“The protagonist?”
“Yes. See, he was sent to Heck by mistake. He’s a good kid. Never did anything bad in his life. Well, at least his first one.”
“Oh, I get it,” Algernon Cole said, nodding. “Heck, it’s like an allegory for—”
“Yes,” Milton continued. “My character—the protagonist—signed a contract with the Principal of Darkness.”
Algernon Cole chuckled. “That’s not half bad.”
“But the contract is bogus—it just has to be,” Milton said desperately. “I’ve got to find some loophole in the contract, or a way that I can prove that the whole place is just a big sham and shouldn’t exist at all. If I don’t, my sister and my best friend will be there … for …”
Milton put his head in his twitchy hands. Algernon Cole rolled his eyes and leaned over to pat Milton on the back.
“Wow,” he said, “you’ve certainly got a lot invested in your characters. That’s good. They’ll be more believable that way, especially since the story you’re writing is so … . far-fetched.”
Lester Lobe’s radio music drifted into the chamber—a spooky song about a white rabbit.
Milton sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “So you think … Do you think you can help me?”
Algernon Cole pulled up his mismatched socks and sat up straight to the sound of dried, settling beans.
“Always willing to help out another struggling writer.” He looked at his Mickey Mouse watch. “We’ve got fifteen minutes. Enough to give you a taste of your options. If you find my advice helpful, then you can put me on a retainer and call me anytime.”
Milton had a feeling that Algernon Cole’s retainer would cost about as much as, well, Milton’s retainer had cost. So it was now or never. All Milton had to do was activate the Psychomanthium—somehow—and give Marlo some supernatural legal counsel, something that she could use to build a case against the Powers That Be Evil from the inside.
“Firstly,” Algernon Cole said, “your protagonist is a minor. Under eighteen years of age. Without a Guardian Ad Litem to represent the minor, I’d think that it would be hard to uphold the legality of a contract such as yours in a court of law.”
Milton nodded and looked down at his hand. In his palm, he had written a summoning spell that he had seen last night on a Taliswoman rerun. The problem was that his palms were sweaty, and he had smudged the spell when shaking hands with Algernon Cole. He squinted in the low, red light to read the smears in his hand.
“Spirits, hear my cry,” Milton murmured. “I … cinnamon? Summon you from the other side. Come to me and cross the Greek decline.”
“What was that?” asked Algernon Cole.
“Oh, um, nothing,” replied Milton. “I’m just trying to memorize what you’re saying.”
Algernon Cole shrugged and shook his head. “It’s your time. You paid for it. Or didn’t, technically. So, as I was saying, being a minor, it’s doubtful your protagonist could be bound by such a contract. At least by the laws of the living. However, the rules in your ‘Heck’ may be different, being that it’s a place overrun by minors.”
“Great divide!” Milton said. “Cross the great divide!” He looked around at the six mirrors surrounding him. Despite the spell, he could still see only six of himself and a half dozen of Algernon Cole.
The pseudo-lawyer stared at Milton, troubled and irritated.
“Do you want to do this another time, kid?”
Milton shook his head. “No,” he said urgently. “Please, go on. I’m just … This is all really good stuff. I’m excited, that’s all.”
Algernon Cole glared at Milton suspiciously.
“Well, I hope you include me in your acknowledgments. Or think of me when you start licensing Heck toys.”
Outside, Lester Lobe turned up his radio.
“I haven’t heard this song in years!” he cried enthusiastically.
Heavy guitars and loping drums filled the chamber.
“I really must get an office,” Algernon Cole complained.
“Please,” Milton begged, “go on.”
Algernon Cole sighed.
“Fine,” he said. “There is also the possibility of duress.”
“A dress?” Milton asked above the noise.
“No, duress,” Algernon Cole clarified. “Though a boy forced to wear a dress would definitely be a form of duress. Was your protagonist coerced into signing this contract?”
“Yes!” Milton replied. “I can still feel the bite marks from the snake pens.”
Algernon Cole rubbed the back of his neck.
“Okay, then. Well, being threatened with a dangerous animal would definitely count as duress.”
