I SPENT ELEVEN years trapped Downtown and have been back plenty of times since, but it gets harder each time. I was only Lucifer for three months, but it left me wary of Hell in ways that even being a slave there didn’t. I used to kill Hellions because I didn’t have a choice. When I was Lucifer I killed them to stay alive and sometimes just to make a point. Part of the job description for Lucifer is “ruthless bastard,” and even if I was a joke when it came to running Downtown, I was employee of the month when it came to saving my own skin. Sometimes in rotten ways. Like dragging a Hellion to death behind my motorcycle. I can’t see Mr. Muninn playing Lucifer the half--assed way I did. He’s smarter than me, and for good or bad, he’s nicer, even if he is part of the God that I swore I’d never trust again.
The inside of the Room of Thirteen Doors isn’t much to look at. Just a circular chamber with a series of closed doors. To one side are a few books I brought to Father Traven while he was hiding here. I busted him out of Hell and it took a -couple of days to get him to Blue Heaven, where he could hide from prying eyes. Across from the books are the Mithras and the Singularity.
The Mithras is the first fire in the universe. A tiny flickering flame in a glass jar right now. But if I ever let it out, it would burn all of creation to cinders.
The Singularity is sort of the opposite of the Mithras. If he made universes instead of orchards, it’s what Johnny Appleseed would carry. Crack it open and you get a new Big Bang, followed by a brand--new spit--and--polish universe, ready to move into and suitable for children and pets. Of course, if I set it off outside the Room it would eat our universe and everyone in it to make way for the new one.
As long as the Mithras and Singularity are here, I feel safe. I’m the only one with a key to the Room and no one, not even God or Lucifer can get in here without me bringing them. And I’m not about to do that. They’re exactly who I want to keep the Mithras and Singularity away from. Especially Ruach. He’s crazier and a lot more dangerous than Aelita ever was.
Pandemonium, Hell’s capital, is laid out like Hollywood, which puts Lucifer’s palace in the Beverly Wilshire Hotel near Rodeo Drive. I could come out nearer, but I like to get the feel of the city when I go down. Big mistake this time.
Like Kasabian said, it’s raining in Hell. Being Hell, it’s raining blood. Good thing I put on the coat Candy Scotchgarded for me. Too bad I didn’t put any of the stuff on my pants. The blood soaks into them, weighing down the leather. It drips through my hood too and runs into my eyes. I step into a doorway before I look like one of those poor slobs back at the chapel.
I’m on Hell’s equivalent of Hollywood Boulevard. It looks about the same as the Hollywood back home. Pretty much deserted. But I can see lights on in some of the stores and bars, so someone is around. They’re just smart enough to get in out of the blood. No way I’m walking to Beverly Hills from here. I find a shadow under the streetlight and step through. I do something I’ve never done before. I come out right in Mr. Muninn’s—-Lucifer’s—-penthouse at the hotel. He once said I could. Let’s see if he’s a devil of his word.
I come out by his private elevator. I lean into his living room, ready to duck out if he gets all wrathful.
“Mr. Muninn? Hello. It’s Stark.”
I take a tentative step into the room.
Muninn comes in from another room in a long crimson robe, a little shocked anyone would just walk into Lucifer’s apartment. The room is dark. He squints until he can make me out.
“James. It’s you,” he says, and turns on a desk lamp. “And you’ve tracked blood all over my carpet.”
I look down. He’s exaggerating a little. I only have one foot on the carpet, but the blood dripping off my clothes has made a nice red stain there and on the tile floor by the elevator.
“Please step off the carpet and wait there,” he says.
He walks out of the room and comes back a -couple of minutes later with a bundle in his hands. There’s a towel on top.
“You left some clothes here before you departed so quickly. Please clean up, change clothes, and meet me in the kitchen.”
I just nod. Getting God and Lucifer pissed at you at the same time isn’t a good way to start a visit.
I clean up and pile my dirty clothes on the tile floor. The clothes Muninn gave me were some of my better Lucifer gear. Gray creased linen pants with a pressed black shirt. I see myself reflected in one of Muninn’s windows. My hair looks like it was combed by a five--year--old, but the rest of me is completely Playboy After Dark. I go down the hall to where I remember the kitchen is. Mr. Muninn is inside making coffee.
Making such a great entrance, I’m feeling a little tongue--tied.
“It’s raining,” I say.
“Is it? I hadn’t noticed.”
