Costume Not Included (37 page)

  The demon looked down at Hardacre again. For Billy Lee, everything went mercifully black.

 

For Captain Denby, things had become unmercifully confusing. Shooting Hardacre had gone just the way he'd envisioned it, though it had felt like a dream. But the kid had been a surprise. The preacher was just hitting the tiles when suddenly the nerd, who'd been sitting at the breakfast nook, was all the way across the kitchen, yanking the gun out of his hands then driving him down to the floor with the force of a four hundred-pound linebacker. Then he had held Denby's wrists together with one hand, in a grip that made the small bones grind together.

  And through all this, the kid was not paying any attention to his prisoner, nor to the other people in the room. He was looking toward an empty corner of the room and Denby could see the young man's jaw muscles working, as if he was speaking emphatically, though the policeman heard no sound.

  Since the kid seemed distracted, Denby now tried to break free. His effort was fruitless. The kid glanced at him, then flicked the backs of his fingers across Denby's jaw, a motion like brushing away a bothersome fly. But the captain's head snapped back as if he had taken a solid punch. He didn't even have time to be surprised. His last thought before he slid under the covers was that somebody had not told him the truth about Chesney Arnstruther.

 

Chesney said to Xaphan, "Fetch some rope to tie Denby up." Instantly, the demon shimmered and offered him a length of clothesline. "And a gag," the young man said, and found one in his hand the moment he'd finished speaking. The threat of asking for a new assistant seemed to have motivated the fiend to raise its standard of job performance.

  The young man sized up the situation. Denby was controlled. His mother was falling apart. He had often wondered what it would take to shake her confidence that she could surmount anything the world might throw at her. Now he knew that it would involve the sight of her husband bleeding heavily across the kitchen floor, his chest a ruin and his back probably even worse where the bullets had torn their way out of his torso.

  Melda was on her knees beside Hardacre. She had torn open his bloodstained shirt and was pressing a towel to the frontal wounds. The young man felt a brief surge of pride in his girlfriend. When this was over, he was going to make sure that his mother understood that Melda McCann was a woman who deserved her respect.

  But first this situation had to be resolved. Again, no obvious solution leapt into Chesney's mind, bathed in clear light. He could not simply order his assistant to break one of Hell's fundamental rules. True, Xaphan was capable of bending the statutes when it suited; the demon had even fought one of its own when Nat Blowdell's infernal handler, Melech, had attacked Chesney. But that was different: Melech had been the one breaking the rule, in the belief that all the rules would soon be changed. That was a far cry from asking Xaphan to intervene in a relationship between a damned soul – which Hardacre surely was – and an archduke of the netherworld.

  So, he told himself, work it through. What would Malc Turner do? He would follow the trail, starting with what he knew and working his way toward where the facts led. Fact one: the Devil had been playing a duplicitous game, as ought to have been expected. Despite his continuing protestations that he was not a character in a book, he had clearly come around to that point of view some time ago.

  So, knowing that he was part of a story, what would Lucifer do? He would try to use the knowledge to improve his role. And what was the best way to do that? In a moment, Chesney knew the answer: the thing that most chafed the Adversary was that he had to play a game in whose rules he had had no say. He would try to put himself in a position where he could rewrite the rules.

  That meant working with the characters who already knew the truth about the real underpinnings of the universe: Chesney, Hardacre, Letitia and Melda. The agreement that had settled the strike in Hell prevented Satan from attempting to manipulate Chesney. And that prohibition included indirect methods, so the Devil could not get at Chesney through his girlfriend.

  That left Billy Lee and Chesney's mother. They had been attracted to each other. Lucifer had almost certainly intensified that bond by working on their libidos. But the real opportunity had been the couple's pride. Billy Lee was justifiably proud that he, and he alone, had figured out the meaning of existence – and more than that, he had had the insight to fix a plot problem when the divine story broke down.

