“We need to talk over some things before you go to your troops.”

Semyazah only half turns. Most of his attention is focused on the soldiers in the street.

I say, “I’m going to tell you a few things and you’re going to have to go along with them or all of this is going to fall apart.”

Now he looks at me.

“I’ve been a general in the Infernal legions since we fought in Heaven. I’m not used to taking orders from a mortal. Especially one who’s killed my people, good soldiers, for eleven years.”

“At least you chose to be down in Heaven’s toilet. I was shanghaied.”

Semyazah touches a finger to his lips.

“We seem to have reached an impasse.”

I shrug.

“Stay up here in the cheap seats if you want, but I’m going to try and stop this thing, and if that means killing every one of your pals in uniform, oh well. And after I save your shitty little world, we can call the movers for your stuff. I hear there’s plenty of room in Tart201room inarus these days.”

I start for one of the fat shadows cast by the hill fires.

“Try to understand my position,” says Semyazah. “I can’t very well rally troops to my side by telling them that I allowed myself to be rescued by our worst enemy.”

I look back at him.

“That’s the best part. You’re not going to mention me at all. You broke out of Tartarus on your own. You got all the brujas and wizards and table tappers together, organized them, and you led the final assault on the Gobah yourself.”

“I don’t know. It’s easier for them to believe that I’ve been cowering in a hole somewhere.”

“Mammon knew where you were in Tartarus, so the rest of them will know, too. And I guarantee they all heard the explosion when the boiler blew. Between that fucked-up uniform and the blisters on your face, they’ll believe you.”

“Possibly.”

“Tell them you broke out to save your men from Mason’s war.”

Semyazah grunts.

“It’s a good line because it’s true,” I say. “Mason is as suicidal as he is homicidal. He wants to burn down everything you ever cared about.”

Semyazah looks at the palace and absentmindedly touches the blisters on the side of his face that was toward the blast. They probably hurt like hell, but they’ll help convince the other officers he was in a serious fight.

“There’s one other thing,” I say. “It’s going to piss you off, but you can use it to persuade any of the holdouts.”

“What is it?”

“The Kissi are coming. I cut them into the game. It wouldn’t be a party without them.”

He’s back over to me in three quick steps.

“Are you mad?”

“Relax. Just because they’re crazy doesn’t mean they aren’t useful. But when it comes to dealing with them, you need to listen to me.”

His eyes narrow. He’s wondering if Azazel was right and I’m the liar who’s going to get them all killed.

“I’ll need to hear your plan before I agree to anything.”

“Fair enough. You’re going to need whatever generals you still trust and some goddamn fast runners.”

IT ISN’T HARD to guess where Lucifer’s office is. The penthouse is huge. It’s basically an old-school Hollywood mansion bolted to the top of a classy hotel, with multiple bedrooms, a kitchen, I don’t know how many goddamn showers, plus expensive furniture and enough art to start a tacky museum. San Simeon meets the Playboy Mansion.

In the middle of a large meeting room is a table with the same floating 3-D map I saw at Mammon’s palace. A gaggle of Hellion generals and staff officers are gathered on the balcony talking, arguing, and waving their hands describing details of battle maneuvers.

I stay half a step behind Semyazah, playing the humble underling. No one turns our way until I clear my throat extra loud. The officers turn. Then do nothing for a few seconds. A couple head over to Semyazah.

“General?”

“You look surprised to see me. When Hell is at war, then I’m at war and nothing could keep me away from my legions. Not even Tartarus.”

More officers come over.

“Did Mason free you?” asks a general who, if I remember right, might be Belial.

I say, “No one lets anyone out of Tartarus. The general led the escape himself.”

They seem to notice me for the first time.

“Who is this?” Belial asks.

“Just a guide,” I say. “The general freed us from Tartarus, so in gratitude I showed him the quickest route back here.”

The oldest and most battle-worn of the officers steps out in front of the others. It’s Baphomet, one of Lucifer’s first converts.

