Sympathy for the devil Page 10

  Both women tittered. "Hot date, huh?"

  Jezerael smiled slowly and said, "Those are the only kind, aren't they?"

  Both women laughed and agreed that they were. The topic of conversation drifted, and settled back into what had been the day's major groove—Hell in North Carolina.

  "Did you know Sadie Pickers and her husband put their house up for sale?" the cosmetologist asked the manicurist.

  "You're kidding! They'd have to be crazy. Nobody's going to buy a house in North Carolina now. My husband said we ought to put the wheels back on our trailer and drag it on up to Virginia, and I'll tell you what—I never thought I was going to be grateful we lived in a trailer, but I am now."

  "Don't tell me you're going to move."

  "I reckon we are. His family is real religious, and they don't like the idea of sharing the state with Hell."

  The cosmetologist said, "I guess if we could get anybody to buy the farm, we'd probably move. . . ." She sighed. "I don't know, though. That farm's been in our family for nigh onto a hundred and fifty years. I don't know that I'd want to see it go into somebody else's hands."

  "But what about those devils and all?" The manicurist frowned and shook her head.

  "I kind of figure it all depends on why God put 'em here. Maybe that little nurse was right, and they're here so we can help 'em find Heaven."

  "Well, that devil last night said they were here to corrupt us and drag us all down to Hell."

  "Shirley, I'll tell you what. I don't figure they can do anything to us now they weren't doing before—only now we can see them and catch them at it. And we know they're real for sure now, so we have every reason to live straight and treat each other right."

  Jezerael smiled up at the cosmetologist. "Lucky for the Hellraised not everyone is as sensible as you, or Hell would be an empty place."

  When they were finished, she looked stunning. What's more, she'd successfully passed as human, and she'd had a chance to listen in on real humans up close.

  The cosmetologist had been right for the most part. Humans who knew what she was would avoid her seductions—and the doom of Hell—unless what she offered was something a fallen angel could offer, but a human could not. She did not know yet what she could offer Dayne Kuttner, either as a human or an angel, that Dayne would willingly sell her soul for—but she would find something. There was always something.

  Every human had one impossible dream. She had a bit less than a month to find Dayne's.

  Chapter 28

  Dayne and Adam went down the menu, not certain about anything. Their waiter arrived with a list of the afternoon specials. Dayne decided on the clam and corn chowder for an appetizer, fresh blackened trout, and stuffed potato.

  Adam smiled and said, "Yes. That's exactly right. I'll have the same."

  It would be very easy to love a man like him, Dayne thought.

  The waiter brought their drinks and vanished again. Dayne sipped hers and said, "So if you hate computers, how in the world did you end up with the job you have?"

  Adam laughed. "I just sort of fell into it." He seemed to find the remark very funny, though Dayne didn't get the joke. Adam took a little sip of the Coke, nearly choked, and said, "That's . . . . sweet!" He wrinkled his nose, then pushed the drink back. "Seriously, I was second-in-command at the main corporation, but this incredible new opportunity opened up. If I can make a go of it, North Carolina could give us a base of operations like we've never had before. The growth potential here is just beyond belief. So I ended up with sort of a lateral promotion. . . . I'm in charge of the North Carolina operation, but the boss is still watching every move I make. If we can't make a go of this" —he drew his finger across his throat and made a cutting sound— "I'm in hot water." He shrugged. "It's no big deal, though. If I weren't damned good at what I do, I would never have made it this high. I'll win . . . and we'll be one hell of a success."

  Dayne chuckled. She enjoyed talking to people who enjoyed their work. "It sounds fun."

  He gave her a broad, slightly wicked smile. "It's very competitive. There are at least a dozen other department heads who would do anything to get my job . . . well, my main job. This North Carolina move will only be something everyone else wants if I can get it to go. If I fail at it, then it's going to become the post that the big boss uses to punish screw-ups. So a lot is riding on it."

  "You sound like you enjoy the challenge."

