A Shrine to an Unknown God

PSYCHIC

MARISOL AND DAHLIA RETURN carrying a pair of cheap sunglasses, a pink feather boa, a flask, and a roll of tape.

When they left me, I set Alekos' body up against the alley wall so that he seemed less dead, though the gaping wound in his neck was just as visible.

"We're going to pretend that he's really, really drunk," Dahlia explains. "I ran off without actually having a plan. But the first store we went to I saw the boa, and I thought—oh, my God, I'm a genius! My psychic was right. I really am like an eagle."

Marisol ties the boa tightly around Alekos' neck so that it hides the wound in his neck. "How the fuck does that make you like an eagle?"

"I wing everything." Dahlia pulls off a piece of tape and tapes the flask to his hand. "And I kick ass." After a moment's consideration, she tapes each of his fingers against the flask so it looks more like he's holding it.

Wanting to help, I take the sunglasses and place them on Alekos' nose.

Ezra returns a couple minutes later, carrying a plastic bag written on in red English letters. He's eating a banana.

"You really bought all this?" Marisol asks.

"Yes," Ezra nods. "With money that I stole from a random guy in a suit with his wallet sticking out of his back pocket."

Marisol digs through the bag's contents and has us each put on green plastic gloves. My palms are so sweaty the gloves slide right off, so I have Dahlia tape them to my hands.

Ezra starts to uncap the bleach to clean up the bloodstains, but I stop him.

"Wait! I can turn the blood to wine. They'll just think somebody spilled their drink."

"You can turn blood to wine?" Marisol asks. "Why didn't you do that in the fight?"

"Because then I would have killed each and every one of those people, and I do not needlessly kill."

"Then just turn the blood into wine and we can get the fuck out of here," she orders, rubbing her temple.

So I turn the spilled blood to wine, and the four of us hoist Alekos' body up, carrying him like we'd carry any drunken friend.