"I'll try to be there."

"One more thing."

"Yes?"

"Thanks for treating me like, you know, a person through all this shit. I know that isn't always easy."

"You do have a habit of pissing on other people's welcome mats. But, when a gentleman gives you a booty call to a massacre, it's easy to forgive him. Ciao."

I finish my cigarette and start getting ready. I strap on the body armor, which feels tough enough, but closes with Velcro strips. I know this is state-of-the-art gear, but I'd feel more confident if it wasn't held together with the same stuff they use to fasten kids' sneakers.

I'm going to feel really bad if this all falls apart tonight. I don't want the last thing I say to Vidocq and Allegra to be "Get out."

I tuck the Navy Colt and the Browning into the back of my jeans.

Two more dead like Alice. Two more who don't deserve it.

The looped cord on the Benelli Whip-It gun goes over my shoulder and the coat goes on over that.

Will Avila be full of Kissi? If that's who's waiting for us, this is going to be a very bad, very short night for anything with a pulse.

The Colt .45 and the LeMat pistols go in the coat pockets, butt ends out.

They must be partying hard Downtown tonight, waiting for the velvet rope to come down and the doors to the VIP section of Creation to be blown off their hinges.

What's going on in Heaven? Are all the ranks of the angelic throng on their knees, praying for humanity's faith in the Word to pull them through? Me, I bet it's more like a sports bar the night before the Super Bowl. Crowds of drunken, winged frat boys with team hats and big foam fingers. Maybe that's why Heaven is silent and God doesn't speak to Man anymore. Heavenly intervention would blow the point spread.

THERE'S TOO MUCH weird, magic-cloaking static and protection hoodoo around the Vigil's warehouse. I don't have time to find a straight path inside through the room, so I have to use a shadow a few blocks south and run the rest of the way.

A line of low-profile, matte-black transports warm up their engines in the parking lot. They're nearly silent, and where their bodies touch the dark, they disappear. Stealth party vans. If I'd known about these, I wouldn't have bothered stealing all those cars.

The rear hatch of the lead van is open. Wells motions me over, squinting at me like a constipated Clint Eastwood.

"Why'd I know you were going to cut it short? Two more minutes and we'd have been gone."

"Your damned Flatulence Accelerator has the whole area fuzzed out. I had to walk halfway here."

Wells holds up a hand. "Wait. You couldn't even get here with the pixie hocus pocus you're going to use to get us into Avila? I am not filled with confidence."

"Relax. I've already broken into Avila. They don't have anything like your setup."

"And what if they have? What if they've brought in a load of technology and dark magicians?"

"Then we do it your way. Blow the place open. Take heavy losses. Get inside. We're walking into the O.K. Corral. You want a guarantee that your hair won't get mussed, Marshal Wells?"

"You get any of my people killed unnecessarily, I'm coming after you."

"Take a number."

Wells steps up into the transport. I take a quick look around the lot. No sign of Candy. Guess she really has taken the cure.

I get in the transport and squeeze into a seat next to Wells.

THE TRANSPORT MIGHT have been quiet outside, but inside it's like sitting in a washing machine. None of the Vigil crew is talking. A few are praying, but most probably don't want to have to shout over the noise.

Wells's G-men are wrapped up in weird electronics and nylon webbing, and holding strange guns. Some are in aluminum-coated full-body suits like foundry workers. The rest are in black pants and skintight tops that stretch over their heads like balaclavas. The ones not carrying guns are wrapped up in metal exoskeletons like they're being raped by robots.

I lean over and shout into Wells's ear.

"Seriously, you people should try to learn just a little magic. I saw celestial types working at your warehouse. They could teach you something. I know you civilians can't handle any really heavy magic, but maybe you could pick up something useful so you wouldn't have to dress up like the Terminator's retarded cousin."

Wells shouts back, "Learn your kind of magic so I can spend eternity in Hell with people like you? No thanks. I'll stick to the weapons Heaven's given us."

"You'd think if Heaven was that completely on your side, it'd be a little more helpful."

