I frowned at him, and said nothing.

“I didn’t choose my father, either,” Grey said. “And he was a piece of work, too. But I do choose how I live my life. So pay up.”

I nodded, slowly, and said, “What’s it going to cost me?”

He told me.

“What?” I said. “That much?”

“Cash only,” he said. “Now.”

“I don’t have that much on me,” I said.

He snorted and said, “I believe you. We going to have a problem?”

“No,” I said. “I’ll go get it.”

“Sure,” he said, and bowed his head again, as if prepared to wait from now until Judgment Day.

And I shambled back into the house, went in to Michael and asked, “Can you loan me a dollar?”

* * *

I watched Grey depart, walking down the sidewalk, turning the corner, and continuing on his way. The day had warmed up enough to melt the ice, and the evening was misty, cool, and humid. The streets gleamed. It was very quiet. For a moment, I stood there alone.

“If you have a minute,” I said to the air.

Uriel suddenly stood next to me.

“Look at you,” I said. “Got your jet plane back.”

“Undamaged,” he said. “Michael is a good man.”

“Best I know,” I said. “Would you really have nuked Grey if he’d come in the yard?”

Uriel considered the statement for a moment. Then he said, “Let’s just say that I’m relieved that he didn’t make the attempt. It would have been awkward.”

“I think I’m starting to see the picture now,” I said. “Who was really moving this whole mess.”

“I thought you might,” he said.

“But I don’t get your role in it,” I said. “What was your angle?”

“Redemption,” he said.

“For Nicodemus?” I asked him. “You risked that much—your grace, the Sword, Michael, me—for that clown?”

“Not only for him,” Uriel said.

I thought about that for a second and then said, “Jordan.”

“And the other squires, yes,” Uriel said.

“Why?” I asked. “They made their choices, too, didn’t they?”

Uriel seemed to consider the question for a moment. “Some men fall from grace,” he said slowly. “Some are pushed.”

I grunted. Then I said, “Butters.”

Uriel smiled.

“When Cassius Snakeboy was about to gut me, I remember thinking that no Knight of the Cross was going to show up and save me.”

“Cassius was a former Knight of the Blackened Denarius,” Uriel said. “It seems appropriate that he should be countered by an incipient Knight of the Cross. Don’t you think?”

“And the Sword breaking?” I asked. “Did you plan that, too?”

“I don’t plan anything,” Uriel said. “I don’t really do anything. Not unless one of the Fallen crosses the line.”

“No? What is your job, then?”

“I make it possible for mortals to make a choice,” he said. “Ms. Murphy chose to act in a way that would shatter the Sword. Mr. Butters chose to act with a selflessness and courage that proved him worthy to be a true Knight. And you chose to believe that a ruined, broken sword could make a difference. The sum of those acts created a Sword that is, in some ways, greater than what was broken.”

“I didn’t choose for it to do that,” I said. “Seriously. There might be some kind of copyright infringement going on here.”

Uriel smiled again. “I must admit,” he said, “I never foresaw that particular form of faith being expressed under my purview.”

“Belief in a freaking movie?” I asked him.

“Belief in a story,” Uriel said, “of good confronting evil, of light overcoming darkness, of love transcending hate.” He tilted his head. “Isn’t that where all faith begins?”

I grunted and thought about it. “Huh.”

Uriel smiled.

“Lot of Star Wars fans out there,” I noted. “Maybe more Star Wars fans than Catholics.”

“I liked the music,” he said.

* * *

I took the extra box of diamonds and went to see Marcone.

Molly came with me, but I didn’t need her intuition to know who I would find there. When we got there, she looked at the building and said, “That bitch.”

“Yeah,” I said.

I knocked at the door of the Brighter Future Society. It was a small but genuine castle that Marcone had paid to move to Chicago. It was not lost on me that he had erected the damned thing on the lot formerly occupied by the boardinghouse whose basement I’d rented for years. Jerk.

The door opened and a man the height and width of a drawbridge glowered down at me. He had long hair, a mad bomber’s beard, and enough muscle to feed a thousand hungry vultures.

“Your name is Skaldi Skheldson,” I said. “You know who I am. I’m here to see Marcone and his guest.”

Skaldi frowned. Skaldi’s frown would have been intimidating if I hadn’t spent the past few days hanging out with the Genoskwa.

I bobbed an eyebrow at him and said, “Well?”

The frown became a scowl. But he stepped aside and let me in. I said, “Thanks,” and headed for the conference room. I knew right where it was. I’d visited when I was a mostly dead ghost. Skaldi hurried to keep up with me. The fact that I already knew where I was going appeared to leave him a little unsettled.