Even with all the crazy stuff that had happened to me since I went to Hell, I’d continued to be selective about what information I’d share. Even Sam didn’t know everything, because I’d kept from him what Walter Sanders had remembered. Even if Sam’s Kephas really was Anaita, and she had sent Smyler to extort the whereabouts of the feather from me to protect her secrets, I didn’t want to put Sam in the position of having to choose loyalties before I had better evidence. I didn’t think he’d sell me out, but our friendship had changed in ways I didn’t entirely understand yet, and I wanted to be fair to both of us. I could only hope I wasn’t putting him in danger by holding out.
And Clarence knew even less, of course. He knew a lot more now than I would have liked, but he still didn’t suspect how crazy this stuff really was, that a power as important as Anaita, a Heavenly Principality, could be revivifying serial killers and sending innocent angels like Walter to Hell. If I didn’t completely trust Sam on the subject, I sure as holy harmony wasn’t going to open it all up for the kid.
“The simplest version,” I said, “is that Eligor made a deal with someone in Heaven, someone pretty important. The deal was about creating Sam’s Third Way, a spot outside Heaven, Hell, and Earth. But Eligor wanted protection, especially against his own side’s finding out, so he took the feather from the Heavenly Someone to use as—what? Blackmail fodder, I guess. The idea being that if the Heavenly Someone didn’t uphold their end of the bargain, or things went bad, Eligor would have that feather to keep the angel honest, because it’s basically a signed confession that says, ‘I made an unauthorized deal with Hell.’ Both of them had to keep their bargain secret. They couldn’t let either side find out.” I was suddenly, and rather surprisingly, hit with a hunger pang. Probably because I hadn’t eaten in a day or so. “And now the bastard has the angel’s marker back.”
“So what does the important angel have?” Clarence asked.
“I don’t know. Regrets, probably. Like all of us.” Maybe I would get a little food, I decided. Nothing too dramatic, because my stomach wasn’t up to it.
“Are you going to order something, B?” asked Sam. “Good plan. Get a stack of big old pancakes. Soak up some of that booze.” He leaned back and sipped on his ginger ale. “Maybe I’ll get some calamari. Even Bill’s cook can’t fuck something up too badly if it’s deep-fried.”
“You forget that time you found a double A battery in your fish and chips,” I said, squinting at the menu. I waved for the waitress and sat back. Then, as if a fuse had been burning and finally reached the barrel of gunpowder, something went “boom!” in my brain. “Hang on a second—what did you say?”
“Calamari.”
“Not you, you big asshole. Clarence.”
The kid had to think for a moment. “I asked what the angel has.”
“What the angel has . . . ?”
“Well, if the feather was a marker for a deal they had, what was the other marker? If the demon gets the feather, what does the angel get in case Grand Duke Eligor needs to be blackmailed some day?”
The waitress finally arrived, but I was too stunned to speak. At last Sam took pity and ordered pancakes and more coffee for me, as well as some crispy artery-clog for himself.
After the waitress wandered off, I was still thinking hard. I must have looked like I’d had a stroke, because Clarence leaned forward and said, “Are you all right, Bobby?”
“Kid, if I wasn’t slightly insecure about my masculinity, and if I didn’t know for a fact that Sam would never let me forget it, I’d kiss you right now.”
“Huh?”
“You’re right, you’re right, you’re so fucking right.” I shook my head, amazed by my own epic stupidity. “I’ve been obsessing over this feather for months, but I never stopped to wonder what Eligor had to trade for it. But, of course, he must have swapped something. You don’t swear blood brotherhood without both sides bleeding! And I know what it was.”
“Can you summarize this shit before my calamari gets here?” Sam asked.
“Simple. I noticed something the other night.”
“The other night, and several on either side of it, you were drinking heavily, listening to blues records, crying, and vomiting into your wastebasket,” said Sam. “Occasionally all at the same time. Are you talking about last week, in the parking garage?”
“Whatever. The last time I saw Eligor he showed a little of his true face, just for a moment. Not that it’s anything like a ‘true’ face,” I explained to Clarence. “Because Eligor and the other fallen angels are . . . well, they’re older than faces, actually. But he lost control, and I saw a little of his seriously-angry-demon face. I should have wondered why he always looked like Vald, even in Hell.” I felt my heart beating. I wouldn’t say I was feeling better, because I was still missing Caz so badly it was all I could do to talk and move around, but for the first time since Marmora turned to sludge in my arms, I felt there might still be something I could do. “But I didn’t think about it. When his disguise slipped in the parking garage, one of his horns was . . . well, kind of crumpled and pathetic. Like when a goat or some other farm animal gets a horn sawed off, then it starts to grow back.”
“So, you’re saying . . .” Sam began.
“That when they made their deal, and our important angel gave Eligor a feather to hold onto, it’s likely that Eligor gave the angel something, too—that horn, which still hasn’t grown all the way back. That’s why he’s been hiding his real Hell-head.”
Sam made an impressed face. “Huh.”
“But knowing that still doesn’t do you much good, does it?” asked Clarence. “I mean, if one of the big angels has Eligor’s horn, how are you going to get hold of it?”
“You mean how are we going to get hold of it,” I said. “Because I can’t do it alone. I’ve tried and I’ve tried, and it’s not working. I need both of you to help me.”
Sam laughed, but it was one of his hollower efforts. “You dick. You’re joking, right?”
“I can’t afford to joke about this, Sam. It’s too important. Eligor has the only woman I’ve ever cared about, and he also cheated me out of the feather—something I risked my life a dozen times for, at least. If I get hold of that horn, then I’ve got something on him! A bargaining chip!”
Clarence had finally figured out I was serious. “No. No way, Bobby. It’s bad enough that I’m off meeting up with important demons in my off-hours, and covering up secrets that will get me in a lot of trouble if it ever comes up . . .”
Actually, secrets that will get you sent to Hell—or worse, I thought but was sensible enough not to say out loud.
“. . . but I can’t do this! Stealing from one of our bosses! So that you can get back together with your girlfriend from Hell!”
My pancakes arrived. I doused them in syrup and got to work. Suddenly, I really was hungry. “No, you can’t afford to do that, Clarence. You’re right. But you can’t afford not to, either.”
“Damn it, will you quit calling me Clarence!” He said this so loudly that people at other tables turned to look. He blushed—how come my Earth body never does that?—and leaned close to the table, as if he was only going to talk to the catsup bottle and the napkin dispenser from now on. “What do you mean, can’t afford not to?”
“Because I’m going to go after it no matter what. And although I promise I would never voluntarily rat on either of you, if and when I get busted trying to do this, Heaven will probably squeeze every bit of information about the last few months out of me. Who knows what they can do to find things out? And that means they’re going to know that you should have blown the whistle on both me and Sam a long, long time ago.”
The kid was shocked. “Are you blackmailing me, Bobby?”
“No. Really, no. I’m just being a realist. You can’t play this game both ways, Clarence—or ‘Harrison,’ if you really, honestly like that better. Personally, I think that name sounds like someone should be arranging playdates for you after your Suzuki Method violin classes.” I poured some more syrup. “Clarence is way cooler.”