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Medea makes a face. Behind her, Traven’s eyes flutter open. He looks around for a second, unsure what’s happening. With his sleeve he wipes blood from his eyes.
“You’d like to think that all this is for you, wouldn’t you, Abomination?”
“You sure talk like it is.”
“I call you by your true name because it’s the one thing Aelita was right about. You’re the filth of the universe.”
“So you’re not going to be in our Secret Santa pool?”
Traven gets up unsteadily behind her. I keep hold of Brigitte.
“This . . .” Medea holds up the 8 Ball. “This will do the real work now. I’ll return to Deumos and my true sisters in Hell and we’ll finally bring the Angra Om Ya back home.”
I take a step and she steps back. Right into Traven.
“No you won’t,” he says. He picks up a fist-size piece of concrete and slams it into the back of her head. Medea drops the 8 Ball and lunges after it. Before she can get her hand on the thing, Traven has his hands around her throat and pulls her upright.
He says, “You want to go to Hell? I can send you there forever.”
He plants his mouth over hers, like a terrible kiss. The Via Dolorosa. He spits millions of the sins he’s eaten over the years into her, burning her insides, turning her soul blacker than any normal human’s could ever be. Guaranteeing her the lowest depths of damnation.
But something is wrong. I’ve never seen the Dolorosa take this long before. Bava spasms and tries to push him away. Digs her nails into his face. Then goes slack. Traven’s skin is white. He lets go of Bava, tenses, and falls onto his back in some kind of seizure. I let go of Brigitte and we run over. I hold down his shoulders and Brigitte grabs his legs until it passes. When Traven opens his eyes, they’re dull and the whites are red with blood. He’s blind. His face and hands are covered in deep red hemorrhages. His heartbeat is an unsteady staccato. Each of his slow, shallow breaths is harder for him to take than the one before. When he can talk, it’s just a whisper.
“I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I gave it to her.”
“It’s okay. You couldn’t help it. Everyone knows.”
“Does she have it?”
“No. You stopped her.”
“Liam,” says Brigitte. She’s crying, touching his bloody face. “Don’t move. We’ll get you to Allegra.”
Traven laughs when he hears her voice. She leans down and kisses him. He goes slack in her arms. She looks at me.
“Take us through a shadow. Now.”
Traven draws a deep painful breath and grabs my arm.
“Put the Qomrama in the Room. Keep it from anyone who can use it.”
I look for a dark shadow, one big enough to take all of us. I spot one by a pillar. Candy grabs the 8 Ball, but when I try to pick up Traven, he stiffens in a new round of convulsions, coughing blood.
Vidocq pushes me away. Pours something down Traven’s throat. He goes still. Brigitte is trying not to scream. When the shaking starts again, Vidocq pulls out another potion. Brigitte grabs my arm.
“Do something. Some magic.”
I try to remember any healing spells I used to know. I was never very good with them. I put my hand on Traven’s chest and say the words. I don’t feel anything. There’s nothing left inside me. I’m too weak and too fucked up. My hoodoo won’t work.
Brigitte shoves Vidocq aside and leans over Traven, doing CPR. She counts in Czech each time she pumps the father’s chest. She pinches his nose and blows into his lungs, her mouth smearing with his blood. Traven doesn’t move. I can’t hear his heart or his breathing anymore. Sweat drips from Brigitte’s face onto Traven’s chest. No one moves. No one stops her. Let her do what she has to do even if there’s nothing left of Traven to bring back. Finally, she collapses on top of him, crying. Candy puts a hand on her shoulder and pulls her up. When Brigitte sees me, she slaps me as hard as she can across the face.
“Great magician. Why can’t you do anything when it matters?”
“I’m sorry. I . . . I’m sorry.”
Brigitte puts her hands on Traven’s bloody, red cheek and leans her forehead on his, whispering good-byes to his corpse.
I’m not even mad. I’m numb. Of course, they used the possession key on Traven. He’s hardly had a glimpse of this kind of apocalyptic insanity. He’s the closest thing to an innocent any of us knows. And I brought him into this shit asylum and got him tangled up in my old battles. I look at Medea’s dead body. She was powerful. It must have taken every ounce of strength, every sin Traven had ever swallowed, to bring her down. Which is the real joke in all this, because for any other sin eater, it would mean they were empty of sin and they’d get a first-class ticket to Heaven. But not Traven. He was already booked on a coal cart to Hell before any of this. Candy asked if either of us has souls. Right now I hope I don’t because I can’t imagine a bigger, more damning sin on my record than bringing a guy like Father Traven into Kill City.
