When he looked back on it, he wondered if it was the freezing ocean stroll that caused the map to malfunction in the first place. It took Qaphsiel weeks to make it back to America, a stowaway in the belly of a tramp steamer, the map stuttering and sizzling the whole way. He gave up and slept most of the way across the Atlantic. Once in New York, the map behaved for a while, and he started west, sometimes buying his passage with gold and sometimes riding the rails. He was very lonely. By the time Qaphsiel reached California, things seemed to be looking up. That was over a hundred years ago. And now that he was so close . . . of course the map had gone completely dark. Really, it was too much. He might spend the next hundred years on top of the observatory, refusing to get down and hunt for the stupid thing. How would Heaven like those apples? But he wasn’t going to do that. Qaphsiel was a good angel and not programmed for long-term tantrums. He’d start looking again in the morning. Maybe he’d get hit by another car. His leg still hurt from the last one, but the map had worked for a while. Maybe getting hit by a bus would make it work longer. That felt like the first good idea he’d had in a century. Tomorrow, he’d let a bus run him down and then check the map. In his sleepy state, the logic seemed flawless.

At that happy thought, Qaphsiel felt a small vibration in his pocket. He rolled over and took out the map. The stars and the landscape of the world were laid out before him, glowing and streaking with life and power. The map was working again. He wondered if someone upstairs had heard his misery and was throwing him a bone.

Qaphsiel studied the map and saw, dead center, something that pulsed and glowed. It was like a sun, but wasn’t. It was his prize. It moved slowly, a shooting star that hadn’t quite made it to its destination. All Qaphsiel had to do was watch and wait. This was it. This was the sign. Tomorrow, the box would be his. He clutched the map to his chest and lay back down, falling into a deep and happy sleep. He was finally going home.

THIRTY-FOUR

COOP, SALLY, AND BAYLISS GOT TO JINX TOWN AT seven, a good hour before the others were set to arrive. Sally and Bayliss had oohed and ahhed like kids on Christmas morning when they’d arrived, but Coop didn’t give them much sightseeing time. He steered them up the escalators to the top dark level. Coop kept on a serious expression. A little darker than “How’s it going?” but not quite as off-putting as “We’re all going to die tonight.”