Hell on High

by Holly Lisle

  Coincidence? Maybe not. And angels were that good—by definition. In politics, follow the money. With angels, follow the good news. Glibspet reached for the paper.

  Chapter 33

  Courier Stockholder Meeting Disrupted by Disappearance

  Charlotte, NC—UPI

  A group of dissatisfied customers picketed the annual stockholder's meeting of North Carolina-based courier Hellbent for Leather Wednesday, at one point forcing their way to the speaker's podium with a list of demands.

  The company, incorporated and staffed by devils, provides instantaneous transport service across the state. Board chairman Asmodeous Smith accepted the list and promised to give it due consideration. Shortly thereafter, several company security staff approached the protesters, who were seen to suddenly vanish. The meeting continued without further incident.

  Later reports placed the missing group in the center of the Great Dismal Swamp. Chairman Smith, confronted on the issue, would say only, "They must have gotten lost." Asked about his complaint against Hellbent, picketer Robert Mann said, "I proposed via Hellbent—I thought it would be special." He indicated his blackened and swollen right eye. "I don't think they're delivering the same messages we're sending."

  * * *

  Rhea turned her head slowly and looked over at Jack. He was sleeping on his back with the sheet pulled up to his nose. His hair was a mess, and she could see the sleep in his eyes and abrasive stubble on the part of his face that wasn't covered. Jack, she decided, was a morning-challenged person. It made the hours he'd been keeping even more amazing. She sat up very, very slowly and looked down at him. The sheet over his lips traced what appeared to be a grin of epic proportions.

  Rhea grinned back, and blew him a silent kiss. It flew on a wave of emotion that left her suddenly teary-eyed and brought a lump to her throat. Get hold of yourself, Rhea, she told herself. Remember the way things are. She inched her legs from underneath the cover, raised them to her chest, swiveled a degree at a time and eased them to the floor beside the bed. The pine boards were cool against her skin. She glanced at Jack again—no change. She rocked forward onto her feet, letting the bed rise micrometer by micrometer. She was tempted to play some games with gravity, but that was the sort of thing that got you noticed.

  Finally, she was standing by the bed with Jack still sleeping, oblivious to the world, grin unnarrowed. The alarm clock would be a problem; she padded over to it, and ran the alarm up two hours. She looked back at Jack one last time, then took her clothes down the hall and dressed hurriedly. She surveyed herself in the small mirror in the living room. Perfect, of course; she didn't even need to brush her teeth.

  Outside, dawn was under construction. The sun had almost topped the trees, and was inching into a sky of immaculate blue, totally innocent of last night's storm clouds. Somewhere, a bird was chirping. Rhea breathed the morning scent deep into her lungs. Even here, she thought, deep in suburbia, it's all so wonderful. And they just don't realize. She eased the kitchen door shut behind her, and walked to the edge of the carport.

  The coast looked clear, and she made it to her car without incident. The gargoyle on the roof was just beginning to stir, and Rhea waved as she released the parking brake and pressed the clutch. The gargoyle shook her fist sluggishly. She looked awfully thin.

  The car began to drift down the gentle slope towards the road. Rhea turned the key as the little Triumph rolled out into the street. The engine purred to life instantly, and she eased the clutch out slowly, heading for the main road. Behind her, when Jack's place was nearly out of sight, she saw a garbage truck come around the corner. The sound reached her a second later. On a scale of Enya to AC/DC, she gave it about a Sex Pistols. Well, she had tried. Rhea put the accelerator down and headed for Celestial. She had a lot to do.

  Chapter 34

  Jan looked up from her console as Rhea came in. An R-rated grin spread across her face. "Thought so," she said. "Can I call 'em?" She reached around and patted herself on the back.

  "What?" Rhea asked defensively. There was no way Jan could tell anything by looking at her. There wasn't a hair out of place.

  "One of us didn't change clothes this morning," Jan said, "and it wasn't me. I notice also," she continued, "that one of our engineers hasn't checked in yet. The one who's been early the past month even though he loves to sleep..."

