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I feel foolish for coming. Conchita’s message must have had some other meaning. This has been awaste of time. Dead men can’t see. As soon as Sines lets me out, I’ll high-tail it back to Party Central and refocus. There must be…
    A groaning sound stops the thought dead. I spin toward the door but it’s stationary. The sound isn’t coming from outside but from in here.
    Backing up against a wall, I stare at the coffin. I expect the lid to creak open, the way it would in a horror film, and the corpse of The Cardinal to stumble out. But that doesn’t happen. Instead the entire coffin slides off the marble slab. At first I think it’s magic, but then I spot a thin metal shelf supporting it and I realize this is technology at work, not the supernatural.
    The coffin comes to a halt. Taking a couple of steps closer, I see that the marble slab is hollow. There are steps set within. As I stare into darkness, pondering this arcane twist, a head appears—someone’s coming up. My throat tightens and I search for a weapon, but I gave up carrying guns and knives many years ago. No call for them when you’re immortal.
    Fighting the urge to lurch away from the slab and hammer on the door, I stand my ground, facing up to whatever horror awaits. As the figure mounts the steps, I realize first that it’s a woman, tall, dark skin, long black hair. Next I notice that she’s naked. As that sinks in, the even more incredible truth of her identity strikes me.
    “Ama?” I wheeze. Her head lifts and her eyes settle on mine, but that’s her only response. “Ama,” I moan, taking a staggering step toward her. Ama Situwa was the love of my life, the woman The Cardinal created for me. She could have been Eve to my Adam, for a few decades at least, but I sacrificed her. Part of the price I paid when agreeing to my demonic deal.
    Ama puts a finger to her lips. Mouths the sound, “Shhh.” I stop and stare. I want to cry but I’ve forgotten how. She lowers her hand, then stretches it out, offering it to me. I shake my head, afraid. She cups her fingers and beckons, smiling reassuringly. Trembling, scared of what will happen if I take her hand, terrified of what will happen if I don’t, I slide my fingers into hers. She squeezes, then turns and starts back down thestairs. I hesitate at the top—it’s dark down there, I can’t see the bottom—but she squeezes my hand again and nods to say it’s safe. I shouldn’t go—this is insane, placing my life in the hands of a naked ghost—but I can’t help myself. Reason has fled. The spirits of the past have claimed me as their own.
    Holding on to Ama, I follow her down the stairs into the unknown, only dimly aware of the coffin sliding back into place overhead, plunging us into total, all-encompassing darkness.

in the name of the father
     
    M y father was a demon. He killed thousands of people, wicked and just, innocent and guilty—it made no difference to him. Paucar Wami was tall, black as the devil’s heart, bald, with uncanny green eyes and colorful tattooed snakes running the gamut of both cheeks, meeting just beneath his lower lip. He butchered for pleasure and gain. He lived solely to destroy. Ten years ago he passed from the face of this Earth and his unique strain of evil passed with him.
    Between murders, Wami fathered a crop of children. I was the firstborn. I’ve spent the past decade trying to revive my father’s twisted legacy. I’ve become his living ghost. I’m an assassin’s shade, death to all who cross me.
    My name is Al Jeery.
    Call me Paucar Wami.
    Friday, 23:00. I’ve been shadowing Basil Collinson since early evening. If the pimp sticks to his schedule, he should roll out of the Madam Luck casino shortly after midnight and head for a club. That’s when he dies.
    Basil’s a poor gambler but he never drops more than a thousand in a single sitting. He’s careful that way. Likes to maintain control of his life. Dresses in the same smart suit every day.