"Can we change the subject?" I asked.
"Sure," she said. "Besides, I don't think you're ever gonna die. You're just too... nasty."
"Nasty?"
"I mean that in a good way."
"There's a good nasty?"
"There's feisty nasty. Street-smart nasty. There's a nasty that doesn't take shit from anyone, and always, always beats the bad guy in the end."
"Even if the bad guy is my ex-husband currently hiding out in my son?"
"Maybe that's just the thing, Sam. Maybe it's time to forgive Danny and not think of him as the bad guy."
"He tried to kill me."
"He set you up."
"Is there a difference?"
She thought about it. "Maybe not. Either way, we can agree he made poor choices in the past."
"The poorest of choices. And I thought he was long gone, and now he's back, and he's living in my son, and I have no way to remove him..."
To remove him meant journeying into my son's own mind, which I had no access to. Of course, there was also the small problem of my son wanting his father around. Liking his father around.
I knew the devil could arrange for my son's death, to get at Danny within, Danny, who had outsmarted the devil once, which was kind of funny if it wasn't so terrible, especially since Danny wasn't really all that smart, despite being an attorney.
Allison and I knew the devil had another angle too. Yes, the devil wanted Danny, but he wanted my son, too. In particular, access to my son's unusual gifts and strengths. What the devil wanted my son for, I hadn't a clue. But I think he saw my son as a sort of future thug, a henchman of sorts, capable of doing the devil's dirty business, which sounded about as terrible as it got.
"Maybe we should change the subject again," said Allison.
Meanwhile, our Moscow Mules were being served in sub-Arctic copper mugs that somehow made the ginger beer and vodka even more delicious. Too bad I couldn't get buzzed, or drunk, which, come to think of it, was probably a good thing. I'd read somewhere that drug addicts and alcoholics were susceptible to possession. Just as I thought that thought, a ripple of knowing rise up from the depths of my mind. Yes, Elizabeth was agreeing with me. And she should know. She and her misfit band of highly evolved dark masters had done a hell of a lot of possessing.
What was the point of all of that possessing anyway? What was the point of mastering the dark arts? Of controlling people? Of all the battles and wars? Of selling of your soul?
I directed all of the questions to Elizabeth herself, communicating directly with her for the first time in months. Of course, I knew she had done the opposite of selling her soul. She and those like her had bypassed the apparent natural order of things, to the unending irritation of the devil himself, who, apparently, could not lay a hand on them, much less find them.
Allison used this moment to excuse herself to the bathroom, mentioning something or other about this very much not being a conversation she wanted to be a part of. Then again, I wasn't really paying attention to her. When she left, I heard the words rise up from deep within me:
Power is overrated, Sssamantha. Control is what we are after.
Control of what?
Of all that is.
As I considered her words, a cold chill washed over me. God, I knew, was often referred to as all that is. Heck, Allison had just used the term.
You want to defeat God? I asked.
There is no God, Sam. There is only opportunity.
Excuse me, but I very likely just had a conversation with God.
Perhaps, Sam. But let me ask you this? Why does God seek to continuously expand? To continuously and forever more expand? What is it he seeks? Why does he use us so?
I, admittedly, had never delved into that question. I suspected it was because God was bored. Or whatever the equivalent of boredom was to something so powerful that it could create whole multiverses.
Never bored, Sam. God seeks to fill the Void.
Void?
That which isn't known.
Not following, sweet cheeks, I thought.
God is forming as we speak, expanding as we speak, seeking as we speak.
Forming into what? Expanding into what? Seeking what?
We do not know, as of yet.
Although I didn't let the crazy bitch out much-or ever-I was still irrevocably connected to her. If I so chose, I could delve into her own mind. I never so chose. I was, quite frankly, frightened by what I might find. I really, really didn't want to know what was banging around in there, unless I had to, and so far I hadn't needed to. With that said, I caught her subtle impressions and sly nuances.
But you aim to find out? I said.