Free Aloha from Hell by Richard Kadrey Page B

too. Ever hear of a guy named Voltaire? Vidocq told me about him. I guess he’s famous. On his deathbed the priest says to him, ‘Do you renounce Satan and his ways?’ ”
    “And Voltaire says, ‘My good man, this is no time for making enemies,’ ” says Traven. “It was a popular joke in the seminary.”
    Framed pictures of old gods and goddesses line the walls. Egyptian. Babylonian. Hindu. Aztec. Some jellyfish-spider things I haven’t seen before. Candy likes those as much as Vidocq likes the books.
    “These are the coolest,” she says.
    “I’m glad you like them,” says Traven. “Some of those are images of the oldest gods in the world. We don’t even know some of their names.”
    The angel in my head has been chattering ever since we got here. n="e got hHe wants to get out of my skull and run around. This place is Disneyland to him. I’m about to slap a gag on him when he points out something that I hadn’t noticed. I scan the walls to make sure he’s right. He is. Among all the books and ancient gods there isn’t a single crucifix. Not even prayer beads. The father lapsed a long time ago or he really holds a grudge.
    “Would you like some coffee or hot chocolate? I’m afraid that’s all I have. I don’t get many guests.”
    “No thank you,” says Vidocq, still poking at Traven’s bookshelves.
    “I’m fine, Father,” says Candy.
    He didn’t mention scotch, but I get a faint whiff of it when he talks. Not enough for a normal person to notice. Guess we all need something to take the edge off when we’re booted from the only life we’ve ever known.
    “I’m not a priest anymore, so there’s no need to call me ‘Father.’ Liam works just fine.”
    “Thank you, Liam,” says Candy.
    “I’ll stick with ‘Father,’ ” I say. “I heard every time you call an excommunicated priest ‘Father,’ an angel gets hemorrhoids.
    “What is it you do exactly?” I ask.
    He clasps his hands in thought.
    “To put it simply, I translate old texts. Some known. Some unknown. Depending on who you ask, I’m a paleographer, a historical linguist, or paleolinguist. Not all of those are nice terms.”
    “You read old books.”
    “Not ordinary books. Some of these texts haven’t been read in more than a thousand years. They’re written in languages that no longer exist. Sometimes in languages that no one even recognizes. Those are my specialty.”
    He looks at me happily. Is that the sin of pride showing?
    “How the hell do you work on something like that?”
    “I have a gift for languages.”
    Traven catches me looking at the book on his desk, pretends to put a pen back into its holder, and closes the book, trying to make the move look casual. There’s a symbol carved into its front cover and rust-red stains like blood splattered across it. Traven takes another book and covers the splattered one.
    I sit down in a straight-back wooden chair against the wall. It’s the most uncomfortable thing I ever sat in. Now I know what Jesus felt like. I’m suffering mortification of"#0ificati my ass right now. Traven sits in his desk chair and clasps his big hands together.
    He tries not to stare as the three of us invade his inner sanctum. His heartbeat jumps. He’s wondering what he’s gotten himself into. But we’re here now and he doesn’t have the Church or anywhere else to run to anymore. He lets the feeling pass and his heart slows.
    “Before, you said, ‘When I got back to this world.’ You really are him, then? The man who went to Hell and came back? The one who could have saved Satan’s life when he came here?”
    “God paid your salary. Lucifer paid mine. Call it brand loyalty.”
    “You’re a nephilim. I didn’t know there were any of you left.”
    “That’s number one on God’s top-forty Abomination list. And as far as I know, I’m the only one there is.”
    “That must be very lonely.”
    “It’s not like it’s Roy Orbison lonely. More like people didn’t come to my