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“It’s a god-killing weapon.”
“I’ve heard the stories. All unsubstantiated.”
“Do you think when the Angra Om Ya come stomping back, you’ll bribe pissed-off elder gods with brunch and VIP night at Disneyland?”
Blackburn’s hands go from a steeple to a dismissive little wave.
“Come on, Stark. You’ve seen the celestial realms. You don’t really believe all this nonsense about old gods and ultimate weapons, do you?”
“I believe it because I met one of the Angra. Remember the ghost that offed the mayor a while back? Her name is Lamia.”
“The little girl with the knife, you mean?”
“She killed off enough Dreamers to destabilize reality. If I hadn’t stopped her, she might have destroyed the world all on her own. And she’s just one little piece of what these fuckers can do.”
Blackburn goes quiet for a minute. It’s on his face. Am I here hustling him with ghost stories or am I telling the truth and maybe he and the other masters of the universe ought to start getting scared?
“I’ve looked into L.A.’s future and haven’t seen anything like what you’re describing.”
I shrug.
“You couldn’t see what an angel was angling to do. What makes you think you can see what gods want?”
He leans forward, his elbows on the desk.
“Work for me. I can give you access to more resources than you can possibly have on your own.”
“Thanks, but seriously, I’m terrible. You’d want me dead in a week,” I say. “But let me ask you something. Are you the one keeping the cops off me? Maybe clearing the decks just enough so I have to work for you?”
He shakes his head.
“No. Someone else is your guardian angel.”
“Who?”
“I have no idea. But you’re right. If you work for me, you’ll never have to worry about the police again.”
“I told you I already have something to do.”
“You’re awfully altruistic all of a sudden. What happened to Stark the monster? I seem to remember a bit of a madman storming into my house.”
“I don’t know what altruistic is, but I’m pretty sure I’m not it. I just want to keep a few people I like from burning in a hellfire shitstorm.”
He looks away for a second and then back to me.
“You know there’s a rumor that you already have the Qomrama Om Ya. That you found Aelita and took it back.”
“I know. I heard about it today. Recognize this guy?”
I hold out my phone so Blackburn can see Moseley’s photo. He makes a sour face and looks away.
“Warn me if you’re ever going to show me anything like that again,” he says. “Not everyone is as used to mangled bodies as you.”
I forget that blood and dead eyes can be kind of gruesome to regular people. Something to add to the etiquette list I swear I’ll start tomorrow.
“Sorry.”
“Who was that?”
