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“Yes, you told me about that. The Qomrama killed a group of soldiers in a market in Hell. Later, your Sub Rosa inquisitor used it to kill Aelita, an angel of considerable strength.”
He shakes his head.
“What you’re saying is it’s too dangerous. No one is to touch the Qomrama until I understand it more thoroughly.”
I take off my glove, revealing my Kissi hand. The Shonin stands up when he sees it. I wonder what the Vigil clowns outside would think if they got a look at it. Would they still think I’m an angel or something even worse?
The Kissi hand is like an insect appendage, but it’s also like skeletal machinery. The Terminator’s arm crossed with a praying mantis. I think it’s the ugliest thing on the planet. Still, sometimes it comes in handy.
“I’ve nev
er seen one of those before. Only block prints. I wasn’t sure they were even real,” says the Shonin. “You’re more of a monster than I thought, fatty.”
“That’s nothing,” I say. “Watch this.”
I open the lock on the magnetic chamber. There’s a whoosh as air rushes in to fill the vacuum.
“What are you doing?” shouts the Shonin. “Stop that.”
I reach inside and pull the 8 Ball out of the field. It takes a couple of tries. The field doesn’t want to let go. But with a little twisting, I work it out. And that’s why the Kissi hand is so useful. In all the twisting and turning from a sphere covered in diamond plate to an egg covered in an intersecting pattern of serrated blades the 8 Ball doesn’t do any damage. The Kissi hand is just too tough to cut and there’s nothing to bleed.
“Put it back,” says the Shonin. He backs away across the room.
I bring the saw-toothed 8 Ball over to Mr. Chop Shop. Instead of snarling and biting, he calms right down. The only sounds he makes are the ragged breaths through his torn mouth.
The Shonin slowly comes over to us.
“You’re not entirely stupid after all,” he says. “I don’t know if it’s of much value, but it’s a little impressive.”
“What do you mean it’s not valuable? I calmed this fucker right down. That’s more than you’ve done.”
“It’s a nice trick,” he says, “but I caused the Qomrama to change rotation once. Is that any more useful than this?”
“Of course this is more useful. I’m controlling a Qliphoth. How is that not helpful?”
The Shonin looks at the 8 Ball and then at Mr. Chop Shop.
“All that power to control one little demon. I would think that with your experience you’d see the absurdity.”
“You’re just pissed because your holy books and snake oil got you nothing with a capital zero. Look. I can even touch the thing.”
“Don’t you dare,” says the Shonin. “We don’t know what might happen. Continue in this manner and I’ll be forced to call Marshal Wells.”
“That’s right. Run home to daddy when things get a little intense. I thought you’d have bigger balls than that, muertita, or did those shrivel up and drop off too?”
“Put the Qomrama back in its chamber.”
“When I’m done.”
The 8 Ball jumps in my hand. Sprouts spider legs that wrap around my arm and hold on tight. It softens. Liquefies. Crawls over my sharp, skeletal claw of a hand, wrapping it in living silver. The 8 Ball jumps again, pulling my hand down onto Mr. Chop Shop’s chest. The Shonin retreats back to his worktable, grabbing a fistful of talismans and charms and holding them up like a shield.
“Take it off,” he shouts. “Take it off.”
“I can’t.”
Mr. Chop Shop is back snarling and snapping his cracked teeth. His eyes are wide, the whites splotched with broken veins.
My Kissi hand closes on Chop Shop’s chest, ripping into the skin. I have a bad feeling the hand is going to tear out his heart or lungs, but it only breaks the surface flesh. Chop Shop goes into convulsions, bucking and kicking against the gurney’s straps. Rivets pop. I hear the restraints by his feet rip. I try to pull my hand away. I get it up an inch, then another. It feels like I’m being held to him by invisible chains. I lean back, using my weight to pull back my hand. Slowly, I come up off of him. But something comes with me.