  "Sherlock, you got me." Rhea chuckled. "We made a breakthrough last night, and the celebration kind of... escalated."

  "Good for him! I've been giving him pep talks the last couple of weeks."

  "You have? To come on to me?" Rhea looked at Jan sharply. "Jan, I haven't exactly been a nun, that you need to throw men at me."

  Jan's grin faded. "Casual sex is great, Rhea, but I've seen your eyes sometimes when you think no one is watching." She looked down for a second, then locked her gaze with Rhea's. "You're carrying some kind of load, and it's going to break you unless you find someone to share it with." She forced the grin back. "And he can whistle. I do like a man who knows how to use his tongue."

  "You're a nasty woman, Jan," Rhea said, retreating towards her office.

  "Hey, I'm the one wearing clean underwear," Jan retorted

  "You mean you're the one wearing underwear," Rhea said, and shut the door behind her before Jan could one-up that.

  "Hello, Av—Rhea," Miramuel said.

  Chapter 35

  Jack woke with a start as the alarm shrieked accusingly. The sheet was over his head, and he flailed wildly at it for a moment, trying to get his bearings. It was like clawing through molasses, but he finally managed to get his head and arms free. He reached for the clock and fumbled for the switch. Too complicated. He yanked hard, pulling the cord from the wall. The racket stopped, and Jack sank back in relief, holding the clock face to his eyes as the second hand ground to a halt. Two hours late! Damn, how did that happen? He flung the covers off and jumped to his feet.

  Hitting the floor jarred his brain back into gear. Rhea. Last night. Wow. It did really happen. She must have set the clock back. He sat down again for a minute, and replayed the memories. It wasn't a complication he had planned on, and he had no idea where it was going, if anywhere. But, God, was he willing to find out.

  And I didn't even have to sleep on the wet spot. Actually, there was no wet spot. That was odd.

  Hell, the whole world was odd, wonderfully odd—he could feel the axis wobble if he stood still enough. He started to whistle Bruce Channel's "Hey Baby" as he showered and dressed. The pipes in the shower didn't rattle, the first two socks he grabbed for matched and he still had two clean shirts left. He was definitely on a roll.

  Jack found his shoes in the living room, spared a grin for the red panties still draped over the TV, and was out the back door and to his car before he even thought of the gargoyle. He waved at her as he turned the key. No ignition. He shrugged. He could get out the hammer and go under the hood, or he could try a rolling start. He thought about the gremlin from the night before. Today was his day for things to work right. He pushed in the clutch, shifted into reverse, and released the hand brake. At the bottom of the drive he popped the clutch and hit the gas. The motor purred into life. Perfect: There was no way that board was going to fail today.

  At work, things were hopping. He could tell immediately when he came in the front doors that the old atmosphere was back. Radios were on in offices again, and the people he met in the hall were striding instead of ambling. Not that many people were in the hall—almost every office he passed was occupied by someone working hard but enthusiastically. It was like the early days, when he had just signed on.

  "Way to go, Jack!" an engineer on her way to the ladies' room told him.

  "Thanks, Becky," Jack said. He hoped she was talking about the drive... Rhea must have said something that morning. He wished he knew what, exactly. It always made him nervous when people thanked him before he had really done anything. But if he couldn't make things work today, he might as well turn in his certific
ate and go raise hogs in Sampson County. Or run for Congress.

  Jack flipped on the lights in his office, and unlocked his workstation screen. He had an e-mail message:

  To: jhalloran

  From: rsamuels

  Subject: Sleep well?

  Hope you had a good night's sleep, Jack... Because I plan to keep you up late tonight!

  X X X X

  Rhea

  Jack whistled appreciatively, and tapped out a reply.

  To: rsamuels

  From: jhalloran

  Subject: Re: Sleep well?

  Rhea,

  Up late is great by me, but let's not forget to throw in a little downtime too!

