"I can feel a lot of stuff pinballing around in your head. You want to tell me what you think about all this?"
"If your story is true, then one of my parents fucked an angel. Which one?"
"Why does that matter?"
"It doesn't, but I want to know."
"Your mother."
"I thought so. My father was gone a lot on sales calls. Mom was lonely and pretty. I guess that explains some things about my father."
"If you say so."
"He knew I wasn't his."
"But he still raised you. Give him credit for that."
"He wanted me dead."
"Hell, boy. At some point, all fathers want to kill their sons. Just like all sons think about killing their old man. They're too much alike or the're not enough alike. It doesn't matter. What's beautiful is that they don't do it."
"Are there other nephilim around?"
"It's not like there's a newsletter or anything, but as far as I know, you're the only one."
"I used to worry all the time about being boring. Suddenly boring looks pretty good."
>"A Kissi ran his hands around inside me. I didn't like it."
"This won't be like that. For one thing, you won't feel it. I have some special salve that'll numb you up good."
"I like the sound of that."
"Let's just get started."
He takes a stoppered bottle from the counter, opens it, and pours something thick, like Karo syrup, in a line down my chest. Then he takes a sponge-headed brush and paints the stuff across my body, from my neck down to my stomach.
He puts the brush back on the counter and says, "Tell me when that stuff gets warm."
"I think it's there already."
"Close your eyes for a minute."
I close them and he says, "Feel that?"
"No. Did you already put your hand in my chest?"
"Does it feel like I did?"
"No."
"Good. Then you're ready. Feel free to keep your eyes closed."
"Are you going to wear gloves or something, at least?"
"Of course I'm wearing goddamn gloves. I'm not a goddamn Kissi."
"Sorry."