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I take out my flask, unscrew the top, and hand it to him. He takes a swig and coughs, practically spitting the Aqua Regia all over himself.
“This is Hellion brew,” he says.
“That’s right. Drink up. It tastes like gasoline, but it’ll help with the pain.”
“I’m not sure it’s permitted.”
“I don’t think anyone would hold it against you,” says Candy. “It’s not like you’re here to party.”
He looks at Candy for a few seconds, then drinks. He keeps it down better this time, but he’d probably be happier with an aspirin. Fuck him. I drank Aqua Regia for eleven years in Hell because there weren’t any angels to help me. Death can choke down a couple of mouthfuls.
He hands me back the flask.
“Feeling better?”
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
“No.”
“You will.”
“The brew smells interesting.”
“Huh. I never thought of that. I guess it does.”
Candy gets in closer to him.
“Why did you come here?”
“I was looking for Sandman Slim.”
“Why?” says Candy.
“I need help.”
“Because you’re in a body.”
He nods.
“And someone has murdered it. Murdered me.”
I say, “Why not call one of your angel pals?”
He closes his eyes again.
“I don’t know who to trust.”
“But you trust Stark,” says Candy. “Why?”
“Because Father trusted him.”
Father. Mr. Muninn. God.
The bloody, dirt-streaked trench coat he had on when I met him is in a pile on the floor. I pick it up and go through the pockets. He doesn’t object.
I say, “Why not go to Mr. Muninn if you need help?”
He shrugs.
