Sometimes, when I’m out at night and things are quiet, I take pity on the angel in my head and let it take the lead.

The angel can see in the dark, but not like it’s an owl or has night-vision goggles. The angel sees the world the way God must see it. Nothing is solid. Objects don’t exist except as strings of vibrating pearls of light. Molecules are interlocked Tinkertoys of atoms hiding in smudged electron fogs, all wrapped in the twisted folds of superstring taffy. Swirling and flowing, the universe folds in on itself in a multidimensional Technicolor Busby Berkeley dance of the celestial spheres. And that’s just in the city. I wonder what the ocean would look like with these eyes? Waves within waves within waves within waves, a fractal whirlpool dropping down forever, past Heaven and Hell and what? Could eyes like the angel’s see the Big Bang? Could I pick out the atoms of Alice’s ashes where I dumped them by Venice Beach? No. None of that tonight. I’m alive and I’m driving and there’s a pretty girl at my back. I’m a goddamn Bruce Springsteen song.

When we get near the club, I leash the angel and stuff him back in his doghouse. I need to see with my eyes now.

I stop the bike in the driveway of a gated warehouse down the block from Dead Set. The scene is pretty much what Carolyn said it was. The Goth industrial crowd wrapped in latex and chrome. Girls and skinny boys wearing boots with heels high enough to tickle Gabriel’s ball sac mill around outside, smoking.

Dead Set is in a converted furniture warehouse. There’s a projector on the low brick building next door splashing Stacy, a Japanese-schoolgirl zombie flick, across three floors on the side of the Deade o of the Set warehouse. A horde of barely legal shoujos in bloody school uniforms stumble toward soldiers firing automatic weapons. It goes the way these face-offs usually do. Schoolgirls one. Soldiers zero. I light up a couple of Maledictions, hand one to Candy, and we wait.

“Shouldn’t we go inside?” she asks.

“Too crowded. If we get into a tussle, all those extra bodies are just going to get in the way. A club like this only has one entrance. Give it some time. Cale will come to us.”

“I love it when you talk all Sam Spade.”

A cop car cruises by every half hour or so to let the crowd know they’re there. I smell some undercover bacon in the crowd, too. Their sweat is different. They’re excited, but it’s not by the drugs or possibility of sex. It’s at the possibility they might get the chance to put a beat down on the young and beautiful. The cool kids who wouldn’t let them sit at their table in the lunchroom. Fucking cops. They’re making me side with these preening assholes.

I have to wait around an hour for Cale to come outside. Yes, it’s boring. You can only make so many catty comments about the crowd when everyone looks pretty much the same. Candy and I burn through more Maledictions than we should. Fuck Lucifer, too. I saved his life. He could have at least sent me a crate of smokes before he fucked off back to Daddy’s condo in heaven.

I get back on the bike and gun the ignition.

“Follow me over on foot,” I tell Candy.

I hit the throttle and blast across the street like a twin-cylinder RPG. Cale and his crew have come outside. I screech-skid to a hard stop inches away from him. However high he is, his reflexes are good enough that he jumps back a few inches when he sees me closing in on him.

“Hey, Cale. Long time no see. How’ve you been doing?”

“Do I know you?”

“Sure. Carolyn McCoy introduced us.”

“Sorry. You’ve got the wrong guy. I don’t know you or any Carolyns or any McCoys.”

I’m close enough to see that yes, he does have runes and sigils tattooed on the sides of his head. I want a closer look, but the lights are shit and he’s too high to stand still.

He turns and tries to walk away.

“Sure you know Carolyn. You’re her Akira connection.” I say it loud enough so that everyone nearby can hear.

Cale turns and heads back, his long lanky body moving with a dancer’s practiced grace but a boxer’s strength. I Carength.2019;m pretty sure he’s armed, but I’m not sure what with.

“What did you just say?”

There are five in his crew. Three girls and two other guys. They spread out behind him, blocking the street in case I try to rabbit away.

“Akira. The Akira that Carolyn sells to stupid college kids and, for all I know, underage go-go dancers. Damn, how many felonies is that?”

“That’s what she says? And you believe everything every dumb junkie cunt tells you?”

“I believe her because you said you didn’t know any Carolyns, but you know she’s a dumb junkie cunt.”

He does a little grunting laugh.

“All these small-time bitches have habits. If I ever did know a Carolyn, I don’t know her anymore.”

“Why would you? She dosed the kid for you and that makes her too dangerous to keep around. What I want to know is whether you dosed Hunter Sentenza on your own or did someone pay you to do it?”

He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t walk away either. He’s trying to decide if he wants to talk some more or fight.

“I’m guessing the second,” I say. “If you wanted Hunter dead, you’d have sent one of your monkey boys to do it. That means you did it for someone. I want to know who.”

Cale subtly shifts his weight, dropping it onto his back foot. He’s trying to be subtle, but I know a fighting stance when I see one. His crew is showing a lot of teeth. Candy is behind them in the street. She keeps an eye on them while they keep an eye on me.

Someone screams off to my right. Two drunk girls have fistfuls of each other’s coiffed hair and are rocking back and forth trying to hit each other. Drunk catfighting for the crowd’s amusement. Every town has its arena.

But I shouldn’t have taken my eyes off Cale. By the time I refocus, he’s throwing a hex at me. And it isn’t in the textbooks in Sub Rosa school. He’s been hanging out with a bad crowd. I bet he cheats on his spelling tests, too. But there’s no time to think about that. A buckshot hurricane of wasps blasts from his hands right at my face.

The first wave hits me square in the chest and face before I can throw up a shield spell. The wasps are coming so fast that most of them don’t have a chance to sting me. They splat and bounce off into the crowd. The young and the beautiful scream in pain and run. Fuck ’em if they’re too dumb to get out of the way of a hoodoo street fight.

I get a shield up, covering my front from ground to head. The stream of wasps is coming at me so hard that I hn="ard thaave to lean into them to keep from being blown onto my back. I expand the shield over and around Cale and his crew. Shouting in Hellion, I slam the shield shut, trapping them inside with Cale’s ballistic bugs.

There’s a couple of minutes of hilarious screaming and self-flagellation as Cale and his people crouch, crawl, and slap themselves silly trying to get the wasps off. Cale is barely in control of the hex, but finally turns off the bug spigot.

Cale is pissed. He shouts a string of hexes and chips away at the sides of my shield dome. I let him. I’ll give the kid some credit. He’s got some power and he’s on his way to learning how to use it, but he isn’t there yet. That’s a dangerous place to be. It can make you do stupid things. Like now, for instance.

Finally, he blasts my shield dome into a million pieces of formless aether. A guy like this with lots of showy magic tends to forget the basics of fighting. The physical part. I rush him and get a hand around his throat before he can throw any more hexes.

Cale’s boys just stand there like pricy mannequins. It’s the girls who finally do something and make to throw some hoodoo my way. Candy is on them before either of them can get more than a syllable out. She puts the boot to them, but has enough control of herself not to go Jade on them.