by Holly Lisle
He could see the glitter of unshed tears shining in Bernie's eyes, or maybe it was the glitter of newborn greed.
He said, "Plus, by getting the sponsors involved, we move the cost for the entire project onto their shoulders."
"Great. It doesn't cost us anything, it gets us listeners, it gets us sponsors." Bernie nodded. "But what if he screws up? What if he can't be rehabilitated?"
"No, Bernie. Wrong question. We aren't selling a sure thing here. I know that. Our listeners are going to know that. He probably can't be turned around. But we are selling hope, and hope has been pretty hard to come by. The question isn't 'What if he can't be rehabilitated?' It's 'What if he can?'"
The station manager leaned forward and rested his elbows on his desk. "So what if he can be changed? We're talking one lousy devil."
"No. We're talking the entire state of North Carolina suddenly out from under this cloud. We're talking a problem that can be fixed, not a curse from God. We're talking the end of the exodus, people moving back, the return of life as we knew it. Think about it, Bernie. Hell of a thing to accomplish, isn't it?"
"Okay, Dan, I'll tell you what. We'll go forward on this, but only provisionally. If it looks like things aren't going well, we can always back out and claim Puck is beyond help."
"Even if it's not true?"
"We do it on that basis, or none at all."
Dan clenched his fist. Ted Argent, the old station manager, would have seen the possibilities in an idea like this. Bernie was only interested in a sure thing, and a quick cover for his ass if necessary.
But that was all right. He could work within those boundaries. In talking to Bernie, in trying to sell him on the project, Dan had totally sold himself. Now he wanted to do this. He wanted to make the project work not just to get ratings, but because he realized every word of what he'd said to Bernie had been true. A radio promotion, a stupid gag to get people to listen to the station, might actually be enough to make a difference in the state he'd chosen to call home. And if Bernie couldn't see the real payoff at the end of the project, it didn't matter. Dan could see it, and Dan was the one who was going to make it come true.
He put out his hand. "All right, Bernie. We'll do it your way."
The station manager nodded and gave Dan's hand a weak, damp clench. "Good. Keep me informed."
Chapter 6
Lucifer sat at the head of the boardroom table with a bag of deep-fried damnedsouls and a few sulphur-cured imps on sticks tucked away in case the meeting ran long. Tracking gave a brief report on the Hellraised who'd gone AWOL upon reaching North Carolina. The tracking team was actually doing a good job, but since they hadn't found all of the missing Hellraised, Lucifer ripped the head off of the department manager and threw him into the Pit, then promoted the first assistant to her place. Decisive management, he thought
He listened through the department head of Research and Development's long-winded report on the progress he was making on digitally controlled torture devices. At another time Lucifer might have found the report fascinating, and really the color overhead projections of pie graphs and bar graphs of inflicted pain with old methods versus inflicted pain with new methods were very nicely done. Lucifer experienced a momentary surge of interest when R&D brought in a couple of damnedsouls for the demo.
But Scumslag was down from his away mission in North Carolina to give the half-year report on the progress of Satco, that tiny little division of Netherlands Industries that had garnered such a lot of enthusiasm from everyone in the main branch of the company. Lucifer wanted to hear what Scumslag had to say, and not even an amusing demonstration of R&D's new toys seemed like much of a diversion while he was waiting.
Communicable Diseases was next on the agenda, but when R&D sat down, Lucifer pointed to Scumslag. "You next," he said.
Scumslag smiled, "My thanks, Your Magnificent Awfulness. I'll keep this brief. Our statewide net in damnedsouls is up four percent, statewide morale—as measured by our twenty-point morale index—is falling at half a percentage point per month, murder and suicide rates are rising, and the altruism index is way down. Plus, we show a financial profit in this second quarter of forty-seven-point-five-three million dollars. Net."
The devil, the only one in the boardroom who wasn't a fallen angel or snack food, grinned around the table at the other department heads.
"That's a good start," Lucifer said. "But how is the Devil's Point project coming?"
