“If the money’s gone, why are the lights on? How do you pay for all this takeout?”

Kasabian blows smoke rings at the video screen.

“Not all the money’s gone. Just what he knew about. I embezzled some. You tried to throw me out enough times, so I set myself up a trust fund.”

“I know.”

He turns and looks at me.

“When?”

“Always. You’re a thief. You can’t help stealing. And I probably gave you some cause to do it. How much did you get?”

“About two hundred grand.”

I cough, almost choking on the cigarette.

“Two hundred grand and you’re still hiding and living off delivery-boy donuts?”

He shakes his head.

“It sounds like a lot but it’s not exactly the rest-of-your-life money. At least the store brought in a little cash but with that gone . . .”

A few months back, Samael gave Kasabian the power to see into the Daimonion Codex, Lucifer’s Boy Scout handbook of clever awful things. Through it, Kasabian can also lurk behind the scenes watching parts of Hell like a surveillance cam.

“Did you ever look into the Codex? Did you see me Downtown?”

“Candy used to come by and ask me that.”

“When was the last time you saw her?”

“Three weeks. Maybe a month ago.”

“What did you say?”

He takes the Malediction out of his mouth with metal fingers stained yellow with nicotine.

“What I see is kind of erratic. I can’t see everywhere. I could see you on and off for the first few days, then you went off the air.”

“Maybe because of the Lucifer thing.”

“Lucifer thing?”

“Never mind. I killed Mason, by the way.”

“You sure?”

“There was a big hole in his head where his brains used to be.”

“Oh man.”

He leans an elbow on the desk and runs a metal hand over his head.

“That’s the best news I’ve heard in a long time. I used to dream about him coming back and finding me all crippled up and not able to run away.”

I say it without giving myself time to think about it.

“Where’s Candy these days?”

Elliott Gould is on a bus to Mexico. His suit is wrinkled and worn and his eyes are dark, like he hasn’t slept in days. He looks like half the population of Hell and most of Hollywood, the half not working out in gyms so they look like lunch meat stretched over Beverly Hills mannequins.

“She didn’t give me her fucking itinerary. The last number I have is for your friend’s clinic.”

He crushes out his cigarette and says, “You’re not moving back in here, are you? I’m kind of used to having the place to myself.”

I stand up, brushing the donut crumbs off my lap.

“Do you know who I am these days? I’m Lucifer, the lord high asshole of the Underworld. I’ll sleep anywhere I want.”

Kasabian tilts his eyes toward me without turning his head from the movie.

“You mean you’re broke.”

“Completely.”

He opens one of the desk drawers and pulls out a carton of Maledictions. Instead of cigarettes, it’s full of cash. He peels off two hundred-dollar bills and holds them out to me. I don’t move to take them. After a minute he peels off a few more bills. I take them and stuff them in my pocket.

“Don’t think I’m always going to let you be so stingy with my money.”

“This is my money,” he says. “You gave your money away.”

I don’t feel like arguing the point. I lift up the mattress and feel around for my guns.

“Don’t bother. Saint James took them when he took the money.”

“Even Wild Bill’s Colt?”

“All of them.”

The old Navy Colt wasn’t Wild Bill’s actual gun but it was as close as I’m ever going to get and now it’s gone. That’s cold.

I get the Glock and my na’at from the duffel bag. The na’at goes inside my coat while the Glock goes in my waistband at my back.

“I’m leaving the duffel here until I figure out where I’m staying.”

Kasabian tosses me an unopened pack of Maledictions. That’s quite a thing coming from him. He must think it’s my birthday.

“Don’t bother. Pope Joan still works nights at the Beat Hotel. Drop some gelt on her and I bet she’ll give you our old room. I think I might have even hid some money in the air vent.”

I pick up the bag and start out.

“Good to see you on your feet, Old Yeller.”

“Happy hunting, Tin Man.”

I catch a glimpse of Kasabian in the window by the desk. In the glass his face is normal and clean, but the guy sitting in the chair is a grimy mess. That’s it, then. The Devil has special eyes. He can see sin. I wonder what Samael saw when he looked at me.

I get on the bike and drive at an entirely reasonable speed through backstreets to Allegra’s clinic. I use hand signals and everything. Look at me, Mom. A solid citizen at last.

What used to be Doc Kinski’s clinic and is currently Allegra’s is in a strip mall near where Sunset and Hollywood Boulevards meet. There’s a fried chicken franchise on one end of the mall and a local pizza joint on the other, with a Vietnamese nail salon and the clinic in between. The parking lot smells like a high school lunchroom and is one of the top ten last places anyone hunting heavy angelic magic would look.

The blinds are drawn in all the clinic windows. It says EXISTENTIAL HEALING on the door in gold peel-and-stick letters. I take the handle and pull. It’s locked. I raise my hand to knock and lower it. Seeing Kasabian is one thing—we’re both the biggest freaks the other knows—but this will be different. There are normal people in here. Not normal normal people, but ones who act and feel like normal people.

I don’t know what to say to Candy. Three months ago I told her I’d be back in three days. And Allegra. I didn’t even say good-bye to Allegra before I left. She freaked out when I briefly worked as Samael’s bodyguard and things haven’t been right between us since. If Vidocq is inside, that’s another whole complication. The old man is the closest thing I’ve ever had to a real father. But he’s also French, and loud when he gets excited. Right now I don’t know if I can handle either one, much less both. Still.

I knock on the door.

It opens a crack and a heavyset blonde with blue skin and horns peers out at me. She’s a Ludere. A kind of Lurker. The whole tribe are compulsive gamblers. Probably the only reason she works here is so she can run a line on which patients are going to recover and which are going to die.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“Everyone thinks I’m dead, so probably not.”

She reaches out through the open door and shoves a business card into my hand.

“Call and Dr. Allegra will see you when she can.”

She starts to close the door. I grab the edge.

“Is Candy inside?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Does that mean she’s in there?”

She points to the card.

“Call and make an appointment.”

“Why don’t I make one right now? My name is Stark and in thirty seconds I’m coming inside. You have ten seconds to write it in your book and twenty seconds to get out of the way before I kick the door in.”

She leans to one side so the light from the clinic lobby falls across my face.

“Are you him or are you the boring one?”

“Do I know you?”

“I used to hang out at the Bamboo House of Dolls. Till he came around.”

“Princess, did the boring one go around kicking in doors?”

“It sounds like you. Wait here.”

“Twenty seconds.”

Twenty seconds come and go. Too bad. I always liked this door with the gold letters flaking off. But never make a threat you’re not willing to go carry out. I step back a good kicking distance. The door doesn’t look like much, so there’s no need to get dramatic. Just bring up a leg to kick out the lock. I draw it up and for a second I’m standing on the street like a leather flamingo. The door swings open and Candy is standing there. She looks at me on one leg, in dirty leather and a road-rash coat. I look at her. The same ripped jeans and Chuck Taylors. She has on a T-shirt covered with Japanese writing. Looks like it’s for an all-girl band I never heard of. Then we’re both looking at each other. Then it occurs to me to put my leg down.