  "I had my doubts when I got the assignment. The boss gave me a lot of stipulations, and he wants the operation in the black and self-supporting inside of one year."

  "I don't have much to do with major corporations, but that seems like a pretty steep order."

  Adam nodded. "It is. I think I can do it, though."

  "I'll bet you can. I bet you'll be great." She sighed. "I need a break from what I'm doing. You guys ever need nurses?"

  "We have some medical interests. In fact, maybe I can bring over an application, and even get you an interview. I don't have anything to do with the medical subdivision of the corporation, but I know who does. I'd get a few points for recruiting you, though; we can always use new people, and Satco is definitely an equal-opportunity employer."

  "Satco?"

  He put a hand over his mouth. "You didn't hear that. The corporation is keeping a low profile for now."

  She smiled. "Hear what?"

  He shook his head ruefully. "Thanks. But I didn't want to monopolize the conversation. You're a nurse. Do you like it? I heard a little bit about it in your interview—it sounded pretty grim to me."

  Dayne shrugged. "There are transcendent moments when I know I've done something that mattered—there have been a few in the years I've been doing this when I've known I was the only person who could have done what I did. Doing the kind of nursing I do, I have to live for those moments, because the rest of my work is so grim." The food arrived, and she dug into hers. "I love my patients. I got into nursing because I wanted to help people, and my patients are all I could have ever hoped for. I hate the paperwork I have to do because it keeps me away from them. I don't care much for Administration, because they focus on the bottom line—which is invariably monetary—and sometimes that focus interferes with good patient care. I get along pretty well with most of the doctors, but there are a few I wish would go away."

  Adam nodded. "The ones who keep your patients, who have no hope, hanging on."

  "Those are the ones. How did you—?"

  "That was the part of the interview I caught. You're an interesting woman." He lifted an eyebrow. "Challenging, even."

  They talked about inconsequential things for the rest of the meal. The waiter returned to offer dessert.

  "The hot apple pie with vanilla ice cream," she told him. "Ice cream on the side, please."

  The waiter nodded. "And you, sir?"

  Adam looked at the dessert menu. "Devil's Food Fudge Tower." He winked at Dayne.

  "Yes, sir. That's been very popular tonight," the waiter said with a straight face. The waiter shook his head. "From the news, you would think they were everywhere, but I don't know anyone who's seen them. I would almost think this was a prank like that Orson Welles radio show I heard about, where everyone thought the Martians were coming . . . but I don't suppose there would be any way to get all the networks involved in something like that."

  "You wouldn't think so," Adam said. "I haven't seen any of the Hellraised. How about you, Dayne?"

  She shook her head. "You know, I would have thought I, more than anyone else, would have at least seen some of them by now."

  "Stopping by to thank you?" Adam asked. "Yes. I suppose you have every right to think that. . . ."

  Dayne shook her head vigorously. "Gratitude wasn't what I expected at all. If anything, I would have anticipated a fair amount of trouble from them. Temptation, you know. The trials of Job. Something like that."

  She couldn't understand Adam's reaction. He looked . . . shaken. "You expected to be tempted?"

  She didn
't think she was imagining the fact that he'd gotten paler, either. "Adam . . . are you all right?"

  Whatever the strange reaction was, it passed. "Sure. But, I don't know—I guess if I were you I would have expected gratitude from Hell and a certain amount of protection from Heaven. I mean, you're evidently something pretty special."

  "Not only do I not expect gratitude from Hell, but I even doubt that many of Hell's Fallen will take this opportunity that they've been given. I suspect most of them will choose to stay in Hell."

  Adam looked bothered. "Why would you think a thing like that? Everybody wants second chances."

  She chuckled. "But almost nobody is mature enough to admit he was wrong and apologize for what he did . . . and really mean it. I think Lucifer's biggest problem is being too stubborn and too immature to admit he screwed up." The apple pie arrived, ice cream in a separate dish; she took a bite and sighed. "Perfect," she told the waiter. "Absolutely perfect." The waiter smiled and put down Adam's dish, mounded high with layers of cake and ice cream and fudge and chocolate chunks, then vanished again, in the manner of all superior waiters. Dayne gave Adam a wicked grin. "Not that I know Lucifer, of course."

