"People care." Way too much.
Sometimes I thought the modern world was more in-terested in Satan, in all his incarnations, than they were in God. Which was probably why we were in the fix we were in. Despite my stupidity about all things Doomsday, I did seem to recall the end times following a pe-roid of disintegrating moral values.
"Naming Satan based on a characteristic separates him into pieces," Ruthie said. "He's parts, not a whole. With no true name, no true identity. He is defeatable."
"You believe that?"
She met my eyes, and in hers I saw utter conviction. "I do."
I took a deep breath and leaned back against the house. I wished I had Ruthie's faith. But I couldn't tell her so. She might knock my block off, and I liked my block right where it was.
Ruthie had always had many colorful ways to threaten us. Along with the aforementioned knocking off of the block, there had been "slap you silly," "slap you stupid," "knock your head to a peak and then knock the peak off," "knock you into next week," "kick your butt so hard you'll be wearing it for a hat," and my particular favorite, "pull your lip over your head until your inside is your outside."
In truth, she rarely touched us except with love. The warning was all that was needed. Usually.
"Why you smilin'?" Ruthie asked.
Remembering Ruthie's threatened retaliations for misbehavior had only made me think of how very much I wanted to save the world. The world was worth saving. Ruthie had been worth saving. Too bad I hadn't known she'd need saving until she was dead.
"No reason," I said, and she lifted a brow. Of all her children, I'd probably been the least inclined to smile for no reason. Didn't mean I couldn't change. Not that I had.
"If Satan's confined in Tartarus," I continued, "and has been since the angels fell"—whenever that was— "then how is it that the apostles and prophets were chatting about his deeds long after his imprisonment?"
"Just 'cause he's locked up don't mean he can't cause trouble. That's what the Nephilim are here for. And make no mistake, he's been pullin' their strings all along."
"What about possession?" I sat up again. "Exorcist-type stuff? Does that happen?" "Of course."
"So not only do I have to worry about actual demons on earth—"
"Half demons," she corrected. "Least until one of them opens Tartarus."
"Fine." I rubbed my forehead. "Right now I'll worry about half demons and people possessed by demons."
"I wouldn't worry too much about the possessed."
"Why not?" I'd seen The Exorcist. I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to stop worrying about that.
"These days when people start gibberin' in other languages, throwing up pea soup, and discussing the demons whisperin' in their heads, what do you think happens?"
"They're given antibiotics and a free vacation at Camp Psycho."
"Got that right," Ruthie agreed.
Which meant that the possessed were incarcerated. Though I was certain not all of them were.
"Have you ever tried to find the Book of Samyaza?" I asked.
"No."
"Why not?"
"No one's ever seen it. We have no idea what that book looks like, or if it truly exists."
I had a feeling it existed. A really, really bad feeling.
"Wouldn't it be better to have it in our hands, to de-stroy it?"
"Better it stays hidden. Find the book and there's a good chance the thing could be stolen or used by the one who found it to—"
"You think one of us would try and rule the world?"
"Lizbeth," Ruthie said quietly, "even Christ was tempted."
Silence fell between us. When she was right, she was right.
"Never mind," she said at last. "Huntin' for the thing ain't practical. No one knows where the Book of Samyaza is. No legends, no rumors, not a hint."
That we knew of. I couldn't believe that if the Nephilim had a weapon like that, they didn't have some inkling where it was. I couldn't believe they weren't searching for it.
"The benandanti has more information to help you," Ruthie said.
The thud of a basketball against pavement had me glancing at the kids. A cement court complete with two baskets had replaced the grassy knoll.
"She couldn't tell me yesterday?"
"You didn't ask " Ruthie stood and moved into the sunlight.
"Ask what?"
"How to kill the woman of smoke."
I blinked. "Seriously?" Ruthie nodded. "Why don't you tell me?"
"I don't know."
"Why didn't you tell me to ask her that when you told me to go and see her?"
'There are rules." Ruthie's lips compressed. She didn't appear too happy about those rules at the moment. "There are things you must do. A path you must take. A path others must follow. Everything happens in its time."
We'd had this discussion before. Since hundreds of people had just died by werewolf, and I hadn't been able to stop it, I wasn't too thrilled with the rules then, either.
Ruthie turned and laid a hand on each of my shoulders. Her bony fingers felt like bird talons against my skin. "You're gonna have to be brave, Lizbeth."