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I hate this place. You can’t get a cup of coffee unless it has a backstory and a pedigree so the café can charge you as much for the cup as a normal human pays for dinner. Women drive by in cute little sports cars with more power under the hood than a Saturn V, but the speedometer will never top twenty because then they might not be seen and admired. Men window-­shop in silk jackets made by indentured servants in countries they’ve never heard of while their sons all imagine they’re Tupac because they bought their thousand-­dollar designer jeans a ­couple of sizes too big.

Up near Santa Monica Boulevard is my destination: the Lollipop Dolls boutique. The Dolls are a strange kind of girl gang, a coven of middle-­aged women who’ve used their hoodoo to remake themselves into prepubescent anime girls. When they’re together, they look like someone left the Sailor Moon cloning machine on all night. They used to be run by Cherry Moon. She was in my old magic circle and was one of the ­people I came back from Hell to kill, but someone got to her first. Cherry was neurotic before she died, and being a ghost hasn’t improved that.

The Lollipop Dolls store is every bit as pricy as the nearby Prada and Gucci shops. They just cater to a different clientele—­ones who can afford couture gothic Lolita tutus that costs as much as a blimp, or a custom hand-­stitched Hello Kitty wearing a real diamond collar. And that stuff isn’t even in the case with the really expensive merch, the one where everything looks vaguely blue because it’s behind bulletproof glass.

I only spot two Lollipops when I go in the store, Kitty Chan and Noriko. Neither one of them looks older than sixteen. How did they even get a business license for this place?

Kitty sees me first. Stops by a display of plastic Godzillas taller than me and probably with better manners.

She calls to Noriko.

“Look what just crawled in.”

Noriko rolls her eyes extravagantly and goes behind the counter, making a big show of stacking bags and arranging pens, taking great pains to ignore me.

Kitty says, “What do you want, Stark? You’re on the wrong end of town. There aren’t any Kmarts out here.”

“Nice to see you too, Kitty. The plastic surgery turned out nice. I can hardly see the crow’s-­feet from over here.”

Noriko slams the drawer of the cash register shut.

“I’m only asking one more time, then I’m calling the cops and telling them a vagrant came in and exposed himself to us poor working girls. What do you want?”

“I’m here to talk to Cherry.”

“What makes you think Cherry wants to talk to you?” says Noriko.

I look over at her.

“She’s a big girl. Why don’t we let her decide for herself?”

“I’m pretty sure she’s busy,” says Kitty.

“And I’m pretty sure if she knew I came all this way and put up with you two, she’d at least want to tell me to go away herself.”

Kitty walks to Noriko. They whisper back and forth for a minute, glancing at me every now and then.

“Okay,” says Kitty. “She’s in the back. The room behind the office.”

“Thanks.”

I start back when Noriko yells, “Hey!”

I stop by a pile of stuffed unicorns that are really plush cell phones. She points to a credit-­card slide.

“This is a place of business, you know. Gas, grass, or ass. Nobody rides for free. Buy something or get out.”

I look around, grab a Hello Kitty hand mirror from a pile in the kids’ department and head for the back of the store.

“You going to pay for that, sport?” says Kitty.

“I’ll pay on the way out if Cherry talks to me.”

In the back is a pretty ordinary-­looking business office. There are a few too many polka dots and a peppermint-­striped desk, but the place looks functional. I go through a door in the back.

I don’t know what the hell this new room is for. Actually, I have a pretty good idea, which means I don’t want to sit on anything or touch the bedspread.

The place is decked out like a girl’s bedroom decorated by a cartoon princess. Pinks and lace everywhere. White furniture and a makeup table. Big posters of Idoru bands on the walls. Anime-­character pillows stacked on a frilly canopied bed. The big Ultraman video monitor on the wall has octopus hentai playing on a loop.