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“Don’t bother. I should get going. I didn’t see Wild Bill last time I was here and I’m feeling kind of guilty about it.”
“It’s good to be close to family in times like these. Well, I’ll see you out now. Keep those clothes, if you like. It’s good to see you in something that doesn’t make you look like a motorcycle delinquent.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
He comes around the table, takes my arm, and walks with me to the living room. He feels cold. God shouldn’t feel cold, should he?
“These are the worst times we’ve faced, James. I had no right to do what I did to the Angra, but if they’re allowed to come back now, they’ll destroy everything.”
“I know.”
“It’s going to take something drastic to stop them. I don’t know what yet, but I have a feeling I’ll be calling in that favor you owe me before this is over. Are you prepared to repay it?”
“Sure. Yeah.”
“I think you hesitated.”
“No. It’s fine.”
“Good. I just needed to know how loyal you’d be when the time comes.”
When I get to the elevator, my wet clothes have left a red puddle on the floor.
“I’m there with you,” I say. “Whatever you need.”
He nods, looking tired.
“That’s all I wanted to hear. I’ll let you see yourself out. Good night, James.”
“Good night, Mr. Muninn.”
He turns around and goes out, a tired old man with the weight of three worlds on his shoulders.
I change out of my good clothes and put on my bloody ones. Roll and stuff the good ones in the special weapons pockets inside my coat. I don’t know when I’ll ever wear them, but Candy will like them. Too bad we missed Halloween. I could go as a grown-up.
There’s a decent shadow around the edge of the elevator. I pull up my damp hoodie and step through, coming out in the blood rain on the boulevard near the palace. The street has been repaired, but there’s no one on it. I walk north for a fe
w blocks and there it is. Lit up and lonely, all Nighthawks at the Diner.
Donut Inferno.
There’s only one person inside. She doesn’t have funny bobbling antennae on like she did at Donut Universe. She’s wearing plastic devil horns. But it’s still her. I walk across the street and go inside. She’s wiping down the counter and doesn’t look up when I come in.
“Cindil,” I say.
She stops wiping and stares at me. I push back the hoodie, wiping angel blood off my forehead.
“Remember me?”
She nods. Stands still, more or less stunned. Can’t say I blame her.
I look around the place. The donuts are dry and sunken. Dusty. The coffee looks like fried sludge. The linoleum counter is cracked and half the stools are missing their seats. Donut Inferno looks like a wino crash pad fifty years past its prime.
I say, “You like it here?”
She shakes her head.
“No.”
