Though it may have sworn an oath it would sooner or later have to take back, the Soot Bishop was, after all, an archdemon with principles — and it actually kept its word, going mic-off on the spot. No matter what price Cassius named, it stubbornly held out in total silence, even shutting its eyes — absolutely, immovably closed to all reason. With the hospital gnawing at his mind, and the bandaged woman having changed her tune and agreed to act, Cassius — seeing there was no moving this troublesome goat — simply ignored it and hurried straight for the hospital with the bandaged woman. But something was clearly going on nearby: even though it was fully night now, the streets kept producing people hurrying somewhere. Most of these pedestrians wore bizarre masks like giant crow beaks; they clustered in twos and threes, carrying someone lying face-down on a pair of metal stretcher-poles or a litter, heads down and moving fast. Strangely, though these people were cle

Fresh off earning his new badge, Cassius split from the bandaged woman and, without a moment's rest, hauled the "sniper rifle" at a run into the department store diagonally opposite the hospital, making a beeline for the shooting spot he'd picked out — while across the road, Bellfounder Memorial Hospital had already turned into a picture straight out of hell. In the ground-floor lobby, which should have been buzzing with foot traffic, most of the crowd had been swallowed down into the cold tile. The patients, too weak to move, didn't have a prayer of pulling themselves free — all they could do was thrust their arms helplessly up toward the ceiling. Look anywhere you liked, and the whole lobby seemed like concrete mixed through with countless people writhing and struggling in agony — arms shot up desperately on every side, jutting out at every height, groping and clenching without stop. It was a living fresco of hell. Perhaps because of the carpeting — no direct contact

"Send it to the kitchen to be stewed." Under the Soot Bishop's stare of maximum possible shock, the red-haired woman closed the case file marked [Bellfounder Memorial Hospital Incident], then picked up the goat head, tossed it to Cassius at the desk, and instructed, perfectly breezy: "We share a kitchen with the Police Department. After you drop this thing off, tell their head chef it's goat-head soup this time — same requirements as the last few rounds. "No ginger, no onion — extra rosemary and juniper. Double the dark ale to cut the gaminess, plus a pinch of white pepper and a splash of that Worcestershire sauce shipped in from the East. We're adding a special dish for the branch at lunch today. Off you go." "Wa... wait a minute! You bastard!" It had pulled off a genuine feat of merit, and this was its reward. The Soot Bishop's rage shot straight up past its brows as it lay in Cassius's arms, arguing its case on the merits: "Hes... you stinking woman! Thi

You're fucking overdue for the stew, is what you are! Using every last ounce of strength he had, Cassius clamped the Soot Bishop's mouth shut, stuffing its torrent of filth right back down its throat. Then he looked up at the red-haired woman — still smiling sweetly — scratched the back of his head, and said, more than a little awkward: "So, um... Director, my sister got badly shaken up yesterday, and she's still laid up in the hospital. If there's nothing else, could I take the afternoon off?" "Mm-hm, go on! You just finished a cleanup job that dangerous — you've earned some rest." She approved the leave with a smile, and waited until he'd hurried out with the squirming goat head tucked under his arm. Then the faint smile slid off the red-haired woman's face. She laced her fingers together, leaned back to stare up at the aging ceiling, and sank into thought. Something was off... She'd veiled Cassius's memory — made him temporarily forget everything about t