by C. F. Waller
“Leo is caught like a deer in the head lights, mid-kiss, with one hand in the young man’s pants.”
“Oh my, Annie gasps, taking a sip from a huge goblet. “What did he say?”
“Not much he could say,” Dorian shrugs. “I shot him a look of indignation, then asked which way to the loo?”
“Who are you exposing now?” I ask, stepping into the dim candlelight.
“Pope Leo,” he replies, nodding a greeting. “His love of the Lord was second only to his love of little boys.”
“Beware of his stories,” I warn Annie, pulling up a chair.
“Why?” she begs?
“Because they are nearly all true.”
“Only nearly,” Dorian scoffs, pouring me a goblet from a decanter in the center of the table. “Miss, I’ll have you know that everything I have told you is a hundred percent accurate.”
Annie scans back and forth between us. Dorian slides the goblet across the table and we toast. He’s a drunkard and blowhard, but I did miss him. Over the many centuries, he did provide some comic relief. I wonder if Dorian has any influence here?
“Do you know anyone else who works down at the Amphitheatre?”
“Besides Dunn, because technically he doesn’t work there. He’s more a middle man.”
I nod, waving a hand for him to move on.
“Why, what sort of help do you need?”
“How hard would it be to free Rhea from the cage?”
“Terrible idea” he scoffs. “I told Edward as much when he explained your silly Agreement.”
“I know, however, if we want to avoid spending eternity down here, we have to figure it out.”
“Personally, I doubt it can be done,” he shrugs, sipping. “It was also bad form for Edward to lie to Bea about getting out of here.”
“She’s included,” I assure him. “If we get Rhea topside before the trumpets finish, anyone we bring along gets a free pass to the pearly gates.”
“Who told you this?”
“Gabriel.”
“Sounds about right,” he scoffs, looking at Annie, then at me. “Annie dear, can you pop in the kitchen and whip up a snack for our guest.”
“Sure,” she grins, climbing off her chair and shuffling out of sight.
“You were saying?” I sigh, waiting for Dorian to speak.
“Edward tells me that your bodies are lying face down in a fountain,” he whispers, index finger pointing up.
I nod.
“And this daughter of yours, technically my granddaughter, is just going to raise you all from the dead in time to escape.”
I nod again.
“So, you and Edward and Annie?”
“And you and Beatrix, if you want to come.”
“I doubt that,” he taps his finger on table slowly. “Bea and I do not have earthly bodies. If we went up, and I don’t believe we can, there’s no place for our souls to reside.”
“Gabriel said you could come,” I argue.
“That’s the problem with angels. An untrustworthy lot across the board.”
“You will get no argument from me on that score,” I smirk. “Maybe you two will just pass right from here to Heaven, without stopping at the fountain. The rapture is a giant reaping of souls after all.”
He doesn’t come up with an immediate reply, which is odd for him. A speechless Dorian is a rare thing. A candle pushes back the darkness from the hall behind me, Beatrix enters barefoot in a red satin robe. I expect a look of embarrassment, but receive none in return. She passes by, disappearing into the kitchen.
“Worked up an appetite, did we?” Dorian taunts, but gets no reply.
“Seems like the love birds worked out the Annie snafu,” I suggest, sipping.
“Yes, yes, back at it like rabbits.”
“Jealous much?”
“Less than you might imagine,” he curls his lip, then empties his goblet. “They are after all, my dearest friends.”
Bea passes back through the dining room, goblet in one hand, a plate in the other. There are several slices of pie on the plate, but the type is not discernable in the dim light. Dorian frowns, but she returns his disapproval by sticking her tongue out. As she disappears into the hall, a slit in her robe reveals a stark white thigh. This triggers a past memory, but I can’t recall it clearly. I stand, walking around the table, but she’s already ducked into a bedroom.
“Thinking of joining them?” Dorian remarks, then winks. “I fear Edward lacks the boldness for such a challenge.”
“Her scars are gone.”
“Quite so,” he nods. “A pleasant change.”
Beatrix Moffat had thick scars from her knees to her neck, a painful reminder of being burned at the stake. When I last saw her, they were still on her body. When did she lose them? Did someone perform a miracle?
“But she had them when I saw her last?”
“True,” he rolls his eyes. “She popped out for a drink an hour ago wearing slightly less and I noticed the change.”
“Slightly?”
He only grins, but doesn’t elaborate.
“Why the change?”
“Our appearance is based on our own mental projection is it not?”
I nod, this having been my understanding.
“It would seem that being reunited with Edward has changed her perception of herself.”
“As long as we have been down here,” I sigh, shaking my head. “I can’t recall anyone’s circumstance improving.”
“It is curious,” he tilts his head in thought, then his gaze snaps back on me. “You don’t suppose this is rapture related?”
I shrug, then observe Annie returning to the table. She brings a loaf of bread and a long knife, setting them down, then scurries back to the kitchen without speaking. Dorian watches her, then leans back in his chair wearing a bemused grin. Annie shuffles back with a small bowl of butter, then takes a seat.
“It’s her,” Dorian announces. “Our proximity to this one alters the balance.”
