Then again, whatever made me think the universe should make sense? I worked for God Almighty Himself, the Highest, and I was just as confused as every other thinking creature.
Was this really the end? Would I never see this beautiful woman, demon, whatever she was, after tonight? Or, even worse, would I see her again but be unable to do anything except watch her walk past, she condemned to her business, me to mine?
I felt so cold at that sudden vision, so empty, that for a moment I thought my soul might actually be dying.
As though she sensed it, Caz opened her eyes and looked at me. She didn’t say anything, just spread her arms as if welcoming me back from a long, hazardous trip. I moved in close until I felt the cool length of her against me from chest to shins, the chill pressure of her cold little feet and her cold little breasts.
We held each other in silence, because there really wasn’t anything left to say.
twenty-two:
sweet lady zinc
“YOU DEAR man,” she said. “You must tell me who did this to you. There was blood everywhere!”
My eyes, which had been sending me nothing useful for some time, just a vague sensation of light and shadow, the kind of thing even a snail can accomplish, finally began to focus on the moving shape. Considering all I had seen and been through, the object slowly coming into view was strangely human. And not just human but quite lovely—a woman in the glowing prime of adult life, with dark, curly hair that turned into a spreading cloud down her shoulders where it had worked loose from her hairpins. Her face was heart-shaped, her cheeks plump and pretty, and even in my pathetic state I couldn’t help but notice that she had some serious decolletage (an old-time word for cleavage) going on. Her bright eyes took in my own wandering gaze, and she colored a little with a flush that not only touched her pale cheeks but her breastbone as well, like a dusting of rouge from an invisible brush.
“Who?” I said, then, “What . . . ?” My brain was, I swear to you, prickling like a limb that had fallen asleep. I figured it could be my thinking tissues regenerating after all that oxygen starvation, but it was also possible I’d been so damaged that I was going to be permanently fucked in the head.
“You are safe. I am Lady Zinc, but you may call me Vera.”
I suddenly remembered why I had been losing consciousness before I was struck and darted a look at my injured right arm. The hand was still missing, of course, but it had been carefully bandaged, and the blood had been scrubbed away. What was weird, though, is that I could feel my hand at the end of my arm as though it were still there; I chalked it up to “phantom limb” or whatever they call that syndrome. I was even dressed in clean clothes, some kind of old-fashioned nightshirt of flimsy material, the kind of thing the Sheriff of Nottingham might have worn to a slumber party.
“How did I get here?” I managed all five words without coughing, but it felt as though I hadn’t spoken for years. My head was a little better, though. Either I was learning to ignore the prickling in my brain, or it was going away.
“You ran into the street in front of my car, dear man. I thought I’d ruined you, but you’ve cleaned up very nicely.” The dark-haired woman smiled. This couldn’t be happening, I thought. Not in Hell. Nobody did anything for free in Hell. Still, I was definitely one of those beggars who couldn’t afford to be choosers, so I did my best to smile back and look properly grateful.
“Thank you, Lady Zinc.”
“Oh, Vera, please. After all, you’re a guest now!” She laughed and stood up. “Which means I really should know your name. Do you mind telling me?”
For just about a half second I couldn’t remember—not my Hell-name, not my real name, as though I had just dropped out of the sky into this crazy dream without bothering to bring along any baggage. How much blood had I lost? How close had I been? Then both of the names came to me. I gave her the right one. “Snakestaff of the Liars Sect, my lady. And I’m in your debt.”
She laughed again with what sounded like genuine pleasure. “No, no, I am in yours. It was a filthy morning, and it’s been a miserable, pointless week. You have cheered me up hugely.”
It was the first time I’d ever heard anyone in Hell use a term like “week,” and I wondered if that was just Vera’s way or something peculiar to Pandaemonium. “Where am I?”
“My house in the Trembling Heights. Now rest. We will have plenty of time to talk as you recuperate. If you need anything, ring the bell for Belle.”
It took me a moment to realize the second bell was a name. I was distracted, because Vera had been sitting at the foot of my bed but now stood, and I could see her whole. There was a lot to see. She was curvy but slender-waisted, with a graceful neck, and although she wore a long dress that covered her legs I suspected they were nice, too. Yes, even nearly dead guys notice things like that, even when they’re angels in demonic bodies. It had nothing to do with Caz, and it didn’t really have anything to do with sex, since I felt so weak I couldn’t have put up a convincing tussle with a ball of yarn. That’s just the way the male eyes and brain are hooked up. Go sue the Highest if you don’t like it.
Lady Zinc went out. I spent a moment surveying the room, which looked like Old Hollywood’s idea of the Middle Ages, including stone walls and a high window with no curtains, but I was too exhausted by the short conversation to even think about getting up and finding out whether the door was locked from the outside—whether I was a prisoner—because at that moment, I couldn’t have cared less. Some of the higher demons liked to play-act, I knew. Maybe this was all some elaborate game. It couldn’t be real, could it? I couldn’t actually be safe, at least for a while? Could I?
Safe or not, I was still exhausted by what I’d just been through. I sank back into the richness of a bed and the fuzziness of my wits and let sleep take me.
I woke up to find a very different woman in the room, this one tall and heavyset. I groggily remembered that dark-haired Vera had mentioned someone named Belle, and this woman did seem to be dressed in the plain style of a servant. Unlike her mistress, though, Belle was visibly demonic, with rough gray skin and spurs of horn or bone jutting through the hide at her shoulders, elbows, and other visible joints. I’d seen lots worse. I rasped out a request for water and she brought me a cup; when I had finished, she refilled it for me and set it on the stand beside the bed. She looked stronger than me, especially the weakened version of me lying in the bed, but she seemed kind enough, showing me a sort of smile and squeezing my hand when I handed the cup back to her.
“Don’t worry, sir. You will be well soon,” she assured me as she went out.
The prickling was definitely almost gone. I felt less dizzy than before, as though I had slept for some time. I wondered how long I’d been out. I literally had no idea if I had been in Lady Zinc’s house for hours or days, and I couldn’t see a clock. You’d think, considering how much of a curse of modern civilization clocks are, that Hell would be full of them, but no. In fact, they don’t have calendars either, although they kept dates and even seasons of a sort. I guess when you’ve been condemned to infinite punishment you don’t want to dwell on how slowly time is passing. Not to mention that if it was anything like Heaven, time didn’t pass, at least not in any normal way.
As my wits came back, I also realized that I couldn’t trust any of this apparent kindness. Even if it wasn’t some trick, even if Vera herself was the Riprash of her upper-class demon set, that didn’t mean everybody she knew wouldn’t happily eat me or turn me in. I had to be careful.