The music throbbed through the Psychomanthium.
“Your love is groovy like a disco light.
You’re so far out, you’re out of sight!”
“This contract, though, could contain a subclause where the signee expressly agrees that the contract was not entered into under duress. I’ve read of cases like that before.”
Milton looked down at the ink streak smeared across his clammy palm.
“Guardians of the spirit gum … realm,” he murmured.
The hippie music droned outside.
Algernon Cole plugged his ears.
“Then there’s fraud,” he continued. “But, I would think that by the Principal of Darkness’s very nature, he—”
“She,” interrupted Milton.
“It’s nice to know that there’s equal opportunity in the afterlife,” Algernon Cole quipped. “She would be prevented from engaging in fraud or deceit.”
“Hear and guide my pee … plea,” Milton chanted.
“Either that,” Algernon Cole said, “or just the opposite: the legal assumption that every transaction she oversaw was fraudulent, thus rendering the notion of fraud obsolete.”
“Out of sight! Out of sight!
So far out you’re out of sight!”
Suddenly, a gust of cold wind filled the chamber. The mirrors seemed to warp and ripple like the surface of a disturbed pond. Milton could see a faint image joining that of Algernon Cole and his own in each of the six mirrors. It was a figure. A bald little … creature … with nubby horns. It was bouncing around, yelling, in what appeared to be a television studio.
“Good vibrations every night.
You’re groovy, baby. Out of sight!”
“Otto Seight,” the bald creature hollered. “Back at ya here with more Laughing Stock …”
Milton trembled as the horned-man’s image gelled in the mirror. He had actually made contact with the underworld!
“What the … ?” The little creature snorted, glaring at Milton.
18 · WE iNTERRUPT
THiS PROGRAM …
LILITH COUTURE HANDED Principal Bubb a large empty milk crate.
“Try to fit in as many files as possible,” she said. “Organize them by infraction, not by judgment. I’ll go through them myself when you’re done.”
Bea “Elsa” Bubb groaned as she took the crate in her quaking claws.
Lilith snickered as she walked away.
“I’ll be in the little demoness’s room. I’ve got to powder my snout.”
Bea “Elsa” Bubb set the crate on her desk and frowned at the bottomless stacks of folders strewn about her lair.
“Ugh!” Lilith yelped from Principal Bubb’s facilities. “This is a pit of despair if ever I’ve seen one. Remind me to get up-to-date on all my shots when I get back to uncivilization.”
Principal Bubb made a rude gesture with her claw in Lilith’s general direction and sat down in her chair.
“I’m going to reach right through this TV screen, caller, and choke the death right out of you if you don’t sell that stock now!” barked Otto Seight from Principal Bubb’s plasma screen.
Bea “Elsa” Bubb grimaced. “Where is that remote?” she mumbled, searching beneath the layers of reports on her desk.
The image on the screen
winked and wrinkled. Now, instead of the host of Laughing Stock jumping up and down like a jack-in-the box, there was a man and a boy in a dark, red chamber.
Algernon Cole stood up and brushed smooth his slacks. “I don’t have time to watch TV,” he said snappishly.
“Wait!” Milton yelped. “Don’t leave. Please. Just one more minute.”
Algernon Cole smirked knowingly. “We writers are all the same,” he said. “Always wanting to know what each other is working on. Fine. You dragged it out of me. Here’s my book idea…”
Algernon Cole grinned widely at Milton, his face a blank screen anticipating the feature presentation to come. “It’s called … Chicken Pants,” he said finally, positively brimming with pride. He paused to let his words sink in.
“Chicken Pants,” repeated Milton flatly unable to think of any other way to respond.
“Chicken Pants!” said Algernon Cole triumphantly. “It’s about a boy who finds a magic pair of … guess.”
“Um … chicken pants?” Milton answered tentatively while looking over Algernon Cole’s shoulder at the energetic demon in the mirrors.
“You got it!” cried Algernon Cole with a clap.
Meanwhile, the image of Otto Seight scowled out from the mirrors. “What’s going on?” he screeched. “Who’s been messing with the monitors again?”
