“–most of the people will leave, but you know who won’t leave? The criminals. They will remain. The Organization and its lieutenants and the gangs beneath them would have all remained here in the city. And they have a hold on the Underworld. I can’t have that. That hold must be mine. The city must be mine. For if I am to command gods–”

“Gods, what gods?” By now Haversham is really shaking quite violently, his eyes glistening with tears that have yet to fall. It’s all done quite a number on him. Candlefly wonders, is this what post-traumatic stress disorder looks like?

He figures, why not blow the cork right out of the bottle? If Haversham handles it, fine. If not… then perhaps he catches a bullet in the temple and that’s that. Candlefly certainly likes Haversham, especially with his most recent display of loyalty. He’s got a keen business mind. Candlefly needs that. So: stress test time.

“I am not human,” Candlefly says. “I am a daemon. With an ae, not just an e – we were the first offspring of the Great Below, you see? Our eight families were the first children of the Hungry Ones, the first progeny of both man and god. We betrayed the gods long ago and locked them down in the dark and they cursed us in turn: they ensured that those of the daemon families could not enter the Great Below, not without great pain and madness brought upon them. The gods have long sought an opportunity to return to the Above just as we have hoped for a way to once more go Below. Katabasis for us. Anabasis for them. And so with all the signs and portents, it seems the time is now. The Underworld beneath Manhattan – one of many Underworlds, if you must know – has been discovered and opened and now we intend to bring the worm-gods home. Ah, but the Hungry Ones despise humanity and hate the light. They will be weak when they arrive and so as they wait in the seven sacred goblin-folk temples, we will prepare the city as a ritual space. The house must be abandoned. Cleared of its prior residents before the new owners move in. Except, ah yes, one final trick: the gods shall not own this city. The Candlefly family will. And we will own the worm-gods, too. All part of an ancient bargain helping to ensure our own version of hell on Earth.”

He chuckles, then claps Haversham on the back. The priggish man runs his fingers through his hair with splayed fingers. He’s sobbing, now. Great hitching, heaving sobs.

“It’s all right, Haversham. It’s quite a lot to digest, but you’ve done well for us. I’ll give you some time to… process. But I suggest you make peace with it soon. Yes?”

Haversham barely manages a nod.

“Most excellent, my new friend. To the dig site, then.”