Mercury Falls (24 page)

She gestured at Karl, who smiled again.

"Lucifer needed someone easy to control and easy to dispose of when the time came, but we also needed him to be officially denounced by a prominent leader of the faithful. Heaven and Hell keep a rolling list of ten leaders who are eligible to denounce the Antichrist, and most of the ten wouldn't have lowered themselves to denouncing someone like Karl. The pope, for example. You can't interest the pope in something like that. It's beneath him."

"Not Harry, though."

"No, not Harry. If anybody was going to be taken in by our plan, it was going to have to be Harry. And it had to happen quickly because Lucifer needed things to progress to the point of no return before Heaven got wind of what he was up to. So we whispered in Eddie's ear, and Eddie whispered in Harry's ear. You find, after a few thousand years of corrupting mortals, that people with the most rigid religious viewpoints are the most predictable and therefore easiest to manipulate. They'll do something completely against their better judgment if you can convince them that their doing it fits into some Divine Plan that they can't understand. Humans are easy. The hardest part of this whole plan was dealing with Lucifer's incompetent minions. Like that idiot Izbazel. If it were up to him, Karl would have been dead before he was ever officially denounced. I don't know what Lucifer sees in that knucklehead."

"OK," said Christine. "But so far it sounds like you and Lucifer are on the same side. Where does your brilliant scheming fit in?"

Katie said, "Well, you may have noticed that Karl is not, in fact, dead. Izbazel is probably reconstituting right now. . ."

"Reconstituting?"

"Everyone within five hundred yards of that anti-bomb was torn to pieces," Katie said, "including Mercury and Izbazel. Yes, in case you were wondering, I know all about Mercury's involvement."

Christine couldn't help feeling relieved. "So Mercury isn't dead?"

"Angels don't die," said Katie. "He's unincorporated."

"Unincorporated?" asked Christine. "Like the Mulholland Corridor?"

"Lacking a corporeal form. As I said, Mercury and Izbazel will be reconstituting shortly on whatever plane the anti-bomb sucked them into. Izbazel will be called home by Lucifer, who will be hoping for confirmation that Karl has been killed. He's going to be disappointed. And you do not want to be around Lucifer when he's been disappointed. Izbazel will be lucky not to spend the next ten thousand years as a crustacean.

"My plan was originally to contact Heaven and let them know that I have some valuable information about a certain planned sneak attack, and that I might be willing to share it in exchange for certain concessions. I've been informed by my contact at the Arbitration Panel of the Subcommittee for Adjudication of Matters of Alleged Violations of the Apocalypse Accord, however, that someone has already tipped them off. I don't suppose you know anything about that, Christine?"

Christine said nothing. Inwardly, she was thrilled to realize that not absolutely everything she had done over the past several days had been scripted. She had been able to throw one wrench in the machinery at least.

"It's of no importance," said Katie, waving her hand. "The important thing is that I have Karl. If Lucifer goes ahead with his attack now, he needs my cooperation. Otherwise I can go public with Lucifer's plans and the fact that Karl is still alive. I'm free! I'm finally free!"

"So you're not going to let Lucifer wipe out humanity?" Christine asked.

"A burnt-out shell of a planet is no use to me," said Katie. "Although a few well-placed anti-bombs could go a long way toward making the human race into an army of thralls."

"OK, well, we're glad everything worked out for you," said Christine, getting to her feet. "Karl, I think it's time for us to go."

"Oh, you're not going anywhere," said Katie. "Those men outside with the guns? My own personal cherubim guard. They're out there to keep you two from leaving just as much as to keep anyone else from getting in. Of course, Christine, I don't particularly need
you
, except insofar as you help me manage. . .my other asset."

"Yeah, I got it," Christine said, sitting back down on the couch. "You know, you can pretty much just speak English. It's not like he's going to understand you anyway."

"Who's not going to understand what?" asked Karl.

"So what did you tell Bright Eyes?"

"Bright Eyes?"

"It's my new nickname for Lucifer," said Mercury. "I'm hoping it catches on."

The two angels had materialized in the Temporary Portal Arrivals area of the planeport and were making their way down the concourse.

