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They run their fingertips through my hair, straightening it.

“Let’s go out,” they say. “For saving me, I’ll buy you another one.”

“You’re a student. You can’t afford new coats.”

“Who said anything about new? I’ll show you where I get all of my Lodge outfits.”

They take me to a used clothes shop on Melrose. We must spend an hour pawing through the merchandise. One of the salesclerks, a heroin-thin guy in turtleneck-and-beret beatnik drag, follows us around and hands me things. I don’t know if he’s trying to be helpful or just make sure the scarred guy doesn’t rob the place, but he gets everything wrong. Janet rejects all of his coats without letting me try on anything.

“That’s too long,” they tell the guy. “Not a private eye coat. More like Johnny Cash.”

I’m happy to let them argue. It leaves me time to walk around and examine all the hexed clothes and anti-hex charms. I thought I recognized the intersection when we came in. We’re at the nexus point in a territorial dispute between Hollywood High and private school Sub Rosa brats. There’s enough hoodoo power in this little shop to launch it to Mars. My guess is at least half of the clothes they’re selling didn’t end up in here because someone needed money. This is a turf war in leather jackets, lace gloves, and vinyl corsets. And the staff doesn’t have a clue. They probably just get migraines and the occasional bout of night terrors when someone brings in something truly insidious. I could spend all day in here following the spectral lines of hoodoo power as the dopey kids battle it out over absolutely nothing.

In the end, Janet and Jack Kerouac save the day and I walk out of the shop wearing a comfortable frock coat with only a minimal number of curses attached. I blow them away with one little Hellion bark and, feeling more like myself again, take Janet for a ride on the Hellion Hog.

We blow down the coast to Malibu and I show them how to sneak onto Teddy Osterberg’s estate.

“You enjoy hanging out with all these dead people?” says Janet.

“I’ve known a lot of dead people. Occupational hazard.”

“It’s quiet, at least. And the trees are nice.”

“The

landscape is whatever goes with whatever cemetery. Trees here. A bamboo grove there. Tombs or a waterfall there.”

“Are all these cemeteries real?”

“Every one of them.”

“You know some odd people, Mr. Stark,” says Janet.

“So I hear.”

Janet comes over and bumps me with their shoulder.

“Still mad?”

“I’m mostly over it.”

“Did you see Rodney’s eyes when he saw your gun?”

“Rodney was the clothes store clerk?”

“Yep. He almost shit himself. Me, on the other hand, I like it.”

I take the Colt out from under my new coat and hand it to them. They make a little shocked noise when they feel the weight.

“It’s a cinder block,” Janet says. “How do you hit anything with it?”

“It’s not so bad. You get used to it.”

“Show me how to use it.”

I take it from them and shoot some acorns under an oak tree.

“Me next,” they shout.