As if for proof, he nudges a goblin corpse with a boot.

“You know what that thing was?” Mookie asked.

“The shadowy fucker? No. Never seen one. Came right for me, though.”

“It did.” Mookie sniffs. “Why’d it do that, you figure?”

“Fuck if I know.” Davey shifts from foot to foot, shoves his tongue in his cheek pocket. “What are you saying, Pearlie-boy?”

“I’m saying it went right over my head. Like it was coming for you.”

“You’re the one that brought this thing to my boys. Don’t go pointing fingers at me, ’less you want another jab to the chops–”

“What’d it come for, Davey?”

Davey’s hands curl into fists. “Fuck off, you asking me questions like that. Like I answer to you.”

“If they came once they’ll come again.”

“Let ’em come. I’ll be more ready next time.”

One of the Hogs behind Davey comes up. Mookie knows him from way back. Dutch, the radio guy. Not as old as Davey, but older than he was. Someone who’s been around. He sets a long-fingered hand on Davey’s shoulder and peers over a nose broken long ago by an errant pick-ax. Mookie hears the man mutter: “Just give it to him. Not doing us any good, is it?”

“Give me what?”

“I’m not giving it to this big bastard–” Davey, suddenly cagey, narrows his eyes and looks Mookie up and down. “Fine. You know what? Fuck it.” Fook it.

Davey fishes in his overalls underneath his slicker, withdraws something that looks like a little jeweled tea ball. Fake jewels. Just a trinket. Hangs on a small chain. He tosses it to Mookie. “I found a vein of it way down. About two years back one of my guys, Goosey, got taken down past the Shallows, into the Tangle. I went after him, found this in the wall of a dead-end passage, next to a thread of rose quartz. I didn’t think it was anything but…”

Mookie flips the cheap little latch.

Inside, powder the color of blood. Bright and fresh. Like something spilled out of a throat-slit calf and dried to a flaky dust.

Holy crow. “This is Vermilion?”

“Uh-huh. I can’t vouch for the other colors, but now we know that Red and Blue are the real deal. Oakes maybe got something right.”

If Red is real…

Then maybe Death’s Head is, too.

“How do you know? You try it?”

“Once,” Davey says. “And never again.”

“Bad?”

“Never been out of control like that before. Way beyond what the Blue does for you. They call it the Red Rage for a reason.” Davey shudders. “Felt like it… took something from me, too. Can’t say what. Years of my life, maybe. So, fine. Take it. You can carry that burden. I don’t want it anymore.”

Mookie looks down at the little ball of red powder before snapping it closed again. No idea what he’ll ever do with this or what good it will be. Barter, maybe. Not that he wants some Mole Man jacked up on the Red Rage, but if it gets him closer to the Death’s Head, so be it.