I reach for the bottle but my eyes won’t focus, and anyway, it looks miles away. Maybe I’ll take a nap and try again later. Put on my walking shoes and make the long trek from this sofa to the coffee table.
How did any of us make it back in one piece? Mysteries within mysteries.
Man, I really wish I could reach that bottle.
SOMETIME BETWEEN KILL City and now, someone moved me onto the couch. Then someone set off Mount St. Helens in my head. Even my nose hairs ache. This isn’t a hangover. It’s cranial genocide. Candy is somewhere nearby. She hands me a glass full of something that smells like boiled crab ass.
“Drink it all,” she says. “Vidocq left it for you. He said it would clear your head. Personally, I’d like to see you suffer for diving into the bottle like that.”
“Sorry. I just.”
“You feel guilty. I know. We all do. Shut up and drink.”
She waves the glass in front of me. I sit up and immediately regret it. I hold my breath and swallow the potion as fast as I can. Halfway through, I hope the stuff kills me. That way I won’t have to finish it. When I’m done, Candy hands me a glass of water. I gulp it down, but I can still taste the crab muck in my mouth.
“Thanks.”
She takes the glass and says, “Brigitte’s asleep in the bedroom. I’m going to go and check on her.”
When she’s gone, Kasabian limps over on his twisted leg.
“So you lost the preacher.”
“You noticed.”
“Too bad. He seemed like an okay guy.”
“He was.”
“I saw them take him away.”
“Who?”
“The soul-sorting crew. I’ve been spending a lot of time looking around Downtown. You know, business research. Remember how I said souls go off the radar for a while when they’re being processed into Hell?”
“I remember.”
The ache behind my eyes feels less like monkeys trying to hammer their way out of my head and more like guppies with rubber mallets.
“Turns out it’s not the same for everyone. Murderers and rapists and your run-of-the-mill baby-eating dictators are white bread and mayo Downtown. They can take a while to get inside. But sinners against God? They’re filet mignon and get priority sorting.”
I rub the ache from my temples.
“Your boy Traven was in and out faster than a microwave burrito.”
“Where is he now?”
Kasabian leans back in his chair, giving me a funny look.
“You were Lucifer. Don’t you know?”
“I wasn’t very good at the job.”
“Color me surprised.”
“Do you have a name?”
“He’s in Helheim. A frozen patch of paradise way up north of Pandemonium. It’s where everyone who has a beef with God goes. It’s a lot like Antarctica, but instead of penguins they have armed guards.”