box, but I’m not in a puzzle mood. I take out the
black blade and bring it down hard, slicing off one side. No explosions or
poison gas or snakes with machine guns. That’s a good sign. I hack off the other
side, get my hands inside, and push. A second later, the box rips apart in a
shower of splinters and black velvet lining. It’s kind of a pretty sight. Like
an exploding ventriloquist dummy.
Something heavy and metal hits the floor. I try to
pick it up, and rip the tip of my middle finger. Getting down on one knee, I
slip the blade underneath it, raising it up like balancing an egg. In the light,
I can’t see any sharp edges. Carefully, I rest it in the palm of my hand. It’s
definitely a weapon but I’ve never seen one like it. When I turn it side to
side, something weird happens.
As the light hits it from different angles, the
thing changes shape. It’s a spiked ball the size of a tangerine. It’s a long
silver dart with barbs at each end. It’s a spinning cone of fire. It’s ice
knuckle-dusters. A parang. An elaborate Balisong, with six hinged joints that
move at 180-degree angles to each other. Whatever kind of slice-and-dicer this
is, it wasn’t made for human hands.
Fighters liked to tell tall tales around the arena.
Stories about ultimate weapons they’d heard about that would make them
impossible to kill. Over a few jugs of bitter Hellion wine (our prize for having
survived the day), we came to the consensus that the ultimate weapon would be
the one that killed all your enemies and then flew you away to Heaven or
Valhalla or anyplace where when you said the word Hell the locals would say,
“What’s that?”
One fighter from some Hellion backwater said that
he’d seen the real ultimate weapon. Only archangels had them and only Gabriel
was brave enough to use his.
“No rebel angel could defeat him because each time
he used his weapon it was different. There was no way to attack or defend
yourself against it. Before the battle was over, thousands of our rebel brothers
and sisters lay dead at his feet. These other fools think it was God who
defeated us, but the few of us who survived the battle know it was Gabriel.”
I remember something Alice said before Samael took
her back to Heaven. I’d left her alone with Neshamah, one of the five entities
that have made up God since His nervous breakdown. Alice said that Aelita killed
Neshamah with a weapon Alice had never seen before. I wonder if that’s because
what she saw was really a million different weapons. That would be pretty damn
hard to describe at the best of times and even harder if it was only for a few
seconds while someone gutted God in front of you.
Among the lacquered splinters is a kind of leather
sheath that roughly corresponds to the shape of the weapon when it’s configured
like circular-saw blades. Carefully, I slip the thing into the case and lock the
top flap closed.
I wonder if Aelita left the weapon for Mason to use
on me or if he was just holding it for her while she hunted down the other four
God brothers? Either way it’s mine now. I drop it in my jacket pocket and get
the hell out of Mason’s butcher shop.
I head
to the bedroom but stop at the library to leave red “get your ass over here now”
signal cards in front of a couple of peepers for Ipos and Merihim.
In the bedroom I strip off the suit and give it a
sniff. The abattoir-fresh aroma all the kids love is deep inside the material.
That’s never coming out. I toss the suit over with the dead motorcycle jacket.
It’s sort of comforting seeing the growing pile of ruined clothes. I’ve killed
off a lot of men’s casual wear while getting shot and stabbed. Now all I have to
do is decapitate someone and I’ll feel like I’m home sweet home.
I grab an overcoat from the closet and toss it on
the bed. I feel enough like me that I put on the leather bike pants and boots I
wore when I came down here. They feel good. A little stiff with dried blood,
most of it
black blade and bring it down hard, slicing off one side. No explosions or
poison gas or snakes with machine guns. That’s a good sign. I hack off the other
side, get my hands inside, and push. A second later, the box rips apart in a
shower of splinters and black velvet lining. It’s kind of a pretty sight. Like
an exploding ventriloquist dummy.
Something heavy and metal hits the floor. I try to
pick it up, and rip the tip of my middle finger. Getting down on one knee, I
slip the blade underneath it, raising it up like balancing an egg. In the light,
I can’t see any sharp edges. Carefully, I rest it in the palm of my hand. It’s
definitely a weapon but I’ve never seen one like it. When I turn it side to
side, something weird happens.
As the light hits it from different angles, the
thing changes shape. It’s a spiked ball the size of a tangerine. It’s a long
silver dart with barbs at each end. It’s a spinning cone of fire. It’s ice
knuckle-dusters. A parang. An elaborate Balisong, with six hinged joints that
move at 180-degree angles to each other. Whatever kind of slice-and-dicer this
is, it wasn’t made for human hands.
Fighters liked to tell tall tales around the arena.
Stories about ultimate weapons they’d heard about that would make them
impossible to kill. Over a few jugs of bitter Hellion wine (our prize for having
survived the day), we came to the consensus that the ultimate weapon would be
the one that killed all your enemies and then flew you away to Heaven or
Valhalla or anyplace where when you said the word Hell the locals would say,
“What’s that?”
One fighter from some Hellion backwater said that
he’d seen the real ultimate weapon. Only archangels had them and only Gabriel
was brave enough to use his.
“No rebel angel could defeat him because each time
he used his weapon it was different. There was no way to attack or defend
yourself against it. Before the battle was over, thousands of our rebel brothers
and sisters lay dead at his feet. These other fools think it was God who
defeated us, but the few of us who survived the battle know it was Gabriel.”
I remember something Alice said before Samael took
her back to Heaven. I’d left her alone with Neshamah, one of the five entities
that have made up God since His nervous breakdown. Alice said that Aelita killed
Neshamah with a weapon Alice had never seen before. I wonder if that’s because
what she saw was really a million different weapons. That would be pretty damn
hard to describe at the best of times and even harder if it was only for a few
seconds while someone gutted God in front of you.
Among the lacquered splinters is a kind of leather
sheath that roughly corresponds to the shape of the weapon when it’s configured
like circular-saw blades. Carefully, I slip the thing into the case and lock the
top flap closed.
I wonder if Aelita left the weapon for Mason to use
on me or if he was just holding it for her while she hunted down the other four
God brothers? Either way it’s mine now. I drop it in my jacket pocket and get
the hell out of Mason’s butcher shop.
I head
to the bedroom but stop at the library to leave red “get your ass over here now”
signal cards in front of a couple of peepers for Ipos and Merihim.
In the bedroom I strip off the suit and give it a
sniff. The abattoir-fresh aroma all the kids love is deep inside the material.
That’s never coming out. I toss the suit over with the dead motorcycle jacket.
It’s sort of comforting seeing the growing pile of ruined clothes. I’ve killed
off a lot of men’s casual wear while getting shot and stabbed. Now all I have to
do is decapitate someone and I’ll feel like I’m home sweet home.
I grab an overcoat from the closet and toss it on
the bed. I feel enough like me that I put on the leather bike pants and boots I
wore when I came down here. They feel good. A little stiff with dried blood,
most of it
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