Part 45 (2/2)

24.

Max and I turned our heads to look over our shoulders at the newcomer. He was a shadowy figure at the other end of the hall.

”Jesus, what the f.u.c.k is that on your faces?” he said.

Max and I looked at each other. The elaborate face paint, I had to admit, gave us a rather disturbing appearance, particularly in this dim, flickering light.

Soft footsteps brought the man closer to us, into the pool of the golden glow cast by our candles. My gaze went first to the subtly gleaming barrel of the gun, then to the face of the killer pointing it at us.

”Buonarotti,” I said without surprise. ”Wonderful.”

”Holy s.h.i.+t! You? You?” He frowned at me. ”Which one are are you?” you?”

Nelli ignored Buonarotti and continued scratching at the door and growling.

I was about to suggest Max turn the gangster's gun into a winged bat. But then the door Nelli was pawing suddenly cracked open. Startled, I looked Max. I had a feeling, from the expression of concentration on his face, that he was the one causing it to open.

I glanced at Buonarotti. He looked uncertain, his gaze s.h.i.+fting from me to the door then back again. Then he saw Nelli move, and he pointed his weapon at her.

Without thinking, I stepped sideways to s.h.i.+eld the dog.

”I'll blow you away, b.i.t.c.h!” Buonarotti warned.

I wasn't sure which one of us he was talking to.

Nelli took three fast steps into the room, then froze, her hair standing on end, her body stiff with surprise.

Directly in front of us was an elaborate altar that dominated an entire wall of the spa.r.s.ely furnished room. A dozen or so candles illuminated it. The altar was decorated with a strange a.s.sortment of devotional objects, including piles of animal bones, three human skulls, numerous mirrors that were arranged to face other mirrors, symbols that were painted in what I had a feeling was blood, a collection of items that appeared to be the harvest of Father Gabriel's thieving habits, and several large terra cotta urns full of soil and pebbles. There were feathers all over the place. There was also a butcher's block, a b.l.o.o.d.y hand ax, and a headless, still-twitching chicken corpse.

Father Gabriel was kneeling before the altar, chanting. He held his arms high and spread wide. His sleeves were rolled up, and his hands and forearms were bathed in blood. If he was aware of our presence, he evidently chose to ignore it.

He was also ignoring the other inhabitant of the room. It was her presence, rather than the weird altar or dark ritual, that had caused Nelli to freeze. I felt frozen, too.

Sitting tied to a chair, wearing a low-cut black dress with a beaded bodice and a matching transparent wrap, was . . . me me.

Or rather my perfect double.

It had been berating Father Gabriel when the door opened. Now it was staring at me in shock.

”Oh, my G.o.d!” I said.

That's who we had heard screaming? who we had heard screaming?

The priest continued chanting. Nelli turned her head to look at me, then whined. I felt Buonarotti poke me in the back with his gun.

”Oh, my G.o.d!” I repeated, staring at myself in horror, and seeing myself stare back at me with an equal level of appalled shock. ”Max!”

”I see it,” he said.

”What is is that on your faces?” my stunned duplicate asked. that on your faces?” my stunned duplicate asked.

”Inside,” Buonarotti said, poking me harder with the gun.

”What? No!”

”Inside, b.i.t.c.h,” Buonarotti ordered.

Nelli turned and started snarling at him.

Afraid the mobster would kill the dog, I said firmly, ”I'll deal with this, Nelli.” deal with this, Nelli.”

”Max!” my doppelgangster shouted. ”Max! Do something!”

The priest's chanting grew louder, as if trying to drown us all out.

My doppelgangster said to Father Gabriel, ”And you! Will you shut up up, for G.o.d's sake?”

”I am not not going into that revolting room with that disgusting altar,” I said to Buonarotti, ”and that demented priest and a fresh chicken corpse and that . . . that . . . that going into that revolting room with that disgusting altar,” I said to Buonarotti, ”and that demented priest and a fresh chicken corpse and that . . . that . . . that thing thing tied to the chair!” tied to the chair!”

”Oh, for the love of G.o.d!” the priest blurted out, giving up on his chanting. ”I can't do this with both both of them talking!” of them talking!”

Buonarotti said, ”Father, do you see this? What do I do? Which one is real?”

The priest rose to his feet and turned around to face us. Apart from the blood on his arms, his appearance looked so normal I felt disoriented. He was well-groomed and wearing his usual clerical suit. I had expected him to look evil and insane. Instead, he looked ordinary-apart from the blood-and exasperated.

As our adversary faced us, Nelli s.h.i.+fted her weight and recommenced growling.

The priest's expression changed from exasperation to alarm. He took a step back. ”Michael?”

Buonarotti shoved me aside so he could shoot Nelli. I flung my full weight against him, unbalancing him. We fell against the doorway together and struggled. I heard Nelli barking. Buonarotti backhanded me across the face. I spun around, staggered into the room, and fell down. I heard Max shout something in another language.

My doppelgangster cried, ”Nelli! Watch out!”

I looked up to see Max pointing at Buonarotti's gun. His expression was disconcerted. It was still a gun, it was still in Buonarotti's hand, and it looked fully functional. Max's gaze flew to the priest. I looked at Gabriel, too. He was holding the bloodied hand ax and eyeing Nelli. She was crouched down, snarling, and looking for an opening to attack him.

”What happened?” my doppelgangster said, looking at Max and then at the gun which was now pointed at him.

”Nelli! No! Don't!” I was winded from my fall. My voice was weak. The priest looked more scared than menacing. But the ax looked deadly. And since it was covered in chicken blood, he evidently didn't balk at killing animals with his own two hands, even if he was fastidious about whacking people. No! Don't!” I was winded from my fall. My voice was weak. The priest looked more scared than menacing. But the ax looked deadly. And since it was covered in chicken blood, he evidently didn't balk at killing animals with his own two hands, even if he was fastidious about whacking people.

”Nelli,” my doppelgangster said, attempting to sound calm. ”Come here. Nelli Nelli.”

The familiar starting shaking with confusion and nerves. She looked at me and made distressed sounds in her throat.

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