  Letitia was hugely proud to be the wife of someone who was, arguably, the most important man in the world, and one of the most significant figures in the history of humankind. And to add to his already singular accomplishment, Billy Lee regularly consulted with a high-ranking member of the angelic hierarchy; together, they were writing the book that would remake the world. What Hardacre didn't know was that he was not co-authoring a new gospel with an angel; he was being fooled by a
dux asinorum
of Hell.

  That had been one of the strings to the Devil's bow. But once that strategy had been set in motion, Satan had developed another. Hardacre had reasoned out that the great book kept being rewritten as the story unfolded. That raised the question of what happened to the discarded drafts. Lucifer went looking for them and found them. And in one of them, living out one endlessly repeated eternal day, he found an unexpected opportunity.

  So the Devil canceled his first plan, stimulating Denby to steal the book that Hardacre and the duke had been composing. Once it was out of Billy Lee's house, Satan made sure it could not complicate his new, second strategy. It did not matter to Satan that the preacher continued with his plan to bring about the end of the world, closing down the present draft of the great narrative, and starting a new one based on his own new gospel, this one written without supernatural assistance. The worst Hardacre's efforts could do would be to cause some riots and perhaps topple some governments or established churches – none of which would have disturbed so much as a whisker of the Devil's neatly shaped beard.

  The original plan had mutated into the new one. Chesney had gone to timeless Nazareth and brought back Joshua bar Yusuf, the historical Jesus. And then he had brought the prophet to where Lucifer sat waiting, so that the Devil could make a better offer than the one he had originally put forward, when he had taken the messiah up to that "high place" from where it was possible to see all the kingdoms of the world.

  The second offer, made in the Garden of Eden where all of the drama had started, had now been made. The last Chesney knew, the terms were being considered. He could make a reasonable guess as to what Lucifer wanted. He was not at all sure what Joshua's reply would be, but as he thought about it, Chesney discovered an opportunity.

  "Xaphan," he said, "we're taking Billy Lee back to Eden."

  "Sez who?" The demon set its cigar at a pugnacious angle. "His nibs ain't gonna welcome me showin' up wid an archduke's handiwork. I ain't doin' it."

  "You'll be showing up, "Chesney said, "with exactly what he needs, and probably just about the time he's coming to realize that he needs something he doesn't have."

  Xaphan looked at him with the squint of a suspicious weasel. "You tryin' to pull a fast one on me?" it said.

  "Nope," said Chesney. "But this could look pretty good on your employment record. And, chances are, there are going to be some interesting new jobs opening up in the next few years."

  "What kinda jobs?"

  "Who can say? But your boss is writing new rules for how the game is played. He's going to need demons that can handle new ideas." Chesney looked his assistant up and down. "Question is: are you that kind of demon?"

  The oversized weasel eyes narrowed to slits. "When did you start doin' all this noodle-work? I liked you better when you was simple-minded."

  Chesney knew the answer to that one, too, but now was not the time. "Get used to it," he said. "Now, are we going, or do I need to summon Hardacre's duke?" He smiled. "Who would then get all the credit."

 

They brought Denby with them. The time traveler story was not going to hold much longer and Chesney didn't want to take a chance on the policeman escaping if they didn't get back to the Hardacre mansion soon. Xaphan's recommendation that they "just rub the flatfoot out" was disregarded.

  They laid Billy Lee beneath the Tree of Life – the location couldn't do him any harm and might even do some good – then left him there with Letitia to watch over him and the still unconscious captain. They made their way along the fragrant paths to the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, where they found Joshua and Lucifer deep in conversation. A black-maned lion was cropping the grass in the foreground, but the beast only purred as they passed by.

  "Do you want me to help?" Melda said. "Or are you in a pool of light on this one?"

  Chesney smiled. "I think the days of light and darkness are behind us," he said. "My head seems to be working differently now."

  "Why? How?" she said.