“And when the boy puts on the pants,” Algernon continued, oblivious, “it gives him all sorts of strange, chickeny powers. And, boy can he ever dance!”
Bea “Elsa” Bubb gaped at the plasma screen. A balding man with a ponytail pressed his fists into his underarms and began to flap and strut to a raucous beat, pummeling a tuneless tune. In the background, sitting in a bean-bag chair, was a gawky boy with glasses.
Principal Bubb’s pus-yellow eyes burned with recognition and rage.
Milton Fauster.
“Marlo!” Milton called as he pressed his palms against the mirror. “Get me Marlo Fauster!”
The veins on Otto Seight’s stocky neck bulged.
“Carl!” he shouted off camera. “We’re getting some interference, a nerdy kid playing with a camera. And a guy who thinks he’s a chicken. Must be some EwwTube video.”
Milton pounded his fists on the chamber walls.
“My name is Milton. My sister … she’s in Heck. I’m trying to get ahold of her…”
Bea “Elsa” Bubb screamed.
“Lilith! Get out here! It’s him!”
After a flush and some grumbling, Lilith came hobbling out of Principal Bubb’s Unrestroom.
“What is it?!” she said irritably while securing her sleek Gucci belt around her waist.
Bea “Elsa” Bubb thrust her remote toward the main plasma screen. “Look!”
The screen’s image billowed and shimmered until it settled on Otto Seight, grimacing at the camera.
“Oh,” he said, startled. “Looks like we’re back in action.” He spit into his hand, then polished his horn nubs. “Can’t keep a demon like me off the air! Let’s hit the phones. Caller, you’re on Laughing Stock!”
Lilith glowered at Principal Bubb. The tap-tap-tap of her shiny red hooves sounded like the ticking of a chic, designer bomb.
“It was him,” Bea “Elsa” Bubb grumbled. “Milton Fauster. I saw him.”
The devil’s assistant flipped back her head and laughed uproariously.
“Milton Fauster! Of course! I’m sure you see him everywhere—the television, the mirror … you probably see his name spelled out in your afternoon bowl of alphabet soup!”
Lilith plucked her monkey-fur shrug from the back of a chair and wriggled it over her shoulders.
“This unpleasantness has upset us all,” she pronounced on her way to the door. “Let’s say we take a little break. Do whatever you do to relax: nibble a bone, go for a roll in some mud … anything. We’ll meet back here in an hour. Hugs!”
Lilith sashayed out the door and into the hallway.
If Milton Fauster is trying to contact his sister, Principal Bubb thought, I need to find out why. And who better to help me than the boy who sent them both here to begin with?
The long, sludgy rock song that Lester had been listening to on the radio finally ended.
“They don’t write ’em like that anymore,” Lester said from outside the chamber.
In the mirror, Otto Seight slapped his bald pate with frustration.
“Again?! Well, then, Carl, just turn everything off and on. That usually works. Do I have to do everything here?”
The demon disappeared, and warmth crept back into the still chamber.
Algernon Cole lowered his imaginary tail feathers and straightened his tie.
“Well, I don’t expect everyone to get it,” he said, affronted. He looked at his watch. “Besides, I’ve got to boogie. I have another client—a paying client—who wants to sue a hospital that accidentally unplugged his stepson.”
Algernon Cole stepped out of the Elvis Abduction Chamber, with Milton close behind.
“Unplugged?!” Milton shouted. “Was it Damian Ruffino?”
Algernon Cole stopped suddenly and glared at Milton.
“A lawyer can’t divulge the interests of his client,” he said haughtily. “But, seeing as that I’m not a real lawyer—yet—then, yes, Damian Ruffino. Friend of yours?”
“No,” Milton said while staring at the ground. “I don’t think he was a friend of anyone, actually. Damian was in the explosion … at the mall … he caused it.”
Algernon Cole grabbed his briefcase by the door.
“Be that as it may, his family—and I, for that matter—still deserve something for the hospital screwing up like that.”
“Can I come with you?” Milton asked eagerly. “Maybe I can help you find some, um, evidence. A clue or something.”
Algernon Cole smiled sadly and knelt down to address Milton eye to eye.