“How so?”
“She’s not supposed to be here.”
“I am certainly not supposed to be here,” Annie grunts, spreading butter on a slice, then nibbling on it.
Dorian is suggesting that Annie’s presence has allowed Beatrix burns to heal. Well, not so much heal, as allow her own mental projection to shift in a positive direction. While things do change down here from time to time, they almost never do so in a positive way. Dorian stares at me, then raises an eyebrow. Centuries together have given us an unspoken meeting of the minds. He thinks if we noticed Annie’s impact, it won’t be long before Balthazar and company do the same.
“I have an idea,” Dorian smirks.
“What sort?”
“Your ill-advised plan is to free Rhea from the cage?”
I nod.
“The cage is unbreakable,” he shrugs, then stands. “You can’t break her out and Balthazar has the only key.”
“Yes, you mentioned an idea?”
“Possibly Balthazar would open the cage for you?”
“Why would he do that?” Annie snorts, looking back and forth between us.
“Yes Dorian, why would he do that?”
“If Gabriel is being truthful with you, then the End-of-Days is upon Balthazar as well,” Dorian purposes, pacing around the end of the table. “He might be inclined to make a deal.”
“In return for what?”
“After the rapture, what’s in Hell stays here, correct?”
I nod, this having been my understanding.
“Nothing goes up and nothing comes down,” he mutters, as if waiting for me to decipher his plan.
“Yes?”
“Currently, Balthazar comes and goes at the whim of his boss. Those field trips are about to come to a sudden halt.”
“You’re suggesting I tell him that the Rapture is about to happen,” I scoff, wiping my hand over my forehead. “Then do what? Offer to let him tag along with us?”
“Wh
y not?”
“Because I’m not in the position to make an offer like that. No way Gabriel allows Balthazar to go up.”
“I agree, yet find no downside to misleading him to get the cage open.”
“Even if he went along,” I snort, finding Dorian’s serious expression amusing. “He’d never let us escape once he figured it out.”
“And if you fail to get the cage open?”
“We don’t escape.”
“So, you lie to get the cage door open,” he smirks, “then worry about the consequences later. At the very least, the Angel would be free. I have to think the ensuing chaos will confuse all sides equally.”
“I like it.” Annie chirps.
“That’s because you don’t know Balthazar,” I snort.
“But we do,” Dorian grins. “He’s a conniving, backstabbing, untrustworthy swine. Just the sort that might lie to the Devil to suit his own agenda.”
“It’s all or nothing,” I argue, unsure. “If we tell him, and he doesn’t go along, the entire thing is over in a flash. There won’t be any second chances or plan B’s.”
“That’s true, however it’s the least complicated option,” Dorian suggests, then pauses. “Wait, how are you going to get the Angel topside?”
“Rhea?”
“Yes, she is helpless without her wings. Your exit strategy won’t work for her. Did Gabriel give you any plan of attack for this nagging detail?”
I shake my head. Other than a random Bible passage, Gabriel didn’t provide us with much of anything. This is yet another fragment of the puzzle I have to decipher. Hell is giving me a headache.
…..
The Promenade des Berges de la Seine runs along the left bank. It used to be a road running along the Seine. It featured floating gardens built on barges, and a line of benches down each side. Of course, in the Underworld, the water has been replaced with a foul grey sludge, the gardens dead twigs and earth that smells of sulfur. I walk a half mile before I find him.
Grimlock sits on a bench reading a newspaper, his unlaced boots sticking out into the walkway. Since technically speaking he’s a demon, the spiked green hair and greasy gray skin aren’t as shocking as you’d expect. A red coffee cup rests on the bench next to him and when he reaches for it, he notices me walking in his direction.
“When did you get here?” he grunts, siting up straight, then folding the paper in two.
“Recently,” I sigh, dropping down on the bench, his coffee separating us.
“How is it that no one mentioned this to me?”
“Maybe you’re not as well informed as you think,” I suggest, wrinkling my nose from the putrid smell of my old friend.
He eyes me suspiciously, tapping one moldy fingernail on his chin. He clearly feels blindsided, but in his defense, no one knows I am here.
“I need a favor.”
“Can’t do it,” he blurts out, waving a hand aggressively. “The clocks been running on you for centuries. I cannot keep you from going down.”
“No, no, it’s not that.”
He curls his lip in a confused expression.
“I need to talk to Balthazar. I was hoping you might whisper in his ear and let him know my whereabouts.”
“I’m sure he knows exactly where you are. If he wanted to talk to you, he’d be here already.”
“He doesn’t know I am here.”
“How would you be here if he didn’t know?” Grimlock scowls, standing up. “I’d have thought he would have turned up in person to bring you down. You are one of his pet projects after all.”
I don’t really want to spill the entire story to Grimlock. There is no guarantee he would keep it to himself, even though he and I were once quite close. I used to leak information about the comings and goings of the dammed up on Level Two. Made him look well connected and scored him a minor promotion. In this way, Hell is very similar to any large corporation.
“My arrival was somewhere hurried. Any chance you could mention it to him?”
