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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.