“Look,” he said, putting his hand on Milton’s shoulder, “I know you’re all hung up about almost dying and all that, but you’re a kid: You’ll get through it. Years from now, you’ll look back on all this and laugh!”
Milton was furious. The hundreds of mosquitoes in his nervous system wanted to suck all the blood from Algernon Cole’s body.
The nearly-lawyer looked at his briefcase.
“Hey, I almost forgot.”
He rummaged through it and pulled out a small tub of coleslaw, with COLE’S LAW printed on it.
“Here you go! Get it? Cole’s Law. Coleslaw.”
Milton stared at the tub and crossed his arms defiantly.
“Fine, then,” Algernon Cole said as he opened the door.
Lester Lobe walked toward them. “Hey, I’ll take that,” he said, grabbing the coleslaw from Algernon Cole’s hands.
“Sure thing, Ben and Jerry,” Algernon Cole said as he stepped onto the sidewalk. “And don’t you worry, Milton. I’m sure Damian will get exactly what he deserves. Who knows? Maybe he’s in Heck right now!”
He walked down the street, cackling, bobbing his head subtly, as if he were about to cock-a-doodle-do another dance.
Milton shivered and wrapped his arms around himself. “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” he murmured.
19 · A SAViNG GRACE
THE CLASSROOM TOSSED from side to side, subtly, as if the room itself were a barge floating on a mildly perturbed sea. The effect was unsettling, because nothing in the class seemed to be physically moving (Marlo’s somersaulting stomach notwithstanding). Though judging from the shade of queasy green cast across the other girls’ faces, she wasn’t the only student who hadn’t developed her sea legs yet. The only person in the room who seemed unfazed by the sickening sway was the vivacious teacher at the front of the class.
The teacher took off her woolen cap, releasing an avalanche of red curls that cascaded down her shoulders like molten lava.
“There, thass mooch better,” she said in a comfortable Irish brogue.
Marlo sighed with longing. The teacher’s hair was
like a maple tree in autumn.
If I had hair like that, Marlo pined, I wouldn’t have to dye it.
But the teacher’s appeal was more than hair-deep. Norm had said that their new Corporate Strategy teacher used to be a pirate queen back in the sixteenth century. How cool was that: a pirate queen? Though, judging from the long, slender scar slashed across the teacher’s neck, not everyone shared Marlo’s glowing opinion of her teacher.
In any case, she was definitely cooler than that nasty old hag Poker Alice, who was currently on the mend in Rapacia’s infirmary.
After Poker Alice’s accident, some peeved demonesses sent from Rapacia had rounded up the girls. Their booty was promptly confiscated and brought back to the Grabbit’s warren.
The lights dimmed and a screen descended from the ceiling at the front of the class. The teacher shook her red hair disapprovingly.
This class is brought to you by
Epiphany’s Jewelers.
located on the second floor of
beautiful, everlasting mallvana.
Fade in to Marilyn Monroe, looking glamorous on a bearskin rug. She is singing softly to herself while blowing on her fingernail polish.
“A kiss on the hand may be quite continental, but diamonds are a girl’s best … oh, hello! Marilyn here … with a perfectly sad story for you!
“Once upon a time, outside the Spedale degli Innocenti orphanage—the world’s first, built in Florence, Italy, in the fifteenth century—was a fountain where, for generations, orphans would come to weep. Boo-hoo!”
Marilyn pouts and rolls across the rug. She cradles her head in her hands, wiggling her fingers. Each is adorned with a glittering diamond ring.
“Their tears would seep into the ground, sinking through hundreds of miles of sand and gravel, where—after centuries of pressure and heat—they became something so sad, and yet … so beautiful … the Hopeless Diamonds!
“These two twinkling teardrops are nearly a hundred times more precious than any diamond known to exist on the Stage! Wowie-zowie…
“Though these diamonds are part of a private collection, Epiphany’s Jewelers is proud to sell genuine diamelle replicas of the Hopeless Diamonds so you can have some of this glittering gloom for your very own!
Rapacia: The Second Circle of Heck Page 10