A Wing and a Prayer

Prologue Beelzebub looked over that day’s list of new prisoners and found himself frowning. True, the numbers of damned souls admitted to Hell had been dropping over the past few weeks, but he’d attributed the reduction in volume to those ridiculous New Year’s resolutions that humans seemed so fond of making. Everyone would have been on their best behavior during the month of January, but now that February had rolled around topside in the mortal world, he’d assumed that all the sinners and miscreants would have gone back to their usual lying, cheating, stealing, and so on. Only…that didn’t seem to be what was happening at all. This latest list had a paltry thousand souls on it. What in the world was he supposed to do with that? He glared at Belial, the demon who’d been working as his aide de camp ever since Asmodeus had, well, decamped. “This is it?” Beelzebub demanded. “Yes,” Belial replied, looking remarkably unperturbed, blue eyes with their usual cheerful glint, a faint smile on a mouth framed by that ridiculous beard he’d grown over the past year or so. Then again, it seemed to take a good deal to upset Belial. Beelzebub had often wondered how someone with such a sunny personality had ended up in Hell, but he’d realized long ago that there were some mysteries which could never be fully explained. “I can double-check, if you like,” the demon added, obviously trying to be helpful. Not that there was any point. The list was the list; it always appeared at the beginning of the “day” — or what passed for day down here — on the desk of Lucifer’s lieutenant, and was never altered or updated. Once upon a time, Beelzebub had been the Devil’s assistant, but Lucifer had forsaken Hell in order to live a mortal life with the utterly unmemorable woman God had chosen for him, and so Beelzebub had taken over. He’d hoped that Asmodeus would occupy the position Belial currently held, but their fellow demon had turned out to be a traitor to their kind as well. At the rate they were going, soon there wouldn’t be enough demons left to staff the place. “No,” Beelzebub said shortly. “That will be all.” Belial didn’t bother to reply, only shot a grin of irritating good cheer in his superior’s direction and strode out of the room. Scowling, Beelzebub stared down at the meager list he’d been given and wondered why he bothered. “Ahem.” Beelzebub looked up from the enormous polished basalt desk where he sat — it had once belonged to Lucifer, but had come to Beelzebub along with all the other trappings of the office — and saw an elderly man in a shabby brown tweed coat standing a few paces away, gazing at him with mildly curious dark eyes. Well, He looked like a regular old man. However, Beelzebub knew He was Someone far, far more important. He was also the last person Beelzebub would have expected to find standing in his study. “Yes?” he said, making no attempt to hide the irritation in his voice. Truth be told, Beelzebub lived in a state of constant annoyance, and of course, God knew that just as well as anyone else. “Working hard, I see.” “Someone has to,” Beelzebub growled. With Lucifer gone and Beelzebub’s former partner-in-crime, Asmodeus, also settled down in apparent mortal bliss with a human woman in his bed, he was the only one left to keep Hell running. Well, the only one of any importance. Belial was supposedly a prince of Hell like the other upper-level demons, but he had never seemed like one, what with his foolish grins and “no problem” attitude. Still frowning, he added, “What do you want? I’m busy.” If anyone had been around to listen to this particular conversation, they might have been shocked to hear a demon address the Creator in such an impudent way. But since Beelzebub knew God most likely wouldn’t retaliate, he felt it safe enough to give free rein to his feelings, which as usual, were sour as curdled milk. As he’d thought, God only smiled. “Well, I thought I should come down here and give you the news myself.” “‘News’?” Beelzebub repeated. He didn’t much like the sound of that. News meant change, and he hated change. He wanted everything to continue as it had for the past few millennia. Or at least, continue in a way that didn’t disturb his world too much. With both Lucifer and Asmodeus gone, Hell would never be precisely what it once was, but he had to hope it wouldn’t suffer any more catastrophic alterations, either. God inspected the sleeve of His brown tweed jacket. Possibly looking for lint, although Beelzebub couldn’t detect anything amiss, nothing that would require such a level of close scrutiny. Looking up, the Creator went on, “I’ve decided to close Hell.” For a few seconds, the words didn’t quite register. Beelzebub sat at his desk, the piece of parchment with that day’s list of the damned still clutched in his fingers, as God’s pronouncement slowly penetrated his thoughts. “What?” “Oh, you heard me. I’ve decided to close Hell.” God paused then, smiling slightly. Some people might have called that smile beatific, but its utter serenity only made Beelzebub want to grind his teeth in fury. “Lately, Hell has been serving as less and less of a deterrent to prevent people from acting badly. So, I’ve decided to shut the place down and move to a reincarnation model. Maybe putting some of the worst offenders through the spin cycle a thousand times or so will be enough to get them to see the light. So to speak.” Beelzebub could only stare at God, aghast. This couldn’t be happening. How