Sandman Slim with Bonus Content

  Soon we’re at the bottom of one especially tall hill with lights like a piece of the sun is sitting on top. That’s how Club Avila looks through night vision. To anyone driving by, it would be just another gated mansion.

  There are six transports in our convoy. Four of us stay put while two drive onto Beverly Glen so they can roll up to Avila’s front door.

  Wells say, “We’re flanking them. A-team will initiate the attack at the front, drawing the club’s security that way. You’re going to get us inside so we can attack from the rear.”

  I nod.

  “Listen to me,” says Wells. “I don’t want this to be the last night of the world, so I’m going to ask you one more time, are you sure you can get us all inside? There’s still time to catch up with the other team if you can’t.”

  I say, “I was in a rush earlier. I didn’t take the time to find a good way in. But I can walk into Heaven or Hell or anywhere in between. I can damn sure walk us into this place.”

  “You know I’m going to shoot you if you say you can and you can’t.”

  “That won’t kill me, but I tell you what. If I can’t get us inside, I’ll show you what will.”

  Wells looks back, nods at his G-men, and then turns back to me.

  “Let’s get going.”

  I swing up the Whip-It gun and pump a shell into the chamber.

  “What was all that BS in the transport about you only using magic?”

  “This is magic. Wild Bill magic.”

  “Just get us inside, Sandman Slick.”

  “Hold on to my shoulder and keep your eyes shut. Tell the guy behind you to do the same thing and all the way down the line. Whatever you do, don’t open your eyes or let go of me until you’re completely inside Avila. You don’t want to be stuck with half your ass sticking out of a hill.”

  Wells passes the instructions down the line. I should have bought blindfolds. I hope I scared Wells and his crew enough to really keep their eyes closed. The Vigil just wants to get inside the club. I don’t need everyone who works for them knowing about the Room of Thirteen Doors.

  Wells comes back a minute later and thumps his hand on my shoulder.

  “Time for you to redeem your sorry ass.”

  “Okay, Dorothy, click your heels together three times and say, ‘There’s no place like home.’ ”

  I step into the dark at the bottom of the hill. I’ve never tried to walk this many people in and out of a shadow before. I hope I don’t kill everyone.

  A second later, we’re inside Jayne’s office in the club. It looks pretty much the same as when Vidocq and I were here a day or two ago. I doubt anyone has been inside since Jayne turned up dead.

  “You can open your eyes,” I say.

  “Gabriel’s swinging blue balls, boy. You did it. You actually did something.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  The room fills up fast. Vigil members gasp and cross themselves when they open their eyes and see that they’re still alive. I pull Wells over by the office door so that we’ll be the first ones out. If there’s an ambush outside, I don’t want him to miss a second of it.

  “What do we do now?” I ask.

  “Wait. I’ll tell you when to go.”

  It gets hard to move as the last of the Vigil crew comes through the room.

  “This isn’t a raid. It’s a Marx Brothers movie.”

  “Shut up.”

  A blast rocks the whole building. Another blast hits a second later. Avila shudders, like the building is floating on water. I reach for the door, but Wells grabs my arm.

  “Wait,” he says.

  Thunder in the hall as people stampede past the office. Harsh voices yelling over the noise.

  “Move! Security! Out of the way!”

  There’s a sizzle and a wave of static electricity pulses through the wall, making the hairs on my arms stand up. That was a magician, clearing the hall the quick way. The smell of the burned bodies makes some of the Vigil crew gag. I smelled enough of it Downtown that it’s familiar and even sort of comforting. I really hope there aren’t any mind readers with us.

  “Okay,” Wells says.

  I step into the hall, shotgun first. Wells is behind me, ordering his troops to split up and head out in different directions.

  I wait until he’s done and say, “I got you in. That was our deal. Now I have my own to do.”

  “This is the world we’re fighting for.”

  “You’re fighting for. I’m here for my friends.”

  He shakes his head and moves off with some of his people to the back of the club.

  I keep my head down and move in a slow lope to the front, where the fighting is the loudest. I have no idea where to start looking for Vidocq or Allegra, but if I can get hold of one of the human security guards, I bet I can make him sing me a song.

