Outside, Julie says, “She’s been like that since we brought her in.”
“Yeah.” Then, “Sorry about yelling at you. Thanks for what you did for Candy.”
“You’re welcome. See how easy it is to be nice?”
“I’m always nice. It just comes out funny sometimes.”
“Most of the time.”
“I know.”
Julie leads me to the break room. I spot Vidocq, nursing a cup of tea.
“What are you doing here?”
“Marshal Sola called me when Candy was arrested. She thought you might need someone to talk to.”
“I need someone to punch.”
His eyes go to my knuckles.
“It looks like you already found that.”
I look at my hand. The bleeding has stopped and a scab is forming. Still, it’s pretty ugly to look at. I pull a paper towel off the roll and wrap it around my hand.
“I’ve never seen her like this before, and I’ve seen her turn Jade plenty of times.”
“You’ve never seen it because she’s never been this way before. She’s been poisoned.”
I sit down across from him.
“Keep talking.”
“I tested the rest of the Jade potion Allegra had on hand. Not only has it been watered down, but there’s a toxin in it I can’t identify. I’m sure it’s responsible for her behavior.”
“Now all we have to do is convince the Vigil and the entire federal government that a murderous Jade didn’t mean it and is really sorry.”
“It’s a problem, I admit.”
I go over to the counter and pour myself some coffee. I want Aqua Regia, but this isn’t the time for a fuzzy head.
“If you make more of the real Jade potion, will the Vigil let you give it to her?”
He shrugs. Sips his tea.
“I have no idea, but giving it to her now would probably be pointless. Whatever she was given was meant to hurt her, not kill her. We need to wait until it clears her system before giving her anything else.”
I swallow some coffee. It’s some kind of sweet caramel blend that’s been burning all night, so it tastes like a candy bar someone left on an engine block. I push the cup out of the way.
“I can see someone poisoning me, but why her?”
“A distraction perhaps? You’re working on very important matters. There are -people allied with the Angra who would love to see you not in a proper state of mind.”
“Between Mason and Candy, I guess they pretty much succeeded.”
Vidocq leans forward and whispers.
“Then it’s true? Saint Nick is Mason Faim?”
I nod.
“Don’t go telling anyone. I want to keep this quiet as long as I can.”
“I can understand why he would want to leave Tartarus, but why come back here?”
“That’s what I want to know. It’s sure as hell not to teach me the ABC’s of the 8 Ball.”
“Curiouser and curiouser,” says Vidocq.
“Yeah, that.”
I look around to see if there’s any normal coffee. I can’t find any.
“You know, if it comes down to it, I could walk Candy out of here through a shadow.”
“It’s pointless to think like that. Right now she needs rest and medication more than she needs you.”
“She said something like that too, only louder.”
“Go home,” says Vidocq. “You must be exhausted. Waiting here like this benefits no one.”
I rub a knot of muscles at the base of my neck.
“Maybe you’re right. I need to talk to Mason again later and I want a clear head for that.”
“I’ll stay here. If anything changes, I’ll call you.”
“Thanks,” I say. Then, “How’s Allegra doing with all this?”
“Not well. She feels responsible for both the poisoned potion and Candy’s escape.”
“I still think there’s an Angra mole in the Vigil. Could there be one at the clinic?”
“The only -people who work there regularly are Allegra, Fairuza, Rinko, and sometimes Candy. But patients go in and out all day. I suppose one of them could have done it.”
“We’re not going to figure anything out tonight. I’m getting out of here.”
“Rest easy, my friend.”
“Next lifetime.”
Later, when I’m asleep, I don’t dream about Candy. I dream about the Angra. I’m back in the cavern, but it’s not like the last time. Ten Thousand Shadows doesn’t talk to me. I just see the meat chapel and hear something faint and faraway, like noise from an old sitcom. The sound of someone laughing at me.
I’M TEMPTED TO go and see Mason early in the day, but I want him to stew for a while, so I stay in bed and don’t go in until nearly two. Kasabian has his door propped up over the entrance to his rooms. He’s built a little barricade around it with boxes of discs. A nine--year--old could get through it, but I guess it makes him feel better, so I don’t say anything.
