Well, of course they did.

"Oh, how we all want to believe that! For it is only through our continued belief in you that the veils of Illusion are parted and your eyes can see clearly the ultimate lifescore that will bring you joy in this world and serenity in the next."

Well, of course they wanted to make sure that the whole congregation believed in them.

"If only there were some small way, some token gesture you could make here, now, today, before all of us, to show proof of your sincerity, that our belief in you might endure."

Well, of course there was.

Dov watched as each successful lifescorer passed from the Reverend Everything's hands into the waiting embrace of the Temple Maidens, a bevy of Palm Pilot-bearing beauties who took the happy congregant aside and duly recorded the "token gesture" of a funds transfer into the Reverend Everything's coffers. Even knowing that a healthy chunk of those funds would wind up in the hands of E. Godz, Inc., Dov still felt a touch of moral queasiness.

And yet ...

And yet, despite the Reverend's flashy, trashy, soundbite showmanship, his line of spiritual gobbledegook that was little more than a recycled, regurgitated, retread mishmosh of bargain basement Zen and yard sale Taoism, his scarily efficient methods for fleecing the flock, Dov still sensed a great emanation of magical power coming from the congregation.

They believe this stuff! he realized. They actually believe in it, and true belief's one of the biggest sources of real power I know. Can I really fault the Reverend Everything for knowing his customers, giving them what they want, even what they need? Sure, most of them have the attention spans of kelp, but the Reverend's allowed for it, changing the packaging on the same old product as much as he has to, to hold onto his audience. He's sharp, they're happy, and E. Godz, Inc. shares the profits, but ...

... but do we really need to get rich like this?

Do I need to become the head of the corporation by getting someone like him as a backer? Even if this whole thing didn't smell funny, would I want to owe anything to the Reverend Everything?

The services were still in full swing when Dov crept up behind his host, murmured something about an emergency call on his pager, and slipped away.

Always one to make sure his bridges were in good repair behind him, Dov made it a point to call Reverend Everything from a coffee shop in L.A. International Airport. It was a very cordial conversation. The Reverend was all kindness and understanding, and he quite agreed that it would be for the best if the two of them were to continue and conclude their business meeting another time, via teleconference. He assured Dov that he would have his entire congregation pray for Edwina's recovery or peaceful passing, depending on what the universe had in mind for her. This little chat left Dov with a warm and cozy feeling, although that might have had less to do with the Reverend Everything and more to do with the fact that he had accidentally slopped a little of his coffee down the front of his pants.

Dov was still blotting at his fly with a wad of paper napkins when Ammi set up a frightful row from inside his shirt.

"Now what?" Dov demanded after pulling the obstreperous trinket out into the light.

"Oh, nothing much," Ammi drawled. "I was just wondering how much of your mind you lost, running out on the Reverend Everything the way you just did. You think that guy didn't see right through you and your little 'Mercy me to gracious, I simply must run, I left the cat on the stove!' ploy? You think he's a man who enjoys being dumped just because you got all schoolmarmy and—dare I say it?—ethical all of a sudden?"

"Dumped? For pity's sake, Ammi, you're exaggerating. He and I are just business associates, not lovers! Do you have to describe it like I broke off our engagement?"

"You did leave him waiting at the altar," the little ornament replied. "Besides, this is L.A.: Business is love, and love is business, at least in the media industries. When you left right in the middle of the Reverend Everything's lifescore spectacular, it was a slap in the face. Worse, it was a kick to the ego. You know how any performer feels about audience members who walk out while they're on stage? You hurt his feelings, except he's too much of a pro to show it."

"Come on, he was perfectly okay with my leaving. I told him it was an emergency."

"Why didn't you just tell him you had to wash your hair, or that you hoped the two of you could still be friends? Oh! Did you tell him 'It's not you, it's me?' Very important to say that. It's not an official breakup otherwise." Ammi batted his lashless eyelids and, in a bad imitation of Dov's voice, added: "Darling, it's not fair to keep you tied down like this. I think we should both see other religions."

"Hey, I don't care what you have to say, I don't think I alienated him at all. And so what if I did? I don't even know if I want his support."

"You'll want it plenty once your sister grabs it out from under you," Ammi said sagely. "Pecunia non olet, baby: Money does not stink, and neither does power, no matter how they're generated. I'll bet Peez doesn't even hold her nose while she's signing the Reverend Everything onto her side. That's when you'll be sorry, but by then it'll be too late and too bad."

Dov snorted. "Peez? Please! Even if she were going to try grabbing the Reverend Everything for herself, which I doubt she'd have the chops to do, one look at his set-up and she'd run shrieking for the hills. She takes faith seriously, my sister does. Any trace of showmanship makes her break out in a case of acute disapproval. Once when we were kids Mom took us to a wedding in an Episcopal church and Peez couldn't stop complaining about how they were swinging the censers much too wildly, in a frivolous manner. If you think my ethics are holding me back, you ought to get a load of hers. The girl's still a virgin!"

"Not any more, she's not," said Ammi.

"Says you."

"No, says her."

"What?" Dov's logical mind insisted that the amulet had to be lying. Ammi was annoyed with him for having failed to bag the Reverend Everything and this was payback. It had to be ... didn't it? "When? To your face?"

Ammi smirked. "Where else? It's not like I've got a back for her to talk behind. Or a behind, for that matter."

"What I mean is, if it's true—and I don't believe that for an instant—then how did you find out?"

"Hey, who's the communications device here?" Ammi was enjoying this. "Information is my life."

"This is not the sort of thing that gets posted on the Internet. Wait. Let me rephrase that. This is not the sort of thing that my sister Peez would post on the Internet. Even if it were, you haven't had Internet access, or access to anything but my pocket lint, since we left Miami."

"And chest hair," Ammi prompted. "I've also had access to your chest hair, don't forget that. God knows, I never will."

"Will you leave my chest hair out of this and just answer the question?"

The amulet chuckled. "Elementary, my dear Dov. I was created to monitor communications. I sift hard information from idle chitchat, real news from spam. Do that long enough and it makes you sensitive to nuances, not just in information, but in people. No surprise: What are people besides information dumps with legs? Change is a nuance, and losing your virginity is one significant change. For a device of my sensitivity, your sister's altered sexual status came in loud and clear, like she'd walked up to you and hollered it in your ear."

"It must've been one hell of a first time if you could sense the change in her at this distance. She must be at least a couple of thousand miles away," Dov remarked.