Devil's Point had been the idea of the first CEO of Satco, Agonostis, before he went over to the other side. It was to be an amusement park built in North Carolina, offering one-of-a-kind amusements for a slightly less-than-average day rate. It was to have a water park with real mermaids; a zoological park with living specimens of extinct creatures from every one of Earth's geological eras; a library with every book that had ever been written in every language that had ever been spoken; a live-action role-playing game park with special effects from Hell; the ultimate mall, that offered every product the mind could imagine; body shops where the customer could buy the body he or she had always wanted; and much, much more. The customer would be able to find almost exactly what he wanted at a competitive cost. Hell would make a nice profit on that, because it had virtually no manufacturing costs. And when the customer knew exactly what he wanted, he would find, instead of another shop or attraction, a magical door. That door would take him to a secret, hidden part of the park. Desire's Point. Where he could have exactly what he most desired.
For a slightly higher price.
The park looked tremendous on the drawing board. Unfortunately, it hadn't gotten past that stage yet. "Everything is ready to go," Scumslag said. "We've located the land we want in Fender County, right next to Topsail Beach. We've found a hundred square miles that we can buy up relatively cheap—land prices have fallen through the floor since we arrived. The only problem right now is that no one will sell us the land, and we're hampered by His rules about humans knowing whom they're dealing with."
"I don't recall much resistance from humans when it comes to dealing with the devil," Lucifer said. "They've always been greedy little bastards."
"Yes, they have. But this particular block of land happens to have fallen into the hands of people who aren't motivated by greed."
"Fundamentalists?" Lucifer scoffed. "They can be tempted."
"Oh, no, Your Horribleness. Much worse than Fundamentalists. Environmentalists."
The fallen angels around the table hissed, and even Lucifer made the sign of the evil eye. "Find another piece of land," Lucifer said. "You'll never get their nasty little claws out of that one."
"But I think I will." Scumslag's smile grew huge. "Greed won't get them, but I think their politically correct agenda will. More than anything else, they want the power to force other people to do things their way or no way at all. So I'm working on that angle. I'll get 'em."
Chapter 7
The number 4 blinked at Dan from the answering machine as he walked into his apartment. He increased the speaker volume, punched play, then went into the kitchen for a Coke.
Beep!
"Dan, this is Darlene. I've been calling our sponsors. A lot of them are holding back on a commitment, but I've got some names for the ones who want to participate in the Makeover. Bernie says this is your baby and your vision, so you'll have to talk to them on your day off. He wants you to handle it personally. Sorry. Bye."
My day off, Dan thought. Well, it was my idea.
Beep!
"Hello, machine. I have a son who winds your tape on occasion. Please tell him I love him and would appreciate hearing from him before summer's end. Thank you, Mr. Machine."
Dan grinned. "All right, Mom," he told the empty room, "I'll drop by this afternoon."
Beep!
"Hi baby! It's Janna. I heard your show, and your Great Devil Makeover idea sounds wonderful! In fact, I'd like to volunteer my expertise. I can teach him how to walk and speak and use proper etiquette and be charming
at boring functions and wear a suit and tie a tie..." She laughed. "And I won't even charge him for all this valuable wisdom. I'd love to see you, and I'm available this evening, so if you want to bring your devil by for his first lesson, give me a call and confirm. Thinking of you! Bye!"
Beep!
"Dan, it's Meg. Listen, I think you're onto something here. I have an idea about this makeover thing of yours that I'd like to bounce off you. Call me. Bye."
Dan leaned against the wall, thoughtful. He liked both women a lot. Meg seemed a little more real, but Janna reminded him so much of Francie sometimes that it made his breath catch in the back of his throat. Both of them hinted from time to time that they would like to spend more time with him. They didn't know about each other, and he doubted either would be thrilled to discover he was dating the other. Not that any commitments had been asked for or given. Still, he probably ought to choose one and break off with the other.
Easy to say. But which one?