  It’s all Scarface gunfire and flashes of murder magic up front. A young magician in a bloody tuxedo shirt sprints around the corner, sees me, and shrieks a death hex. A swirling vortex like black smoke shoots from this chest. I fire the Benelli twice. The Spiritus-dipped shot rips through the smoke, tearing it to pieces, before slamming into the magician’s chest. He goes down and doesn’t move.

  I run straight into the chaos. I don’t even bother shooting the human security. Why waste supercharged ordnance on civilians? Their gunfire can’t get through the Vigil’s body armor, which gives me plenty of time to work. I elbow one security guard in the throat, crushing his windpipe. Get my arm around another’s head and plant my knee in his back. Pull and push, and his spine snaps.

  There are still plenty of magicians firing wildly, hitting as many of Avila’s men as the Vigil’s. Three or four of them spot me in the middle of the firefight. They fire their deadliest spells all at once.

  A crawling wave of red lightning rimmed with bright blue sizzles across the floor and ceiling. A smoking death-spell vortex spins through the center.

  In the Old West, they called shotguns “street sweepers,” and that’s how I use the Benelli. I open up, firing into the eye of the shitstorm, sweeping the gun barrel from left to right.

  The magic breaks apart. Flies like shrapnel in all directions, burning anything it lands on and turning some human security guards into pillars of fire.

  Blowing their curses apart catches the magicians off guard. The shotgun blasts three of them dead. The last one, a blond, blue-eyed, fashion-model type, falls over backward, minus her left arm. She’s flat on her back, bone jutting from her shoulder, still screaming curses. They swarm from her mouth and carpet the floor in an army of fat, blue-eyed spiders.

  The Benelli empty, I rip the cord off my shoulder and drop it, while pulling the Colt .45 and the LeMat. I dive to the side, getting off one shot with the Colt. It catches Twiggy at the base of the throat and she falls back dead. Her spider army turns to dust.

  The Vigil are holding Avila’s killers off, but I need to get out of here and into the back rooms to look for Vidocq and Allegra. All I can do is hunker down and go Wild Bunch on the room. I’m faster than just about anyone else at Avila, so I put my head down and sprint through the gunfire. To anyone else, I look like I’m running scared and firing at anything that moves, but I’m carefully aiming and killing the last few magicians I can find.

  Something hits me in the knee. It feels like it’s on fire. I tuck and roll so that I don’t go down on my face. When I get my balance, I’m looking up at another magician ten yards away. A huge, ancient, heavyset man. He could be Lawrence Tierney’s stunt double. I bring up the Colt and pull the trigger. Click. Damn. The LeMat does the same.

  If I had another thirty seconds, I know that I’d be able to stand again and kick Lawrence’s head to Argentina. But I don’t have thirty seconds. The old man is so close that I can feel the hex building up inside him. As he starts to shout the spell, his jugular explodes.

  Something is on top of him, ripping at his throat. It digs its claws into his chest and cracks him open like a boiled lobster. Lawrenc
e doesn’t move after that. A blur, the creature spins and grabs my ankle, dragging me behind a grand piano in a corner of the room. I twist around and grab the Browning .45 from behind my back just as it turns on me. I have the trigger half pulled when I realize that the rib cracker is Candy. I twist my arm just in time to pop off the shot in the air.

  “Miss me?” she asks. Candy is covered in blood and things I don’t want to think about.

  “How did you get here?”

  “I came up through the woods. When I saw those black trucks, I hitched a ride on top.”

  I’ve never seen a Jade in full feral mode before. Candy’s nails have curved out into thick claws. Her eyes are red slit pupils in a sea of black ice. Her lips and tongue are as black as her eyes. Her mouth has a slightly different shape. Like she has a few more teeth or the ones she has are wider and sharper than before. A mouthful of pretty white shark’s teeth. She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in eleven years. I want to have monster babies with her right here and now. But something explodes, someone screams, and I remember my other friends and the end of the world.

