Between Two Fires

by Christopher Buehlman

“Well, I do what I say. Which is why I don’t say much.”

Now he had his master’s money, but little good it would do him in Hell;

How did Heaven come into all of this? Heaven was life, not death. Heaven was a woman holding your head in the crook of her arm and looking down at you. Heaven was a warm hand on your cheek and the smell of soup with garlic on the fire.

I can’t plow. I can’t build. But I can suffer. God wants suffering now.”