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“Who is this?”
A pause.
“That you, Stark? How’s my favorite pixie?”
I know the voice. It’s U.S. Marshal Larson Wells, late of the now-defunct Golden Vigil, the outfit he ran with Aelita. If the drawl didn’t give him away, the way he said “pixie” would. Just the way a redneck says “faggot.”
“How’s tricks, kid? Been keeping busy?”
“I have a feeling you know that.”
“Some. You’ve been making friends with the best of the best. I hear you had high tea with Norris Quay.”
“I ran away from some gunmen into Quay’s arms, if that’s what you mean. The guy was a real piece of work.”
“Isn’t he just? That’s the privilege of being a billionaire.”
“Don’t tell me you’re mixed up with the guy.”
“Not mixed up. He’s just a concerned citizen who wants to do right by his state and his country.”
“Was.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s dead.”
“How?”
“He followed me into Kill City and thought he could buy off all the crazies inside.”
“Damn. He was going to be quite an asset.”
“For what?”
“For the new project. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I want you to come work for me again.”
“ ’Cause it worked out so well the first time?”
“I seem to remember you bringing in your share of rogue magicians and miscreant pixies.”
It’s true. I did some bounty-hunter work for the Golden Vigil a while back. I was at loose ends after killing most of the people involved in Alice’s murder and sending Mason Faim to Hell. I was still pretty full of unfocused rage and needed something to vent it on. Hoodoo fuckups seemed like a good idea at the time. It was while working for Wells that I killed the young vampire Eleanor Vance. Just a dumb teenybopper. Yeah, she tried to burn me with a flamethrower, but in the end, she was just as screwed up as I was.
I say, “Are you going to recruit Aelita for the dream team?”
“No. She’s gone way off the reservation. This holy vendetta of hers, it’s made her useless for any Marshals Service work.”
“I’m glad to hear that. She’s dead too.”
Wells doesn’t say anything for a minute. Once upon a time he was in love with Aelita. That was when she was just a zealot and not a batshit holy terror.
“Did you do it?”
“I wish I could take credit. But I saw it happen and I’m not sorry it did. On a personal note, you’ll be happy to hear that the person who killed her is also dead.”
“Who was it?”
“Medea Bava.”
