"There was this one time Downtown when a couple of big, horned Hellions dragged me out of bed in the middle of the night. Azazel was my boss, but these two worked for Mephistopheles. The general with the fire palace. Lucifer's third favorite general. His boys took me to the arena. It was after-hours, but there were a couple dozen Hellion posh types in the stands. They wanted a private show starring the living boy, which I knew meant that I was about to get my ass kicked.

"My favorite weapon, a na'at, was on the ground. A na'at is sort of like a spear, but it morphs and changes into a lot more than a spear if you know how to use it right. Like everything else down there, the name is a Hellion joke. They call a na'at a 'thorn' because its full name, na'atzutz, is the kind of bush they used to make Christ's crown of thorns.

"Across the arena from me was something all draped in black. When it came closer I saw that it wasn't dressed in black. It was black, nothing but black. It was like a hole punched in the world. And it kept shifting and changing shape, like a sheet on a clothesline on a windy day.

"It just stood there, so I went for it. I threw a few feints, trying to draw it into a fight, but it didn't move. It didn't even turn when I moved around it. The na'atzutz is spear-shaped. When I took a quick, hard shot at the thing's head, the na'at went right through it, like it wasn't there. But when the thing raised its arm to push me away, it was like getting hit by a dump truck.

"The na'at extends over ten feet when you open it all the way, so when the thing came at me, I let the na'at out to its full length and swung it like a flail. It went right through the thing again. I wasn't about to let it lay into me again, so I did a Muhammad Ali and danced around the arena, trying to figure out what to do next. I didn't know how to fight something I couldn't even touch.

"Then the black thing took something out of a pocket. What it held up was a lot like that amulet back at that bar. Only it knew how to use it. First, it shot at my feet, kicking up dirt and blinding me. Then it shot circles all around me, so I couldn't run. It could have burned me anytime it wanted, but it was taking its time, playing for the Hellions whooping it up in the good seats.

"After all those years and all that happened to me and all the things I'd killed, this lasertoting bathrobe was going to kill me. And I think it would have if Azazel hadn't stormed into the arena. He started screaming at Mephistopheles and I thought the real fight was going to happen in the grandstands. Neither one of them was backing down and some of Mephistopheles' buddies pulled out knives.

"A minute later, who strolls in but Lucifer? That shut everyone up damn quick.

"The thing you have to understand about Lucifer is that he hardly ever talks, and when he does, it's never much more than a whisper. When half the universe is hanging on to your every word, you don't have to shout.

'This is over,' he said. 'Go home. Mephistopheles, come to my tower in the morning.' And that was it. Those Hellion hotshots couldn't get out of there fast enough. Then he went to the black thing and said something to it. The black thing didn't move. This is Lucifer giving the thing an order, and it just stood there. How is that for titanium balls? A couple of minutes later, the thing walks away across the arena and vanishes like smoke.

"I'd only seen Lucifer a couple of times and I'd only spoken to him once, but here he came right up to me and told me to go home to bed, and that none of this ever happened."

"What do you think it means?" Vidocq asks.

"That amulet got me thinking. Whatever had it must have been some colossal hard case because it tried to stare down Lucifer. Mephistopheles obviously knew the thing because it was his party. So… what if Mephistopheles knows he can't win the war Downtown and is recruiting some dark-magic types to help him move up here to Earth?"

"I thought that you had the only key that could allow them into this world."

"That's where it all falls apart. Except for Lucifer, no one can get out of Hell without the key, and I still have it."

Vidocq sips his coffee and makes a face. "The shit you people drink." He slips a flask out of his coat and pours a good portion of the contents into the cup. The next sip of coffee makes him smile. "It sounds as if you need to find those little Nazi boys and make them tell you where they get their toys."

"That's the second thing I need to do. The first is getting into Mason's place. Want to come along?"

"Breaking and entering? Now you are my friend again. I will show you how a good thief earns his daily bread."

"Sorry, man. There's no actual house to break into. It's just a basement, and that's buried under tons of dirt. But we can get in through the room."

Vidocq shakes his head. "You use guns when you should use magic and you use magic when you should let an old man pick a lock for you. You are a mixed-up boy, Monsieur Butler."

"Please don't say my name."

He holds up a hand by way of apology and reaches into his coat pocket. "Take this."

"What is it?"

"Someone you should meet. Dr. Kinski. He is an interesting man, and used to dealing with people of our kind. You shouldn't walk around with those bullets in your belly. The lead is bad for you."

"Thanks," I say, and put the number in my pocket. "I'll give him a call."

"So, when are you we paying a visit to your friend Mason?"

"Tonight. Late. I don't want anyone seeing us. We'll use the key to get in, but I want a car there, too, in case things get weird."

"Now you are thinking like a thief. Fewer guns and more exits. We'll cure your cowboy ways yet."

He doesn't notice that I ditch the bag of shirts under the table when we leave.

"HI. I'M CALLING for Dr. Kinski. I want to make an appointment."

"I'm sorry," says a soft female voice on the other end of the phone. "Dr. Kinski isn't accepting any new patients right now."

"I'm a friend of Vidocq's. He gave me this number."

"You're Eugene's friend? The traveler? How is it to be back in one place?"

"Unsettling."

"A rambling man. How romantic. Did you get what you wanted out of your trip?"

"If by 'get what you wanted' you mean a bunch of bullets, then, yeah, I hit the jackpot."

"Were they big bullets?"

"Big enough that I noticed."

"If it's an emergency, I might get the doc to look at you today."

"Tomorrow'll be fine."

"Love a man who'll bleed just to make a point."

"What's your name?"

"Candy. What's yours?"

"Stark."

"You sound like a Stark."

"Is that a good thing?"

"It's not a bad thing."