  “Parker probably has Vidocq and Allegra at the center of the club, near the sacrifice,” I tell her. It’s just a guess, but with D-day going on in the front parlor, it’s where I’d go.

  Candy helps me to my feet. My knee is knitting itself back together. It can almost take my weight, but it’s not there yet. Candy slings my right arm over her shoulders, puts her left arm around my waist, and practically picks me up. I didn’t know that Jades were that strong. So far, this is the best first date ever.

  I talk Candy through the twists and turns I remember from Muninn’s blueprints. There isn’t much action in the inner rooms. Mostly, it’s half-naked civilian assholes cowering behind the furniture, trying not to listen to the slaughterhouse noises from the outer rooms.

  Candy and I are almost to the door of the central room. And about to be monumentally dead.

  A couple of Kissi are sitting and smoking on the stone steps outside the sacrifice room. The father-and-son murder act that killed the counter girl at Donut Universe.

  “Look what the cat drug in,” says the kid.

  “Dragged in, but won’t drag out,” says Dad.

  “Let’s eat him this time. Eat him and get the shiny thing inside.”

  “You don’t mind, do you?” Dad asks me. He seems to notice Candy for the first time. “Oh, look, he’s bought dessert.”

  “What is she?”

  “A filthy, dirty monster, son. Maybe you should nibble her first. I want to see what Mr. Shiny Chest tastes like.”

  The Kissi aren’t carnivores, like the Jades. There’s a hint of game playing in their voices. Fear and confusion are the Kissi’s favorite snacks and words are a good way to tenderize the meat. Candy takes her arm from around my waist. I can barely stand, but I manage.

  The young Kissi circles Candy, but I can’t watch long. Dad is coming for me. My knee still isn’t back yet, so I have to stand my ground. It’s not my favorite place to be, but I’ve been here before. You can’t avoid an attack, so you hang back, leave yourself open, and let the attacker show you what he’s going to do.

  The Kissi goes straight for my bad knee. I pivot the best I can to bring the butt of the Browning down on its neck. But he tricks me. Feints for the knee and lunges up at my chest. I’m crippled and off balance. I can’t get out of the way in time.

  Daddy Kissi plants his shoulder in my sternum and knocks the wind out of me. He’s on top of me, pinning me down with his weight. I know what’s coming. Fingers inside my chest, like spiders crawling over my ribs. Then he’ll pull out my heart and the key with it. When I fell, my arm twisted behind my back. I can’t use the Browning or reach my knife.

  I get ready for the pain. He brings his hand down hard. But just sort of punches me in the chest.

  I look down, then at him. The Kissi looks as surprised as I do. He rears back and slams his hand down again. It just bounces off the body armor. I have a feeling that this isn’t part of the armor’s original design. But my heart and the key are still where they should be, so I’m not complaining.

  The Kissi screeches, “What are you doing? Stop it!”

  When he rears back for another try, his weight shifts enough for me to get my hand out from under my leg. This time, when Daddy Kissi slams into my chest, I wrap my arm around his neck, shove the Browning under his chin, and blast away. The Spiritus bullets blow the Grand Canyon out the back of his head.

  I shove his carcass off and look around for Candy. She’s on her stomach, tearing out chunks of Avila’s polished wood floors with her claws while Junior is on her back with both hands buried inside her spine.

  I can move enough to limp up behind Junior, shove the Browning in his ear, and blow half of his head off. Junior falls one way. I fall the other. Candy pushes herself up onto her elbows, crawls over, and collapses on top of me.

  “The sacrifice is in there,” I say. “We can’t stay here.”

  “I know,” Candy says. She sits up and pulls me up with her. We’re both streaked with human and Kissi blood. Candy grabs my head and plants a hundred-thousand-volt kiss on my lips. There’s something in her saliva that feels like spider venom and speed. Her black tongue draws my tongue into her mouth and her razor-sharp shark teeth slide down the full length of it.

  Candy lets go and smiles. She uses her thumb to wipe off some of the blood she’s smeared on my lips.

  “Thanks for getting him off me,” she says.

  “Anytime.”

