It was Theo’s voice. I’d never heard him yell before. He was at the head of the fire stairs, with Sher beside him, and he, too, had a nice little gun, which he’d pointed at Myra and Dusty.

Oh, Theo, no. Didn’t he remember his own advice? Didn’t he know he was making the Underbridge look damned uncooperative? Didn’t he have the sense not to do this for someone who’d never done anything for him?

Dusty still had Myra’s gun. So he smiled and snapped it upward. I was lunging headfirst toward him, not sure how I’d gotten there or what I was going to do, when someone exploded the whole volume of air around us. At least, it sounded like it.

I was lying in the mud, deaf, looking at the toes of Dusty’s shoes. My nose was full of the smell of fired gun. I couldn’t get up, because my hands were behind me, so I rolled over.

Dusty still smiled, with the pistol in his hands pointed at the fire stairs. Theo stood where he’d been, wearing the archetype of expressions of surprise. Sher was flattened against the door at the top of the stairs, her eyes showing white all around, her face colorless. Everything was — I looked back at Theo. His attention was fixed on his right arm. It looked as if someone had spilled ink inside the sleeve of his white jacket, and the stain was spreading. I saw his lips move. Was it something profound? All I could think of that needed saying was, I’m sorry, and it wasn’t his line.

Then someone back by the van said, “If you try that with me, I’ll cut you in half, Peppermint,” and I thought, Have we had enough drama yet tonight?

I struggled to sit up, and found myself looking at Myra. She held an automatic rifle that I realized must have come from the van, was pointing it at Dusty, and seemed ungodly pleased with herself.

Card 5: Crowning

The Lovers

Waite: Trials overcome.

Crowley: Various twin deities. His weapon is the Tripod. His drugs are ergot and abortifacients. His powers are to be in two or more places at the same time, and prophecy. Analysis, then synthesis. Openness to inspiration, intuition, intelligence, second sight.

5.0: One hundred stories without a punchline

“Myra?” said Dusty with a quaver.

Myra surveyed us all with the same smile. “God, I love tableaux. Les Enfants du Paradis meet The Untouchables. Peppermint, hold that toy of yours by the barrel and fling it toward the river just as hard as you can. Now.” He did, and after a moment, there was a splash. “There’s a good boy. Lie down.”

“What the hell is going on?” Dusty’s voice was like a skin of ice over deep water.

“Allah has sent the change wind, and the world’s turned arse over ears. Now do what you’re told.”

“I ain’t gonna lie down.”

“Yes, you are. But you have a choice as to whether you do it alive or dead. I have no preference, myself.”