tin.”
Yes, my dad keeps his Dunhills in a custom-made tobacco tin, snob that he is.
“Just Camels,” I said, offering him my pack.
He sneered at them like they might give him dysentery, but ultimately gave into temptation and pulled one out, sticking it, already lit, into the corner of his mouth. “Going to rain tonight.”
“That’s not much of a trick when you can make it rain.” I glanced at his smug, self-satisfied profile. The proud brow, fiery blue eyes, Roman nose, stubbornly jutting jawline. His shining blond hair beneath the hat was slicked back with a goodly amount of hair oil, and he wore just enough stubble on his chin to look sexy rather than scruffy, something I had yet to master. He looked like me, only wiser, more self-assured, and infinitely more smart-ass, if that’s even possible.
“Roll down your window,” I complained, “Vivian doesn’t want her upholstery smelling like smoke.”
“Bit crabby tonight, aren’t you, son?” Dad said, but dutifully followed my instructions and rolled down his window. “Not getting laid enough?”
I snorted and told the truth as I drove. “Seeing you puts me in a bad mood. I know you’re going to tell me something I don’t want to hear.”
“Oh, ye of little faith,” he said with a smirk and a twinkle in his eye, leaning his elbow on the edge of the open window as we rolled down the highway in the cottony heat of the Pennsylvanian August night. Insects chirped and chittered, and not far off, I heard a distant peal of thunder. A lance of lightning briefly split the sky and lit the blacktop up. “For once, I have nothing particularly unpleasant to tell you.”
“Will wonders never cease? Got things worked out in the administration office at last?” I clung stubbornly to the hope that maybe Heaven had found a suitable replacement for the Throne. If they had, at least a semblance of order would return to the universe, and maybe the angels gunning for daemon blood would start leaving Vivian and me alone.
Dad waved that away. “
That
hasn’t changed. Actually, I’m here to talk about you, and you alone.”
My heart thudded twice, very close together. “What about me?”
“Have you been sleeping well, Nicky?”
“I sleep fine,” I lied.
“No bad dreams?”
“None I can remember.” We drove a few miles in silence before it all became too much for me. “Okay, so apparently I can speak Divine in my sleep. What’s wrong with me?”
My dad offered me a smug smile. “I told you a while ago. It’s a symptom.”
“A symptom of what?”
“What do you think?”
I could think of only one thing.
“You’re right, of course,” Dad said, reading my angry thoughts. “But why are you so afraid of Ascending? It’s a beautiful thing, like chocolate, or sex. Or that big rollercoaster on Coney Island… what’s it called?”
“Coney Island closed up thirty years ago. And I don’t want to Ascend.” I lit a Camel for myself and bit down on it, perhaps too hard. “Besides, I can’t. I haven’t discovered my signature sin yet.”
“Do you want me to tell you?”
“No. And if you do, I’ll throw you out of this car, and since you’re making it rain tonight, that means you’ll get your suit wet.”
Dad sighed. “Can you pull over here?”
I did. I found we were idling outside what looked like a country rest home. There was a name on a large plaque out front, but in the dark I couldn’t quite read it.
Dad took another cigarette from my pack and got out. “I have a job here. An old man is dying tonight. He raped and killed several young girls in the Korean War. When he got back to the States, he was wracked with such guilt that he became a priest, and has been ministering to the elderly here for decades. There’s going to be a blackout tonight and he’s going to fall down a flight of cellar stairs while checking the breakers and break his neck. He thinks his sins were finally forgiven, but he doesn’t know there’s no
Yes, my dad keeps his Dunhills in a custom-made tobacco tin, snob that he is.
“Just Camels,” I said, offering him my pack.
He sneered at them like they might give him dysentery, but ultimately gave into temptation and pulled one out, sticking it, already lit, into the corner of his mouth. “Going to rain tonight.”
“That’s not much of a trick when you can make it rain.” I glanced at his smug, self-satisfied profile. The proud brow, fiery blue eyes, Roman nose, stubbornly jutting jawline. His shining blond hair beneath the hat was slicked back with a goodly amount of hair oil, and he wore just enough stubble on his chin to look sexy rather than scruffy, something I had yet to master. He looked like me, only wiser, more self-assured, and infinitely more smart-ass, if that’s even possible.
“Roll down your window,” I complained, “Vivian doesn’t want her upholstery smelling like smoke.”
“Bit crabby tonight, aren’t you, son?” Dad said, but dutifully followed my instructions and rolled down his window. “Not getting laid enough?”
I snorted and told the truth as I drove. “Seeing you puts me in a bad mood. I know you’re going to tell me something I don’t want to hear.”
“Oh, ye of little faith,” he said with a smirk and a twinkle in his eye, leaning his elbow on the edge of the open window as we rolled down the highway in the cottony heat of the Pennsylvanian August night. Insects chirped and chittered, and not far off, I heard a distant peal of thunder. A lance of lightning briefly split the sky and lit the blacktop up. “For once, I have nothing particularly unpleasant to tell you.”
“Will wonders never cease? Got things worked out in the administration office at last?” I clung stubbornly to the hope that maybe Heaven had found a suitable replacement for the Throne. If they had, at least a semblance of order would return to the universe, and maybe the angels gunning for daemon blood would start leaving Vivian and me alone.
Dad waved that away. “
That
hasn’t changed. Actually, I’m here to talk about you, and you alone.”
My heart thudded twice, very close together. “What about me?”
“Have you been sleeping well, Nicky?”
“I sleep fine,” I lied.
“No bad dreams?”
“None I can remember.” We drove a few miles in silence before it all became too much for me. “Okay, so apparently I can speak Divine in my sleep. What’s wrong with me?”
My dad offered me a smug smile. “I told you a while ago. It’s a symptom.”
“A symptom of what?”
“What do you think?”
I could think of only one thing.
“You’re right, of course,” Dad said, reading my angry thoughts. “But why are you so afraid of Ascending? It’s a beautiful thing, like chocolate, or sex. Or that big rollercoaster on Coney Island… what’s it called?”
“Coney Island closed up thirty years ago. And I don’t want to Ascend.” I lit a Camel for myself and bit down on it, perhaps too hard. “Besides, I can’t. I haven’t discovered my signature sin yet.”
“Do you want me to tell you?”
“No. And if you do, I’ll throw you out of this car, and since you’re making it rain tonight, that means you’ll get your suit wet.”
Dad sighed. “Can you pull over here?”
I did. I found we were idling outside what looked like a country rest home. There was a name on a large plaque out front, but in the dark I couldn’t quite read it.
Dad took another cigarette from my pack and got out. “I have a job here. An old man is dying tonight. He raped and killed several young girls in the Korean War. When he got back to the States, he was wracked with such guilt that he became a priest, and has been ministering to the elderly here for decades. There’s going to be a blackout tonight and he’s going to fall down a flight of cellar stairs while checking the breakers and break his neck. He thinks his sins were finally forgiven, but he doesn’t know there’s no
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