“You think that because of the 8 Ball. The 8 Ball kills you?”
She looks at me.
“Qomrama Om Ya.”
“What is it?”
“It’s not yours.”
“I know. It’s Aelita’s.”
“No. She had it but it’s not hers either.”
“Is it yours?”
She shakes her head.
“You’re not one of his. Who are you?”
“One of who’s?”
“The cruel one.”
“King Cairo?”
She jams the knife angrily into the ground. It goes in up to the hilt. I forgot how strong she is.
“I’m not allowed to say.”
“You can tell me. I’ll make sure the cruel one doesn’t hurt you.”
“I can’t.”
“Tell me which who and I’ll stop it.”
“The old one. He watches through the dark.”
“Lucifer? Is it the old Lucifer’s?”
She gets up and walks away. I follow her.
“If it’s not Lucifer who watches you through the dark . . . Another ghost? God?”
The crowd of spirits spreads out around the rim of the crater. They back away from whichever direction the girl faces like she’s a four-foot-tall icebreaker.
“It’s God, isn’t it? I’m Lucifer, so I’m not one of His. That’s what you meant. That’s why you didn’t hurt me.”
“Why would I?”
“Is that who you kill? Anyone who isn’t damned? Kid, even in L.A. that’s a lot of people.”
She shrugs.
“Them first. Then the others.”
A rotten telephone pole lies lengthwise, half buried in dirt. She swings the knife, knocking out a chunk of wood the size of a basketball.
“Mostly I do what I’m told. Mostly that’s all I do.”