Dan turned on the stereo and settled on the couch. He stared at the ceiling.
What should he do? Was there a right thing? Did he need to do anything? After all, it wasn't as though any of them had made any demands. And if he broke up with either, it would mean he was ready to get more serious about the other. He wasn't.
He wondered briefly if either woman was seeing anyone else. He didn't think so. Janna teased him about her "stable." She didn't sound serious, so she was probably just kidding. But maybe not...
And Meg made the sign of the cross at issues of Modern Bride and said she carried a silver bullet to ward off bridesmaids. But was she really so anti-marriage? Or was she just testing his reactions?
He took a swallow of Coke.
Neither one of them was Francie.
He looked at the Coke, wishing for just an instant that it was something harder... but he didn't do that anymore. He'd giving up trying to drown his sorrows. He'd discovered his sorrows swam a hell of a lot better than he did. This time he managed to keep himself from digging out the old photo albums, though, or pulling out the wedding picture that until he'd moved back to North Carolina had sat atop his desk. He was, he thought, getting stronger.
Cancer had not been kind to Francie, and he had a hard time remembering her as the girl he loved in high school, the young woman who married him when he had nothing in the world to offer her, the friend who played roller hockey in the driveway with him and didn't mind getting hit by the ball. All of that got lost in the memories of that last year, with Francie pale and bald from radiation, thin and frail and waif-eyed and bruised from the chemo and the IVs. In the end, little of Francie remained. Pain ate the laughter and devoured the joy and left her crumpled in the hospital bed, broken and defeated. He loved her—he offered God anything to take the cancer away from her, to let her be herself again—but in the end, Dan had been helpless to do anything but watch as she slipped away.
He sipped the Coke.
Francie had been his gift from Heaven. He'd had her. He'd loved her. He'd lost her. He'd learned that every love had a beginning and an ending, and the more love there was in the beginning, the more the ending hurt.
So he had devised a simple expedient for preventing any more of that anguish. He wouldn't fall in love ever again.
Chapter 8
The biggest reason Dan had been willing to move away from KWDY in Boulder to take the morning slot at a smaller radio station in Raleigh was the chance to be close to his family again. He'd been the local-boy-made-good when he came back. Ted had given him free rein with the morning content, including an unprecedented freedom with the playlist. Then Ted, in the manner of all people everywhere who were smart, fun to work with, and talented, had received a whopping offer for a better job from a major market station and had flown happily away, leaving Bernie, that human pile of bat guano, in his place.
Dan, on the other hand, had decided to stay.
He glanced at the rearview mirror to check his hair, wondering if it had gotten long enough that his mother was going to give him a hard time about it. He checked the time—4: 45 P. M. If he were lucky, he could visit with his mom and get out the door before Arthur came home.
Arthur.
Dan made a face. Arthur, the all-around great guy; Arthur, his mother's hero; Arthur, the big twenty-five-year man at Daltech; the guy in upper management who "took her away from all of that," and into a big house and fancy lifestyle. Now Arthur-the-Savior was as likely as anyone to be facing the ax, and the family was going to see how steadfast he was. Dan feared old Art would split, and his mother would get her heart broken again. And end up owing a lot of money she couldn't afford to pay.
The steady, cold rain, still pouring down out of a bleak gray sky, had left a puddle the size of Lake Michigan across her driveway. Dan decided to park in the street rather than try to figure out a way to get out of the car without getting his feet soaked.
He stepped onto the brick porch. Something new hung from one of the white columns—a small plaque. He read it and frowned.
WELCOME TO THE HOME OF ARTHUR AND PATRICIA HILL
"Hi Mom," he said as the door opened.
"Well, hello stranger," his mother said and hugged him. "Come on in. Watch Arthur's plant."
Dan returned the embrace, then moved past her into the house. "I can't stay long. I have to work on a pitch for the new promotion I'm doing for the station."
She gave him one of those long, omniscient mother looks she'd perfected back when he was fourteen and smuggling Playboy magazines into his room to hide between the mattress and the box springs. "I heard your show this morning."