Izbazel grunted. "I told him what you said. That there were some complications with the assassination, and that I needed to speak with him in private."

"How'd that go over?"

"About as well as you'd expect. He threatened to turn me into a newt."

"No worries," Mercury said. "I think I've figured out a way for everyone to live happily ever after."

"Everybody?"

"Well, almost everybody. And not so much happy as only mildly disgruntled."

"And the 'ever after' part?"

"Actually," said Mercury thoughtfully, "it's more like 'for the very short-term future.' So, to modify my original statement slightly, I've probably found a way to keep almost everyone from becoming more than mildly disgruntled for the very near future."

"That's fantastically reassuring," said Izbazel. "I don't suppose you're going to let me in on your plan."

"Better not," said Mercury. "Plans on which you've been fully briefed have a poor track record. Plans that you're completely in the dark on, on the other hand, seem to work out pretty well. Your ignorance seems to be a key element of any successful plan."

Izbazel asked, "Does this plan end with me being turned into a newt, by any chance?"

"With any plan, there's always a small chance of someone being turned into a newt. I can't make any assurances. The only thing I can tell you is that you have slightly better odds with my plan than with your last one."

"Fine. I get it. I have no choice but to go along with whatever it is you're planning. But you can at least tell me the next step in your plan for near-universal mild disgruntledness."

"Sure," said Mercury. "Go grab that cherub."

"What?"

"That's the next step in my plan. I need you to go grab that cherub over there. The one that looks like he fell off the cover of Van Halen's
1984
."

"Van what?"

"Just go get him. Tell him Mercury needs a witness. Hurry up, he's getting away."

Izbazel
hmph
ed and set off after Perpetiel, who was buzzing away toward the baggage carousel. After a brief exchange, Izbazel returned with Perpetiel behind him.

"Mercury, you old salt!" said Perp. "Have I ever told you how to get red wine out of cashmere?"

"Minor miracle," said Mercury. "It's the only way."

"I know, it's a bitch, isn't it? Poor benighted mortals. Who's this guy? He looks like somebody just threatened to turn him into a newt."

"This is Izbazel," said Mercury. "He works for Lucifer."

Perp cocked his head at Izbazel. "How's that working out for you?"

"Not so great," said Izbazel.

"He suckered you in with stock options, didn't he? I've seen it a thousand times."

Mercury said, "How've you been, Perp? Anything interesting happening in the world of Transport and Communications?"

"Same old," said Perp. "Shoulda seen the pack of noobs here earlier. I swear, these tourists get more tiresome every year."

"I'm sure you made out well in tips."

"You have no idea. So what's this about you needing my services?"

"Got a contract for you to witness," said Mercury. "Your paperwork is in order, I assume?"

"Of course," replied Perp. "As an agent of the Bureau of Transport and Communications, it is my duty to retain the proper certifications. My Witnessing License is in good order, sir."

"Good. Give me an hour of your time, and I'll let you tell me all about how to make mock hollandaise sauce some time."

"Sure. Who's the contract with?"

"Lucifer."

"Ha! Always the kidder, eh, Merc? Seriously, I need to know who the contract is with."

"Seriously, Perp. It's Lucifer. I need his help to unkidnap a friend of mine."

"A mortal, I can only assume."

"You assume correctly."

Perp snorted. "These mortals. They are mere prawns, being shoved about by—"

"Pawns," Mercury said.

"What's that?"

"The mortals are
pawns
. I actually thought it was
prawns
, too, but it turns out that it's
pawns
."

"Are you sure? I've been saying 'prawns' for. . .must be seven hundred years now."

"Yeah, I've got a friend who knows this kind of stuff. Trust me, it's
pawns
."

"Pawns," said Perp, trying out the word. "You're absolutely certain it's not
prawns
?"

"Quite," said Mercury. "My friend is a writer. I have total faith in her judgment."

"Well then," said Perp. "
Pawns
. Such a strange word. I suppose I'll get used to it though. As I was saying, these mortals are mere pawns in a vast ocean, being shoved about by currents beyond the meager understanding of their tiny crustacean brains."

"Indeed," said Mercury. "So will you help me out?"

"You know what happened to the last guy to make a pact with Lucifer, right?"