I step through a shadow and come out in Vigil headquarters and head straight for Mason’s cell.
This time, before letting me in, a guard goes over me with a metal detector. It must be some special Vigil tech because not only do they find the Colt, but they spot the black bone blade. I don’t want to waste time arguing, so I hand over my weapons. It’s not like I can’t snap Mason’s neck with my hands, but it feels weird. I’ve hardly been without a weapon for going on twelve years. I feel a tad underdressed. Heading inside to see Mason, I’m feeling already a little fucked with.
He’s at the table again. This time he’s cuffed, but his hands aren’t bolted down. -People know I’m here to play games with the psycho.
I look back at the door and see Wells watching us. No pressure, kids.
Mason smiles at me, but doesn’t speak. I pull up a chair and sit down across from him.
“What’s the game today? Old Maid? Crazy Eights?”
“It’s still the Infinite Game. If you keep thinking we’re playing different games, you’re going to lose.”
“You never said where you learned the Infinite Game.”
He looks away, like he’s thinking.
“You’d be surprised what you hear when you’re alone long enough in Tartarus. I knew I was going to be rescued before it happened because they told me.”
“The Angra?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Someone in Hell sent them to me because they knew I could help their cause.”
“Stop. I can’t deal with your bullshit without a drink. What’s today’s game?”
“Billy Flinch.”
Billy Flinch is a favorite game among the highly intoxicated and the clinically insane. It’s William Tell, only you play it by yourself. Take potshots at the far wall and try to ricochet a bullet so that it breaks the glass on your head. Most -people only play Billy Flinch once. It doesn’t have an Old--Timers League.
“They took away my gun, so forget it.”
“That’s disappointing,” he says.
As hard as Mason is to read, this time his pupils constrict a millimeter or two, so I know he’s lying. He wants to play something else.
Two upside--down plastic cups sit on his side of the table. He pushes them into the middle and lifts them. A -couple of scorpions make a break for it, but he corrals them back under the cups, laughing as he does it.
I look at him.
“Where the hell did you get scorpions?”
“What’s the scarier answer? That I had them all along or that someone snuck them in to me?”
Neither one’s a comfort, but this is Mason. Nothing about him is comfortable.
“What are we playing?”
“Lady Sonqah’s Wedding Night. Have you heard of it? The Luderes can’t get enough of it.”
“I’ve seen them playing at Bamboo House of Dolls. I don’t know how it works.”
“Give me your hand.”
I put out my right hand. Mason bites off part of the scab over the sigil he cut into his hand yesterday. He squeezes his palm so that a few drops of blood fall onto my fingers.
“I’m glad this isn’t our first date,” I say. “What’s the blood for?”
“It excites the scorpions.”
“There’s still time to switch to Candy Land. I’ll even let you go first.”
“Maybe next time.”
Mason doesn’t wipe the blood off his own hand, so if the game is what he says it is, at least so far he’s playing fair.
He lifts one of the cups, but before the scorpion can run out, he recites some hoodoo and it freezes in place.
“As you see, I’ve tied a slip of paper to this scorpion’s tail. The other one has a similar note. Your job is to get the note off your scorpion without getting stung. Each time you’re stung you get a point. At the end, we add up the points. Low score wins.”
Mason snaps his fingers, releasing the scorpion from the hex. He puts the cup down over the bug and pushes it to my side of the table. I tap the cup with my finger, listening to the scorpion scrabble around inside.
“What if I just squash the damned thing and take the note when it’s dead?”
“That’s an automatic loss and I get to hurt you.”
“Who poisoned Candy?”
“Shouldn’t you be asking about the Angra instead of trying to fix your love life?”
When I don’t make to pick up the cup, Mason reaches across the table and raises it.
“You might want to concentrate on the game.”
The scorpion sits there for a minute, looking as pissed as I feel.
“You made her crazy and almost got some poor street slob killed for nothing.”