“DESCRIBE HER,” FALLON SAID intensely, leaning over the table. “Describe everything.”
The golden shit sensation of gas in the air was overpowering, making me dizzy. I’d never sensed so much blood in my life; every single enustari in the place—and I had the firm sense that everyone here (aside from Hiram, Mags, and me) was Archmage and their urtuku (who would be considered saganustari even if their own skill level were just as high)—seemed to have a fat, bloated Bleeder standing around, leeching an open wound just in case a war broke out.
We were in Jersey, which right there made this a red-letter day, because no one went to Jersey unless they absolutely had to.
AS THE TOWN Car cruised the streets, we passed buildings on fire, crowds battling cops in riot gear, and the odd neighborhood where absolutely nothing was happening, everything peace and calm, the only sign of trouble the orange glow in the sky. The Old Bat’s Stringers were busy little bastards.
As we approached the first police barricade diverting traffic away from the bridges and tunnels, which the city had closed, Fallon reached into his jacket pocket and extracted a small green bendy Gumby doll, the kind you gave to kids so they could pose them any way they wanted.
“All right, Dalhamun,” the old man said, setting Gumby on the seat between us, “cloud some minds for us.”
Gumby animated, looking up at Fallon and saluting with one tiny green hand. It then crouched down and put its hands to its head in the classic mind-reader pose. The car cruised past a few cops, then slowly maneuvered around the barriers while the police all acted like they couldn’t see us.
“How old are you?” I asked. “Gumby?”
“Useful, no?”
I glanced at the little figure. “I’ve had enough demons, thanks,” I said. “Even ones trapped inside Gumby.”
Fallon snorted. “You did well with Lugal,” he said. “You should reconsider your prejudices. You appear to have a talent for Summoning. That talent is often paired with a commiserate ability in Fabrication.”
I stared out the window.
The tunnel was deserted, closed off on the New York side, and we cruised through without incident, the tiny toy remaining in its pose of concentration as the driver took us wordlessly into Jersey City, which started off looking like a mall, then slowly fell apart before our eyes, souring into a shithole. When the car pulled up outside a sad-looking brick building, I thought for a moment it was a mistake, but Fallon scooped up tiny Dalhamun, who offered me a sardonic salute as it was slipped back into Fallon’s pocket.
“Come,” said the Archmage, comfortable giving orders.
The street was deserted, but an old-school movie theater was burning brightly up the block, and cop helicopters crowded the air, searchlights stabbing at the ground. The Old Bat was busy.
Hiram and Mags emerged from the second car. I wasn’t used to seeing Hiram so subdued, so clearly out of his element. Instead of looking at my gasam and being disturbed, I looked at the building. It was only four floors high to my eye, but the ancient elevator we entered had seventeen buttons, and Fallon pressed number 17 without hesitation. It opened into an ornate restaurant, red carpeting and old-school everything, wooden booths and paper lanterns.
Fallon gestured at the coatrack to one side. “Bosch, Mr. Mageshkumar, stay here. Do not wander.”
Hiram put his hands up, his expression easily translatable as no problem. Hiram, I realized, was terrified. Mags looked at me, alarmed, but I waved him back and he settled.
The bar dominated the center of the dining room, lit up in a rainbow of colors, a row of unhappy-looking Chinese waiters in sadly frayed black uniforms standing at attention. Right in front of the bar was a huge circular table with a dozen enustari already seated. A beautiful red-haired woman in a black dress, her white skin making her seem almost monochromatic, stood behind an empty chair.
My eyes locked on her, the most beautiful person I’d ever seen. Her hair spilled around her creamy shoulders, framing an expressionless face that regarded us with a disinterest that was erotic in its totality. As I stared, the smell of cherries swallowed me, warm and lush, and I realized with a start that the enustari was floating a fraction of an inch off the floor.