One eyelid dropped in a small wink. “Miss me, sweetie?”
CHAPTER
FORTY-TWO
“Oh my God,” Marc managed. He looked around. “I might need to sit down. Possibly forever. You killed her!” He said that to me like I’d fallen down on the job, or lied. “It’s the whole reason you’re stuck running Hell! It’s the only reason we’re in Hell with you!”
“Well, there’s killed,” the devil replied, still absurdly cheerful, “and then there’s killed.”
“I always maintained she let me win,” I replied, because it was true. The devil and I had fought to the death, and we’d gone at it hard, but somewhere in there I’d gotten the sense that she wanted out, wanted to be gone, wanted away. Why else do me a favor as she was leaving? Why else grant me a wish, and let Sinclair bear the light of God’s love again?
“How’d you know?” Satan seemed honestly curious. “Checking the directory was a neat trick, but how’d you even get suspicious enough to do that?”
Sinclair’s thoughts were so stunned, they seemed to come from far away. She was a fool to underestimate you.
Yeah, maybe. But I’m not going to make the same mistake. She’s the Lady of Lies, you know.
The Ant coughed into her fist. “I’d like to know that, too. Because I—” She left it unspoken, but I knew her. She meant: I knew Satan better than any of you—we were friends, kind of—and if I didn’t suspect; how the bleeding hell did you?
“There were lots of hints,” I said.
“Oh?” Satan smirked, because she was a bitch. “Enlighten me.”
“When you said that thing, ‘Behold, evil’s coming forth’ or whatever . . .”
“‘Behold, evil is going forth from nation to nation,’ that tipped you off?”
“I looked it up when I got home. It’s from the Old Testament. Catholics in general and priests in particular tend to stick with the New Testament. And you knew who that Civil War guy was—David? Davis? Not Jefferson Davis—most Americans have heard of him. You knew about the other Davis, the one who murdered his CO and never went to trial, the Davis almost no one has heard of. I remember being surprised you were a Civil War buff when it had never come up before. When you’d never asked Tina about anything Civil War related, though you knew she lived through it. That seemed out of character. My mom’s doctorate is all about the Civil War and she practically stalks Tina. Why didn’t you?”
“Perhaps because I could speak with any number of people who lived through it here?” she suggested.
“That’s another thing. You knew so many backstories of the damned, but you were never seen interviewing anyone. You just knew what they’d done in life to deserve their punishment in death. I put it down to efficiency, but after a while I realized nobody was that efficient. You knew their stories because you know everyone here. Because you’re you. And even in disguise, you’re so fucking vain you couldn’t resist sticking up for yourself.”
She’d been listening to me with what looked like fond attention, head tipped to one side as she smiled. The smile dropped off at that. “Explain yourself.”
“Don’t you remember? We were in one of our meetings—one of the many meetings you scheduled—and got to wondering where you—Satan you, not Father Markus you—had gone to. Someone suggested Heaven, and you were pretty quick to point out that the devil wouldn’t set foot in Heaven for anything. And not because the devil was sulking—except you were, Satan, just admit it already: you’ve been in a billion-year sulk, a sulk for the ages.
“You said it was more complicated than that—except it wasn’t. You said even if God could forgive, ‘who’s to say the Morningstar would want forgiveness’? You were supposed to be a kindly priest, but couldn’t resist defending your childish bullshit. It’s hilarious when you think about it.”
Any pretense of being interested in how she’d given herself away, how this was just too cute and my goodness wasn’t Betsy adorable, dropped away. Satan was scowling, and I’d like to say it wasn’t a pretty sight, except she looked like Lena Olin, so it was.
She gestured to the masses of souls behind her. “No need to do this in front of everyone.”
“Oh, sure, now you need privacy.”
She gritted her teeth. “All of you: disperse.”
NOBODY FUCKING MOVE.
I hadn’t said it. I’d thought it the way I did with Sinclair. And I fired that thought like a bullet into every soul in Hell.