Gabe used to smoke. Panic rose under my breastbone. I swallowed, my sword shoved into the loop on my belt. My hands were loose and raised. "Hi. I'm Dante Valentine."

He let out a chuff of smoke and a choking sound. "Fuck. Wonton w'hini."

"I know how to ride a board." I kept a firm hold on my temper. "I just don't have one right now. You can help me with that."

He had wide blue eyes, clashing with his acid-green hair. "Landerfuck," he sniffed with magnificent disdain. "Niners outa clap w'hinioo."

"Innocent until proven otherwise." I gave him a lopsided smile. Some people try to mimic slictribe lingo, I don't. It's enough that I can guess at 80 percent of what they mean. Even Konnie had been hard to understand at times.

It was a long shot, but I decided to go for it. "Konnie Bazileus. Heaven's Arms. He still around?"

I thought his eyes couldn't get any rounder. "Bazzmouth on'yo tribe?"

"I'm not tribe," I said. "I'm lander, remember?"

He shrugged. "Bingya Bazzmouth."

"Thanks." I folded myself down onto the gritty filthy floor of the ledge jutting out into the side of the hole, blood crackling as it dried on my clothes. "Bum a smoke?"

After that it was nothing but waiting. Those of the slictribe don't function in the same timezone as the rest of us; the less charitable say it's because of all the hash and XTSee. He smoked his way through two more cigarettes, generously sharing with me, then stood slowly, brushed his pleather shorts off, and pressed the powercell. He tossed the board and flung himself after it, his new BooPhooze sneakers thudding on the deck's surface. It used to be Rebotniks or Aeroflot were the popular brand, but no longer.

I was getting old. I even felt old. Creaky, my bones dry. The synth-hash didn't soothe me as much as I wished it would. As soon as he was gone I stubbed the last one out in the filthy greasy crud masquerading as dirt down here.

I put my head down on my knees and tried to breathe. The blue glow of my god's attention was comforting, hovering at the edges of my mental awareness. I'd just outrun four cruisers and what looked like Mob troops. That wasn't a new trick, cops and Mob working together; sometimes the cops needed a little help from the extralegal side. Of course, the Mob troops had only been legally-augmented, but if they were working for the cops I didn't blame them. Still, it bothered me. I assumed they were Mob, because they hadn't behaved like cops, cops would have shouted at me to drop my weapons.

If they weren't from the Tanner Family's war with me, maybe they were from Lucifer pulling strings behind the scenes again, using me to trap Eve. Hellesvront had all kinds of agents on earth, it stood to reason the cops might be part of that network.

What a joy. I've got so many enemies, even I can't decide between them.

The rattling whines of slicboards began to build as the Hole woke up. Sk8s and other slictribers, like psions, generally come out and play at night.

I tilted my head up, watching the aerial ballai. It's impossible to look totally graceful while riding a board you're always on the edge of spilling-but confidence imparts its own kind of grace. I watched the little darts of antigrav light, spinning in the figure-eight pattern slic riders use for high-traffic zones, others dipping down and peeling away to take runs around the edges. Whoops and high joyous cries echoed through the cavern. The pounding of a vance party in another part of the Hole started to throb like a heartbeat, music meant to shake dancers into a trance and keep them there for hours.

I'd thought before of using the patterns of hover traffic for divination. Now I watched the spots of firefly light that were the slicboarders, and I felt premonition flutter under my skin. Deep, unsteady panic welled up from the pit of my belly.

"Gabe," I whispered, and watched the lights tremble as my eyes filled with tears. I blinked them away.

Konnie still rode a board. And he, of all people, reminded me of just how much we'd all aged while I was letting time pass me by in Toscano. His fingernails were still clipped brutally short and painted with black moleculedrip; he probably still played in a Neoneopunk band. Kids like Konnie rarely ever grow up. He was still riding, still part of a tribe. That meant he was still fast and mean.

He was still lean, and rode with hipshot ease. Still wearing flat golden plasmetal rings on his right hand; still the same dead flat dark eyes. His hair was different now, dyed magenta and long-braided, studded with ivory beads. He wore-since he was no longer a young punk fashion plate but an aging one-a black V-neck linen shirt, skintight purple viscose-velvet breeches, and supple black fake-shark boots. Fans of wrinkles spread at the corners of his eyes, and his mouth was bracketed with two curving lines. He still rode a Valkyrie-slictribers are nothing if not loyal to their decks.

Konnie had known my old face. My human face. I'd been taking my slicboards to him for servicing since I'd left the Academy, and we'd evolved a useful acquaintanceship over the years-an acquaintanceship I was about to use for all it was worth.

I presented my left cheek subtly as he stood with his back to the ledge, studying me. With luck he'd recognize my tat. The kid with the green hair settled down crosslegged and lit another cigarette. The sweet smoky smell of synth-hash rose and twirled around the other odors of the Hole. I was glad I'd learned to tune down some of the demon acuity in my nose.

Konnie grinned, showing strong white teeth. It was a vidflash expression, there one moment, gone the next. "Deadhead. You get augments?"

"Kind of. Against my will." I lifted a shoulder, dropped it. Blood crackled on my clothes, almost dry now and powerfully fragrant of spice and rotting fruit. Tucked under Konnie's arm was a long slim shape in a chamois sheath. "Nice to see you too, Konnie."

"Been a long wave." He studied me carefully, scrupulously speaking my language instead of slic lingo. "You bringin' trouble. Niners all over all the entrances. Been a few scuffs."

"I'm sorry." My eyes burned, and my lungs. The vast dim cavern beat with the pulse of slicboard travel and more vance parties starting, the walls really beginning to bounce. Stray tufts of breeze made the beads in his hair clack together, touched my cheek and ruffled my clothes. "I'm on the warpath, Konnie. I don't want to hurt any slictribers, but my temper's real short. I want a board, and I need to get out of here unseen and send a couple messages. I can pay."

He shrugged, his lip curling. "Pay."

Oh, Sekhmet sa'es. "New Credits, you ass. Not datband dangle. You think I was born yesterday?"

His eyes were troubled as he studied me. "You look awful young."

You have no fucking idea how old I feel. "Not my fault. I lost a game with the Devil, Konnie." There is no lie like telling the truth, is there?

Is there, Japhrimel?

Trust me, Japhrimel's ghost replied. Say you will not doubt me.

I wish he hadn't left me with McKinley, I wish I'd known not to get angry at him. Maybe I could have convinced him to help Eve, maybe not. I should have tried

"Devil?" He blew out, a long low whistle between his strong white teeth. Business at the Arms must be good. He wore a datband plugin that registered him as constantly monitored by a security company, which meant he probably had his fingers in a few extralegal pies.

"Don't ask. Look, Kon, are you gonna help or am I going to have to figure something else out? I'm kind of in a hurry." I risked a little rudeness.

He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Holy shit." For a moment he sounded much younger, and his dead dark eyes flared to life. The Hole pounded, confused air swirling and buffeting, making the riding even more challenging. I heard a chorus of yells-a duel, maybe. "It is you. Valentine."