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“Hallelujah,” say a few of his lackeys.

My head is finally clear enough that I can sit up straight. I swivel around to everyone, giving them a good look at my rotten face.

I say, “The Elmer Gantry act is very convincing, but why pretend you’re Wormwood? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It makes perfect sense if you think about it, but you’re not a thinking creature, so let me explain. Wormwood is an old organization with invisible tentacles—literally in some cases—in virtually every part of government, business, and the lives of ordinary citizens. Wormwood is a brand as much as an organization. And when we replace it with our new and righteous order …”

“You’ll get royalties on Wormwood sneakers and hand out political endorsement deals to your favorite cross burners and good, down-home lynch mobs.”

“You should be quiet and listen,” says Marcella.

“I was listening to Wells’s line before you ever held a cattle prod. I know him better than you ever will.”

Wells turns to his people. Points down at me.

“Delusions of grandeur,” he says. “The sin of pride and so many others. I’d say all of them, but Stark here cannot be accused of sloth. And I suppose the Lord is grateful for that one small thing.”

The Vigil laughs in that dead way that everyone laughs at their boss’s bad jokes.

I say, “From what I hear, God isn’t taking your calls these days. Wormwood, any version of it, isn’t getting through the pearly gates.”

Wells turns back to me.

“What makes you think we’ve tried to get in touch with the old coot?” he says. “Do you remember Aelita? The angel the Lord sent to guide the Vigil in its early days?”

“I remember you mooning after her. I remember a psycho who ran the Vigil by day and plotted God’s murder by night. Is that the same righteous Aelita you’re talking about? The wannabe god killer?”

Wells points at me like P. T. Barnum showing off the dog-faced boy to the masses.

“That’s her in a nutshell. And I doubted her. Then when she was gone it broke my heart because I thought she’d died in sin. But now I know she was right.”

That I didn’t see coming.

“When I speak to you of the Lord,” Wells says, “I do it in the broadest sense of a wise and righteous ruler of Heaven and Earth. The creature who sits on Heaven’s throne now is a monstrosity who will be brought low. He will be vanquished and he will pay for the crime of sitting on a throne to which he was not entitled.”

“I heard he steals cable too,” I say, struggling to my feet.

Wells says, “That kind of humor only makes clear the debauched ethic of your life. You have nothing to say. Nothing to contribute. And you do it all day long, profane and blaspheming all the while. And so proud of yourself and your transgressions.”

I look past Wells at his Brooks Brothers flock.

“He’s just jealous because I’m more of an angel than he’ll ever be.”

“It’s true,” he says. “This thing before you isn’t just a debased human; he is half angel. Let that be a lesson to you. You might think that you were born into righteousness, but if a celestial being like this can fall so low, so can any of you without eternal vigilance.”

The room goes silent as the idiots let Wells’s warning sink in. I can’t stand it.

“Does anyone have a cigarette? I promise not to kill anyone with a goddamn cigarette. I’m not picky. I’ll even take a menthol.”

Wells punches me. I can tell it’s hard because my head moves. But I can’t feel a thing. I test the duct tape. It’s still in place.

“Where are my artifacts?” he says. “I know you stole them.”

“Which artifacts are those? There are so many of them these days. I blame the Internet.”

“The holy objects you took from our brethren at the Chapel of St. Alexis.”

“Oh, those artifacts. What does everybody want with them? What I saw looked like flea market junk.”