The Getaway God (Sandman Slim 6)

“Listen to him, Muninn. You let a mortal speak to you like that?”

“In case you haven’t noticed,” I say, “I’m not exactly a mortal.”

“No. You’re Abomination. Why didn’t we kill you as an infant?”

“Maybe because you spent a billion years trying to find your ass with two hands and a sextant? I mean, you can’t even keep your own angels in line. What chance did you have of finding one little kid?”

Chaya doesn’t say a word and I’m pretty sure he’s working up to a good smiting when Samael tugs on my arm.

“Why don’t you take James to the kitchen,” says Muninn. “I’ll be along in a few minutes.”

Samael heads out of the library, dragging me by the arm like a dog that just shit on the Pietà.

I half expect him to chew me out, when he lets go of my arm and says, “Thank you. I couldn’t take one more minute of that old maid’s squawking. He hasn’t shut up since he got here.”

“Sure. It was all part of my plan.”

“Of course it was.”

In the kitchen, Samael finds an open bottle of wine and pours us both a drink. He raises his glass in a brief toast and downs it. I sniff mine. Hellion wine. If Aqua Regia is battery acid, the local Cabernet tastes like the runoff at a Hellion slaughterhouse. I take a polite sip, but that’s as far as I’m willing to go.

“Having three fathers here was bad enough,” Samael says. “Then one gets killed and it’s the wrong one.”

“Sorry.”

Samael pours himself another drink.

“At least you’re here to be Chaya’s punching bag for a while. Ever since he got here he’s been going at me the way he went after you tonight. He’ll never forgive me for rebelling.”

“Fathers can be like that.”

“I seem to remember you having some kind of father drama.”

“Yeah. He tried to kill me. Good thing he was a lousy shot.”

Samael sits down at the kitchen counter.

“I remember. And he still got into Heaven. That’s got to sting. Now imagine having to sit next to him while he lists off all your faults for everyone to hear over and over and over for eternity. That’s my life.”

“I guess we both got lucky escaping to Hell.”

“As you can see, even Hell isn’t an escape anymore.”

Samael shakes his head, gets up, and prowls the kitchen looking for more wine. I swirl mine in my glass like I’m contemplating its enticing bouquet. The reek just about makes my eyes water.

“So, what happened to Nefesh?”

“Exactly what it looks like. He was approached by what he thought were loyal soldiers. But they were part of Merihim and Deumos’s suicide cabal. They were all over him. He didn’t stand a chance.”

“I don’t understand. Aelita needed the 8 Ball when she killed the first brother, Neshamah. How could a bunch of grunts kill Nefesh with a few knives?”

“Ah,” says Samael, taking down a bottle from the top shelf of a cupboard. He brings it to the table and takes a corkscrew from a drawer. When he gets the cork out of the bottle and pours himself a glass, he looks at me.

“The longer my fathers are separate entities, the weaker they get. No one can know, but Nefesh’s death proves that you don’t need—­what’s the Angra name for the Qomrama?”

“Godeater.”

“Yes. You don’t need the Godeater to kill a God anymore.”