"I thought he was still hosting
American Idol
."

"Exactly," said Perp. "A fate worse than death. Between you and me, I'd rather be a pawn, scuttling about on my tiny crustacean legs. An unkidnapping, eh? Not sure I have a standard contract for that."

"We'll draw something up. Nothing fancy. You ready to go?"

"I'm ready if you are," said Perp. "Fresh air is the best remedy for clothes that smell like smoke."

"Good to know," said Mercury. "That one may actually come in handy where we're going."

Other than the fact that there exists no physical plane known as "Hell," the Mundane conception of Lucifer as presiding over an infernal realm of smoke and magma is largely accurate, if somewhat outdated.

When Lucifer fell from Heaven, his original intention was to stay on the Mundane Plane, but the meddling of the angels, not to mention the ever-present irritant that was humanity, forced him to establish his primary base of operations on another plane. Lucifer, who is well known for his pride, could not bear to share a plane with any demonic entities other than his own minions, however. As empty planes are difficult to come by as well as ridiculously expensive, Lucifer found himself with few desirable real estate options. Thus it was that nearly three thousand years ago he put a nonrefundable deposit down on a plane that was previously thought to be uninhabitable, even by demons. Plane 3774d was renamed the "Infernal Plane," and Lucifer set about to make it marginally habitable.

At first he attempted to capitalize on the forbidding nature of the plane, building a city of jagged rock palaces surrounded by a moat of magma. The problem was that cable TV and central air notwithstanding, Diabolopolis was so uninviting—not to mention difficult to pronounce—that not even demons particularly wanted to live there. For many centuries, Lucifer's iron grip on his minions ensured that they would remain on the Infernal Plane if they wanted to remain employed, but the proliferation of a dynamic interplanar economy in the late twentieth century made it increasingly difficult to keep Diabolopolis populated. And even Lucifer had to admit that living in a mile-high monstrosity of magmite had its downsides. For one thing, he kept getting lost down passageways that the contractors had been instructed to make as frightening as possible—an instruction which, he later realized, negated the possibility of helpful maps with arrows labeled "YOU ARE HERE." For another, upkeep was a bitch.

Lucifer decided to scrap Diabolopolis and construct a massive new complex using the latest principles in Mundane domestic engineering. To entice other demons to move into the new complex, Lucifer himself took occupancy in one of its more prominent dwellings.

So it happened that Lucifer, the Light-Bearer, the First of the Fallen, the Father of Lies, lived in a substantial but surprisingly unassuming pink stucco house nestled within a housing development called Hidden Oakes, which backed up against the Hidden Oakes Country Club and Golf Course.

Mercury, who was strolling down Lucifer Lane with Izbazel and Perpetiel, noted that there seemed to be no oakes—nor even oaks—in the vicinity. In fact, there were very few trees of any kind. Of the few there were, most were dead or dying, and the rest were plastic. Even the hills were apparently artificial, as they were covered in Astroturf and surrounded by a seemingly endless and unforgiving desert landscape, broken only by razor-sharp rocks and the occasional stream of lava. If there was a sun, it was blocked out by a foreboding mass of reddish-brown clouds hanging low in the sky. The air was hot and oppressive.

"Nice, huh?" said Izbazel as they strolled toward 666 Lucifer Lane.

"The oak-ees are evidently well hidden," said Perpetiel, tagging along behind.

"Still, you have to admit he's improved it."

"I don't know," said Mercury. "Why bother to live on the Infernal Plane if you're going to spoil its natural charm?"

"It's centrally located," said Izbazel. "Easy planeport access. And you can't beat the price."

A fork-tailed demon standing in his front yard with hedge clippers eyed them suspiciously.

Perp waved at the demon. "Soapy water will deter aphids on rosebushes," he offered.

"Most of Lucifer's lieutenants live here," Izbazel said. "He promised me that faux Tudor over there for killing Karl."

"Nice," said Mercury. "Of course, they'll nail you on the property taxes."

They were stopped at the gate to Lucifer's house by a massive horned demon.

"It's OK, Azrael," said Izbazel. "He's expecting us."

Azrael patted them down and then escorted them inside.

