The Kill Society (Sandman Slim)(41)

“Finally. My people.”

She nods at the motor-home door.

“Get your ass inside. I’m bringing the others, but the Magistrate wants to see Daja and you first.”

“Sounds like a party. I hope there’s cake.”

Wanuri is already yards away and doesn’t hear me.

I start to open the door, but I flash back on the dream. I swear I can hear Wormwood scrabbling around like rats in the walls. If I’m right, someone just made—and someone just lost—a pile of money on the shoot-out. Of course, even if Wormwood is still hiding up in some deep dark hole in Hell, what are the odds of them knowing what’s going on in the Tenebrae?



“My boy,” says the Magistrate.

He comes to the door and helps me inside.

“How is your wound? We are low on some supplies, I am afraid. I did my best with what we had at hand.”

“The side’s good, thanks. Mimir just fixed me up with laudanum.”

“Excellent,” he says, and ushers me to the little table where Cherry did her swami act.

Daja is already there, bandages on both hands and her forehead.

“Did you bring any laudanum for the rest of us?” she says.

I shake my head. “I might go back for seconds. You should come along.”

“I just might do that.”

I look at her bandaged hands.

“You all right?”

“Just a couple of blisters. Some asshole convinced me to run through a furnace.”

“He sounds shady. As your lawyer, I advise you to avoid him in the future.”

“It’s my fondest dream.”

The Magistrate pulls a bottle of Hellion wine from a cabinet and sets out three glasses. I’ve never been that much of a wine guy, but I’m sure it will mix well with the laudanum. But he only pours glasses for Daja and himself. I look at my empty glass.

“If I’m in trouble, why don’t you start the yelling now while I’m still high and won’t care?”

“On the contrary,” the Magistrate says.

He reaches back into the cabinet and comes back with another bottle. He looks at it for a moment.

“We found two cases of this in the Legionnaires’ stores. I understand it is something you enjoy.”

He sets the bottle in front of me and I recognize the sigil on the wax immediately.

It’s Aqua Regia. Who did I tell I like the stuff? Fuck it. I’m too high to care right now.

“Yeah,” I say, trying to keep my voice even. “It is something I enjoy. I thought I was never going to see it again.”

“There’s plenty more where that came from. Of course, you will have to share the rest. But this bottle is for you. A token of thanks.”

“Thanks,” I say, and for once, Downtown, I actually mean it.

“What is that stuff?” says Daja.

“The greatest invention the Devil ever gave the damned. Aqua Regia.”

“What, some kind of wine or whiskey?”

“It’s Aqua Regia. It’s just itself. Want to try it?”

Her eyes narrow a little.

“You first.”

I pull the cork and pour a glass full. Give it a sniff. There it is. The heady bouquet of gasoline and hot pepper. I sip it and shudder a little. It burns just right going down.

“It’s that good?” says Daja.

“You tell me.”

I hand her the glass. She reaches for it, but then I pull it back for a second. I know I’m going to have to kill her someday, but I don’t exactly hate her.

“What the—”

“Go at it easy. Some people find it an acquired taste.”

“I don’t need drinking lessons from you.”

“I’m just saying.”

She grabs the drink, takes a gulp, and slams down the glass. Her face curdles like she just swallowed battery acid, which isn’t that far from the truth.

“Good?” I say.

She nods and with a heroic effort manages to croak, “Great.”

I take the glass back and finish what’s left.

“I told you it was an acquired taste.”

Daja waves for me to give the glass back.

She chokes out, “I didn’t say I was done.”

I don’t say anything. I just pour another glassful and pass it to her.

Daja takes it and drinks another mouthful. She grimaces, but also nods.

“I think I’m acquiring the taste.”

“Have all you want. Just leave me some.”

She swallows her wine in one gulp and pours more Aqua Regia in her glass.

I say, “Really, you should go easy your first time.”

“You’re not Father Traven and I’m not one of your choirboys.”

She drinks more. I pour some in my glass.

“Suit yourself,” I say.

The Magistrate has been watching this whole thing with the quiet amusement of Mike Brady watching his squabbling TV kids. Only this Mike’s kids are killers and Dad’s got a messiah complex.

He reaches out and squeezes each of us by the wrist.

“I wanted to thank you both so much for how you risked yourself for my benefit and the benefit of the entire havoc. I knew you were both brave, but not how wonderfully foolhardy.”