The Kill Society (Sandman Slim)(78)

I stop in the road.

“Samael was the first Lucifer. I was the second.”

Vehuel shakes her head.

“Samael was the second to hold the title of Lucifer. You were the third. Maleephas was the first.”

“Henoch Breech. I wasn’t sure it was real,” says Traven. “This is where the first war in Heaven ended. This is where Hell began. Not Pandemonium.”

Something scratches at the back of my skull.

“That’s a nice bedtime story, but I don’t believe it.”

“Wait a minute,” says Daja. “You’re Lucifer?”

“Was Lucifer. Past tense. I was tricked into the job. I was lousy at it. And I didn’t do it long. That’s why Mr. Muninn—God—took over.”

She looks at the Magistrate and Traven.

“Is any of this true?”

Traven nods.

He says, “Yes, my dear. You see, the ways of Heaven and Hell are more complex than most realize. Lucifer is merely a name. A title that can be handed down to anyone as qualified or unqualified as Sandman Slim here.”

“Then he’s not the Devil anymore.”

“No he is not. He was barely the Devil when he held Lucifer’s title.”

“I was Lucifer down here for one hundred days and not a second more. Look it up. It’s probably in a history book somewhere, right?”

I look at Vehuel.

“It’s amusing that you should mention history,” she says. “Yours is missing a few days, isn’t it? The memories of them, I mean.”

“If I don’t remember them, how should I know?”

Vehuel stops. I stop with her. She looks at me with a mix of amusement and pity. It’s not a look I enjoy.

“Trust me—you’ve been here before. And not that long ago,” she says. “You killed Maleephas and burned his palace, such as it was. You did all these things, but the memory was taken from you.”

“Why?”

“Because even among the Hellion, the myth of Lucifer was strong. By the time Samael fell, few among the angels even remembered Maleephas. The only way the fallen could build a new Perdition was to believe that they were the true rebels, the glorious first ones.”

We continue up the road and come to a large, burned-out mansion. I can’t do anything but stare.

Bits and pieces are coming together for me.

What did Samael say in the desert? Something about how things had to change or there would be another war in Heaven and another after that? Is Henoch Breach what he was talking about? He’d already lived through one war, started one himself, and was now caught in a third. He was trying to tell me about this, but with the same twisty logic that he always uses, he couldn’t come right out and say it. He probably thought I needed to see it to believe it and understand. And now I do.

“They poisoned me, didn’t they?”

Vehuel nods.

“Yes. So you’d forget Maleephas and this place. You had to kill him to make Hell secure, but you weren’t allowed to bring the knowledge of the first Hell back to the current one. It would have destroyed it.”

Alice comes over to me.

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah. I think so. I don’t know.”

I give Vehuel a look. She’s enjoying tormenting me just a little too much for my taste.

“Why are you telling me all this? What does it matter if I remember Henoch Breach or not?”

“I think they need you,” says Traven. “You can’t get the Light Killer, can you?”

Vehuel nods.

“It’s not for angels of the Lord to retrieve the Lux Occisor. It’s Lucifer’s job.”

“I’m not Lucifer anymore,” I say.

“I was being polite. It’s a job for an Abomination.”

There it is. A dirty job for a dirty guy. She had a good time saying it, too. “What if I don’t do it? What if I tell you all to fuck off, and find a way back to Pandemonium myself?”

“Jim,” says Alice. “Please.”

Vehuel says, “That’s an option, of course. And you’re right, but remember this. Without the sword, the war will go on. And God—Mr. Muninn, as you like to call him—will lose. The loss of Heaven, and the final and irrevocable damnation of all mortal souls, fallen, and loyal angels will lie squarely on your shoulders.”

I look around at everyone. Daja is confused and scared. The Magistrate is practically licking his lips he’s so excited. Traven looks overwhelmed seeing an obscure story in his obscure books coming true. Hell isn’t Hell. The Devil isn’t the Devil. Next you’ll tell me that Mickey Mouse is just a guy in a costume.

The looks on the angels’ faces range from bemused to angry and, in the case of Alice, worried.

“I told you this was a real-estate scam. You’re a hard-sell bastard.”

“It was necessary.”

“You enjoyed it.”

“A bit.”

“I was right. All you angels are assholes.”

“By your definition, yes,” she says.

I look around, trying to figure an angle, but I can’t find it any more than I can find a way home. It hits me hard that I’m probably really stuck here, that maybe my whole life has been manipulated to put me here at this moment.