “They always look after the rich. It’s the same in all cities in all times, all over the world.”
“What was in the last bottle you threw back there?”
“Spiritus Dei oil. A venerable old catholicon, and poisonous to almost any Hellion or Lurker beast. Very hard to find. That was my last bottle.”
“Sorry, man.”
“Don’t worry. The man I said I’d introduce you to will have more.”
I take the Zippo out of my pocket. “What am I going do with this thing?”
“Keep it. My exceptional knowledge of magic and the transmutation of elements tells me that it is not an ordinary lighter.”
“It’s a stupid vessel for such a powerful talisman.”
“Perhaps it was created for someone Mason knew would be drawn to it.”
“You think Mason left it for me?”
Vidocq shrugs wearily. “I don’t know. But it does seem more votre modèle than the other members of your Circle.”
“Yeah. I walked right off that cliff. But maybe the lighter will tell us something.”
“Let us hope.”
“So, you think Mason knows I’m back.”
“You just blew up his home. He might suspect something.”
I open and close my hands on the steering wheel, holding it tight. “I’m not ready yet. I barely have my feet on the ground.”
“Opportunity always comes too early or too late. But with what you found tonight, you are one step closer to your heart’s desire.”
I flip open the top of the lighter and strike it once. Vidocq jerks away, banging his shoulder into the door. The little flame flickers, but nothing else happens. I want a cigarette, but my throat and lungs feel like hot gravel. I close the lighter and put it back in my pocket.
“When we meet this guy with the Spiritus Dei, I’ll pay.”
“Excellent. I was about to suggest that very thing. You should meet him as soon as possible.”
“You think?”
“Absolument. He is a man who knows and possesses many useful things. And I think soon you will need more than your Sundance Kid guns to stay alive.”
AFTER I DROP off Vidocq, I stop behind a nearby Safeway, wipe the Luger for prints, and stuff it in the bottom of a very full and very smelly Dumpster. I don’t want the Luger near me. Who knows what crimes those Nazi freaks committed with it.
The Bamboo House of Dolls will be closed by now, but I need something to drink. I ditch the Porsche a block from Donut Universe, get a large black coffee and a couple of old-fashioneds, and walk the few blocks to Max Overdrive.
I’ve finished the coffee and one of the doughnuts when I reach the store. The lights are on. The front door is open and the glass shattered. I throw away the food, pull Azazel’s knife from my boot, and go inside quietly. The place is a wreck. Racks are turned over and discs and cases are scattered everywhere. The cash register, though, looks untouched, so it wasn’t thieves or crackheads who got in.
I kick through the broken glass and discs wondering who would want to just trash the place when I see a shoe sticking out from under one of the upturned racks. I grab the rack and flip it over. Allegra is lying there. She’s a mess. Her clothes are torn and her hands and face are bloody. I put my ear against her chest and am relieved to hear a slow and steady heartbeat. She weighs practically nothing, so I pick her up and carry her to my room. The door at the top of the stairs has been kicked in. I set Allegra on the bed and cover her with a blanket. When I go into the bathroom to get a wet cloth, I see something a lot scarier than the ghouls in Mason’s basement. The door to Kasabian’s closet is ripped off its hinges. He’s gone.
I clean the blood off Allegra’s face and drape the cool cloth across her forehead. When I push open her eyelids, her pupils are wide and they stay that way. A concussion. Not good. She moves her head and groans a little before pushing my hand away.
“What happened? I’m cold.”
She’s going into shock. I wrap the sheet around her. “You’re hurt.”
“Mr. Kasabian left. He looked dead, but he said good-bye.”
“I’m taking you to the hospital.”
She sits upright. Almost. She gets halfway up and drops back down.
“No hospital.”
“You have to. You’re hurt.”
“No hospital. They might call the cops.”
I didn’t see that coming. “I’m taking you anyway.”
That’s exactly the wrong thing to say. Allegra grabs my arm, pulls herself up and tries to slap me. It’s pretty impressive for someone who’s gasping like a dying goldfish.
“No hospitals! No cops!”
Having