  X X X X right back at you

  Jack

  Satisfied, he hit send. Now to work. He really ought to be able to get those traces right with a good day's effort. Jack brought up the circuit diagram again, and made a new printout. The printer hummed and he smelled the faint scent of fusing toner. He took the warm sheet and carefully compared it to the screen. Okay. No, wait a second, it was the same damn thing, the same pixel row missing!

  Jack slammed the printout down on his desk and grabbed an old-fashioned letter opener. He popped the printer latch, and lifted the lid. There was the gremlin, transparent and almost invisible, balanced on the corona wires. Jack stabbed at it and missed. Using the tight thin wire like a trampoline, the gremlin hopped over to the printer drum and thumbed its nose at Jack.

  "Don't get cocky," Jack told it. He put down the letter opener. That had been a dumb idea. He couldn't hurt the Hellraised little monster any more than it could hurt him. Well, he could squash it and end up with a hellish bill from Hell for the replacement body—he'd heard stories about that. Even the tiny ones were frightfully expensive. And squashing it wouldn't even get rid of it. He was more likely to wreck the printer. Well, he knew the gremlin didn't like coffee, but he couldn't very well pour a cup into the printer, and his reflexes weren't as fast as Rhea's. He didn't think he had a chance of catching it by hand. In fact, when he thought about it, he'd never seen anybody move as quickly as she had.

  He thought for a second, then picked up the phone. "Hello?" he said. "Is this Bat Conservation International? ... Yes... I'd like to make a donation. It's deductible, right?" It wasn't much as far as good deeds went, he thought as he hung up. But was it enough? He looked in the printer. The gremlin looked a little disgusted, but it was still there.

  Jack sighed and closed the printer on it. He called up classic film stills on the World Wide Web and navigated menus until he found George Bailey by the Christmas tree with all his family and friends gathered around. It was the most concentrated dose of goodness he could think of. Teacher says...

  He hit Print. There was a small wail from the printer as the image coated the paper. It wasn't a sound that could be explained by any mechanical process. Jack grinned. The printout, though, still had a row of dropouts.

  He opened the printer again. The gremlin looked positively ill, but it shook its fist gamely at him.

  Fine, pal. Gremlins came from Hell, and Hell was supposedly hot. Jack walked over to his workbench and pulled out an aerosol can of Freez It circuit coolant. Normally he used it when he suspected a heat-related problem with a component. As far as he was concerned, the gremlin had just made itself a printer component.

  He pointed the nozzle at the smirking face and pushed the valve. Fog enveloped the inside of the printer and when it cleared, all the metal surfaces were starting to collect frost. So was the gremlin. Jack took a pair of vise grips and grabbed it. An old Firesign Theater album title popped into his mind from nowhere: Don't Crush That Dwarf, Hand Me the Pliers. Unfortunately, that wasn't a real option. Instead, he cracked the window slightly and held the gremlin outside. The frost was melting, but the small Hellspawn was still blue and shivering. "Bye," Jack told it. "Don't forget to write." He let go and listened for the impact—it sounded like a tennis ball being thrown at a feather bed.

  Jack shook his head. There had to be a better way to delouse. The way his life was going, he'd better read up on it.

  The printout was perfect this time, and Jack took it over to his workbench to start fixing the traces. It was going to be a real pain—he was going to have to solder actual wires to the board in a couple of places. Not elegant at all. But doable. Jack cracked his knuckles and turned on his soldering iron. He whistled the first few notes of "Morningtown Ride." Time to get started.

  Chapter 36

  Whoosh.

  "How's it going, Gibbet?"

  Not nearly as well as it had been a second ago—that was for sure. Glibspet looked up at Kellubrae. "That's Glibspet," he snarled. He put his feet down and gripped his glass of Karo on the rocks tightly.

  Whoosh. "It might as well be Pit Fodder," said Venifar from his left. "You're taking too long." Venifar was not looking good. Now, along with the missing nose, his left arm had gone AWOL. And he had the raw look of someone who had been partially peeled. Evidently the Evil Dude was starting to push for results.

