Giselle was feeling in her hair, and seemed pleased not to come away with anything anatomical.

“So . . . about the box.”

“The box,” said Qaphsiel. “The box. I’ve been looking for it for four thousand years. I must have it back.”

“What do you want with the box?” said Coop.

Qaphsiel looked uncomfortable. “Do we really have to talk about that? You might not like it.”

“Oh,” said Giselle, “then we absolutely want to hear what you want with the box.”

“Here’s the thing,” said Qaphsiel. “Inside the box is, well, what you would call the Apocalypse.”

“What does that mean?” said Coop.

Qaphsiel looked around, raised a hand, dropped it. “You know. The Apocalypse. Armageddon. The Four Horsemen. The end of all things.”

“Wait a minute. The DOPS said it was just some kind of techno bomb,” said Coop.

“And Babylon said it was full of luck,” said Giselle.

Coop looked from Giselle back to Qaphsiel. “That’s three stories about the damned thing. There any more we should know about?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” said Qaphsiel. “There are two groups right here in Los Angeles—cults, you’d call them—who believe the box will summon their dark, demonic gods back to Earth to destroy it and enslave mankind.”

“I guess that explains the glee club at the Blackmoore Building. They must have been looking for the box, too.”

“And if anyone opens the box, the world will be destroyed?” said Giselle.

“Yes.”

“Then why should I help you get it?” said Coop. “You’re probably the one who brought it here to destroy us in the first place, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“What happened? Why is the Earth still here?” said Giselle.

Qaphsiel looked at the floor. “I lost it.”

“Lucky us.”

Qaphsiel looked back up. “Unlucky me. I’ve been exiled on Earth all these years and can’t get back into Heaven unless I find the box and destroy the Earth.”

Coop nodded, before finally saying, “Yeah . . . we’re going to have to take a pass on that.”

“What?”

“Forget it. Thanks for taking out Eddie and all, but I’ll tell you what I told him: go fuck yourself on the teacups.”

Qaphsiel thought for a minute. “I’ll make a deal with you. If you help me find the box, I won’t use it. Not right away. Let’s say, I wait another hundred years? I’m sure I can talk to someone in Heaven. With another hundred years, maybe mankind can redeem itself and the Earth can be saved.”

“You know, it’s weird. I hate almost every single person on this planet at the moment, but I still wouldn’t want the whole thing wiped out, even in a hundred years.”

“Two hundred?”

“Promise whatever you like—it doesn’t matter.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t have the box,” said Coop. “The DOPS has it and there’s no way of getting it back.”