SANDMAN SLIM

"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.