Book 2: Son of Eve

The land of Nod wasn't so hard to find with Jesus behind the wheel. Well, technically, tweenage Yeshua was sitting shotgun, doing Sudoku. With my petersword wedged into the ignition of Christ's favorite 1985 Yugo, which were apparently plentiful in Limbo – a repository for forgotten things like horrible cars - we were cruising down the celestial highway. Yeshua periodically reassured me the Yugo's engine wouldn't explode:

"See, I tinkered with it for a couple decades, blessed the wheels, then got myself a solid vehicle," he explained. "When it comes to cars, there's nothing more poetic than a Yugo."

"Will I be back in time for classes?"

Yeshua kicked his feet up on the dashboard. "Time is inconsequential when you're riding the galactic freeway. Don't worry, Shana. I can call you that, right? Means beautiful. You look just like my favorite disciple. Bloodline of Solomon and all."

"Um, I guess?" I took a left at a neutron star, then, after the highway narrowed to two lanes, sped past a nebula. "This is what I imagine an acid trip would be like: me cruising the galaxy with Christ."

"Yeshua, please." He scribbled something onto the newspaper puzzle he was doing.

"Right. So who are we looking for?"

"The bearer of the Mark. The Mark will point us in the direction of Dad. The Mark's owner is a bit of an asshole. He got all the bad genes from his father."

Mark? Like Mark Zuckerberg? Were we using a social network to stalk Yahweh?

Wait - land of Nod? Something sounded annoyingly familiar.

I screeched the Yugo to a halt. "We are not finding Cain. He's the first murderer!"

Yeshua looked at me with honey eyes. "Huh. A pity. I told him you were coming. He's already started making salad. Even cleaned his bathroom, which is surprising, considering how disorganized he is." Yeshua rummaged through the globe box and pulled out sunglasses to fend off the glare of a supernova.

"Cain's like the Biblical definition of asshole."

"Nah, he's only as bad as his father. They both have a roguish charm. Oh, park here!"

Despite the exploding star, I pulled over to the side of the road, by a run-down joint that boasted "Milky Way's Best Burgers." I pulled my petersword out of the ignition and looped it around my neck, glad to have a sacred weapon in my possession when confronting the world's worst brother.

The celestial highway was what I imagined the love child of the Great Plains and Hitchhiker's Guide the Galaxy would look like. Rolling hills of grass and wildflowers on the ground, astronomic monstrosities of black holes and dying stars above. Everything was washed in psychedelic colors from galactic combustion.

Yeshua led me to a recently mowed path behind the burger joint. Sunflowers tall as saplings bordered the freshly cut grass. "Cain dwells in the wilderness. When you're cursed to eternal exile, you kinda have to like liminal backwaters."

"At least he can get his cheeseburger fix?"

"Cain hates meat."

"Sure he does."

I glanced at the resturant: the burger place was hosting what looked like the Wild Hunt motorcycle gang, complete with helmeted valkyries. I was pretty sure I saw one-eyed Odin sweet-talking a waitress. With its greasy windows and broken neon sign, it was a dive, but if the Norse pantheon, who were licked out of ice by a cow, dined there, it probably had good beef.

The breeze carried the scent of lavender and my own summer sweat. The Border, as Yeshua called the supernatural highway, sure was pretty, in a kind of forgotten way. Maybe Cain's taste in a podunk nowhere wasn't so bad. All it needed was a trucker strip joint, maybe a casino, and it would have a definite vibe going on.

The farther we got from the highway, trees started creeping up from the plains, until after wandering for a while, we were in a picturesque forest, hung with vines. The sunflowers gave way to shrubs, and everything looked lovingly tended, as if someone had clipped the pungent brier roses and trained the wisteria to artfully drape from the willows by the stream. Round a bend, a wind chime made of bird skulls and river-smoothed glass clinked in the breeze. I felt like I was meeting the village witch.

I turned a corner to find a certain ghostly menace bathing in a bend of the stream, where it eddied around jutting rocks. Black hair spooled down his back, veiling his face from my view.

Man, he had a nice butt, despite it being paper-white. His perfect, sorry ass was probably on a bender again.

"Samael?" I called. "What are you doing here?"

Samael turned.

Only it wasn't Samael: he had grass green eyes, with a constellation of freckles over his face, just like me.

Not-Samael covered his well-endowed nether regions and, to my surprise, blushed. "Mother? Um, you weren't supposed to be here yet."

"Did you call me mom?" I stuttered. "You're older than me, freak!"

I looked to Yeshua for help with the confused nudist.

The Son of God had stripped down to his boxers and, with a definitive plop, cannonballed into the stream. He surfaced and treaded water, a serene smile on his face. "Cain, Eve doesn't remember. Recall how reincarnation works."

Crap. I was Eve. I felt like barfing.