  Adam said, "I imagine by this time he knows you."

  She nodded. "I'm sure. And I'm sure sooner or later he'll send one of his loyal fiends after me."

  "You don't seemed worried by that."

  She stopped and thought about it. "I suppose I'm not, really. God never lets us carry more of a burden than we can. Besides," she arched an eyebrow at him and said with a perfectly straight face, "if some devil gives me trouble, I'll just ask God to turn him into a puddle on the ground."

  Adam swallowed and nodded slowly. "I figured it would be something like that."

  Chapter 29

  "I'll just ask God to turn him into a puddle on the ground." Agonostis snarled and slammed his fist into the horn; the car blared at a lady sitting in front of him who hadn't been doing anything wrong. The light was still red. Agonostis didn't care. He laid on the horn again.

  He'd been driving around ever since he had dropped Dayne off at her apartment, trying to think of some way to shatter her faith. She liked him; he knew she liked him. She wanted him—of course. What woman wouldn't? He knew how to play the game—he could make himself into the man of every woman's dreams (or the woman of every woman's dreams, for that matter, but he preferred the state of maleness). Nice girls had to be played differently than sluts—different bait for different fish, he thought. For a nice girl, he had to give every appearance of taking his time, of being interested in her as a person, in wanting to spend time with her that wasn't related to sex. He knew he was playing Dayne right. He'd gotten the conversation back on track, and made a date with her for the next evening . . . and when he had, he'd seen her whole face light up. He had her, dammit. She wanted him.

  But could he make her want him enough to sell her soul for him? He'd been sure before, but now he had his doubts.

  Just getting her into bed wouldn't count. That wasn't a Hellfire offense. He wished it were—he would have had numbers beyond belief if he'd gotten two souls every time two people who weren't married got laid. It was their intent. . . .

  He doubted he could get her to try to get knocked up just to get him to marry her. That was a damnable sin, but she didn't seem to be enough of a liar or a cheat to pull that stunt. He didn't think he'd have any luck getting her to sleep around on him—over years, with sufficient neglect and bad treatment, maybe, but that was one of those mitigating circumstances that could sometimes go the other way. It tended to be forgivable. And as for getting her to sleep with him, then cheat on him in less than a month—not a chance.

  He drove, and glowered, and sulked, and drove some more.

  "She's really something, isn't she, O Perfidious One?"

  Agonostis jumped. When he was alone, he preferred to stay alone. He snapped, "What are you doing here, Earwax? You're supposed to be spying on her."

  "Your car phone is about to ring. I'm going to answer it for you."

  "Do and die."

  "But I like answering phones. I was going to do Walter Cronkite—"

  The phone rang. Earwax made a stab for it, but Agonostis got it. "What?"

  "Wrong answer." Lucifer's voice cut through Agonostis' reverie.

  "My apologies, lord and master," Agonostis said, and hoped he sounded both sufficiently obsequious and sufficiently soothing. "I expected the call of an underling . . . since you don't need phones."

  "I don't like for you to get too settled." Lucifer laughed, and Agonostis' stomach lurched. The human body, he thought, was much more prone to those physical expressions of terror. It was annoying. "I don't think I have to worry about it, though," the Archfiend said. "I expect you'll be down here in a month, trying out life as an imp. That will be so entertaining."

  "I'll get her," Agonostis said. He sounded confident enough—he wished he felt so confident. "I have some plans for expanding our North Carolina operations, too. I suspect with good management and persistence, we can affect the whole of the world from right here."

  There was a pause. "I saw your plans. Well thought-out. I won't finance you, of course. I'll expect you to achieve that set-up on your own revenues."

  "I already anticipated that . . . sir."