The oversized living room of the house was taken up mostly by a semicircle of flat panel monitors that stretched across the far wall. Sitting in a wheeled leather office chair in the middle of the monitor bank was a tall man wearing a light blue jumpsuit with flared cuffs and trimmed with rhinestones. His unnaturally thick, blond hair stood at least six inches off his head in an impressive pompadour.

Each monitor was itself split into four screens, each of which was displaying some sort of activity. The screens were too small and distant for them to make out the subjects clearly, but Mercury surmised that they allowed Lucifer to keep up with his machinations across several different planes. Many of them showed settings from Earth—shopping malls, bus stations, and the like, and that one. . .was that the New York Stock Exchange? It was an overwhelming amount of input; Mercury wondered how Lucifer could possibly keep up with it all.

The tall, blond demon spun in his chair to face his visitors. He did not look happy. To be fair, though, it was clear that he had not been truly happy for quite some time. To say that he was disgruntled would have been misleading, as it implied that there was a time within memory that he had been fully gruntled. He had the look of someone who had let what had originally seemed like a really good idea get well out of hand.

Lucifer appeared to take no notice of Mercury or Perpetiel, focusing all of his rage on Izbazel. "I charged you with one simple task," he fumed. "Kill the Antichrist. Karl Grissom. He's a thirty-seven-year-old man with the brain of a squirrel and the constitution of a seventy-year-old. This is a man who was handpicked from tens of thousands of people for the precise reason that he would be the
easiest to kill
. The man's resting heart rate is a hundred and twenty. You could probably give him a heart attack by telling him that professional wrestling isn't real. And yet you couldn't kill him with an implosion that wiped out half of Anaheim. How is that even
possible
?"

"My partner, Gamaliel—"

"The one that you handpicked. The one that you assured me was completely under control. That Gamaliel, correct? Do go on."

"If I may, Your Luminosity," interjected Mercury, "it's clear that Izbazel here is a moron. I don't think there's any reason to tap-dance around that issue any longer."

Lucifer turned his icy glare to Mercury. "Who the hell are you? Some friend of this fool, I take it."

"My name's Mercury. I'm going to help you get your Antichrist back."

"Mercury, eh? You have some gall showing up here with only Mr. Ingrown Horns here to vouch for you. What do you know of the Antichrist?"

"I know where he is, for starters," said Mercury. "Which fact, I believe, gives me a leg up on
you
."

Lucifer was not amused. "Listen, Mercury, is it? Tell me, why should I not turn you into a newt, right here and now?"

Perp chimed in, "Newts lay their eggs one at a time, unlike frogs."

Lucifer turned his hateful gaze to the fluttering cherub, and Perp shrank into a corner.

"Because I'm the only one who knows where the Antichrist is," explained Mercury. "On the other hand, maybe you have a backup plan I don't know about. Like putting up signs around town: 'Have you seen this Antichrist?' That sort of thing. 'Five foot eight, two hundred ten pounds, brown hair, brown eyes, enjoys fries with ketchup, and answers to the name
Karl
.'"

Lucifer's eyes narrowed. "Who do you work for, Mercury?"

"I don't exactly work for anyone," said Mercury. "But I do represent the Antichrist."

"You
represent
him?"

"Correct," said Mercury. "I'm his agent."

"The Antichrist doesn't get an agent," Lucifer said. "That's not part of the—"

"Yes, yes," said Mercury. "The important thing is that we all work together to find a resolution to our current impasse that is, at worst, only mildly disgruntling to all involved parties. And that's something that I believe I'm in a position to arrange."

"I tire of this," said Lucifer. "I'm inclined to turn the three of you into newts. Mercury, you have thirty seconds to offer me something of value."

"I can get you your Antichrist. He's being held against his will by the agents of another faction in this conflict."

"What faction?"

"Please," chided Mercury, "you're cutting into my thirty seconds." He went on, "I believe that you're planning to withdraw from the Apocalypse Accord on the grounds that agents of Heaven unfairly assassinated the Antichrist. Karl being alive and in the hands of a faction outside of your control throws a wrench into your plans. If you cry foul, and then Karl shows up alive and well. . .or even worse, if this other faction is prepared to produce evidence that you were behind the attempted assassination. . .well, that could get embarrassing for you. An interplanar commission is appointed to investigate your misdeeds, sanctions are imposed. . .Feel free to correct me if you feel like I've misrepresented the situation."

