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“Go for it.”
“The Lux Occisor must be returned to Heaven.”
“Why? It’s a fake,” I say.
“But few know the truth and that’s how it must remain. Angels on both sides of the conflict will rethink their positions when they learn that God has recaptured his thunderbolt sword.”
“Fucking hell. I can’t even begin to count up the lies I’ve heard since Samael dumped me back down here. I’ll tell you one thing, even when he was Lucifer, he didn’t lie the way other angels and Mr. Muninn do.”
“Cry, gnash your teeth, and rend your garments all you want, little Abomination. The sword must be returned. If you don’t do it, then Alice must, and one wrong touch could kill her. Are you really so stubborn that you’d risk her life?”
I look at Traven.
“You’re smart. Isn’t there something in your books about this? Some kind of magic Saran Wrap or doggie bag we can put it in?”
“I’m afraid I’m out of magic doggie bags.”
Alice is giving me that look she used to give me back in L.A. The one that says, You know you have to go to the dentist. You know you’re going to the dentist. Why are you screwing around about it and making it a hundred times worse? And she was always right. Not wanting to do something isn’t the same as knowing you’re not going to do it. Fair isn’t an option in this universe.
On the other hand, blackmail is.
“I’ll go under one condition.”
“What’s that?” says Vehuel.
“Traven and what’s left of the dog pack get to come, too.”
“What’s the dog pack?” says Wanuri.
“It’s what I called all of you behind your backs.”
“Charming.”
“Don’t ruin your chance for Heaven by making ridiculous demands,” says Traven. “We’ll find our way back to Pandemonium and join the other refugees.”
“I accept your offer,” says Vehuel.
“Really?” Traven says. “Well. Thank God for ridiculous demands.”
“Wait—did you just extort our way into Heaven?” says Wanuri.
“Yeah,” I say. “You, Traven, Daja, Doris, and Gisco. But it has to be your choice. You can stay if you want.”
“Fuck that. I’m not going to crawl around in shit forever when I can have wings and armor like her,” she says, turning to Alice. “I want a flaming sword to hurt some bastards.”
“The right bastards,” says Alice.
“Of course.”
“Just making sure.”
I look at the others.
“What about the rest of you?”
They nod and grunt affirmatives.
“Can I bring my knives?” says Doris.
