“Ah, that’s the first interesting thing you’ve asked,” says Neshamah. “Originally it was for the Fallen. Some of them went mad when they realized what they’d done and gave up. Occasionally damned human souls develop a similar condition, so when I took back this portion of Hell to create Eleusis for the heathens, I left the asylum intact. It’s pointless to punish the insane—they don’t understand what’s happening or why. Treatment helped them come back to themselves so they could properly resume their suffering.”
I rub my new arm where it meets my shoulder. The contrast between soft flesh and hard chitin is startling.
“You are one cold fucker,” I say.
“Coming from someone who blissfully hacked another sentient creature to death not an hour ago, that’s quite something.”
“Father Traven said something interesting about you. He used a word I’d never heard before, so I looked it up online. There was this Greek bunch called the Gnostics . . .”
He rolls his eyes.
“Not the fucking Gnostics, please.”
“They didn’t call you God. They called you the demiurge. They didn’t believe you’re an omnipotent übermensch. You’re more like one of those dads who tries to build a barbecue in the backyard only you can’t follow the instructions, so you lay out the bricks wrong and the cement dries too fast and the thing comes out as crooked as poker in Juarez. Then, around sunset, you announce it’s finished even though it looks like a onooks librick cold sore. You throw some T-bones in the fire and pretend it’s what you were going for all along. That’s what you did to the universe.”
He swings his legs back over the wall and hops down onto the garage roof. He smiles at me.
“You actually read something? There’s evidence of a true miracle, right up there with the loaves and fishes.”
“Why are you such an asshole when Muninn is such a good guy?”
He throws up his hands in disgust.
“Everyone is so in love with poor sweet Muninn. It’s why he’s always gotten his way. He hides down there in his cave collecting toys, holding on to the past because he doesn’t want to have to deal with any of this.” Neshamah gestures to the burning city. “But he’s part of our collective being, and as responsible for this disaster as any of the rest of us.”
“At least he’s not a whiner.”
“Take away his toys and see how long that lasts. Why do you think he’s hiding? He never learned to share.”
Neshamah takes a flask from an inside pocket. He unscrews the top and takes a long drink.
“Do you think I could have a hit off that? It’s been a long weird day.”
He shakes his head.
“You wouldn’t like it.”
“I drink Aqua Regia; how bad can this be?”
He shrugs and hands me the flask. I upend it and spit out everything that touches my tongue. Neshamah takes the flask away and bursts into belly laughs.
“What is that shit?”
“Ambrosia,” he says. “Food of the gods.”
He takes another sip and puts the flask back in his coat.
“So, if you’re down here and Muninn is on earth, where are the others?”
“Around. We travel a lot.”
“Are any of you in Heaven?”
“Always. At least one of us.”
“Lucifer knows you’re broken, doesn’t he?”>I flex and move the arm. Pick up a piece of concrete. Toss it from my good hand to my new one and back again. The biomechanical hand feels pressure, heat, and sharpness, but not like my regular one. It’ll take some getting used to, but it’s better than a burned stump.
The arm isn’t the only thing I have to work out. I don’t know a secret way out of Tartarus. I don’t even know the way in. But I’ll find it, and if hoodoo and bullshit won’t get me out, I’ll hold my breath until I turn blue. That always worked on Mom.