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“A little busier than most.”
He keeps an eye on the knife. I’m tempted to tease him with it, but this whole thing has been about us playing kid games with each other, so I let it go.
I shrug off my coat and the hoodie, giving Mason and Alice their first really good look at my Kissi arm.
I look at Alice and what she said to me in that last dream comes back to me. “I love you, but I’m over your moony guilt trip. Dream about that girl you’re lying next to for a change.” She was right. I love her but that part of our lives is over with. Besides, Alice can’t stand looking at the Kissi arm. Candy would love it.
I pull up my pant leg and cut the duct tape that’s holding the .357 snub-nose in place. I toss the knife and it sticks into the floor between us.
I say, “I finally know why you left the lighter for me to find in your basement. It was so no matter how lost I got, I could always find my way through the dark and get right here, right now. It’s taken a few twists and turns, but here we are. A couple of little lost lambs who finally found their way home.”
Mason nods at the pistol.
“That was real poetry. If you shoot me with that thing, you’re going to spoil the moment.”
“I used to think we were connected because we’re badass hoodoo men. But it’s because we’re losers. We can’t kill the universe, and after all the shit we’ve pulled, we can’t kill each other. And we can’t keep doing this forever. So let’s just do what we’ve both been wanting to do since we met.”
“What did you have in mind? One of those retreats where men sit around in drum circles and talk about their fathers? Or take your gun and male-bond while knocking over some liquor stores?”
I open the chamber and tilt the pistol so the shells fall out. I put one back in, spin the chamber, and slap it closed.
“Let’s keep it simple,” I say. I pull back the hammer. “Since we can’t seem to kill each other, we’re going to let the universe decide which one of us dies. I’ll go first.”
Alice turns away. The angel has his arm around her.
I put the pistol to the side of my head. Pull the trigger.
Click.
I’m still alive.
I hand Mason the pistol, butt end first. The angel comes up behind him and grabs his shoulder. I toss the angel the knife. He holds it to Mason’s throat.
I say, “Here’s the thing. I didn’t use magic just then, so neither are you. That angel on your shoulder can look inside you all the way down to your atoms, so he’ll see if you try to throw any hexes. If you cheat or even think about cheating, Johnny Angel there is going to cut you a new blowhole.”
Mason sits for a minute, both hands on the gun, letting it dangle between his knees, barrel to the floor.
“Before Christmas, please,” says the angel.
Mason sits up. He doesn’t like being told off by a halo polisher. But he still doesn’t move the gun.
I hold out my hand.
“If you’re that chicken, I’ll take another turn.”
That hits him where it hurts. He puts the gun to his head and cocks it. He looks straight at me. And blows his brains out.
Of course he blows his brains out. I’m not stupid. I said he couldn’t use magic. I didn’t say I couldn’t.
The palace sways under me like it’s a cruise ship. This isn’t hoodoo or regular tired. I slide from my chair to the floor. The carpet is soft and comfy.
“What’s wrong with him?” yells Alice.
“He’s mortal now that I’ve left him. Get him into Lucifer’s armor.”
Someone straps big slabs of metal over my chest and back. When did we get to the Ren Faire?
Alice is in Mason’s chair.