could there not be a Hell? Wasn’t that the whole point, after all? To have the universe suspended between those two poles, to have utter light on one side and utter darkness on the other? How could God expect people to understand the perfection of Heaven if they didn’t have the blackness of Hell to balance it out? “You’re closing Hell,” he said, his tone flat. “Yes, that’s what I said.” God paused there and sent Beelzebub a searching glance, concern clear in His brown eyes under the gray-frosted brows that framed them. “Are you quite all right, my boy? You look a little pale.” Voice a rasp, Beelzebub said, “I’m fine.” A pause as God appeared to consider that response. His eyebrows drew together, as though He knew the demon who sat before Him was lying. Well, of course, He would know Beelzebub was lying. The Creator knew everything, after all. That didn’t mean Beelzebub intended to tell Him that he currently felt as if an entire legion of Roman chariots had just backed over him approximately ten thousand times. His head spun slightly, and he knew if he hadn’t had the heavy stone desk to support his hands where they lay on its surface, they would have been shaking like aspen leaves in the first winds of autumn. After a long, uncomfortable pause, He went on, “No need to worry, Beelzebub. I’m not going to leave you high and dry.” “How kind.” The Creator’s mouth quirked a little at one corner, but He only said, “I won’t offer you precisely the same deal I gave Lucifer and Asmodeus, mostly because I know you wouldn’t accept it. You don’t have much use for true love, do you, Beelzebub?” That truth was so patently obvious, he didn’t bother to reply, only stared back at God, hoping his face was as blank and unreadable as the stone surface beneath his fingertips. “Still,” He continued, “I can’t have you staying here. The souls currently in Hell will be given their new assignments soon and sent back to Earth to relive their lives and see if they won’t make such a hash of it the second time around. The other demons will be allowed their retirements, so to speak. In only a week or so, this place will be empty. And then…I will end it.” All this, gone? The great dark palace where Lucifer once dwelled and which Beelzebub now called his home? The vast pits where the souls of those damned here for eternity spent their painful, endless days? No more cold winds, no more scent of brimstone and smoke on the air? In short, nothing that had made his existence here remotely bearable would be left. No point in protesting; Beelzebub could tell that God’s mind was made up. Neither did he question whether the Creator was capable of an act of such magnitude. After all, He had made Hell in the first place. He need only snap His fingers to unmake it. And any being capricious enough to wipe out all His Creation in a flood of, well, biblical proportions wasn’t going to scruple at getting rid of a place like Hell if He’d decided it had served its purpose. Somehow, Beelzebub managed to find his voice. “If I’m not to remain here, then where am I supposed to go?” God’s brown eyes twinkled, and a small finger of dread traced its way down Beelzebub’s spine. When He looked that cheerful, it usually meant He had devised a plan that sounded wonderful to Him but would strike fear into any demon’s heart. “Well,” He said, “I thought it would be easier if I had the three of you in the same place — that makes it easier for Me to keep an eye on you.” No, he wouldn’t…. “Not there,” Beelzebub said. Damn it, that comment had sounded just a bit too much like a whimper. He cleared his throat. “Anywhere else. Siberia. The Sahara Desert. The Australian outback. Antarctica.” God shook His head, eyes still twinkling. “Oh, you know I wouldn’t put you anywhere so inhospitable. But don’t worry — you’ll have a nice house, something to your taste. And disposable income, because you’ve earned your retirement, Beelzebub.” A pause, and He added, looking positively gleeful, “Or should I say, Benjamin Blake? That’s the name you used when you were last on Earth, wasn’t it?” “Only as a matter of convenience,” Beelzebub responded. The conversation was already slipping away from him, but he thought he needed to do what he could to maintain some semblance of control. “I’m not sure — ” “Benjamin Blake it is,” God cut in. The words had such a tone of finality to them, Beelzebub knew there was no point in arguing, despite the nervous dread that currently gripped his stomach. “It suits you. And of course, I’ll make sure you have all the necessary documentation — driver’s license and Social Security card, birth certificate, vaccine records, medical history — ” “Please, stop,” Beelzebub said, his voice strangled. Just the mere notion that he was about to be weighed down with all the trappings of a mortal life made him feel as though he was slowly asphyxiating. God paused there, and sent the demon a look of concern. Not true worry, though; Beelzebub could tell He was enjoying this far too much. “I just wanted you to know that you will be taken care of. After all, I want you to have a smooth transition to your new life in — ” “Don’t say it,” Beelzebub interrupted. Anything to keep the Creator from uttering those fateful syllables. “ — Los Angeles,” God went on inexorably. “What better place for a former demon than the City of Angels?” “Oh, God,” Beelzebub moaned. He might live for another eternity, but, as far as he was concerned, his life was over. What the hell was he supposed to do in L.A.?