"Great idea, don't you think?"
Still that look, but now with the raised eyebrow, too. The raised eyebrow indicated her opinion that he'd taken a definite slip into the realms of the sanity-challenged.
"You don't think, huh?"
She dropped into her La-Z-Boy recliner and leaned back. She shook her head slowly, and finally said, "I think a great deal about a great many things. I'd like to see some evidence that you do. What possessed you, Daniel? Or maybe that's the answer as well as the question. Maybe it was demonic possession. Or temporary insanity."
"Why? Come on, Mom—this is an incredible opportunity."
"Yes, it is... to help the Hellspawn that are causing the ruin of North Carolina. To give work to one of the monsters responsible for your dad being on the brink of losing his job. I'm afraid I don't see the opportunity in that."
"First, Arthur isn't my dad. He's the man you married, and I'm happy that you found someone you love, but my dad is that jerk out in Topeka who left us." His mother stiffened, and Dan, for just an instant, wished he'd let the "dad" thing slip for once.
"Cynthia calls him 'Dad. '"
"Cynthia was nine when you married him. I was thirteen. That makes a difference. And I didn't intend to talk about Arthur. I intended to talk about his job. If we can get industries to move back here, to realize that North Carolina is still a good place to be, then Arthur won't lose his job. And neither will a lot of other good people. That is what I'm trying to make happen."
"You can't change the Hellraised. They went to Hell because they were evil. Because nobody could change them. And now they're here in North Carolina, doing their evil, and they are going to be here until the last person leaves the state. I'll tell you, Daniel, if we could sell the house in this market, Arthur and I would move. But in eight months the valuation on our home has dropped from one hundred twenty thousand dollars to thirty thousand dollars, and it will probably drop further. Even if we could find a buyer, we couldn't afford to sell."
"I'm sorry." Dan leaned forward. "I know things are hard for you—for everyone. That's why I'm trying to make them better."
"This isn't the way to do it. A panel of experts on Oprah all agreed that they can't be redeemed."
The Oprah defense. Dan had gotten this one before. "Who were these experts?"
"Theologians and evangelists. They were there for a show called 'Which Ch
urch Is God's Real Church?' They didn't agree on much else, but they agreed on that."
"What experience did they have with the Hellaised, Mom?"
His mother looked annoyed. "They're... theologians... and... evangelists." The clipped voice snapped with irritation. "They've spent their entire adult lives studying things like this."
"Are they from North Carolina? Have they dealt with the Hellraised?"
"They deal with God."
"That nurse Dayne Kuttner dealt with God. He listened to her. You show me proof that He listens to the pompadoured Jesus-shouters whose big cry is that God needs more money. You prove to me that He listens to the theologians who believe dogma and doctrine are more important than caring for people who need help. Prove to me that God agrees with them. And when you prove that, I'll listen to what those snake-oil salesmen and hate mongers have to say about our problems."
His mother sighed and shook her head. "You were a pain in the neck when you were little, too. You never could believe someone other than you might be right." She put the recliner's footrest down and leaned forward. "I'll give you credit for having good intentions, Dan. Until I see proof to the contrary, though, I'm going to have to assume you still don't have any common sense."
That was as close to truce as his mother was going to get. He could fight about it some more, but fighting with her never got anywhere. He'd inherited her stubbornness, but not as much of it. He shrugged and managed a smile. "Okay. I didn't want to come over to argue with you, anyway. Mostly I just wanted to visit."
She smiled. "Then let's visit."
They chatted for the next hour, staying away from risky topics; Dan told her about his most recent dates with Meg and Janna, and kept her amused with funny stories from the station. When he checked his watch again, he discovered it was time to make a graceful exit and beat a quick retreat before he had to make pleasant chitchat with Arthur. He said, "Ooops! Didn't realize it was so late. Gotta run, Mom—I have an unbelievable amount of work waiting for me."
