Free Apocalypse to Go by Katharine Kerr

message.”
    “The message is important, that’s why. Find the Peacock Angel. You know about the good news he brings to the world.”
    “I’ve got angels of my own, and their church has been claiming to bring good news for a couple thousand years.”
    “For their sheep, perhaps. This angel speaks to the elite few. He’ll speak to you.”
    I suddenly realized why I needed those old college notes. “Manichees?” I said. “Valentinians? Sethians? Which flock of sheep do you belong to?”
    “Oh, come now, you know better!” He laughed, a dry little mocking mutter, and disappeared.
    The circle lingered a moment more, then faded away. I swiveled the computer chair around to look at Ari. He was staring at me with loving sadness.
    “Who were you talking to now?” he said.
    “I don’t know,” I said. “But I don’t like him much. That I can tell you for sure.”

C HAPTER 4

    T O MAKE LIFE DIFFICULT for eavesdroppers, Spare14 and I had arranged to meet outside in Golden Gate Park, but well away from the usual tourist areas. To the west of the museums and the Japanese Tea Garden lie the places that we locals use, a string of small lakes and meadows. We picked a grassy picnic area next to Kennedy Drive, just past Spreckels Lake, which would most likely be deserted on a weekday. I debated wearing a business suit, but since we’d be meeting informally, I eventually decided on trouser jeans and an indigo-and-white print blouse with a v-necked rust sweater over it. I carried a leather shoulder bag, into which Ari put a handful of electronic devices. He also stashed a small plastic box in his shirt pocket and another, larger metal box in the inside pocket of his leather jacket.
    “This will let me know if someone’s focusing a listening device us.” Ari tapped his shirt pocket.
    “What’s the other one?”
    “Two extra clips for the Beretta.”
    “Oh.” My stomach clenched. “Are we expecting trouble?”
    “I always do. Better safe than sorry.”
    As usual, I did the driving that afternoon. When we reached the park, I turned into the greenery on a narrow side road that led to the meadow in question. Since itneeded repaving, I slowed down, and a good thing, too. From the shrubbery at the side of the road a young boy darted out after a soccer ball—right in front of us. I slammed on the brakes. The car jerked to one side with a squeal and the thump of tires on potholes. Ari swore in Hebrew.
    “Did I miss him?” I was shaking so hard I could barely speak.
    “Miss what?” Ari snapped. “There was nothing there.”
    I simply could not believe him. In my memory I could see the boy’s horrified face as the car bore down on him. I unbuckled my seat belt and got out to look. No boy, no ball, no nothing lay in the street except for the skid marks of our tires. Ari got out and joined me.
    “You saw something?” he said.
    “A kid, yeah, running right in front of us.” I laid one hand at my throat. I could feel the pulse at that spot pounding merrily away. “I thought I’d hit him for sure.”
    “Go stand over there.” Ari pointed to the sidewalk. “I’ll park the car.”
    I followed orders. Rather than watch his version of parallel parking, I considered what had just happened. If we’d been going fast on a crowded street, I would have swerved right into a nasty accident. I’d seen an image, obviously, not a real boy. The question was its origin—inside my own mind or some kind of sending?
    I heard the fluting voice of Cryptic Creep. It came from outside of my own mind, all right, and from a long way away.
    I can’t protect you unless you join us. That’s just a sample of what they can do.
    “Who’s they?” I said aloud.
    You know who must fear you now. Belial’s allies.
    “Sure, but who sent the image?”
    No answer.
    “Did you? Why the hell should I trust you?”
    Nothing—no answer, no voice, no presence—nothing. When Ari rejoined me on the sidewalk, he held out the car keys. I shook my