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“You said you stopped the destruction of the city. That might explain the attack tonight. I thought we’d reached a deal where they would cease all mystical activity in L.A. They probably think that we’re the ones who stopped them.”

I pull the last pieces of wood out of my shoulder. I’m not bleeding right. My blood flows slowly and is the wrong color. Almost black. Abbot notices.

“Are you a Drifter?” he says. “A zombie?”

“No. But I’m not fully alive yet. That was my deal with Wormwood. I stop the event and they make me whole again.”

“What happened?”

“There was a disagreement over who fulfilled their part of the bargain. I’m not sure who won the argument, but I’m still half-dead.”

“I guess neither of us got what we wanted from Wormwood.”

“They’re good at that.”

Abbot says, “I wonder if I should call them and try to set up another meeting.”

“That’s a bad idea. You think they attacked you because I kicked over their sand castle? I think they were going to kill you all along.”

“What makes you say that?”

I take out the piece of paper Ray gave me. There are a few holes where splinters and shrapnel shot through. I hand it to Abbot.

“Do you recognize any of these names?”

He takes the paper and looks it over.

“Nothing except for my own,” he says.

I pour myself another drink.

“It’s a kill list. A friend translated it for me from a scroll made out of human skin. All the names I recognized are dead or dying.”

“And my name is there.”

“Right after a long list of Wormwood big shots.”

Abbot says, “I take it this list wasn’t created in the last twenty-four hours?”

I shake my head.

“The faction mystics trying to blow up the city had it at their ritual. I got it from one of them.”

“I’d like to talk to them. Do you know where they are?”

“Under about a hundred tons of rubble where the Chapel of St. Alexis used to be.”

“Of course,” he says. “Los Angeles is lucky you’re not an exterminator. You’d burn half the city to get one fly.”

“It would have to be a very bad fly.”

The kitchen door opens a few inches and I can see the face of the guard I punched on the boat.

“Is everything all right, sir?” he says.

“We’re fine. Thank you,” says Abbot.

The guard glares at me and lets the door fall shut.