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“Stay up here in the cheap seats if you want, but I’m going to try and stop this thing, and if that means killing every one of your pals in uniform, oh well. And after I save your shitty little world, we can call the movers for your stuff. I hear there’s plenty of room in Tart201room inarus these days.”
I start for one of the fat shadows cast by the hill fires.
“Try to understand my position,” says Semyazah. “I can’t very well rally troops to my side by telling them that I allowed myself to be rescued by our worst enemy.”
I look back at him.
“That’s the best part. You’re not going to mention me at all. You broke out of Tartarus on your own. You got all the brujas and wizards and table tappers together, organized them, and you led the final assault on the Gobah yourself.”
“I don’t know. It’s easier for them to believe that I’ve been cowering in a hole somewhere.”
“Mammon knew where you were in Tartarus, so the rest of them will know, too. And I guarantee they all heard the explosion when the boiler blew. Between that fucked-up uniform and the blisters on your face, they’ll believe you.”
“Possibly.”
“Tell them you broke out to save your men from Mason’s war.”
Semyazah grunts.
“It’s a good line because it’s true,” I say. “Mason is as suicidal as he is homicidal. He wants to burn down everything you ever cared about.”
Semyazah looks at the palace and absentmindedly touches the blisters on the side of his face that was toward the blast. They probably hurt like hell, but they’ll help convince the other officers he was in a serious fight.
“There’s one other thing,” I say. “It’s going to piss you off, but you can use it to persuade any of the holdouts.”
“What is it?”
“The Kissi are coming. I cut them into the game. It wouldn’t be a party without them.”
He’s back over to me in three quick steps.
“Are you mad?”
“Relax. Just because they’re crazy doesn’t mean they aren’t useful. But when it comes to dealing with them, you need to listen to me.”
His eyes narrow. He’s wondering if Azazel was right and I’m the liar who’s going to get them all killed.
“I’ll need to hear your plan before I agree to anything.”
“Fair enough. You’re going to need whatever generals you still trust and some goddamn fast runners.”
IT ISN’T HARD to guess where Lucifer’s office is. The penthouse is huge. It’s basically an old-school Hollywood mansion bolted to the top of a classy hotel, with multiple bedrooms, a kitchen, I don’t know how many goddamn showers, plus expensive furniture and enough art to start a tacky museum. San Simeon meets the Playboy Mansion.
In the middle of a large meeting room is a table with the same floating 3-D map I saw at Mammon’s palace. A gaggle of Hellion generals and staff officers are gathered on the balcony talking, arguing, and waving their hands describing details of battle maneuvers.
I stay half a step behind Semyazah, playing the humble underling. No one turns our way until I clear my throat extra loud. The officers turn. Then do nothing for a few seconds. A couple head over to Semyazah.
“General?”
“You look surprised to see me. When Hell is at war, then I’m at war and nothing could keep me away from my legions. Not even Tartarus.”
More officers come over.
“Did Mason free you?” asks a general who, if I remember right, might be Belial.
I say, “No one lets anyone out of Tartarus. The general led the escape himself.”
They seem to notice me for the first time.
