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tea up in Heaven. Then tried to imagine himself sitting there, passing scones and the sugar bowl around with his pinkie extended and his legs crossed at the knees.
    Yup. Right.
    Adrian moved around in his wooden chair, his weight causing the thing to groan. “I didn’t know that was in the rules.”
    â€œWhat a fucking surprise.” Jim took another drag. “We need to verify the information. Any idea where we can go?”
    â€œYeah.” Ad resumed eating. “And he’s dead up in the attic.”
    There was a period of silence during which Ad became a member of the Clean-plate Club. When he was finished, he pushed himself away from the table, cupped the back of his neck with both hands and sprawled.
    â€œMaybe we should just take a trip to Purgatory.”
    â€œExcuse me?” Jim asked.
    Ad shrugged. “That shit about not making it into Heaven if you commit suicide is no bullshit. Trust me.”
    As the guy cleared his throat like he’d gone too far, Jim’s wheels got turning. “You’re saying Purgatory is real.”
    â€œBeen there, got the T-shirt. Blah, blah, blah.”
    â€œSo how’d you get out?”
    â€œEddie.”
    Jim sat up straight. “You’re telling me Eddie went in there and came back out? With you?”
    â€œHold up.” The guy extended his hands in classic stop-it-right-thur style. “I was just being a smart ass—don’t even
think
about that. You’re our special golden boy, whatever—and Eddie condemned himself to do it. Besides, no offense, but you’re still getting up to speed, this is a clutch round, and we both know how well things go when you’re ‘distracted.’”
    The air quotes would have made Jim violent . . . except for the fact that he had come to the same conclusion, which was why he was here and not going after Sissy. As much as it pained him, he needed to win and he needed to somehow keep his job even with Nigel being dead. If he could prevail, and avoid turning into an archangel, then after the great victory or whatever he’d have an eternity to help Sissy. Now was the crisis time for the war, though.
    Besides, the rounds had been coming faster and faster. Forty-eight hours. Maybe seventy-two—and he could refocus on her.
    â€œI’ve got to go over and bring him back.”
    â€œJim, you’re fucking crazy—”
    â€œWhat’s my other option?” Jim narrowed his eyes. “If Devina’s right, and I’m supposed to succeed Nigel? I can’t let that happen. I don’t trust anyone else to do this job—I can win this, Ad. I can goddamn win this.”
    All he had to do was think back to the way he’d spent the night. Devina had a critical weakness . . . and it was him. She wasn’t suggesting they both throw in the towel because she was scared of losing—it was because she didn’t want to lose contact with him: Unless he quit, he was apparently going to have to step into Nigel’s spats and she didn’t want to fight with anyone other than him. Fuck the rules, fuck the archangels, fuck the Creator—Devina was a parasite addicted to acquisition and he was her number one target.
    And she was going to take that weakness to her grave.
    Because he was going to personally escort her there with it.
    Adrian’s one functioning pupil roamed around Jim’s face, and Jim held himself perfectly still. He was prepared to take any scrutiny, because he knew, down to his soul, what he needed to do . . . and how he was going to do it.
    â€œAd,” he said in a low voice, “I can do this.”
    The other angel almost hid the tremors that crept into his hands. But the fine tic that teased his bad eye was nothing he could camo. “No, you can’t.”
    â€œWhat put you in there, Ad. How’d you get over.” Not questions, because he knew the answer. “Devina got