"Hell? No. Most of it is close to what people imagine," Xas says. He's staring at Benji's wine and thinking of demons and fire and the only person he ever knew in life who must be there now, and who was never given a real choice - just born fiercely, furiously sad, beyond anyone's reach.

Xas doesn't believe she deserves it. He isn't sure what that means for the millions of souls that arrived before her or the millions coming after.

"The garden was mine," he goes on, focus sharpening. "I needed something to do. And Earth is - not like yours." He shrugs again, apologetic this time; it's probably more likely, however uncomfortable it makes him, that his kind doesn't exist in Benji's world, but he can't completely discount the possibility that they do. "I can't say we would interfere, if it were."