  Whoosh. Linufel jostled his right elbow as she appeared. The glass of Karo flew from his grip and spattered in slow motion, running down his shirtfront and pooling in his lap. "And that would be such a shame," she purred. "I was really so looking forward to our time together. Oh, look, you've made a mess of your pants just thinking of it!" She pulled a handkerchief from the tightly stretched breast pocket of her suit. "Let me help you clean that up."

  "That's not necessary," Glibspet said quickly, and rolled his chair under the desk. Linufel had a pretty liberal notion of what working against him meant—he did not think her grip would be gentle. She made a moue and put the handkerchief back.

  "So, where is she?" Kellubrae demanded. He leaned down across the desk and stared into Glibspet's eyes. There were bits of flesh on his teeth, and his breath reeked of the charnel house.

  Glibspet felt a sudden wave of nostalgia. Emboldened, he reached up to poke Kellubrae in the chest. "Hey," he said, "don't pull that crap on me. I've got the contract, and you'd better believe I've filed it. Mess with me, and the penalty clause comes in and kicks your ass so hard you'll be picking your souls out of the Pit one atom at a time for the next billion years. The three of you combined won't be able to make anything more ferocious than a cantankerous gremlin for so long you won't remember how to bite."

  Kellubrae narrowed his eyes, and Glibspet felt his hand forced down to the desktop. The thump shook the desk.

  "Never forget who we are, little devil," Venifar said from his side, "and that you signed that contract too. We've heard nothing from you but outrageous demands for funds and received nothing but invoices from escort services and dog kennels." He stepped fastidiously away from a drip of Karo. "You are contracted to provide us with the location of Averial. Where is she?"

  Glibspet spread his hands. "You think I wouldn't tell you if I knew?" If you wanted to control the answer, he thought, always ask the question yourself. "I'm a professional," he continued. "What do you think I've been doing here since I started?"

  "Getting yourself laid and gorged at our expense," Linufel said.

  "Well, sure. You signed that expense clause freely, and I can guarantee now that none of those girls is Averial—but I sure couldn't guarantee it before." At the murderous look in three pairs of eyes, he quickly added, "But besides them I've been eliminating hundreds... thousands... of other people."

  "We're not paying you for negatives," Kellubrae said. "I can tell you lots of places she isn't."

  "Ah, but in a state this size," Glibspet said, "no one person is more than three people removed from any other, and I'm not working at random. I'll find her tracks soon—it's inevitable."

  "It had better be," Venifar said. "The resources we can muster on this plane come at a price. We got the first lucky break in ten thousand years when Lucifer got sidetracked by the Maxwell's Demons Local #503 strike. If it hadn't been for that, we'd probably alr—"

  Kellubrae kicked him in the sh
in and stepped in front of him. "If you get us noticed, it had better be because of your success, and not—"

  In the lobby, the outside door swung open. "Dom?" Mindenhall called as the door shut behind him. "You in there?"

  "Out," Glibspet hissed. "Now! Or I'll go slower than I already am."

  Linufel made to argue but he cut her off. "Look, you want to explain this to him? If I have to get new help, it'll delay everything." She gave him a this-isn't-done-yet look, then glanced at Kellubrae, who nodded. She took her handkerchief again, reached through the desk to Glibspet's lap and wiped vigorously at the Karo. Suddenly, she grabbed and squeezed enthusiastically, still plying the cloth. She smiled sweetly as Glibspet's eyes glazed over. He didn't see Hell's trio take off, but through his pain he heard the triple whoosh. When he was able to open his eyes again, all three were gone.

  Glibspet doubled over and groaned.

  "Dom?" Mindenhall leaned in the door and gave him a worried look.

  Glibspet pushed weakly away from the desk and curled up in his chair. Mindenhall hurried to his side and rested a hand on his back. "Are you all right? Should I call 911? What happened?"

  Glibspet straightened slowly and painfully. He reached out a sticky hand and Mindenhall took it. There were Karo tracks everywhere, and his pants were bunched over his crotch. An ice cube was Karoed into his navel, and several more were dripping down his shirt. He sighed. "Just don't ask, Craig," he said. "Just. Don't. Ask."