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Allegra doesn’t say anything for a minute. I can hear her walking, then closing a door.

“Marilyne or whatever she wants to be called might be a high-tone bitch, but she seems to know her chemistry.”

“I’m sorry. They’re working on it for me. It’s important.”

“I know. You don’t have to apologize for them.”

“Still.”

“Thanks,” she says. “Hey. You want to get a cup of coffee soon?”

“Sure.”

“Tomorrow?”

“I can come by the clinic around noon.”

“I’m impressed. That’s early for you.”

“That’s why I’ll need the coffee.”

CANDY HAS PRACTICE again in the evening. She gives me an extra-big kiss as she leaves. It’s nice to see her happy after last night. She really thought I might end things right there over nothing more than words. I know words count for a lot, but we’re solid enough that I’m not afraid of much. Even Alessa.

Still . . .

Still I feel the ground shifting beneath my feet. Candy needs something I can never give her. Vidocq is acting like a school kid, reliving fairy tales of gay Paree. And Abbot is a liar. Maybe he had good reasons, but he’s still a liar and I’m going to watch my back with him. If it comes down to a choice between me and his sister or being the augur, I know which way it’s going to go. Willem and the Backstreet Boys would be happy to do the job for him. Or maybe they’d leave it to Audsley. Then everyone who matters could walk away with clean hands.

Frank Perry’s Doc, a good western, is playing but I can’t look at it anymore. The light is too much. I close my eyes and just listen for a while. But the pain gets worse. I can feel Trotsky inside my head, trying to tunnel out with his ice ax. He’s doing a sloppy job of it too. Bone fragments and raw meat pile up behind my eyes, making them ac

he. I take a couple of aspirin and wash them down with Aqua Regia, but it doesn’t help.

When I look up again, the movie is over. I never even heard the closing credits. I turn it off and sit in the dark for a while, but all that does is let Hell back in. Marching angels. Norris Quay’s ridiculous face. The barely conscious mob outside Heaven’s gates. And Samael, getting sliced and diced. I put on an old pair of sunglasses I find in the dresser and go downstairs. With the shades on I can stand the bright lights.

Kasabian takes one look at me.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s Link Wray, back from the dead.”

He has the news on.

Some politician at City Hall tried texting his cock to an intern and it ended up on Facebook. An old club in Chinatown is closing down. It was the first place I ever saw Skull Valley Sheep Kill. They arrested some high school students in Malibu out at Teddy Osterberg’s place. Before he died, Teddy collected old cemeteries like some guys collect model trains. The difference is that Teddy was a ghoul. He dug up and ate a lot of his collection. It looks like maybe ghoulishness is catching. A handful of the kids were eating one of their friends.

The camera pans across the kids’ bloody faces. Most are blurred, but they miss one. A handsome jock in a letter jacket. I recognize the look in his eyes. Someone in the group was using Dixie Wishbone. It’s a funny drug. It gets the user high, but has a habit of driving anyone around them into a twitching meth-head rage. So, some rich kids go out looking to party at Teddy’s abandoned digs. Then one of them drops Dixie. I’ll lay you ten-to-one it was the kid being eaten. Now we’re left with only one question.

How did these prom kings and queens end up with the stuff in the first place? You don’t buy it like weed from Kenny behind the 7-Eleven. These days, you can’t even get it in L.A., yet these nobodies got some. And they used it at Teddy’s. Teddy wanted to eat me. I saw Teddy die. I’m connected to the place. I get a hollow feeling in my stomach that this is more Wormwood hijinks. Maybe someone figured out that it was me at Burgess’s place or with Charlie’s car. Maybe this is payback.

Trotsky is really going at it behind my eyes.

Kasabian says something and laughs. I can’t hear him. I go upstairs and get my coat. Go out and gun the bike into traffic. It isn’t Trotsky anymore. It feels like Death rattling around in my skull. I keep the shades on. It’s the only way I can stand the lights.

I don’t think. I just point the bike and head across town.

IT DOESN’T TAKE long to get back to the high school. The bouncer at the gym door recognizes me and lets me straight in.

I’m late. The empty pool is surrounded by shirtless, sweating men showing bruises and a few cuts. I don’t waste time watching the fight going on in the pit. The bench at the far end of the place is clear. I take off my shirt and boots and head for the other fighters.

The yellow-toothed pit boss intercepts me on the way over.

“It’s good to see you back, friend. I thought we’d lost you.”