“Just taking you for a spin, like in the old days. Sit back and enjoy.”

My insides tighten — that’s not Thomas. Throwing myself forward, I press my face close to the glass panel separating me from the driver. I only have a view of half his face, but it’s enough to make a positive identification — Adrian Arne, an Ayuamarcan. He was my chauffeur when I first started working for The Cardinal. He’s been RIP these last ten years. Now here he is, grinning broadly, not looking a day older.

“Adrian,” I moan, crashing to the floor as he takes a turn without braking.

“Miss me, Capac?” he asks mockingly. He’s controlling the wheel with a couple of fingers, oblivious to the traffic.

“You’re dead!” I gasp.

“So are you,” he retorts.

“What are you doing here? What do you want?”

He laughs ecstatically. “I want to be James Dean.”

He takes his fingers off the wheel and presses down harder with his foot. The car roars ahead, veering sickeningly from left to right.

“We’re going to crash,” I note dully.

“Do I look like I’m worried?” Adrian whoops.

“Where have you been? Do you recall the past? How have—”

“Too late!” he shouts, covering his eyes with his hands. “We’re doomed!”

There’s a metallic, demonic shriek as we hit something hard and cartwheel through the air. We crash back to earth and the world explodes. Adrian goes up in a ball of fiery fury. A split second later, the fire engulfs me, and I scream with pain and shock as I thrash, burn and die.

3: lady of the mausoleum

I slump in my chair on the fifteenth floor of Party Central and gaze at the face of the puppet I retrieved from the wall when I returned from my latest bout of death. It’s Adrian’s. The Cardinal used it to bring him to life. I raise its chest to my ear, listening for a heartbeat, but there isn’t any. None of the dozens of puppets has a heartbeat. I’ve checked each and every one of them over and over again. It’s all I’ve done these last few days.