“I’m really sorry, man.”
I hold it out to him. He just stands there.
“Why don’t you keep it?” he says. “I was thinking about getting a new one anyway.”
“Seriously. I’m sorry.”
“I know. Somehow, I think it was destined for you.”
“Is it really expensive?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“I kind of do.”
“What was it you were saying about a crusade?”
“Right. That.”
I manage to put the lighter in my pocket without dropping it again.
“The fucking messiah I’m riding with thinks he can end the war with this big gun he’s hauling around. He wants me to get you to help us. I keep wondering should I kill him? Should I help him? I don’t know what to do anymore.”
“Relax,” says Death. “Or don’t. Here’s the thing. This crusade of yours is a lot more complicated than you think. I knew the Magistrate in the old days. Back when he was still Raziel, the bitchiest of the archangels. Always complaining. Always knowing more than anyone else.”
“Gee. That doesn’t sound like anyone we know.”
“Touché. The thing was, he was even more radical than me. I merely rebelled against God. Raziel rebelled against the whole concept of any guiding force in the universe.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Raziel reasons now that Father has become both God and Lucifer, killing him will free the universe of what in his mind is tyranny. That’s the real reason he wants me on his side.”
“He’s wants you to help him kill Mr. Muninn? Why? So he can take over?”
“Not at all. He rejects all leadership.”
“But he’s the most goose-stepping vicious asshole do-what-I-say-or-else leader I’ve ever met. He plays twenty questions with whole towns, and if they lose, he kills everyone. You were a tight ass when you were Lucifer, but nothing like this guy.”
“Isn’t that how it always is? We become the thing we despise. And I was never a tight ass.”
“If you say so.”
He puts out his hand.
“Let me have a Malediction. I’m all out.”
I give him the package.
“Keep it. We have crates full.”
The pack is covered in dust and dried blood. He handles it with his fingertips. As soon as I light his cigarette, he tosses me back the pack.
He says, “Thank you. I’ll pick some up later.”
“What are we going to do about the Magistrate? You want me to kill him?”
He raises and lowers his index finger a couple of times.