“It’s raining in L.A. too.”
“It will be raining everywhere soon,” he says.
“But why blood down here?”
He points a finger upward.
“We can thank Ruach for that. Don’t worry about the blood being contaminated with any of Hell’s ills. It doesn’t come from here. It’s falling from Heaven.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“It isn’t. From what I gather, there’s a new war brewing up there. Ruach’s followers versus, well, I suppose mine and my brothers.”
“I’m covered in angel blood?”
“I’m sure it’s quite benign for you. It’s just hell on my carpet.”
“Sorry about that.”
He looks back in the direction of the living room.
“The cleaners will be thrilled to have something to do. And in any case, it’s good to see a friendly face.”
He brings two cups of coffee to a marble--topped island in the middle of the kitchen. We sit down across from each other. He slides a cup to me. Hell might have the worst food in the universe, but the coffee, at least Lucifer’s, isn’t that bad. Still, I take a small first sip. Lucky me. I can still stomach the stuff.
“To what do I owe the honor of this very surprising visit? I have a feeling you didn’t just appear here out of the blue to bring me good news from Earth.”
“Not exactly. Angra sects are getting pretty hot and bothered back home. They’re turning churches into meat markets and it looks like they might be storing their extra bodies in the underground tunnels where you used to look after the dead.”
“And they open into my storeroom.”
“Yeah.”
Mr. Muninn nods and sips his coffee. He looks a lot older than when I saw him just a few weeks ago.
“If you don’t mind my saying so, you look like shit, Mr. Muninn.”
He smiles. No one down here normally talks to Lucifer like that.
“I suppose I don’t. Things were going badly here, and with a new war in Heaven, we don’t even need a threat from the Angra to feel a bit grim.”
“It must feel funny to be on the side of the rebel angels this time.”
“Don’t think that hasn’t occurred to me. But time and circumstances change.”
“Do you think the rebels are going to win?”
“I honestly don’t know. There isn’t the great desire for suicide among Heaven angels as there is here, but there’s plenty of bloodlust.”
“I don’t understand. If they’re not part of Merihim and Deumos’s suicide pact, what’s the war about?”
“Us,” he says. “The four remaining brothers. Brother Ruach wants the three of us dead and so do his followers. The rebel angels refuse to take part in our murder and so a war begins.”
“Is there anything you can do to help?”
“Oh my. Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Sorry. It’s just, even though you’re kind of broken, you’re still a piece of God. You still have powers.”
“Not like Ruach’s. He’s the part that broke away from the rest of us first, taking most of our power with him.”
“Do you know where your missing brother is?”
Muninn fiddles with a spoon on the table.
“Chaya. He’s right here. Asleep not fifty feet from us. Ruach was keeping him in Heaven hoping to draw the rest of us into a confrontation. Samael helped Chaya to escape and brought him here.”
“Great. That’s three of you. Can you do some kind of Voltron thing, put yourselves back together and kick Ruach’s ass?”
“We tried to reunite and failed. If our brother Neshamah wasn’t dead, maybe the four of us could combine our strength and fight Ruach, but with just the three of us, it’s doubtful. I don’t know if the others want to try again.”
I’ve never seen Mr. Muninn so down. And I’m the bastard who guilted him into becoming Lucifer.
“I’m guessing you’re not working on repairing the city anymore.”
“No one is left to do the work. Every sensible Hellion is at home hiding.”
“Same thing in L.A. Some are running for the hills.”
“I’m afraid there isn’t anywhere for us to run.”
“There won’t be anywhere to run on Earth if the Angra keep making new little baby Angras.”
He frowns every time I say their name.
I say, “You don’t like talking about them, do you?”
“There is nothing but bad memories there. We—-that is, I, when I was a single entity—-flung the Angra from here and claimed this universe for myself. Not a noble gesture. But I was young and the young do all sorts of foolish and cruel things.”
“And you were left with a universe you didn’t quite know how to run.”
“I did my best.”
“That’s what I told Mrs. McCarthy in fifth--grade Spanish. She still flunked me.”
He sips his coffee and smiles.
“Yes. This is exactly like elementary school Spanish.”
“I guess the idea I tossed out there the last time you were in L.A. isn’t going to work. Shutting down Hell and letting everyone leave?”
He leans back, setting down his coffee.
“And let my angels go where? To a war in Heaven? To Earth, where the Angra are strongest and they’d have to hide from both them and mortals? Where should I send them? And then there are all the damned souls. What’s to be done with them?”