  She helps me to my feet. I’m still shaky, but I can walk again. I can tell that Junior hurt her, playing around in her lungs. I give her the Browning and the Navy Colt pistols. I pull the na’at from my coat. Twist the grip to collapse the center shaft so that it hangs like a whip.

  I point to the doors.

  “Open sesame,” I say.

  Candy brings up both guns and blasts open the twin doors.

  Inside, it’s almost comical. Don’t devil worshippers have any imagination? It’s like a Hot Topic Halloween party. There’s a circle of men wearing long, black, hooded robes. Each man holds a silver dagger. Between each of the men is a drugged, naked starlet wannabe with an inverted pentagram cut into her chest. Up at the altar, the head priest holds a shiny kris over an unconscious angel. The angels are what make the scene not funny. There are thirteen of them. The ones who’ve been at Avila the longest are filthy. Cut up, pale, and bruised. The newer, less abused ones are hog-tied with bright, diamond-like cords.

  With Kissi guards stationed outside, it probably didn’t occur to the devil’s nitwits to have some security inside. Candy and I are pretty beat up, but they don’t know that. Plus, we’re armed. Plus, we’re covered in enough blood and filth that we look like Hell arrived in the room a little sooner than they expected.

  One of the robed satanists takes a swipe at Candy with his dagger and she blows a manhole in his chest with a blast from the Navy Colt. More men charge as the big clock over the altar hits the first midnight chime. Candy wades into the crowd and blasts anyone who gets near her. I swing the na’at over my head, let it extend to almost its full length, and crack it like a bullwhip. The high priest’s hand and kris knife fly off in different directions. He screams and falls to his knees. Bye-bye, gates of Hell.

  The rest of the old-boy coven doesn’t seem to notice that they’ve already lost. They swarm us. Suddenly I’m back in the arena. Swinging the na’at, feeling it shear bones just right. Bring my arm up and sweep it down. Let the na’at’s own momentum carry it through anything in its way. I could go on killing these guys all night. But I can’t go completely wild. The glassy-eyed starlets are standing around like drugged sheep. I muscle them off the killing floor when I can. They fall over like bowling pins with tits.

  More satanists are running out of the room than are staying around to fight, which is fine by me. My knee burns me every time I take a step. Candy isn’t using the guns anymore. She’s back to teet
h and claws, a meat grinder in tight jeans and Chuck Taylors.

  I collapse the na’at and hold my arms out at my sides. The last few hard cases come at me with their daggers. I don’t even fight them. I don’t have to. They stab and slash and all they hit are my scars. Each knife thrust hurts, but not enough to matter, and none draws blood.

  And then it’s over.

  The last satanists are dead or limping off into the club where the Vigil is waiting for them with hot cocoa and Tasers. The drugged starlets stare at each other trying to remember exactly what they’re auditioning for and when wardrobe is going to arrive.

  Aelita is lying hog-tied and unconscious at the far end of the altar. The black knife cuts through the diamond cord around her wrists and ankles. I free Aelita, then hand Candy the knife and tell her to free the others.

  I pick Aelita up off the bloody floor and carry her back to the front room.

  I’m not one hundred percent certain, but I think that two monsters just saved the world. And I couldn’t care less.

  Parker was supposed to be in the sacrifice room. And he should have had Vidocq and Allegra with him. If they’re dead, the world should be, too. It’s only fair. But I learned a long time ago that fair doesn’t have much to do with how the universe works. If things were fair, Lucifer wouldn’t have had to rebel. Adam and Eve wouldn’t have been card-sharked out of Eden. The big man’s kid wouldn’t have been nailed up at Golgotha. And the Kissi would be just another pack of boring angels. And nothing that’s happened in the last few days would have happened.

  Wells and his crew have Avila secured when I get up front. They’re already sorting the living from the dead, the inner-sanctum bastards from the gentleman’s-club morons. All the club members still alive are sitting on their asses in the front room, arms and legs locked together with plastic restraints. Politicians, movie producers, stock-market czars, and fair-haired heirs to Babylonian-size fortunes. If the Vigil really wants to do the world a favor, it’ll burn Avila down with them inside.