“What sort of trouble are you in?” he demands, looking down on me, almost defensive about my predicament. “Maybe you want to keep your location on the down-low for the time being. If he doesn’t know you’re here, he can’t send you down.”
“You might be right, but do you want to be the one who saw me and failed to mention it?”
“Good point,” he nods, then winks, before blinking out of existence.
The noxious purple cloud his exit leaves behind is foul. Before I can get up and walk away from the smell, Balthazar explodes to my right in a fireball. His expression is almost terrified. It’s not because he’s afraid of me, that much I am sure. More likely his fear is brought on by his boss. If I am anyone’s pet project, it’s Satan’s, not poor Balthazar.
“How on Earth did you get here?” he scoffs, dusting off the shoulders of his purple suit jacket.
“Earth,” I chuckle, standing up.
“An expression my dear, a simple expression. Pray tell how did you manage to perish, but no one told me?”
“Walk with me,” I motion with one hand, starting off down the walkway along the river of sludge.
He joins me, momentarily silent. Balthazar’s shoes end in a point, curling up nearly six inches beyond his toes. A purple bowler hat is encircled by a dark gold ribbon. He removes a pipe from his breast pocket, then dangles a finger over it, the contents catching fire.
“Balty, I have a proposition for you.”
“You don’t proffer the deals down here,” he smirks. “Just tell me how you got down here without alarm bells sounding.”
“I’m not dead.”
“Silly girl, if you’re in Hell, you are dead. It’s sort of a prerequisite.”
“Technically speaking yes, but this is a temporary state,” I explain, hoping to hold his attention. “Do you recall Arron Faust’s daughter?”
“Yes, yes, we are keeping a spot warm for her. No sin on record compares to resurrection. Sooner or later her immortal luck will run out and the girl will be on the express train to me.”
“True enough, but she drained me so I could come down. She’s going to bring me back after a few minutes.”
“A few minutes can be a long time down here,” he huffs, clearly unhappy with this turn of events. “What reason could you have to come sightseeing down here?”
“Can you keep a secret?”
He doesn’t reply, simply chuckles. His face reveals the answer is a resounding no.
“It’s T-minus a minute to the Rapture up top,” I explain, rolling my arm over, revealing the glowing counter. “One minute, five seconds.”
A belly laughs rumbles from his tummy, smoke puffing out his pipe in a brief gust. The chortling goes on for a half minute, then he scans my face looking for a tell that I am lying. Sorry pal, you’re not going to see one.
“You’re bluffing,” he accuses. “We’d know it if the time was nigh.”
“But about the day or hour no one knows, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father.”
“Yeah, yeah, Mathew, Chapter 24, Verse 36,” he grunts. “I’m certain we would know if the End-of-Days was knocking at the door.”
“Good luck with that.”
We walk along in silence for several minutes. The very fact that he’s not talking indicates his willingness to consider my assertion. He twice removes his pipe from between his dusky pink lips to speak, but replaces it each time. Someone’s back peddling a bit.
“So, I was going to suggest—,” I begin, but am cut off.
“How is it that you know the day and the hour?”
“Gabriel told me.”
“Ass kissing pretty boy,” he grunts. “As liable to lie as offer any truth at all.”
“Agreed, we share a distaste for Angels, however the fact remains. Whatever is down here when the trumpets blare, stays here for eternity.”
“How is this a problem for me? I’m upper management. Torturing people is my favorite thing. Why w
ould I fear the door closing for good?”
I have several arguments prepared, but pause to ponder the order I wish to deliver them in. There will be only one chance to strike a bargain.
“At present, there is a steady flow of fresh souls to play with. What happens when the faucet gets turned off?”
“If the Rapture happens the horde of new recruits would overrun the holding area. Not to mention, the souls already waiting will take eons to work their way down here. You’re trying to sell oil to Arabs.”
“That’s true enough, but you’re not fully comprehending the word eternity. The door closes, you got what you got, how long until your master gets bored?”
Balthazar stops dead in his tracks. As if he has been whisked away to another place, he stares blankly into space. I see no reason to let him get his bearings.
“When the pipeline runs dry, who do you think Satan might turn to for a little fun. Dollars to doughnuts he will get around to management types eventually.”
“We have a deal,” he mutters.
“Oh, of course, you made a deal with an Angel.”
“He’s hardly angelic.”
“But—.”
“He was an angel,” Balthazar admits.
I nod, pacing backwards in a circle around his stalled position.
“Wait, what is Gabriel offering? I can’t go up, thus this entire conversation is a moot point.”
“I have an Agreement with the good place,” I explain, pointing up. “If I complete my task, everyone who comes back with me gets a free pass to the pearly gates.”
“Nonsense,” he grunts. “Even if they let you in, and for the record that’s preposterous, I’m not an Angel or one of his human souls. I can’t go up no matter what the deal is.”
“Everyone who helps me out and returns before the band starts, gets a free pass,” I repeat, unsure that this is even what the Agreement is.
Gabriel certainly didn’t offer to take the Dark Prince’s right-hand man to the promised land. I am over promising a wee bit.