I nodded.

“It was a fleeting glimpse of glory,” Janek continued with an effort. “And then it was gone, as though a door had been shut with great violence. And I was Outcast, filled with all the rage and despair with which I died, and a hunger, a terrible hunger, ravaging my soul. But I have never forgotten that glimpse.” His voice grew stronger. “And I will not sacrifice its promise to the eternal void.”

Well, it was kind of hard to argue with that. “Is that how it was for you, too?” I asked Stefan.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “I would use different words, but the sense that Janek describes . . . yes.”

“Does it happen every time you, um, die?”

“No.” Stefan shook his head again. “I think we would go mad if it did. To be offered such a glimpse and denied it, over and over.”

“Some of us do go mad, old friend,” Janek said quietly. “Some of us embrace the ravening.”

“Yes,” Stefan said. “And some of us fight it.”

“Yes.”

They sat together in silence, two veterans of battles I couldn’t begin to imagine sharing memories I couldn’t begin to fathom. It felt unseemly to disturb their reverie, but again . . . hello? I’d just been asked to kill one of them.

“How can you be sure it would be different this way?” I asked Janek. “What if I, um, do what you ask”—I couldn’t bring myself to say kill you—“and there’s nothing there but the void?”

It was Stefan who answered. “Dauda-dagr is a charmed weapon given to you by a goddess of the dead, Daisy. It is my belief that it will dispatch its victims to the afterlife, not the void of nonexistence.”

I raised my eyebrows at him. “You seem awfully certain about something that can’t be proved.”

“I am,” he said mildly. “Perhaps you have forgotten that I told you that when I was a Knight of the Cross with the Red Star, I was a member of a branch of the order that studied occult afflictions.”

“At a hospital in Prague,” I said. “Oh, I haven’t forgotten. I may forget how to pronounce Wie . . . Wiel . . .”

“Wieliczka,” Stefan said. “And since my days with the order, I have had six centuries to study eldritch phenomena. You witnessed two members of the Outcast meeting their final deaths at your hand some months ago,” he reminded me. “Tell me, did it seem to you that it was the void they faced?”

“Wieliczka,” I repeated. “Okay, fine. No. It seemed to me that they faced a second chance at redemption or damnation—most likely the latter, given the whole business of engaging in rape and torture. Which leads me to my next point.” I turned toward Janek. “It’s not that I’m not flattered to be considered a sign of divine grace and all, but what if you’re wrong? What if God hasn’t forgiven you, and it’s damnation and hell that you face? It could be worse than Dachau.”

“I am willing to take that chance,” Janek said.

“I’m not sure I am,” I said.

“Daisy.” His dark eyes blazed in his gaunt face. “This I believe to be true. It is as I have said; when I faced death the first time, I lied to myself. I told myself it was not a true form of self-murder, that it was only for the greater good. That was the lie. Yes, I wished to spend my death for a purpose, but it is also true that I wished to hasten the process of dying.”

I raised my voice. “And you revere a God who blamed you for it?”

“I revere a God who abhors lies,” Janek said firmly. “Now, I no longer lie to myself. I think perhaps there is no sin greater than losing faith in God’s infinite forgiveness. That is where I failed before. Now, I am ready to make an end to my long suffering, and God in His mercy has restored my faith and shown me the way. You.”

Tears stung my eyes. “I don’t want that responsibility!”

Across the table, Stefan stirred. “Dauda-dagr is a weapon of great power, Daisy,” he said softly. “When you accepted it from Hel’s hand, you accepted the mantle of responsibility that came with it.”

Oh, for God’s sake. “I’m not fucking Spider-Man!” I shouted at him.

Stefan’s pupils waxed abruptly as my temper ratcheted up, his irises shrinking to frosty rims. “Excuse me?”

I stood up and walked away from the table. At the big picture window, I leaned my forehead against the cool glass, probably leaving a smudge. Outside, it was a gray November day. The river reflected the overcast sky, its gray surface ruffled by the cold breeze. Bit by bit, my anger drained away.

Stefan approached me from behind, standing close enough that I could feel the warmth of his body. Part of me wished he’d put his arms around me. Part of me was afraid I might slug him if he did. Okay, maybe I was holding on to some residual anger after all. But Stefan didn’t do anything. He just stood there, offering his presence.

“I don’t want to do this,” I whispered without turning around.

“I know.”

“You could take it away from me, couldn’t you?” I said. “The fear, the uncertainty, the doubt?”

“Most of it,” Stefan said. “The intellectual questions you are wrestling with would remain. But without the underlying emotions, they will no longer seem to matter.” He paused. “Is that what you want?”

“No,” I murmured. “If I do this, I need to own it. I just . . .” I shrugged. There were no words.