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“That. Was. So. Metal.”

Too fucking metal for me tonight. I take my tote bag and go home.

I wake up late the next day, sleeping off the cuts and the bourbon. By the time I wake up, all the cuts have healed and my head feels only slightly like a demolition site.

To tell the truth, I’m not motivated to do much of anything at the moment. Candy and Janet are both puzzles. I’m not getting very far with Abbot’s ghosts. I hope if I can’t get rid of them he won’t take it out on Brigitte. Hellion hoodoo doesn’t budge them and Vidocq’s books are useless. And I don’t know if I’m right concentrating on Stein instead of just sneaking into Little Cairo and picking off the spooks one at a time. But I still think I’m onto something. “Forever yours. Forever mine” sure got a reaction. I need to dig deeper.

I read through the Stein file some more, but the hangover makes it hard to concentrate.

What’s going on with Janet? I’m still sure they were lying, but why? It’s not like we’re engaged or something. If they’re seeing someone else, why not just say it? I’ll ask them about it tomorrow face-to-face, when I’ll know for sure if they’re telling the truth.

Some combination of the headache and not getting anywhere with anything right now leaves me tense and nervous. By evening, I’m ready to punch more holes in the walls just for the sheer fun of breaking things.

I go for my PTSD pills in the bedroom, but when I pop the top, the bottle is empty.

Goddammit.

I don’t even know if they’re working, but what if they are and I’ll get worse without them? The last thing I want to do right now is go out, but now I have to. I don’t have a coat, so I just stick the Colt in the waistband at my back and step through a shadow.

I come out in the grubby little mini-mall by Allegra’s clinic. I knock on the door with existential healing on the front. Allegra’s receptionist and assistant—Fairuza—lets me in. She’s a Lurker, one of the many nonhumans who live in secret all over L.A. Fairuza is a Ludere, with blue skin and short horns, a compulsive gambler, and, lik

e all Ludere, constantly in a schoolgirl uniform.

“Hi, Stark,” she says cheerfully. “In for a tune-up?”

I show her the empty bottle.

“A fill-up.”

“Relax. You think you’re the only pill popper around here? I get migraines and have a knee that should belong to an eighty-year-old lady.”

“Yeah, but these are crazy pills. Supposed to keep me from running amok or something.”

“How are they working out?”

“Great. I just saunter amok these days.”

She checks the label on the bottle and goes into the exam room.

“Give me just a minute.”

I drop into one of the plastic waiting room chairs. Skim through a couple of magazines. A sports one featuring ’roid rage all-stars, and a celebrity one with L.A.’s newest power couple on the cover. They look like white bread and mayonnaise sculpted into a focus group’s idea of “attractive.” Safe, boring, and utterly forgettable. Hurray for Hollywood.

They make me feel even twitchier, so I take out a Malediction.

Allegra steps in front of me and says, “Light that and you’re dead.”

I put the cigarette away and get up. She gives me a hug and pulls me into the exam room.

“It’s good to see you. I enjoyed your party the other night.”

“Thanks. Maybe I’ll have another sometime.”

“I hope so.”

“It was nice to see you and Vidocq together again.”

She nods.