Happy eternity, everybody. Good night and be sure to tip your waitresses.
I jerk my head to the side and come up with a mouthful of dust. I’m not sure, but I think I might have passed out for a while. At least I’m not bleeding anymore.
Man, I want a cigarette.
I try shouting at the mountain again and sound comes out of my mouth. And it didn’t even hurt.
Wait. If my throat’s healed it probably means I really was unconscious for a while. I wonder for how long.
Maybe I should just go back and lie. Tell them that Death said hi and that they should say their prayers and remember to floss. I mean, how would they know I wasn’t telling the truth?
A calm, smooth voice says, “Lies make the baby Jesus cry. Didn’t your mother tell you that? You don’t want to make the baby Jesus cry, do you?”
I look up at Death. He’s every bit as sharp and perfect as when he was Samael.
“Nice suit.”
“I like your coat,” he says, coming around in front of me. “What is that? Basilisk? The cut’s a little dated, but you make it work.”
“Don’t worry. GQ called. The shoot’s off. They don’t use dead models.”
“It depresses the readers.”
“Exactly.”
“I see you cut yourself. Be careful about that kind of thing in the Tenebrae. You don’t want to get an infection out here. They don’t go away.”
“It seemed medically necessary at the time.”
“Like so many of your bad decisions.”
I try standing, but my legs are cramped and stiff. I must have been out for a while.
“Here’s something fun. I’m on a crusade with a psychotic angel and a mob of lost boys and slaves. We’re following the Yellow Brick Road to where God dropped a sword that knocked you and your pals out of Heaven. But why am I even saying it? You knew all of that, didn’t you?”
He adjusts his sleeves.
“Some. With all the death your Magistrate is drumming up, business is very good these days.”
“Is there anything you can do about it? By the time we find the Light Killer, I’m not sure there’s going to be anyone left to save.”
“Lux Occisor. I haven’t heard that name in a long time. What memories.”
I take out the Maledictions.
“I don’t suppose you have a light, do you?”
He tosses me a lighter. There’s a solid gold phoenix wrapped around the body. It’s heavy.
“Very pretty.”
“Please be careful. That’s an S. T. Dupont Tournaire Red Ligne. It’s worth more than your soul.”
“So, about six-fifty?”
I spark the cigarette.
He holds out his hand for the lighter back. I take a step to hand it to him, but my foot comes down on the Moxie bottle. I fumble the lighter and the damn thing goes down in the dirt. I grab it and rub it on my sleeve, brushing and blowing off as much grit as I can.