Nothing happened. The battle went on. Maybe I put it on the wrong hand.
I yanked the ring off, and at that moment Mike Arnold jumped me.
He drove his knee into my back, throwing me forward. The ring flew from my hand and skidded across the polished glass. Mike landed on top of me, smashing my face into the ground.
“Oh, Lord,” Mike breathed in my ear. I rolled him off me and scrambled after the ring.
I beat Mike to it, but only because he didn’t chase after it. He had seen something that I didn’t until it was too late.
The ring came to a stop at the feet of the seven-foot-tall demon king called Paimon, who picked it up just as I stretched out my hand to grab it.
Then I did an incredibly stupid thing: I looked right into its eyes.
PART THREE
The Hunt for the Hyena
—original message—
To: Aquarius
From: ChiCubsFan
Subject: Sub-Sub-Sec. Op Utopia
See attached briefing memo. That damned kid has practically cost us the game! LS in my possession. Am now making for Barcelona via rail.
Request immediate recall.
Help.
ChiCubsFan
Attachment (SUBSUBSECOPUTOP.DOC)
To: ChiCubsFan
From: Aquarius
Subject: Sub-Sub-Sec. Op Utopia
Go immediately to ground until further notified. Situation is extremely fluid and IAs’ intent not clear. I’ll do my best from this end to manage interface with signatories. Hold for further instructions but under no circumstances make contact with anyone.
I suggest you sequester your loved ones to circumvent application of Section Nine protocols.
Aquarius
25
“Alfred? Alfred Kropp, can you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Alfred, I want you to do something for me. I want you to open your eyes, very slowly. Can you do that for me?”
“I’ll try.”
“There now. Is it too bright, Alfred? We can dim the lights.”
“Do I have to leave them open?”
“Only for a few minutes, if you can.”
“Okay.”
“Can you see me, Alfred? Can you see my face?”
“Yes.”
“Do you recognize me?”
“Yes.”
“And do you remember my name?”
“I—I’m not sure . . .”
“It’s all right. You’re perfectly safe here. Alfred, my name is Dr. Abigail Smith. Do you remember now?”
“No. Not really. You look familiar, though. Why can’t I move my arms?”
“We had to restrain you, for your own protection.”
“What if I need to scratch my nose?”
“Does your nose itch?”
“No, but just in case . . . I’m not sure I remember your name, ma’am, but your face is familiar, or at least this fuzzy image I’m getting of your face. Where am I?”
“You are in Company headquarters, Alfred.”
“What company?”
“OIPEP. Do you remember OIPEP?”
“Should I?”
“You should, though you might not wish to.”
“Oh, well, I’d rather not remember anything I don’t wish to. Who’s the big guy standing behind you?”
“His name is Operative Nine.”
“Weird. Why am I lying in this bed? Am I sick?”
“You have suffered . . . an attack.”
“Like a seizure or something like that?”
“Something like that.”
The lady called Abigail Smith smiled. She had very bright teeth. Mom always said you could tell a lot about a person by their teeth.
“Where is my mom?”
The lady glanced at the weird guy she called Operative Nine. “Alfred,” she said. “Your mother passed away four years ago.”
“She did?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“I’m supposed to know that, right?”
“We’re hoping your memory will return in time.”
“How do I know you’re not lying to me?”
The big guy stepped forward and I said, “You’re probably the ugliest man I’ve ever seen in my life. What’s the deal with the long earlobes?”
He didn’t say anything. He just smiled.
“Your teeth aren’t as nice as Dr. OIPEP’s here. Are you both dressed in black because my mom died?”
“Alfred,” he said. “I’m going to say a name to you now and I want you to tell me if you recognize it.”
“Perhaps this is too soon,” Abigail Smith said to him.
He ignored her. He bent very low over my face and whispered, “Alfred, the name is Paimon.”
My arms jerked in their bindings. My fingers clawed at the metal poles of the bed, trying to reach my eyes. My mouth came open but no sound came out: the howl stayed locked inside my head. My gut heaved and I vomited greenish brown puke onto the crisp, white pillowcase.
Abigail Smith sighed. “I told you it was too soon. Get somebody in here to clean this up.”
He left and she was leaning over me, cupping my face in her hands, forcing me to look into her eyes. Her breath was sweet-smelling, like licorice.
“Alfred, Alfred, it’s all right. Everything’s going to be all right. Stay with me, Alfred—I won’t let you go, I promise. I won’t let you go. Focus on my eyes, Alfred, my eyes. It can’t find you now, do you understand? Do you understand me, Alfred?” I nodded. I slowly relaxed, but the smell of my own puke was getting to me. She let go of my face long enough to grab a towel from somewhere. She lifted my head and wiped the pillowcase clean, then flipped the pillow over, puke side down. Then she lowered my head.
“You’re safe now, Alfred, perfectly safe. It’s not here.”
I shook my head. “You’re wrong. It is here. It’ll always be here.”
26
The big guy with the long earlobes came back with a fresh pillow, a man in a white lab coat right behind him.
“Another doctor,” I said. “Great. How sick am I?”
Abigail Smith pulled out the pukey pillow and Operative Nine slid the new one under my head.
The doctor took my pulse and prodded my torso and stared into my cavities with a penlight. He measured my blood pressure and drew some blood. Except when he shone the light into them, he avoided looking into my eyes. He nodded to Operative Nine and left the room without a word. Abigail Smith came back to hover over me. I looked over her shoulder at the droopy-eared Operative Nine. “What’s his story?”