“Send them to L.A. We could use the company.”
“I’m sure.”
We both drink our coffee, stuck in an uncomfortable silence. I was hoping for some kind of answers here. I can do gloomy all on my own back at Bamboo House of Dolls, where the drinks are better.
“Samael’s kind of a hero these days, it sounds like.”
“Yes,” says Muninn. “I didn’t expect it of the boy. He resented having two fathers around and now he has three. It can’t be very fun for him.”
Samael was the first Lucifer, but he quit and took back his original angelic name. He went back to Heaven before things went to shit. When they did, he hightailed it back to Hell with Mr. Muninn. Samael is the prick who stuck me with the job of playing Lucifer. But we kissed and made up. We have similar tastes in Dario Argento and Takashi Miike flicks.
“Our Angra sects are cutting up humans and making chop--shop -people out of them. What do you think of that?”
“It sounds horrible. Do you know why they’re doing it?”
“The theory going around is they’re going to be vacation homes for Qliphoth. Sounds like fun, huh? What’s going on with your Angra cheerleaders?”
He sighs.
“I wish I knew. I’m like Ruach when it comes to them—-mostly blind and half deaf. Deumos and Merihim have disappeared. I’m sure they’re hiding somewhere in Pandemonium. They won’t want to be far from the seat of power. But they have powerful allies and remain invisible to me.”
“I got a phone call from Deumos.”
“Did you? What did she say?”
“Nothing surprising. She wanted the 8 Ball. The Qomrama.”
“No, not surprising at all. You’re not giving it to her, I assume.”
“She can have it right after she kisses my ass.”
“Always the poet,” says Muninn.
I wonder if he’d let me smoke a Malediction in here. I pat my pockets, then remember I’m not wearing my regular clothes. My cigarettes are back by the elevator, and probably soaked through.
“Let me have the Qomrama,” says Muninn. “Bring it back to Hell, where it belongs.”
“So Deumos and Merihim can grab it? I don’t think so? They might have minions on Earth, but they don’t have shit power yet. No. It’s staying where it is.”
Muninn says, “You owe me a favor, if you recall.”
I knew sooner or later he was going to try and fuck me up with fairness and logic. Good thing I’m pretty much immune to those things.
“Do you know how to use it?”
He shakes his head.
“No.”
“Then leave it with me. Believe it or not, I’m working with the Golden Vigil again. They’ve got this old Buddhist monk working on it. He seems pretty smart.”
Muninn looks at me.
“A month ago you talked about Gnostics and called me the demiurge. Now you’re spending your time with Buddhists. Your cosmological interests are broader than I thought, James.”
“Strange times, strange company.”
“Indeed.”
Damn. Looking at this ragged old man I used to know and drink with, I feel an ugly wave of sincerity coming on.
“I’m sorry I stuck you with this job,” I say. “I didn’t think about what was coming. I just wanted not to be Lucifer anymore.”
“Thank you,” says Muninn. “I appreciate that. But as you’ve pointed out, you weren’t very good at the job. I don’t know that I’ve done much better, but I’ve held Pandemonium and the provinces together so far. It’s better off this way.”
“Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”
“Thank you. I will. In fact . . .” He gets up from the table and leaves the room. He comes back a minute later with a yellowish potion in a stoppered bottle.
“Take this with you,” he says. “Just pour it across the ground at the entrance to my sanctuary and no mortal person or device will be able to detect it.”
“I’m not sure the monk is exactly mortal. He’s self--mummified. Died four hundred years ago and came back to leap tall buildings in a single bound, you know.”
“Whatever powers he might possess won’t be enough to see through this. It will be fine.”
“Great.”
“You still have the Singularity and the Mithras?”
“Safe and sound in the Room.”
“Good. Don’t remove them under any circumstances. If worst comes to worst, they might be our only hope.”
It must be getting to him down here. I’ve never heard that kind of kamikaze talk coming from him before.
“I’ve got them. Don’t sweat it.”
He nods.
“Would you like to say hello to Samael while you’re here? I could wake him up.”
“Don’t bother. I should get going. I didn’t see Wild Bill last time I was here and I’m feeling kind of guilty about it.”
“It’s good to be close to family in times like these. Well, I’ll see you out now. Keep those clothes, if you like. It’s good to see you in something that doesn’t make you look like a motorcycle delinquent.”
“Thanks, Dad.”