“Hey, Father. Let me make some introductions. Father Traven, meet God. God, meet Father Traven.”
Traven’s eyes narrow at me. He can’t tell if I’m kidding or not. But he’s a smart enough guy and we’ve talked enough and he’s read enough arcana to work out the rest for himself.
“You’re God?” he says.
“A piece of the pie, yes. You look disappointed. Turn that around, multiply it by a million, and you’ll know how I feel about you people.”
I stand next to Traven in case he decides to freak out or faint.
“Remember how I told you that God had a nervous breakdown and broke into little pieces? The Mr. Muninn part is in Hell. Ruach is driving everyone crazy in Heaven. Neshamah is dead. That leaves two. Which one are you?”
“Nefesh,” he says, and mimes doffing a hat. “The smart one. The one no one even looks for because he’s an incorporeal, crazy old spook in a town teeming with them.”
He becomes solid, standing on the water like a lime Jell-O Jesus. He points at me.
“You, pretty boy. Give an old man a cigarette.”
I toss him the Maledictions and the lighter. Nefesh catches one in each hand. He rolls his eyes when he sees the cigarette brand. But he still takes one and lights up. Being a God of love, he tosses me back the lighter and smokes.
“I’m speechless,” says Traven. “I devoted my life to you and now I see you’re nothing but a ridiculous, foulmouthed little man.”
Nefesh raises a finger to Traven. An admonishment.
“You didn’t devote your life to me. You lost your calling a long time ago and hid from me in your books. And then you wrote that one particular book. Naughty, naughty.”
“You’re angry with me for translating a book?” says Traven. “But it was your duplicity that made it necessary for me to do it. No. You don’t get to reject me. I reject you.”
Nefesh lazily puffs the Malediction.
“Too late, priest. I got there first. I win again.”
I say, “You have to admit it’s kind of funny when you think about it. A guy powerful enough to run the universe and sneaky enough to trick the Angra out of it ends up a cabana boy in a drainage ditch. That has to make you smile just a little.”
Traven looks at me. His face is gray. Drained of blood.
“You’ve seen these kinds of horrors before. I’ve only seen them in my worst nightmares. I can’t find the humor in this situation.”
Brigitte puts her arm around Traven’s shoulder and leads him away from the pool.
“This man will give you no satisfaction. Turn your back on him,” she says.
“Do we have souls, Stark and me?” shouts Candy.
Nefesh looks at her like he hadn’t even noticed her before. I pull her away, pointing a finger at him.
“Don’t answer that.”
I pull Candy to the wall.
“Look at that clown. Do you really care what he says? Will knowing make a difference in what we do tomorrow or the day after? Forget the question. Forget him. Let’s just get the 8 Ball and get out of here.”
“So, you want the Qomrama Om Ya,” he says. “What for?”
“I’m starting my own magic act. You know, like Doug Henning, but with more decapitations and better music.”
“Don’t get snippy with me, junior. I can be gone in a second and you can explain to your friends how you wasted their time and, from what it looks like, their blood.”
“I want it to use against the Angra. And to fuck with Aelita. Even if I never figure out how to use the thing, not letting her have it will be a little bit of satisfaction. Do you know where it is?”