SANDMAN SLIM

"Look at you. Look how scared you are. You'll say anything."

"Ask me how Jayne and Cherry are. I double-dog dare you."

"Why? Is that a trick question?"

"Yeah. Because they're dead. Parker killed them. He's killing everyone connected to him and Mason. If he gave you that weapon, it'll probably kill me, but I guarantee that it'll kill you."

"You are such a liar. Not even a good one. Look how scared you are."

"I'm scared you're going to do something stupid."

He pushes the Daisy in my direction.

"Don't call me stupid!"

"Sorry. Just don't do anything you-we-can't take back."

He starts to nod, but catches himself. The nod turns into a twitch as he pushes his shoulders and head back against the wall. His heart is a trip-hammer. His pupils narrow. Now that he's done something dumb in front of me, he's angrier than ever.

"Kas, Mason and Parker are using you."

"Keep talking, dead man. I hear there's a bunch of imps waiting for you with knives and forks."

I take another step back. He's going to do it. It's building inside him.

"Don't do it, man. You'll die, too."

The grin is back on his face.

"This is nice. This quiet moment before you die. Thanks for lying and whining. You made it really special for me."

Oh, hell.

I know it's coming, so I don't wait. I dive for the floor. When he fires the Devil Daisy, I'm behind the bed collapsing the na'at to its spear configuration. I dig one end into the floor and, staying low, angle the shaft over me.

The first wave of dragon fire hits, tries to tear the na'at out of my hand. The intricate Hellion web of edges, angles, and teeth along the weapon's body spreads the fire out and over me. Then the second thing happens. The one I've been worried about.

The Daisy explodes. The room turns into Dresden, burning under the Allied planes. It's Rome while Nero fiddled and pissed on the panicked mobs. It's Hamburg and Chicago and the Hindenburg all going off at once in my room. It's all I can do to hold the na'at in place and channel the supernova on the other side of the bed anywhere but on top of me.

And it's over. No fire. No smoke. No nothing. The Daisy has swallowed the remains of the fire. The room is a wreck. Lath is blown off the walls. Part of the ceiling is down. The junk on the bootleg table is scattered around the room like a hurricane blew through. All the windows are gone.

I pick up the charred bed and push it out of the way. Kasabian is lying under it. Considering how he looked before the explosion, he's not looking that bad right now. His right arm is gone. The Daisy took that off when it blew. And his head has fallen off. I get down on my knees and push random junk out of the way. I spot it a minute later under the bed.

Poor stupid, idiotic, goddamn Kasabian. If he was still alive, I'd strangle him. Right now I kind of don't mind him coming after me with the bat. I was pretty hard on him. He really did get me down on my knees and speaking in tongues for a minute, so he got at least a little of his own back before he made the big mistake of trusting Mason. Kasabian was an idiot, but he wasn't stupid. He must have known that Mason hated him at best. Considered him an insect at worst. Did Kasabian really not know what was going to happen when he pulled that trigger? Or did he want to go out in a sexy murder-suicide that would make it onto the local news? Idiot reporters would get it all wrong. They'd think it was an insurance scam gone wrong. Or that we were clumsy terrorists. More likely, they'd go with the sexiest choice, a lovers' quarrel gone nuclear. It's more than an even bet that he wanted to kill us both. At least then, one person would know that he'd done something right. I'd know that he'd gotten me, that I was truly dead, and that there was nothing I could do about it.

I stand very quietly for a minute, listening for sirens. If I had time and a clear head, I could probably come up with a spell to keep everyone away or send them off in the wrong direction. But that's not going to happen. I wait.

The sirens don't come. The fire was here and gone so fast that while the Daisy wrecked the place, it's sparing me from having to explain the headless body, all the guns, the video bootlegging gear and me. Who am I? Also technically dead, thanks. Just ask Homeland Security.

Someone's cell phone goes off. It's not my ring. I pat down Kasabian's body. Pull his phone from a coat pocket. It's one of the cheap prepaid models. I flip it open and wait.

"Well," someone says. "What the hell, man? Is it done?"

"Who is this?"

There's a pause. Then a low laugh.

"Stark? Is that you? Oh my God. What an asshole. I give Kasabian a flamethrower and a bomb and he still can't kill you. Where is he?"

"All over the place. He's in pieces."

"One thing went right tonight, at least. You must be feeling pretty good right now, huh? Pretty proud of yourself. You kicked a headless guy's ass. Thank you, masked man. You saved our city."