“All that for nothing.”

“Not quite,” he says. And pulls the wooden vessel Traven made for the 8 Ball from his coat pocket.

“I’m a thief, remember? Once a thing is stolen, it doesn’t get away from me unless I want it to.”

I’m so relieved I laugh. Then I hear Brigitte crying. A crowd of early-morning swimmers and surfers gathers behind us. The remains of Kill City slip into Santa Monica Bay, pulling a million tons of prime beachfront real estate with it. Sections of it continue to settle and collapse. Hattie’s rooftop kingdom comes crashing down. Walls crush inward, revealing the food court and the dead interior amusement park. I look for bodies to bob up in the waves. Where are the rest of the Shoggots and the other tribes we saw inside? Where are the Grays? They’re fighters. They’ll survive. Crawl out of the water and crouch among the pier pilings until the crowds go home. Then move into Santa Monica and find another abandoned space to take over and call their own.

People pull out phones and cameras and snap photos. That’s my cue to move. I look around and find a beautiful shadow by one of the broken boardwalk supports. I get everyone on their feet. While the crowd is busy watching Kill City breathe its last, I pull us through the Room and into the Chateau. I want to say it’s a relief being home, but it’s not.

Kasabian looks up from his work. I don’t know what we look like, but even he doesn’t have anything smart to say. I curl up on the floor, waiting for the salt ache to ease up on my wounds. The others fall onto couches and chairs. No one talks. Candy brings Brigitte some whiskey. Brigitte cries like she might never stop.

I FIND A bottle of Aqua Regia and drink enough that I’m more wasted than I’ve been in a long time. Maybe since Alice died. Drunk enough that for a while I blot out Traven, the Qomrama, the end of the world, and every other ugly thing boring into my brain.

Things swim in and out of my consciousness. Candy. Vidocq. Kasabian tries to talk to me and I push him away. It seems like maybe Allegra is there at some point, working on me. It doesn’t matter. This stupid dream is a joke. God is a joke. We’re a joke. Bugs on God’s windshield. If the Angra want to bite down on this shit sandwich, I say let them. What’s left to lose but a world that never made any sense in a universe that’s so out of control it takes a bastard like me to roust a little bit of God from his beach home and get him back in the game? Or at least to Hell, which is probably where he belonged in the first place.

I reach for the bottle but my eyes won’t focus, and anyway, it looks miles away. Maybe I’ll take a nap and try again later. Put on my walking shoes and make the long trek from this sofa to the coffee table.

How did any of us make it back in one piece? Mysteries within mysteries.

Man, I really wish I could reach that bottle.

SOMETIME BETWEEN KILL City and now, someone moved me onto the couch. Then someone set off Mount St. Helens in my head. Even my nose hairs ache. This isn’t a hangover. It’s cranial genocide. Candy is somewhere nearby. She hands me a glass full of something that smells like boiled crab ass.

“Drink it all,” she says. “Vidocq left it for you. He said it would clear your head. Personally, I’d like to see you suffer for diving into the bottle like that.”

“Sorry. I just.”

“You feel guilty. I know. We all do. Shut up and drink.”

She waves the glass in front of me. I sit up and immediately regret it. I hold my breath and swallow the potion as fast as I can. Halfway through, I hope the stuff kills me. That way I won’t have to finish it. When I’m done, Candy hands me a glass of water. I gulp it down, but I can still taste the crab muck in my mouth.

“Thanks.”

She takes the glass and says, “Brigitte’s asleep in the bedroom. I’m going to go and check on her.”

When she’s gone, Kasabian limps over on his twisted leg.

“So you lost the preacher.”

“You noticed.”

“Too bad. He seemed like an okay guy.”

“He was.”

“I saw them take him away.”

“Who?”

“The soul-sorting crew. I’ve been spending a lot of time looking around Downtown. You know, business research. Remember how I said souls go off the radar for a while when they’re being processed into Hell?”

“I remember.”

The ache behind my eyes feels less like monkeys trying to hammer their way out of my head and more like guppies with rubber mallets.

“Turns out it’s not the same for everyone. Murderers and rapists and your run-of-the-mill baby-eating dictators are white bread and mayo Downtown. They can take a while to get inside. But sinners against God? They’re filet mignon and get priority sorting.”

I rub the ache from my temples.

“Your boy Traven was in and out faster than a microwave burrito.”

“Where is he now?”

Kasabian leans back in his chair, giving me a funny look.

“You were Lucifer. Don’t you know?”

“I wasn’t very good at the job.”

“Color me surprised.”

“Do you have a name?”

“He’s in Helheim. A frozen patch of paradise way up north of Pandemonium. It’s where everyone who has a beef with God goes. It’s a lot like Antarctica, but instead of penguins they have armed guards.”

“Thanks,” I say, and try to stand. It almost works. I get up on the second try.

“Too bad you didn’t take me up on my business offer. You could find my hoarder and say hi to the father on the way back.”

“I’m going to do better than that.”

“FedEx him some mittens?”

“I’m going to get him out of there.”

Kasabian picks some fried shrimp off a plate someone abandoned on the coffee table. The sight of food almost makes me heave up my crab cocktail.

“I think certain people might be resistant to that idea,” he says.

“I’ll persuade them. Can you see Helheim? How many guards are there?”

“Not many,” he says through a full mouth. “Not many. Eight maybe? The prison is in the middle of nowhere. Not many places to escape to.”

I touch my stomach. Ferox’s incision is closed and almost healed. Allegra did some good work on me. I’ll have to thank her. And check on her ex-boyfriend she told me about. But after this. Everything can wait for this.

“What are you two talking about?”

It’s Candy. She took my advice and cleaned up from her tree climb. She’s beautiful. But I don’t want to have to say what I’m going to say.

“You’re going to love this,” says Kasabian.

She sits on the end of the sofa.

“I’m going to get Traven.”

She lays her hands flat on the backs of her knees, a tense gesture. She nods.

“Okay. I thought you might say something like that. I’m going with you.”

“Not this time. This won’t be like going to see Muninn. It’s a hit-and-run trip and I need to move fast. I know Hell and half the population is already scared of me. Let me do this.”

“But you promised.”

I nod and slide down next to her.

“Understand something. I’m not going as me. I’m going as Sandman Slim. No stopping. No deals. No games. Anyone gets in my way dies.”

She looks down at her hands.

“I hate it when you get like this.”

“This is the only way it’s going to work. I’ll be in and out in a few hours.”

“Last time it was only supposed be three days,” she says. She gets up and moves to the chair across from me, putting space between us.

“I know.”

“I’m not waiting for you again, you know. You have one day to get in and back. After that I’m gone.”

“I understand.”

“Don’t tell me you understand. I don’t care if you understand. I care what you do. And you have a day to do it.”

She looks through the bottles by the food carts and finds a bottle of whiskey. She pours herself a drink.

“Anyway, Brigitte shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“Don’t tell her what I’m doing. In case it doesn’t work out.”

She takes a belt of whiskey.