Killing Pretty

But things never quite turn out the way you want, do they?

I find a spot across the street from Max Overdrive and park the car. Waiting in front of the store, in a pressed suit probably hand-­stitched by archangels, is Samael.

Samael has his back to me as I cross the street. He’s staring at the word KILL painted on the window. I go over, take out a Malediction, and light it with Mason’s lighter.

Samael makes a rectangle with his fingers and looks at the paint job through it like a pretend movie director.

“Your work?” he says.

“No. It was one of your creeps.”

“And what did you do to him?”

“Just spanked him a little. No more than he deserved.”

“I’m sure.”

Samael gestures at the store.

“How is the little lost lamb?”

“Stick your head inside and see. He’s right there.”

He waves a hand dismissively.

“No thanks. Frankly, he gives me the willies.”

“When did you get so sensitive?”

“Death isn’t any more popular with angels than he is with mortals.”

“That must make company picnics awkward.”

“You have no idea.”

“What’s the story with Mr. Muninn? Why is Death still here? Why hasn’t he sent an army down here to bring him home?”

“Can’t. Politics,” he says, nods at my cigarette. “May I have one of those? I forgot mine.”

I take out the pack and offer him one. Light it for him.

“You were saying politics.”

He nods.

“Many angels object to Father opening the gates of Hell the way he did. They don’t want to allow those damned souls into Heaven. Some, the younger, angrier ones, want to expel the souls already there.”

Unfortunately, shutting down Hell and opening the gates for both souls and Hellions was my idea.

“You’re saying I made everything worse.”

Samael leans against the wall. I bet his suit doesn’t even get dirty. It wouldn’t dare.

“No. Father made it worse by following your advice. But yes, it was your idea. Still, you aren’t the daddy of this particular rebellion.”

“But I’m its uncle.”

Samael smiles.

“No good deed goes unpunished. You should know that by now.”

“I don’t do good deeds. I do pragmatic.”

“You keep telling yourself that.”

We just smoke for a minute while I think. How could things be even worse than before? There was a civil war in Heaven, and Hell was coming apart faster than a gelatin Harley.

“Who do you think could have put Death in a body?”

“No angel is that stupid. Even Hellions. It had to be a human magician.”

“What about all the ­people who are half dead?”

Samael checks his watch.

“They’re not going anywhere until Death can lead their souls away again.”

“A guy I know almost died. He said instead of Death he saw something else. Any ideas what that might be?”

“Possibly. There’s something moving on the outskirts of the Tenebrae. A shadow. Imagine an immense dust devil made of lightning and emptiness. Whatever it is, it’s trying to will itself into being, but it doesn’t have the strength yet. That’s why no one is dying. The shadow is struggling. If it’s trying to take Death’s place it’s doing a piss-­poor job. I don’t think it knows what it’s doing.”

“That’s good.”

Samael waggles his hand.

“Not really. It has all eternity to figure out how things work. If it got this far, it isn’t stupid.”

“Angels die as easy as ­people if you know what you’re doing. You and the other halo polishers have a dog in this fight.”

He raises his eyebrows.

“Very much. Once it figures out how to dispose of human souls, there’s no reason to think it will stop there.”

“It could go after Muninn.”

“It’s possible.”

“And you don’t have any ideas on how to stop it?”

Samael blows smoke rings.

“I don’t even know what it is yet.”

“You’ll let me know when you do?”

“Of course,” he says. “How is it these days, not being able to walk between worlds?”

“Hell. So to speak.”

“Do you regret what you did?”

I look up and down the street, wondering why he checked his watch.

“No. I just wish I was smart enough to figure out a way that didn’t cost me the Room.”

“There wasn’t any other way. As I said, no good deed etcetera etcetera.”

“Yeah, but how can you keep getting your teeth kicked in when you don’t have any teeth left?”

“Then they’ll kick your ribs. There’s always something left to kick. Trust me. It used to be my specialty.”

“Trust me. I remember.”

A stretch Lincoln Town Car rolls slowly down Las Palmas.

Samael drops his Malediction, stubs it out with the toe of one exquisite shoe.

“I should get going before the winged pests discover I’m on Earth. They’ll know I’ve been talking to you and I won’t be able to get a decent seat at any of the good restaurants.”

“Know any tricks to get me out of having to drive everywhere?”

Samael walks to the curb, turns around, and looks at me.

“Grow wings, little angel.”

“I’m only half an angel.”

“Then grow one and learn to glide. Squirrels do it. Surely, you can figure it out.”

The limo pulls up. A driver gets out and comes around to the passenger side of the car, opens the door for Samael. I toss my cigarette into the alley beside the store.

“Nice to see how modest you’re living in these uncertain times.”

Samael stops halfway into the car. He puts his hands together like he’s praying.

“Lord, grant me chastity . . . but not yet.”

“See you around, Augustine.”

He drives away and the car disappears into traffic.

I was hoping Marlowe’s threat, saying something knew I was coming, was just a line. Now it sounds like it might be true. But I can’t do anything about it right now. Given a choice between worrying about Death and having breakfast, I’ll take breakfast.

I head inside.