Obligatory mumbo-jumbo: I don't own anything you recognize from the book El Club Dumas or the movie, The Ninth Gate, nor do I claim any rights to Neil Gaiman's excellant novel, American Gods. I seek only to entertain, I don't profit from this in any way. Please don't sue me, it would be an expensive waste of time.

Thanks as always for reading and reviewing, hope you enjoy it!

vanillafluffy

Chapter Two

The Fat Lady

"I don't understand why you're doing this." Corso tossed his cigarette butt to the asphalt as Shadow tucked him into the rented car.

Shadow shrugged. "You need help," he finally replied.

"Just an overgrown boy scout, huh?" said Corso gruffly. The halogen lights in the parking garage at Logan Airport were making him irritable and his limbs quivered spastically; if the sick man was this bad at 4 a.m. EST, Shadow suspected he'd be a basket case after sunrise, if he didn't spontaneously combust first.

"Nah. Just a talent for being in the wrong place at the right time." Shadow had already checked the route to their destination, a small town a couple hours west of Boston. He drove with tire-squealing abandon; the sooner they got there, the better for his passenger. Corso gripped the armrest and said nothing. There was a merciful lack of law enforcement present during their wild drive.

Corso had directions to where they were going; Shadow held the pages in one hand and steered with the other as they shot out of the cloverleaf at their exit. Only another few miles.... The car fishtailed as Shadow stomped on the brakes. He hastily shoved the gearshift into reverse and turned down the driveway beside the mailbox marked "KERRI D. OWEN".

It was 6:30, and the first hints of dawn were streaking the sky. Corso was doubled up with pain, holding his head as low choking groans emerged from his throat. Slamming the car into park, Shadow left the motor running and bolted up to the front door, pounding on it and yelling for help.

The door was opened by a fat, forty-something woman in a fluffy pink bathrobe. She didn't look like she'd just been awakened, but her expression was still less than welcoming. She plucked the pages Shadow was waving from his hand, and glanced at them. Understanding lighted her face. "Jess's friend," she grunted, moving ponderously past Shadow to the car. "Mr. Corso? Dean?"

By the time Shadow had turned off the ignition, she'd opened the passenger side door and was easing Corso from the car. In an impressive show of strength, she carried him toward the house. "Get the door," she barked at Shadow, who hurried to comply.

"Draw the shades," she commanded as soon as they were inside, and he obeyed as she laid Corso on a couch, looking him over swiftly. "Not good," she said quietly as Shadow came to stand beside her.

"What kind of doctor are you?" he asked, seeing nothing suggestive of medical paraphernalia in the room. It looked like a fairly ordinary living room--the most noteworthy feature was a collection of pigs of all sizes and materials. He'd never seen anything quite like it.

"I'm not a physician."

"Great."

"You remind me of someone," she said over her shoulder, striding into an adjoining room. He could see her snatching items from shelves and bins.

Returning with a small black metal bucket, she set the contents alight and began fanning the smoke around Corso, who had a paroxysm of coughing.

"What are you doing to him?" demanded Shadow. Something about the aroma of it made him think of homemade chicken dinners with stuffing, an image out of Norman Rockwell.

Between one breath and the next, Corso stopped gasping for air. His breathing was still labored, but much less so than it had been. "That's better," their hostess crooned, continuing to waft the smoke in Corso's direction. Mere minutes ago, he'd seemed on the verge of total collapse; now he'd relaxed and his breathing was almost normal.

"What is that?" Shadow wanted to know, marveling at the dramatic results.

"Sage. Smudging with sage is a very basic technique, but I've got to warn you, gentlemen--it's a palliative, not a cure."

"Can you?" They were the first words from Corso since they'd left the airport. In the twelve or so hours since they'd met, this was the first time Shadow had seen Corso when he wasn't wracked with pain.

"I still don't have a clear idea of what I'm dealing with," said Kerri Owen. "All I know is what you told me during your rather brief phone call, Mr. Corso, and the e-mail I received from our mutual friend, who only said it frightened her deeply."

"Yeah, I could tell." Dean Corso was silent for a moment, then went on to repeat the events he'd told Shadow about: how the process of trying to authenticate a rare book had taken him to the threshold of Hell.

The Owen woman asked more questions than Shadow had; Corso answered them the same way he recounted the rest of the story, showing little emotion, until he came to the part about the girl smearing her blood on his forehead. "Is that what's causing the migraines and seizures?" he asked, dispair coloring his tone.

She met his gaze levelly. "What do you think?"

Corso sighed. "I didn't figure it out; Jess was the one who said I'd been marked."

"She was right. That's a pretty nasty patch of taint. I'll see what I can do to reduce it. I'm more concerned about your aura. Please, continue with your story, Dean."

He did, concluding with, "The Gate closed, and I got out of there as fast as I could. That's it."

"Yes, that certainly is it," agreed Owen. "Your friend Jess is a very smart lady; she put her finger right on the trouble, although she didn't realize it. She remarked that your aura looks like someone undergoing radiation therapy for cancer."

"No, but I've had four MRI's and more x-rays than I can count."

Kerri Owen shook her head. "No, think of it as something along the lines of spiritual radiation. You stood looking into Hell; think of this as fallout--not from radiation, but from evil. Not only that, but you killed three people. That lowered your resistance further."

"No, the albino, maybe, but Balkan was being burned alive--"

"You fired the shot that killed him, after you stood by and let him kill the Telfer woman. Don't roll your eyes at me! That still counts as blood on your hands."

"Now what?"

"There are several things we can try. Again, this is cleansing, not purifying. Now, if you'll come with me...." The fat woman led the way to a pair of French doors. "Feel free to fix yourself breakfast," she told Shadow. "There's plenty of food in the kitchen. This is going to take a while. You'll want to do this on an empty stomach," she advised Corso. "It won't be pleasant for either of us."

The doors closed behind them.

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