“That’s not a bad idea. But be careful with that stuff. Crazy shit can happen when you learn on your own.”

“Like what?”

“Make sure you wash that stuff off your hands before you pee,” says Candy.

“I’m going to etch that on my eyeballs,” he says, handing her a beer.

“I’ll come by and teach you a couple of civilian-safe tricks after I find the 8 Ball.”

“Muchas gracias,” says Carlos, and sets a cup of coffee in front of me.

I’m impressed with the hoodoo. It’s hard for civilians to ever do real magic and harder still for them not to kill themselves doing it. But Carlos has always had balls of steel. He’s had skinheads and zombies in here and he just cleaned up the mess and started serving drinks again. When his clientele switched from regular L.A. drunks to Sub Rosas and Lurkers, he didn’t even blink. I’m not surprised he can pull off some bush magic.

Father Traven and Brigitte come in with Vidocq and Allegra. Traven looks tired. His worn soldier’s face is pale and there are dark rings around his eyes. That’s where the drinking comes from. He doesn’t sleep, so he tries to knock himself out with booze. I’ve been there. It works too. But it’ll kill you faster than the worst insomnia.

The father is another civilian who’s picked up a little hoodoo. Before he became a professional bookworm, he was a sin eater, a priest who used bread and salt to ritually consume the sins of the dead. When he started working with us, he learned to use those sins as a weapon. He calls it the Via Dolorosa. It’s like a horrible kiss when he puts his mouth over yours and spits enough sins down your gullet to book you a seat in the deepest, darkest pit in Hell.

Candy gives my arm a squeeze and goes over to the happy couples. Like we agreed, she leads Vidocq, Allegra, and Brigitte away and aims Traven at me.

“Good to see you,” he says. “It’s been a while.”

“Sorry. I got so twisted around looking for the Qomrama that I stopped talking to practically everyone. Especially when I came up with nothing.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, but I almost got lucky. A guy offered me a million dollars for it a couple of days ago.”

“He thought you had it?”

“How’s that for a kick in the head? And there are other assholes out there who think the same thing. Whoever really has it must be laughing his ass off.”

Traven gestures to Carlos.

“Evening. Could I get a gin and tonic, please?”

“He’ll have coffee. Just like me.”

I pick up my cup and take a drink.

Traven raises his eyebrows.

“You’ve been talking to Brigitte.”

“She’s been talking to us. She’s worried about you.”

He looks at her across the room.

“I suppose with reason. The last few weeks have been both wonderful and very difficult. I’ve never known anyone like Brigitte before. I joined the Church young. I’d never even had a serious girlfriend. I suppose I was running away from the world. Then I met Brigitte and heard about her adventures. She’s opened my eyes to a lot of things.”

“If everything is so Ozzie and Harriet, why are you turning into a lush?”

Carlos sets down the coffee. Father Traven practically drowns it in cream and sugar. I should have ordered him a milk shake.

“The certainty of Hell. The coming of the Angra Om Ya. Of having nothing, then having something and knowing it will all be taken away when I disappear into the Abyss.”

“Speaking as someone who’s been to Hell and had everything taken away from him, I can say that, yeah, it sucks. But it’s not going to happen to you. “

Traven sips his coffee. Leans back a little and looks at me.

“You’re not Lucifer anymore. You can’t guarantee me anything. In fact, from what you’ve told me, the very God I offended by writing about the Angra is now Lucifer. If anything, that might merit me special punishment.”

“No wonder they kept you in the back with the books. You’re even depressing me.”

“That wasn’t my intention. But you asked why I was drinking and that’s the best I can tell you. I’m scared.”

I put my hand around the cup of coffee, feeling the hot ceramic against my skin. How do you explain to someone that you understand their fear, then convince them that it’s going to be all right? In my experience, the more you talk about what scares them, the worse it gets. There’s not much to do but ride out the fear with them and try to keep them away from liquor and razor blades.

What I wouldn’t do for a Malediction and a shot of just about anything right now.

“You need to get out more. You’ve been with your books too much. Brigitte was like a kid again when we busted up the Tick-Tock Man’s place yesterday. The next time I’m going someplace interesting, you should come along.”

Brigitte laughs at something Vidocq says. Traven smiles.

“She’s been floating on air since she came home. Yes, it would be good to do something other than poring over the same books again and again.”

“What are you looking for?”

“A way out. A way that I’ve read the signs wrong and the Angra aren’t coming.”

“Did you find it?”

“I’ve been translating older and older texts and they all say the same thing. That the universe was not created by the deity we call God. It was created by something older and far less forgiving.”

“That sounds like the Angra.”

“Yes. The thin membrane of reality that separates the Angra’s prison domain from ours is breaking down.”

“Or they’re punching their way through.”

“You know, it’s no coincidence that Lamia was the one to break through. There are twelve Angra in all. Six male and six female, but they’re the polar opposite of the Greek and Roman myths we grew up with. The females are dominant among the Angra, and Lamia is one of the strongest.”

“If they have a lot more like Lamia, we might just be fucked.”

“There’s no reason to think that they’ll all get through. Or even one complete deity. Even one would be almost impossible to defeat. We’ll have to hope that when they come, it will be in the form of something like Lamia. A larger and more dangerous fragment, but something on a scale we can comprehend.”

“This isn’t a pep talk, right? Because if it is, you’re doing it wrong.”

He looks at his coffee cup. Turns it around in his hands like he wishes there was something in there besides coffee.

“Sorry. I’m still working some of this through in my head. Talking about it helps.”

“All this theoretical stuff is interesting, but how do we fight them? And how will the Angra get free in the first place?”

“That’s the one piece of good news I have. It looks like they can’t come back all the way on their own, no matter how many cracks appear between the universes. The full Angra can only return through a summoning.”

“Great. Where’s the Golden Vigil when you need them? They could set up surveillance on every Angra cult in California.”

“It’s not that simple. We’re talking about a ritual. Something anyone with the right knowledge can do without even necessarily realizing what they’re doing.”

“So, some kids with the wrong book and a Ouija board could destroy the universe.”

“I don’t know about that exact scenario, but essentially that’s it.”

“Fucking great. So we’re still nowhere.”

“No. I believe that the Qomrama is the key. It can kill gods, but I believe it’s the key to releasing them too. We need to have it and find out if there is a way to destroy it.”

“Why don’t you work on that last bit? I’ll keep looking until someone coughs it up or I think of something better to do.”

“And you’ll bring me along on your next adventure?”

“Absolutely. Now, why don’t you go back with the others?”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m not sure yet. But you’ll know it when you see it.”

“Thank you for the talk. Maybe there’s a way out of this after all.”