Lucifer glared at Mercury. "Go on."

"I want to get Karl free from his captors. You want to be able to ensure that Karl isn't going to pop up at some point and ruin your plans. I suggest a compromise. Izzy and I will spring Karl and return him to you. For your part, you'll let Karl live. You can sequester him comfortably somewhere on one of your less dismal planes, where no one will ever find him. I'm happy because Karl is safe. You're happy because as far as anyone knows, Karl is dead. Izbazel and I will be sworn to secrecy, and you will guarantee our safety. We'll write up a contract. Perpetiel, as an official Angelic Witness, will notarize it."

"How do I know you can actually deliver Karl?"

"You don't. On the other hand, if I couldn't, I'd have no reason to be here, taking a chance at spending eternity as a newt."

"And what is preventing me from just torturing you until you tell me where the Antichrist is?"

"The constraints of time," said Mercury. "Heaven is going to start looking into that implosion in Anaheim. The longer you wait to withdraw from the Accord, the more time they have to figure out what really happened. I haven't told Izbazel where Karl is, so that means you'll have to torture me to get the information you want. And I once sat through a back-to-back showing of
Star Wars
episodes one through three. Give it your best shot."

"I don't suppose you are, in fact, an agent of this third faction yourself?"

"I'm not," said Mercury. "Not that it matters. You're too smart to risk losing Karl to make an example of me. I hope."

"I think," said Lucifer, "that you should tell me who the leader of this faction is, as a gesture of good faith."

Mercury shook his head. "You're free to investigate after the fact, but for now the details remain confidential."

"I don't take kindly to being toyed with, Mercury."

"No toying here," said Mercury. "Just a simple business transaction. Do we have a deal?"

Lucifer studied him for a long time. Mercury could only hope that Lucifer didn't know about Christine's discovery of the portal in her condo. If he did, then he would know that his plan had already been compromised, which left Mercury with no leverage. It also gave Lucifer a pretty good incentive to turn him into a newt—and kill Christine, if he ever got the chance. This last eventuality bothered him more than he would have cared to admit.

Trying not to think about it, Mercury scanned the monitor bank, his eyes darting from one scene to the next. By chance they alighted on a fish-eye view of a small room that was empty except for a small kitchen table and four chairs. As he watched, the image of a young woman flickered into view in the center of the screen. A sickening sensation came over him as he realized that he knew the identity of the woman: he was witnessing Christine's arrival through the linoleum portal earlier that day. Evidently this was either a recording or there was a delay getting video from the Mundane Plane.

Still Lucifer stared at him. Did he have any idea what Mercury was seeing? Neither Izbazel nor Perp made any sign of having noticed. Mercury tried to retain his cool facade, but he was unable to tear his eyes away from Christine standing bewildered in her breakfast nook. Finally she left the screen, and Mercury exhaled a barely perceptible sigh of relief.

Lucifer continued to stare.

Christine reentered the frame, holding what looked like a crystal duck. She slammed the duck-thing down on the floor once, twice, three times. On the last attempt, the duck shattered, and Christine sat there in the middle of the frame, looking like she was trying to figure out if she had another duck somewhere.

Still Lucifer said nothing.

"Oh, for the love of all that's holy," Mercury finally exclaimed in exasperation, "it's going to take more than a crystal duck!"

Lucifer was momentarily taken aback, but this non sequitur evidently had the effect of pushing him toward a decision.

"Fine," said Lucifer. "Write it up. But if you fail, I will turn you into a newt. Perhaps something even worse. Maybe a prawn."

Perp spoke up. "Actually, it's—"

"And Izbazel is getting turned into some sort of insignificant aquatic animal either way. I cannot tolerate this sort of failure."

"No," said Mercury. "I need Izzy's help to spring Karl. You can turn us both into newts if we fail."

Lucifer sighed. "My hopes for your plan are not aided by your insistence on his involvement. But let it be as you say. Do not fail me." He waved his hand and turned back to the wall of monitors.