  He saw a look of concern on her face, and when he studied her more closely he realized that there was also a touch of fear in her eyes. "Don't worry," he said, "nothing is going to come between us."

  "How can you be sure?"

  He laughed. "I figured it out."

  The prophet and the Devil had broken off their colloquy. Lucifer looked annoyed. "We're trying to work, here," he said. "I thought we were done with you."

  Chesney had been thinking of what to say and now he used the gambit he had decided upon. "Not going well, is it?"

  Joshua rolled his eyes in a silent
oy
, but the Devil said, "None of your business."

  "Sure it is," the young man said. "I'm the one who started all of this."

  Satan made a dismissive motion. "You're a plot device," he said. "You're nothing but a pivot on which to turn the story in a new direction."

  Chesney nodded as if giving the idea consideration. "But then again, from my point of view, I'm the hero."

  "Every mugwump and mutton-thumper has the same point of view. It's irrelevant."

  Again, Chesney conceded the apparent reasonableness of the Devil's position, then said, "But that brings us back to your problem, doesn't it?"

  Joshua interrupted. "How are you feeling?"

  "I think you know the answer to that," Chesney said. "You did more, back in your day, than cast out demons and predict the end of the world, didn't you?"

  Melda had been watching, with a small vertical line deepening above the bridge of her nose. "What's going on here?" she said.

  The look the prophet gave her was almost bashful. "Your betrothed, he was not quite well when you met him, am I right?"

  "There was nothing wrong with him!"

  "No need to be the lioness defending her cub," said Joshua. "I'm sure he was a very fine young man, but… " He raised both hands in an equivocal gesture.

  "High-functioning autism is what they called it when I was a kid," Chesney said.

  "Did you like being that way?"

  "I was used to it."

  "You mean you found ways of coping."

  Chesney shrugged. "I suppose."

  "And now you don't have to."

  Melda said, "Do you mind? What are you talking about?"

  Chesney said, "He fixed me."

  "What? How?"

  "I don't know the details. I must've touched the hem of his garment or something. But that's why I can think my way through things I never could have handled before."

  "It was when I poured the wine and gave it to you," Joshua said. "You've been gradually getting better?"

  "Yes." said Chesney. "So it's not instantaneous?"

  "What do you want, miracles?" said the prophet. "I made a blind man see again, once. Still, it took a while before he could throw a stone with any accuracy."

  "That's what I figured," Chesney said.

  "Well," said Joshua, "there you go."

  "No more pools of light?" said Melda.

  "Nor any more acres of darkness," said the bearded man. He looked at her kindly. "But he won't stop needing you. His abilities have changed, his soul hasn't."

  "Told you," Chesney said.

  Lucifer had been sitting through all this with signs of a growing impatience. "We have more important things to consider than the canoodlings of a pair of plot devices," he said.

  Melda gave him a glare that should have scorched the Devil's whiskers, but Chesney put a calming hand on her shoulder and said, "Speaking of such matters, we've brought you exactly what you need."

  Satan's pride wrestled with his curiosity. Before a winner could be established, Joshua said, "What?"

  "A ringer," said the young man, "a seasoned professional. Better yet, one who already knows the story so far."

  Lucifer frowned. "Hardacre? He's out of the picture."

  "No," said Chesney. "He was, but we've put him back in."

  "Can't be done. One of my dukes has him in thrall."

  "You'll have to disenthrall him."

  "Against the rules," said Satan. "Which, I remind you, I did not write."

  Chesney turned to Joshua. "Can you forgive sins?" he said.

  The bearded man shook his head. "That's the other fellow. I was never so presumptuous. Faith-healing, demon-routing, that was about it."

  Chesney shrugged like a man who has tried something even though he didn't expect it to work. He turned back to Lucifer. "So Hardacre's been consorting with demons, even though he didn't know it–"

  "And didn't want to know it," said the Devil.

  "A valid point," said the young man. "Even so, he's not yours until he dies, right? Those are the rules?"