  "It's ambitious, I grant you." He realized that Lucifer begrudged him the idea—its cleverness utilized modern technology and modern interests and rang some new changes on some very old sins. The Lord of Evil didn't keep up on modern technology—he'd picked up the last of his really vile new ideas from monks during the Spanish Inquisition. "I'm sure your successor will find the plan quite a challenge to implement."

  "I'll get her soul," Agonostis snarled. "If I can't get her to turn her back on God on her own, I'll leverage her—I'll use her friends or her family. Or maybe even old Torry. I assume we still have him."

  Agonostis glared at the telephone and told Lucifer, "She'll curse God. Before I'm through with her, she'll curse God and Heaven and the day she was born."

  Chapter 30

  "It's certainly an interesting experiment, sir," the angel said. God, in the Event Room to check on progress, had asked for an opinion. God liked to get opinions, but the angel didn't like to give them.

  The two of them watched the enormous bank of monitors that scanned the activities and points of interest in North Carolina. The views of Lucifer's legions racing around causing trouble in all sorts of ways was fascinating—just as the aftermaths of earthquakes, hurricanes and bad train wrecks could be fascinating.

  God raised an eyebrow and smiled slyly. "Oh, come now. Just `interesting'? You can say more than that."

  But I'm not sure that I should, the angel thought. However, what God asked for, God got. "I simply wonder why you would choose to reveal yourself after all the trouble you've taken to hide the obvious signs of your handiwork. If you value both belief and your people's free choice, why reveal yourself now?"

  God chuckled. "I suspected that had crossed your mind."

  He didn't say anything else, and the angel looked at him expectantly.

  "You want my reasons?"

  The angel nodded. "If you don't mind."

  God said, "You assume humanity will take the existence of Hell as proof of the existence of Heaven."

  The angel nodded.

  "That would be a logical assumption—but humans are anything but logical, and belief is not a thing that can be reached by logic anyway. They see proof of Hell, and so a good many of them will believe in Hell. In evil."

  "Not all?"

  "Certainly not. If there are people who believe, in spite of all evidence, that the world is flat or that televangelists work for me, there will be people who believe, in spite of all evidence, that Hell really isn't there."

  "What about the rest?"

  God sighed. "Some will believe, of course. But some won't. When they see proof of evil, but no obvious signs of counteracting good, what then will force them to believ
e in Heaven? In any case, evil is so much easier to believe in than good, for it is so much easier to do and to see."

  "You don't think you've . . . er . . . stacked the deck, then?"

  God laughed outright. "Anaraphel—I always stack the deck! I play to win—and I can only win when every soul I have created is fulfilled and challenged and joyous. That's my game . . . my goal. But to use your metaphor, I've decided to play a different variation for a while."

  Chapter 31

  MONDAY, OCTOBER 11TH

  No one said anything to her when she got to work, but Dayne found prayer requests on her locker when she walked into the nurses' lounge. There were a lot of them—layers of little yellow stick-up notes placed row over curling paper row, so that her locker looked like Big Bird. People wanted new cars, or money to pay off their mortgages, or to win the Publisher's Clearinghouse sweepstakes. They wanted to find someone who would love them; they wanted their divorce settlements to work out. They wanted their elderly mothers healed of strokes, or their children healed of diabetes.

  Dayne stared at the pieces of paper fluttering every time the door to the lounge opened and closed—little yellow squares carrying other people's pain and hope. She took them down and put them in her purse, aware of her colleagues' furtive glances.

  They had missed the point—missed it entirely. They didn't see in her prayer the proof that their own prayers could be heard and answered; all they saw was that God had listened to her once, and so he surely would again. She'd given them hope . . . but it was the wrong kind of hope. They thought she could say a prayer and everything would be all right. They thought she could do miracles. She wondered what their reactions would be when they discovered that she couldn't.

  She stopped by the supply cart and filled her pockets with tape and alcohol wipes and headed in to get report. Mary Deiner was already there, and Trish VanDyke, and Sally Reuters. The bleary-eyed night shift nurses were finishing up their last-minute charting, except for Frank Dorris, the nurse who was waiting to report.