Roman candles shooshed and puffed. Jellyfish phosphorescence. Tentacles streaming earthward over Tule Lake. Blackwater ripples reflected the myriad colors. Mister Zig-Zag whooped with each new explosion, like a ten-year-old at his first Independence Day barbecue.
Leah sat alone, nursing her injured psyche. As she had feared, the Energy Vortex was a chaos of insult.
Fibonacci and Golden Mean, outward and inward, clockwise and counter-clockwise. Female energy, male energy. The sum of it all hurt.
A waking dream took shape. It was a blood dream.
The man known as the Avenging Angel parked his mud-spattered Yukon at the hitching post of the Potlatch. Beside him on the seat was an army kit-bag containing the troubles of the world, including a Ruger Redhawk .357 magnum wrapped in guncloth. His skill in Akido allowed him certain restraint in needing the huge revolver. He climbed out of the SUV and strode into the general store.
Sid saw him right away. A man in black. Daylight reflected from the flashing toe-guards of the ebon cowboy boots. Cold eyes, gray as snowclouds, pupils dark as coal dust.
"Howdy, stranger. How kin I hep ya?"
"You can sell me the finest lure you have for local fishing."
"Glad to--"
"And some information."
"What kind of information?"
"Looking for a New York fellow named Artie Hoffman. Has a Mormon wife named Leah."
"Don't know them."
"You sure?"
"Yessir," Sid replied, crapping his pants.
A face of Divine Evil. Like a smoke-signal, it billowed above her.
In the woods an owl shrieked.
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