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“They are. Are you ready?”

“Sure. What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t have a real medical examining table, so the conference table in the corner will have to do. Carlos, will you help me with it?”

“Sure.”

As they hustle the table to the middle of the cramped room Ray says, “Stark, if we’re going to do this right—and I hope you aren’t the shy type—I’m going to need you to strip.”

Carlos laughs.

“Do you know how many times he’s come into the bar covered in blood? Shy he isn’t.”

“That’s a relief.”

While they set up the table, I take off my clothes and toss them into a relatively uncluttered area below something that looks like a whiskey still with TV rabbit ears on top.

As Ray drapes a clean sheet across the table I say, “Can I help with anything?”

“Nope. We’re just about ready for you to hop on.”

Carlos glances over at me while Ray makes final adjustments to the table. The look on Carlos’s face isn’t reassuring.

“What the fuck have you been doing, man?” he says.

My first thought is that he’s never had a really good look at my Kissi arm. Or seen how scarred I really am. There isn’t much more than an inch or two of my body that doesn’t have some kind of mark on it. Then I look down at myself and see it’s so much worse. The bruises I’d hoped would be fading by now are dark and livid. Some are stiff, like hematomas. Others are pulpy soft.

“Shit.”

“Shit is right,” says Carlos.

Ray looks over to see what Carlos is talking about. He has good control of his face. He’s done this before. Ray never looks shocked, but the momentary spike in his heartbeat and his pupils dilating tell me all I need to know.

“Let’s get you on the table now,” he says. “Lie down faceup.”

I climb onto the table and do what he says. Carlos keeps staring.

“Ray has a better bedside manner than you,” I tell him.

“I’m sorry,” Carlos says. “All those times I made fun of you. I didn’t know how fucked up you really were.”

“Don’t worry about it. The bruises are mostly from the last couple of days.”

“I’m not talking about the bruises.”

“The scars are old. They help keep me alive. And they remind me of where I came from.”

“Remind me to never go there.”

“I wouldn’t recommend it. Except for the Aqua Regia and Maledictions.”

“What are Maledictions?” says Ray.

“The kind of cigarettes we smoked in Hell.”

He looks at me.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?”