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“I think he’s an ancient Chinese snake god,” Marla said. “And he’s not my friend. He
owes me a favor, but he considers me an enemy, and wants to kill me.”
“Your enemy? I’m sorry to hear that. You should have said you were waiting for a god.
I’ve been sensing a god within the city’s borders for nearly an hour now. He appeared
rather suddenly, but then, gods do that. He’s south of here. It may be—”
“South of here?” Marla slapped her forehead. “Shit. I bet he’s at the airport. Rondeau
was supposed to pick him up. Damn it. Cole, come with me. I’ve got to do something I
swore I’d never do again.”
“What?”
“I can’t believe it’s come to this,” Marla said. “But there’s no other way. I’m going to
have to drive.”
Cole looked appropriately horrified by the notion.
B took a bus to Chinatown, feeling self-conscious in his cloak, though he didn’t draw
more than the usual number of stares—only this time it wasn’t people looking at him
because he seemed vaguely familiar, but because he was wearing something outlandish.
He kept thinking of Sam Raimi’s Spider-Man movie (there had been a rumor in certain
circles that B was being considered in the lead role for that back when it was being cast,
but it had been groundless, as all such rumors were since he’d left the business). In B’s
opinion, the best scenes in the film were those where Peter Parker was exploring his
newfound abilities as Spider-Man, the simple glee he’d demonstrated as he leapt and
spun and deadlifted tremendous weights. How many kids hadn’t imagined having just
such powers? B certainly had. And, unlike most kids, he’d grown into a person who did,
apparently, have powers of a sort, though B would trade all the second-sight and oraclefinding
prowess in the world for, say, invisibility or the power of flight, straightforward
powers that didn’t necessarily create more questions than they answered. Now B did
have such powers, though they were borrowed from the cloak—speed, strength, and a
will to violence. He wanted to feel that Spider-Man kind of joy, and he had, while he
was up on the rooftop, trying out his moves. But now he was on his way to use those
moves, to commit an act of violence against a living person, and he didn’t feel joyful.
He’d seen Marla in action, watched her fight while wearing the cloak (though he hadn’t
been able to follow the action in any useful way; Mutex and Marla had both been blurs
during the battle on the train), and watched her kill without using the cloak at all. B
didn’t know if he was capable of killing someone that way. The advantage of the cloak
was that it removed such conscious concerns from the mind—once B reversed it, his
logical, coherent mind would recede, and he would attack whomever he perceived as an
enemy. That was liberating, but B didn’t think it would ultimately provide much
comfort. He had put on a brave face for Marla, but he was terrified both of failing and
of succeeding. Still, he had to save Rondeau. B lived a mostly lonely existence, because
he suffered visions and afflictions that normal people couldn’t understand and that he
didn’t dare share, and he’d found a friend in Rondeau. If it was in his power to help a
friend, he would.