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“Fuck the righteous. I just don’t like con jobs. You angels built Heaven and Hell, but you don’t want kids playing on your lawns, so you locked everybody out.”
Samael raises a finger.
“I’m not on the side that wants to exclude mortals from Heaven. I’m fighting that faction and you know it.”
“Sorry. I’m just in a mood.”
“Because you lost your lady love?”
I walk across the unkempt lawn and Samael strolls with me.
“That’s not it. Or it’s just a part of it. When you got kicked out of Heaven, didn’t you feel at least a little lost? I know it’s not your style to admit feeling weak, but it’s just you and me here. Didn’t you ever have a moment where you weren’t sure where you belonged?”
He takes a gold lighter and a pack of Maledictions from his jacket. Holds out one to me, lights it, then lights his own. I’m hoping he’ll offer me the pack, but he doesn’t. Maybe my question bothered him.
“No,” he says. “Not back then. Never during our exile from Heaven. We knew—I knew—that demanding free will for angels was a just cause. Father didn’t agree, so he showed us the door. He was like that back then. Look at poor Adam and Eve. One mistake and out you go. But he’s changed. You know that more than just about anyone. You’ve seen it happen.”
I puff the Malediction and let its tasty poison fill my lungs.
“How is Mr. Muninn these days?”
“The war has taken its toll on him, as it’s taken a toll on us all.”
“Still a stalemate then. Heaven is locked. A no-mortal-soul zone.”
“The fighting is a stalemate, but Father keeps talking. It’s frustrating, but he’s ever the negotiator. Ever the optimist.”
“So, nothing has changed. The war is going to go on forever.”
“Foreverish, maybe.”
We stop by a cemetery full of graceful tombs and decorated sculptures. It looks Buddhist. Kids have left offerings of beers and Twinkies nearby. I’m sure they think they’re being ironic, but I bet whatever spirits might haunt this forgotten place are grateful for whatever offerings they get.
Samael continues. “But no war truly lasts forever, even this one. The solution, like many things in life, is figuring out the right angle to approach from.”
“It sounds like you’re planning to trick Heaven away from the rebels.”
At one grave, Samael lights a stick of incense he seemingly pulled from the air and stabs the end into a stone cup filled with sand.
“Nice trick,” I say. “Is that how you’re goin
g to do the grift? Sleight of hand?”
He gives the grave a little bow and now I know he’s showing off.
He says, “Would that be so bad?”
“How would you do it?”
“Who said anything about me?”
I look at him.
“Come on, man.”
He starts to walk away.
“Well, if you’re not interested . . .”