"Aelita, God's hand on Earth, is on our side. You'd be able to understand that if you didn't have a soul dirtier than a hobo's boxer shorts."

"All I'm saying is that I don't trust either side. Heaven just might be hedging its bets."

"I'm sure that's what you think, but our weapons have never failed us yet."

"Suit yourself. But with magic, I don't ever run out of ammo."

"No, just brains."

WE STICK TO backstreets until we get north of the city, then cut overland through the hills and canyons until we cut south near the Stone Canyon reservoir. Come down through Bel Air, paralleling North Beverly Glen Boulevard. The drivers up front wear helmets like fighter pilots, with night vision and heads-up displays. Monitors over our heads show us what they're seeing. It's nothing special. Trees as we mow our way through the hills. Flares and pinpoints of light when we come close to a housing development. This is either the worst amusement park ride in history or I'm back in Hell.

Soon we're at the bottom of one especially tall hill with lights like a piece of the sun is sitting on top. That's how Club Avila looks through night vision. To anyone driving by, it would be just another gated mansion.

There are six transports in our convoy. Four of us stay put while two drive onto Beverly Glen so they can roll up to Avila's front door.

Wells say, "We're flanking them. A-team will initiate the attack at the front, drawing the club's security that way. You're going to get us inside so we can attack from the rear."

I nod.

"Listen to me," says Wells. "I don't want this to be the last night of the world, so I'm going to ask you one more time, are you sure you can get us all inside? There's still time to catch up with the other team if you can't."

I say, "I was in a rush earlier. I didn't take the time to find a good way in. But I can walk into Heaven or Hell or anywhere in between. I can damn sure walk us into this place."

"You know I'm going to shoot you if you say you can and you can't."

"That won't kill me, but I tell you what. If I can't get us inside, I'll show you what will."

Wells looks back, nods at his G-men, and then turns back to me.

"Let's get going."

I swing up the Whip-It gun and pump a shell into the chamber.

"What was all that BS in the transport about you only using magic?"

"This is magic. Wild Bill magic."

"Just get us inside, Sandman Slick."

"Hold on to my shoulder and keep your eyes shut. Tell the guy behind you to do the same thing and all the way down the line. Whatever you do, don't open your eyes or let go of me until you're completely inside Avila. You don't want to be stuck with half your ass sticking out of a hill."

Wells passes the instructions down the line. I should have bought blindfolds. I hope I scared Wells and his crew enough to really keep their eyes closed. The Vigil just wants to get inside the club. I don't need everyone who works for them knowing about the Room of Thirteen Doors.

Wells comes back a minute later and thumps his hand on my shoulder.

"Time for you to redeem your sorry ass."

"Okay, Dorothy, click your heels together three times and say, 'There's no place like home.'"

I step into the dark at the bottom of the hill. I've never tried to walk this many people in and out of a shadow before. I hope I don't kill everyone.

A second later, we're inside Jayne's office in the club. It looks pretty much the same as when Vidocq and I were here a day or two ago. I doubt anyone has been inside since Jayne turned up dead.

"You can open your eyes," I say.

"Gabriel's swinging blue balls, boy. You did it. You actually did something."

"Thanks, Dad."

The room fills up fast. Vigil members gasp and cross themselves when they open their eyes and see that they're still alive. I pull Wells over by the office door so that we'll be the first ones out. If there's an ambush outside, I don't want him to miss a second of it.

"What do we do now?" I ask.

"Wait. I'll tell you when to go."

It gets hard to move as the last of the Vigil crew comes through the room.

"This isn't a raid. It's a Marx Brothers movie."

"Shut up."

A blast rocks the whole building. Another blast hits a second later. Avila shudders, like the building is floating on water. I reach for the door, but Wells grabs my arm.

"Wait," he says.

Thunder in the hall as people stampede past the office. Harsh voices yelling over the noise.

"Move! Security! Out of the way!"

