“I hope you’re right.”
He turns and looks over the crowd.
Blue-skinned Luderes are gambling at a table near the jukebox. Manimal Mike and his vucari cousins sit with a bunch of Nahuals trading shots of expensive tequila and cheap vodka. Shape-shifters, gloomy necromancers, and club kids dressed like electric peacocks slow-dance to Bob Wills and the Texas Playboys doing “Blues for Dixie.”
“What if someone got my license-plate number coming down the hill?”
“When would they do that? When they were being knocked stupid by rocks or buried under flying sharks? Relax and have a drink.”
He takes another sip of wine.
“So your angel, Aelita, seems to be behind everything that’s happened. How tragic that she chose that particular vengeful ghost.”
“I don’t see it that way.”
Carlos looks as happy as I’ve seen him in a long time. His brother-in-law is helping out while he’s healing. He seems to like having a partner.
“There’s nothing tragic or bad luck about it. Aelita doesn’t make mistakes like that. She knew who the Imp was.”
“She deliberately let loose a piece of the Angra Om Ya in this world? Why?”
“To help her kill God. I figure that she can’t do it on her own. Why else would she leave the Qomrama in Hell? She got lucky when she killed Neshamah, but she doesn’t really know how to use it. The Angra do.”
Traven picks up a single peanut from the coconut bowls full of them.
“Why would she invite entities that can destroy the universe? Presumably, she’d be destroyed too.”
“You said it yourself. God made an offering that tricked the Angra into another dimension. Maybe she has that or knows how to do it. She brings the Angra in, uses them, and sends them on their merry way. It’s exactly how she likes to work.”
“How do you know all this?”
I shrug. I don’t want to tell him that Saint James and I are dating again and that he’s probably the one who figured it out and I’m just taking credit.
“It’s the only logical thing.”
“So this isn’t over.”
“This is just getting started.”
Brigitte wobbles by. She’s more than a little drunk. She opens her mouth in exaggerated silent-movie surprise when she sees me. “I couldn’t find you in this madhouse. I heard that you took care of Teddy once and for all.”
I nod.
“He’s dead, burned, and gone. Hallelujah.”
“Thank you,” she says.
She looks at Traven.
“Who is your friend? You haven’t introduced us.”
“This is Father Traven. He saved my ass when we were at Teddy’s. Father Traven, this is Brigitte Bardo.”
He puts out his hand. She smiles at his politeness and how he obviously has no idea who she is.
“Very nice to meet you. Please call me Liam.”
“A father, eh, Liam? I’ve played nuns in many of my movies.”