“That’s quite a story, General,” he says. “It might answer a troubling question. When we heard the rumbles to the south, Mason Faim ordered us to use artillery to lay waste to that entire region of Pandemonium. I refused an order. Firing on my people was never part of our plans. I persuaded much of the officer corps to join me. Now it seems that Mason Faim has disappeared, allegedly preparing his own alternate war plan.”

“What plan?” asks Semyazah.

“I have no idea.”

A pale officer comes to stand beside Baphomet. I think it’s General Shax.

“The truth is that many of us have been having increasing doubts about this mortals’ war. What wilighar. Whal it profit either of us if both Heaven and Hell are laid to waste?”

Semyazah steps forward and gestures for the other officers to come closer.

“The destruction of both worlds has always been Mason Faim’s plan. Let me tell you what I know and you’ll understand why he banished me.”

While they talk, I slip back out the same shadow we used to come in.

I COME OUT in Lucifer’s old office. Mason has taken it over completely. All the Hellion art and tapestries showing the fall from grace are gone. Maybe they weren’t ever here. This version of Lucifer’s office looks like a top-floor office at the New York Stock Exchange. Nice paneling. Cushy chairs. A lot of expensive-looking paintings on the walls. I prefer Lucifer’s slaughter art. At least that didn’t look rented.

Mason’s office is part office and part lab. A lot of the equipment is the same kind of alchemical gear that Vidocq uses. There’s an area with machining tools and a home-brew blast furnace that’s scorched one wall black. It’s surrounded by stacks of raw iron slugs. The floor and tables are covered with dozens of failed copies of the key to the Room of Thirteen Doors. I wonder how many of those keys I can shove up Mason’s ass before they come out his eyes.

Papers, blueprints, scrolls, and spell books are scattered all over Mason’s desk and the floor. Someone has dumped the contents of the drawers on the floor. I sit in Mason’s desk chair, close my eyes, and step aside so the angel can take over for a while and read the room. It feels around for any signs of him, not just in the room, but also in the aether, where hoodoo leaves trails and powerful magic leaves the magician’s fingerprints. There’s nothing there. Not an easy trick. He really wants to keep his backup plan to himself.

There’s something familiar in a wooden box doubling as a trash can. I upend it and the leather satchel Jack stole from me falls out. I open it and take out the carefully folded cloth. My face is still there. At this point I’m so far past numb that I’m not even happy to find it. More like relieved that there’s one less thing to run around after.

I push everything off Mason’s desk with my robo-bug arm and lay out my skin. I chant, letting the rhythm and the hougans’ words drift back into my head. I rub my temples until the flesh goes soft. When it feels loose I pinch the edges and pull. Mammon’s face peels away like the bandage off a wound. I concentrate, keeping the rhythm going while I press my face into place. The skin burns slightly as it settles and reattaches itself. I stop the chant and take my hand away, go to Mason’s worktable, and paw through the junk for anything reflective. I find a polished metal toolbox and hold it up.

I recognize this guy. He smokes all my cigarettes and gets me in trouble. And when I find Alice this face won’t scare her as much as the other. Of course, she hasn’t seen all my scars. She might not think this is an improvement.

If the bag is here, it means Jack must have made it back. But if Mason tossed it, that means he wasn’t much interested in Jack’s swag. I’m a little hurt. I thought he’d at least have my face stuffed and mounted like those mariachi frogs you get in Tijuana.

“Is that you, Stark? Or are you another bad dream?”

The gurgling voice drifts in from an open window. Something is moving out there, casting a wavering shadow on the floor. I get out the na’at and push aside the curtains.

There’s a heavy chain and something wet and red dangles from it, swaying gently with the breeze. It’s too small to be a side of beef and too big for pork.

The meat smiles at me.

“Are you real?” it asks.

“Hello, Jack. You’re not looking so good.”

“I’m not, am I?”

