The angels have seen the show; for thirteen nights running they’ve seen it; and now Erin is backstage with Jane, drinking Kool-Aid and asking the kinds of questions angels always ask.
“But why do you call yourself Jane?”
“I like being Jane, ” Jane says.
“But isn’t it the name the monster gave you?”
Jane smiles. “Yes.”
“Then how can you like it?”
“A long time ago,” Jane says, “Martin came for me. He had an axe, and it was covered with blood. He said, ‘This isn’t working.’
“And I nodded. Because it wasn’t.
“And he said, ‘Let me show you another way to be.’ And he reached into my heart, and found a wind and a fire and something wonderful, and then I was me.”
Erin thinks on that for a bit.
“And does it work?” Erin asks.
“Does being an angel work?”
“It’s sad sometimes,” Erin says, “but I get to fly and blow up robots. That part’s pretty cool.”
“It’s kind of like that,” Jane says. “Only, with goggles.”
She leans in and confides to the angel.
“And I’m waiting for the wind to change,” she says, “so I can change the world.”