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“Try this,” says Burgess. “You’re a profit center for us. We’ve backed a lot of your exploits.”

“Through direct investments and working the margins,” says Sandoval.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t even have a checking account.”

“Simply put,” says Burgess, “everything you’ve done since escaping from Hell has generated profits for us, both tangible and intangible. And everything you do in the future will continue to generate profits.”

I look at the two of them, then the others.

“The White Lights didn’t want Death,” I say. “You did.”

Burgess brightens.

“Well, the Legion wanted Death for their reason and we wanted him for our own. Their blackmail operation was going to bring in some revenue, but we had bigger things in mind.”

Sandoval says, “Death can kill, but he can choose not to kill too. That was our first concern. We planned to live forever. We still do.”

“With Death on our side, we could nudge the ephemeral division in any direction we wanted,” Burgess says. “Some chaos is all right. Even useful. But too much randomness is bad for business. Unregulated deaths are too wet and messy. But with Death on our side, we can manipulate markets on Earth, as well as our Heaven and Hell departments.”

“Are we talking about money?” I say.

“Money, sure. But it’s more than that. Those Cold Case merchants you dislike so much? Where do you think they get the majority of their souls? We collect all kinds of collateral and forfeited assets.”

“In the end, it’s not about wealth, but about power,” says Sandoval.

“Why do you want that kind of power?”

“Only ­people with no power ever ask that question.”

“Have you ever read Nineteen Eighty-­Four?” says Burgess.

“I haven’t even seen the movie.”

“There’s a passage in there, a small monologue by a character named O’Brien. I’ll try to paraphrase it for you. Wormwood isn’t interested in the good or even bad of others. We don’t have a political ideology. We’re interested in power, pure power, because the object of power is more power.”

“For what?”

“It doesn’t matter. For whatever we want,” says Sandoval. “Here or in other places of existence.”

Burgess chuckles.

“You know, we lost a lot of money in the damnation market when you convinced God to allow damned souls access to Heaven. I’ll admit it. We didn’t see that coming.”

“But we made it back when the angels barred the souls from entering,” Sandoval says.

“Exactly,” says Burgess.

“You see? In the end, anything you do enriches us.”

She looks at my plate.

“Your chicken is getting cold.”

“Fuck my chicken. Is Abbot, the Augur, part of Wormwood?”

They both laugh.

“No,” says Sandoval. “Wormwood is only for important ­people.”