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“Because I just won.”
I look over the board. He’s moved each of his six pieces into one of the six circles on the tips of the star.
“But you didn’t touch all the spaces on the board.”
He gives an exaggerated sigh.
“You didn’t really think I’d play something that tedious, did you? I told you I might lie as part of the game. I’m just sad you weren’t paying more attention.”
“I’ll fucking kill you.”
“Too late, Sandman Slim.”
He slams his right hand down on the metal Empire State Building. It goes all the way through. Blood splatters the board, pooling under his palm.
He shouts, “Power to you!”
The building jolts in one direction and back the other way, like the aftershock following a big quake. I hear shouts from outside. Something massive scrapes and crashes with a twisting metallic sound.
I look at Mason.
“What have you done?”
He drags his hand off the Empire State. Bone and torn muscle peek out of the hole between his knuckles.
“You locked me away in the Abyss and took away everything I ever had or ever wanted. I’m just returning the favor.”
Please no. Tell me I’m not that stupid. I wait for what I’m afraid is coming next.
There’s an explosion at the far end of the cell. Steel shards and concrete from the wall pepper the room and my arms as I cover my face. I look and the Qomrama Om Ya is hanging over the table. It spins, glowing like a ruby with a black sun captured inside. The black nonlight shoots out of the faceted sides in sharp rays, like the spokes of a wheel. I get up and move away from the table.
“What’s happening?”
“The ritual is almost complete. I told you the Qomrama isn’t that complicated to use. Break down the process into parts. You catching me and bringing me to it was one part. The game was the other. There’s only one part left.”
He said it right to my face. The 8 Ball is transdimensional. Your desires for it must also be transdimensional. These nonsense games were what a transdimensional summoning ritual looks like to three-dimensional assholes. “Power to you.” That wasn’t a dig at me. We were mainlining speed into the Angra for the whole game. Mason needed me because I control the Qomrama. He used me because I’m an idiot.
I shout, “Stop it. Or I’ll make you stop.”
“I told you I’d rather die than go back to Tartarus. You let these people and their rules muddle your head. You could have killed me when you found me, but you didn’t. More fool you.”
Gunshots crack against the cell door. More shots as the guards return fire. Then it stops. The door opens. Wells comes in.
“Wells. He started the ritual. We have to stop it.”
“You can’t stop it,” says Mason. “I’m the only one who knows how. That’s why I’m the end of the ritual.”
Mason closes his eyes.
Wells brings up his Glock and empties the clip into Mason’s head. Keeps pulling the trigger even after the last bullet is gone.
I knock the gun out of his hand and shoulder-butt him. He hits the steel wall, but he doesn’t go down.
This isn’t over. I still have time to use the Metatron’s Cube ritual to find Mason before he goes to Hell. I’ll crack his arms and legs until he tells me how to stop the summoning.
Like everything else today, that plan doesn’t work out so well.