There's a sizzle and a wave of static electricity pulses through the wall, making the hairs on my arms stand up. That was a magician, clearing the hall the quick way. The smell of the burned bodies makes some of the Vigil crew gag. I smelled enough of it Downtown that it's familiar and even sort of comforting. I really hope there aren't any mind readers with us.

"Okay," Wells says.

I step into the hall, shotgun first. Wells is behind me, ordering his troops to split up and head out in different directions.

I wait until he's done and say, "I got you in. That was our deal. Now I have my own to do."

"This is the world we're fighting for."

"You're fighting for. I'm here for my friends."

He shakes his head and moves off with some of his people to the back of the club.

I keep my head down and move in a slow lope to the front, where the fighting is the loudest. I have no idea where to start looking for Vidocq or Allegra, but if I can get hold of one of the human security guards, I bet I can make him sing me a song.

It's all Scarface gunfire and flashes of murder magic up front. A young magician in a bloody tuxedo shirt sprints around the corner, sees me, and shrieks a death hex. A swirling vortex like black smoke shoots from this chest. I fire the Benelli twice. The Spiritus-dipped shot rips through the smoke, tearing it to pieces, before slamming into the magician's chest. He goes down and doesn't move.

I run straight into the chaos. I don't even bother shooting the human security. Why waste supercharged ordnance on civilians? Their gunfire can't get through the Vigil's body armor, which gives me plenty of time to work. I elbow one security guard in the throat, crushing his windpipe. Get my arm around another's head and plant my knee in his back. Pull and push, and his spine snaps.

There are still plenty of magicians firing wildly, hitting as many of Avila's men as the Vigil's. Three or four of them spot me in the middle of the firefight. They fire their deadliest spells all at once.

A crawling wave of red lightning rimmed with bright blue sizzles across the floor and ceiling. A smoking death-spell vortex spins through the center.

In the Old West, they called shotguns "street sweepers," and that's how I use the Benelli. I open up, firing into the eye of the shitstorm, sweeping the gun barrel from left to right.

The magic breaks apart. Flies like shrapnel in all directions, burning anything it lands on and turning some human security guards into pillars of fire.

Blowing their curses apart catches the magicians off guard. The shotgun blasts three of them dead. The last one, a blond, blue-eyed, fashion-model type, falls over backward, minus her left arm. She's flat on her back, bone jutting from her shoulder, still screaming curses. They swarm from her mouth and carpet the floor in an army of fat, blue-eyed spiders.

The Benelli empty, I rip the cord off my shoulder and drop it, while pulling the Colt .45 and the LeMat. I dive to the side, getting off one shot with the Colt. It catches Twiggy at the base of the throat and she falls back dead. Her spider army turns to dust.

The Vigil are holding Avila's killers off, but I need to get out of here and into the back rooms to look for Vidocq and Allegra. All I can do is hunker down and go Wild Bunch on the room. I'm faster than just about anyone else at Avila, so I put my head down and sprint through the gunfire. To anyone else, I look like I'm running scared and firing at anything that moves, but I'm carefully aiming and killing the last few magicians I can find.

Something hits me in the knee. It feels like it's on fire. I tuck and roll so that I don't go down on my face. When I get my balance, I'm looking up at another magician ten yards away. A huge, ancient, heavyset man. He could be Lawrence Tierney's stunt double. I bring up the Colt and pull the trigger. Click. Damn. The LeMat does the same.

If I had another thirty seconds, I know that I'd be able to stand again and kick Lawrence's head to Argentina. But I don't have thirty seconds. The old man is so close that I can feel the hex building up inside him. As he starts to shout the spell, his jugular explodes.

Something is on top of him, ripping at his throat. It digs its claws into his chest and cracks him open like a boiled lobster. Lawrence doesn't move after that. A blur, the creature spins and grabs my ankle, dragging me behind a grand piano in a corner of the room. I twist around and grab the Browning .45 from behind my back just as it turns on me. I have the trigger half pulled when I realize that the rib cracker is Candy. I twist my arm just in time to pop off the shot in the air.