He gurgles the words. There’s a lot of blood in his throat, just one of the many downsides to being skinned alive (or as alive as Jack can be). He giggles high and crazy as the breeze moves him in gentle circles. Suddenly being tossed into the Tartarus furnace doesn’t seem so bad. At least it’s quick.

“As you can see, I received somewhat less of a reward than I’d hoped for,” Jack says. He grimaces, grinding his teeth as the pain cuts through whatever mad place his mind has gone to.

“What happened?”

Jack kicks his fleshless legs in frustration.

“He didn’t even want it. He was disgusted by it and by me for bringing it. He said he already knew where you were.”

“Did he say how?”

Jack giggles again.

“It wasn’t much of a conversation. My contribution consisted mainly of screams.”

This time the laughing doesn’t stop. It goes on until it’s kind of a mantra. It stops when he coughs up a bucket of blood.

Why do I feel sorry for this murdering thieving psychopath? He’s getting exactly what he did to all those women.

“I’ve got to go, Jack.”

“Toodle-oo,” he says. “Toodle-oo. Toodle-oo. Toodle-oo . . .” He sings it like a kid’s song.

The angel in my head ew in my prods me.

When the wind blows Jack around so his back is facing me, I jam the black blade between his ribs and into his heart. He stops singing. Twitches for a few seconds. Then slows. Then stops. Then vanishes.

Even a bastard like him doesn’t deserve what Mason did. Soon he’ll wake up in the ruins of Tartarus and climb out like the rest of the double dead. He’ll wander there forever, a ghost among the ordinary souls. I don’t know if that’s justice, but sometimes you take what you can get.

I say, “Olly olly oxen free, Josef. It’s showtime.”

A second later the Kissi’s standing by the desk.

“I hope this isn’t another excuse or delay,” he says.

“Delay? You’re already late for the ball. Get the kids in their Sunday best and bring them out front. It’s time to go.”

He struggles not to let his smile get too broad and loses.

“It’s about time. When we destroy Heaven’s armies and the Hellion legions are gone, I think I’ll take this palace for myself. I like the desk and have always admired that little furnace. What happened to the hanging man outside? I was thinking of getting several of them and using them as wind chimes.”

“Bring your troops out front with the legions. Feel free to make a gaudy entrance.”

Josef disappears. I pronounce a few words and the glamour that’s hidden my being alive fades away. There’s no point to that anymore. I go to the nearest shadow and disappear, too.

I COME BACK out on the reviewing balcony. The officers are in a ring around the floating map as Semyazah explains the plan. I shoulder my way into the ring before anyone can react.

Knives come out, but no one throws any angel hoodoo. I’m next to Semyazah and they don’t want me quite enough to risk making him collateral damage. Baphomet, the oldest, isn’t intimidated. He heads straight for me, a long curved blade in each hand.

“I’ve waited a long time for this.”

Rule one in wolf-pack territory is stand your ground. I manifest the Gladius and hold it up to his face. Curses and gasps erupt around the room.

Semyazah pushes me back and gets in front.

“Enough!” he barks at Baphomet. The old general stops, confused. I guess even he can’t do the sword trick. If any of the others can, Semyazah has intimidated them enough to back down.

- t000000"01C;Sandman Slim fights with us against Mason Faim.”

Baphomet says, “Why should we trust this monster now?”

I say, “I’m not here for your piano recital. I’m here because the enemy of my enemy isn’t exactly my friend. But he isn’t my enemy until this shit is over.”

“You haven’t been here for months. How could you know what’s happening in Hell?” asks Baphomet.

“Didn’t Lucifer mention it to you? He gave me his password to The Daimonion Codex. If you squint hard enough, you can see past the words and into every nook and cranny in Hell. I watched every one of you assholes betray each other, trying to get just an inch closer to Mason.” I look at Baphomet. His eyes are red with fury. “Mammon, who poisoned your troops before the attack exercise in Dis. He’s dead now, by the way. You’re welcome.” I look around at the circle. “Do you want a laundry list of which one of you shafted the other and how? How about it, Shax? Belial?”