"I'll take that as a vote of confidence."

"Take it with cream and sugar, if you want. The doc doesn't have any openings tomorrow. He'll call you when he does."

"Thanks."

"Thank Eugene."

"I'll tell him you said so."

"You better." She hangs up.

AT EIGHT I go over to the Bamboo House of Dolls. Carlos is all handshakes and smiles. "Anything on the menu," he says. "From now until the end of time." I order carne asada and Carlos brings me the meat with beans, rice, and guacamole. It's like God left his lunch in the microwave and you get to finish it. By ten, the skinheads haven't come back, so I thank Carlos and head back to the video store.

I OPEN KASABIAN'S closet and let him puff away on the cigarette I hold down for him. His severed head doesn't bother me so much anymore. It's creepy, but familiar, like a three-legged dog.

"What's in the basement?" I ask.

"I don't know."

"Would you tell me if you did?"

"I'd tell you politely to kiss my ass. It's over there across the room, so I'll have a good view."

"You know I'm here to kill the Circle. You don't have to be part of that. Tell me something useful. Something I can use."

"Fuck you sideways, shitsack."

"I'm trying to find a reason not to put a bullet in you."

Kasabian smiles like a cat that just took a crap in your shoes and is waiting for you to find it. "I don't know what's down there, but I know this: Mason might be crazier than a sack full of dog's balls, but he kicked your ass to Never Never Land 'cause, unlike you, he thinks ahead. Is there something in the basement? I have no doubt. Do I know what it is? No. But I'm sure of one thing: it'll make you cry, and I'm looking forward to hearing all about it."

"I guess I'd be bitter, too, if I saw all my friends turn into gods while I was still the bum on the corner, hoping they'd throw me a nickel."

"See? It's that asshole thing that's going to get you killed soon."

"Did I hurt your feelings again? Sorry. When this is over, I'll send some flowers to your inner child."

I STEAL A Porsche 911 on Sunset and pick up Vidocq a little after two. I drive us to Beverly Hills and park where we can see the vacant lot where Mason's house once stood.

I sit there for a minute, scanning the street for teenyboppers or insomniac joggers.

"Are we going?" Vidocq asks.

"In a minute." I take out the Veritas, put it on my thumb, and give it a little flip. In my head is the question Is this a good idea?

When I turn the coin over, it reads in Hellion script, When you jump off a cliff, is it better to land on jagged rocks or burning lava? I know this one. The answer is obvious: It doesn't matter where you land. You just jumped off a cliff.

I lead Vidocq to the edge of the vacant lot, near a streetlight where the shadows are deep and wide enough for two. "I've never tried this with another human before. It might be a little weird. It'll feel like you're falling, but you're not. If this works, just step into the room like normal."

"What will happen if it does not work?"

"I have no idea."

Vidocq gets out his flask and takes a big drink. When he's put the flask away, I take his arm and pull him into the biggest, darkest shadow I can find.

There's a moment of coolness in the transition, and we're inside the room. Easy as a broken leg and we're both still in one piece.

Vidocq looks at me, eyes darting around the room. "It worked, then?"

"Two arms, two legs. It worked."

His lets out a breath and looks around, a little awe-struck. "We're at the center of the universe. The crossroads of creation."

"I suppose. I never thought about it that way. For me, it was just the emergency exit out the back of a burning building."

Vidocq turns in a slow circle. "My God. It really is a room full of doors."

"Thirteen. What did you expect?"

"I assumed the doors were a metaphor. Each door would be a way to describe a different state of being."

"No. It's just a lot of doors."

"Clearly. Where does this one lead you?"

"They change, depending on where I want to go. It's all about associations. The Door of Fire leads to chaotic places, usually dangerous. Wind is mostly calm, but changeable. Dreams leads to, well, dreams."

He points to the thirteenth door. "Where does that one go?"

"I never opened it."

"Why not?"

"Because it scares me shitless, and, anyway, that's not how we're going. We're going through here."

"What is this?"

"The Door of the Dead."

MASON'S BASEMENT SMELLS like a straw doormat that's been left out in the rain too long. It's also pitch-black.

Vidocq takes a glass vial from his pocket and blows on it. The room fills with light. Who needs a flashlight when you have your own personal alchemist?

Paint is peeling off the basement walls and ceiling in jagged sheets. Thick roots grow down from the lot above and creep across the ceiling and walls, like black and brittle arteries. A knot of roots has rotted away the plaster from one wall, leaving exposed lath. The furniture sits exactly where I last saw it years earlier-tables, chairs, and a sofa woolly with mold.

In the center of the room is what remains of the magic circle. Some of the chalk is still visible where it's melted into the rotten floorboards. The burned stubs of candles are still lying around the circle, like the last people in here left quickly and never came back.

I can't get hold of any one feeling. It's like my brain and my guts and my heart are stuck in a speeded-up, old-school king fu fight. Different parts of me want to run off screaming in different directions. One part of me wants to puke quietly, but thoroughly, in a far corner of the room. Another part of me wants to rip the place apart, board by board, brick by brick. The weakest, smallest part of me, the one I seriously don't want to hear from, is nothing but apologies and regrets. Sorry, Alice. You told me not to come here, but I did. Then everything else happened.

One part of me that's left is the ten o'clock news. That's the part I hold on to. The cold camera eye. Just take in the scene and report the facts. These ruins aren't my private apocalypse. They're the haunted-house ride at Disneyland. Digital spooks and Dolby stereo moans. About as scary as a basket of kittens.

"What are we looking for?" asks Vidocq.

I shrug.

"No idea."

We move around the room, looking for a clue or a sign that points to something more than damp wreckage. I move furniture and trash away with the toe of my boot. I don't want to touch anything.