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stock. Which would seem bad enough, but there are levels of appallingness here. The explosions could just destroy the gateways, effectively shutting off the doors. The cost of replacing them would be almost unimaginable; the Emporium might very well go out of business, with all kinds of nasty economic repercussions. Let us contemplate the idea of falling dominoes for a moment, then move on.
    “That’s actually the best option we could hope for if he goes off bang. We could survive that. However, the destructive energies generated by an exploded soul could be enough to blast right through the gateways and cause untold death and destruction on the other sides. The occupants of those other dimensions might well become so enraged that they would invade the Nightside, looking for revenge and compensation. Probably both. Hundreds of armies, from hundreds of dimensions ... The Angel War and the Lilith War were bad enough ...”
    “They weren’t my fault!”
    “Yes, they were! Everything’s your fault until proven otherwise.”
    “You haven’t finished, have you?” I said. “You’re saving the best for last. I can tell. What else could go wrong?”
    “The destruction of hundreds of dimensional gateways might be enough to fracture reality and blast open other doors. The kind that lead to places we like to think of as Outside our reality. The kind of door we’ve done everything but barricade and nail shut from this side. You know the kind of dimensions I’m talking about, John. Where Things from Outside have been waiting for millennia, just for a chance to force their way in and destroy every living thing in creation. Do I really need to say the Names?”
    “Better not,” I said. “You never know what might be listening. So any or all of these things could happen if the soulbomber detonates? Wonderful. Terrific. The gift that keeps on giving ... Let’s hope he’s only feeling a bit depressed and will respond to a nice hug and some ice-cream. Okay, obvious question. Who stands to profit from something like this? You said yourself, it isn’t an insurance scam.”
    “I have people working behind the scenes,” said Julien, “asking those very questions in all kinds of persuasive ways. Never underestimate the Nightside’s ability to profit from even the greatest disaster or atrocity. There has to be somebody behind this. It’s not a cheap or an easy thing, to turn a man into a soulbomb. Even if you’ve got a willing fool to work on, ready to sacrifice his entire existence for ... what? Money? A cause? Revenge? There has to be some plan, some hidden purpose, at the back of this. A pay-off big enough to make the risk acceptable.”
    “You know, the soulbomber did ask for me by name,” I said. “This could all be a trap designed to lure me in.”
    “It isn’t always about you, John,” Julien said patiently.
    “Maybe not,” I said. “But it’s the safest way to bet.”
    “They wouldn’t blow up the entire Mammon Emporium, and risk fracturing reality, just to get at you!”
    “They might. Depends on who ‘they’ are. Now I have to go in—if only to find out what the hell’s going on and who I’ve upset this time. Tell me everything you’ve done so far, so I won’t repeat anything.”
    Julien shrugged. “About what you’d expect. I sent in every professional specialist at my disposal: bomb squad, negotiators, priests, witches, CSI ... and one of the most experienced and expensive whores in the Nightside, on the chance she might be able to ... distract him from his purpose and give him a new interest in life. Didn’t work. Apparently he blushed a shade of red not normally seen in nature and threatened to blow himself up right there and then if she didn’t put all her clothes back on and go away.”
    I made a mental note to check the mall’s CCTV footage later. If there was a later.
    “No matter what we say or offer, he just keeps repeating that he’ll only talk to you. John, we really can’t