Aloha from Hell

It’s funny seeing the guns and other toys all laid out. The old Navy Colt revolver, great-great-granddad Wild Bill Hickok’s gun. The LeMat pistol. Kind of huge and useless, but I like it. There’s a cut-down Clyde Barrow–style “Whippit” gun. There are souvenirs I’ve taken off Lurkers and lowlifes. A farmers’ market of pistols. Tasers. Brass knuckles with valentine hearts on the business side. Chinese butterfly knives and weirdly shaped Lurker daggers shaped for nonhuman hands. A sharpened goat horn. My favorite is a silver stake made by a wannabe high school vampire slayer. She made it by sharpening a flat-head screwdriver and dipping it in a pot of melted dimes. The perfect weapon against shroud eaters. Only the little idiot didn’t know that modern dimes are mostly copper covered in nickel. All she did was ruin a perfectly good screwdriver and prove that L.A. schools truly suck.

“You have nothing but his word. It isn’t possible.”

“Of course it is. Mason has Hell and now he wants Heaven. Aelita wants to murder God. Neither of them wants me stumbling around and maybe getting in their way.”

“Searching for Alice will keep you busy while they carry out their plans.”

“Right.”

Traven says, “I understand how a mortal man might come up with a mad plan to rule the universe, but how does an angel fall so far from grace?”

“You’re the preacher. You tell me.”

He shakes his head.

“I suppose if I knew the answer, I’d still be part of the Church.”

“Come on, Father. Angels have been going crazy since the beginning of time. They’re another one of God’s great fuckups. Look at me. I wouldn’t even be in this world of shit if an angel hadn’t fucked my mother.”

“They didn’t cover any of this at the seminary.”

“It’s comforting to know that God’s schools are as rotten as the regular ones.”

As fun as my weapon collection is, most of it’s useless where I’m going. I have my na’at and the black blade. They kept me alive Downtown for eleven years. They’ll probably do it again. I always feel better with a gunYour with on my belt, but getting shot with any of these would just make a Hellion giggle.

I look at Kasabian.

“You want to jump in here sometime with any new info?”

He looks at the bed and says, “I’m going to have a motherfucker of a garage sale if you don’t come back.”

“Thanks for your support. Is it possible that Mason is armed up enough to attack Heaven in the next three days?”

“Troops are still coming in from all over. There are a lot of deserters, but not enough to make a difference.”

“You said Mason couldn’t attack without Semyazah’s troops. Did he go over?”

Kasabian shakes his head.

“He’s not there, but that doesn’t mean some other general hasn’t been able to turn his troops. Like I said, there’s enough fallen angels in Pandemonium to start a thousand boy bands.”

I get out Muninn’s Singularity and the funny bird egg, Mason’s lighter, and the small white stone Lucifer gave me back at Max Overdrive and set them with the na’at and the knife.

Father Traven says, “If all this is true, then you can’t go down there alone.”

I look at him and then at Kasabian.

“You’re having a weird day, aren’t you?”

Traven’s eyes flicker to Kasabian and away again.

“It’s hard to say. I think I’m becoming immune to weird.”

“Damn. You’re one of us already. Well, welcome to the Grindhouse Rodeo, Father, where it’s monster triple features all the time. The popcorn’s stale and the drinks are watered down, but we’re open all night and deities have to sit in the balcony with the winos and rubber-raincoat types.”

Traven does his half smile.

“Thank you, I suppose.”

“There used to be a secret handshake, but only Kasabian knows it and he’s not talking.”

“Fuck you, Susan Vance,” he calls from across the room.

“One more thing,” I say. “Nobody starts with the you-can’t-go-alone stuff. That subject is dead and buried.”

The angel in my head is telling me to be calm, but it’s not trying very hard. It always wants me to slow down and consider all the angles, but it knows that the clock is ticking on Alice, and now that I’m tying up loose ends on earth, I need to move faster than ever. Momentum is my best strategy. Slowing down and considering the consequences of what I’m doing is doom.

Vidocq and Allegra are holding hands on the small bed. I don’t need to listen to their hearts or breathing. They’re radiating tension like a microwave oven. Kasabian has gone back to his computer, trying to ignore all of this. Traven looks a little lost. Candy’s not much better.

I know carrying a gun is stupid, but I feel naked without one. For sentimental reasons I’d like to take great-great-granddad’s Navy Colt, but it’s too big. I look back at the pile of guns on the bed and find a small-frame .357 revolver. I can’t even hit the ground with the thing if I’m more than ten feet away, but it’s better than nothing. I get a roll of duct tape from a drawer and pull my pants leg up a few inches.

“Want to give me a hand?” I say to Candy.

She comes over and I hand her the tape.