Jim Baen's Universe Volume 1 Number 3 October 2006

by Baen Publishing

  The shrieking sound that came out of the Devil's jaws reverberated through the metal basin like a steel drum. Cobalt's legs finally gave way and the only thing that kept him from falling into the shimmering disposal blades was his grip on the Devil's penis.

  "Oh, I am gonna invent whole new levels of Hell for you," hissed the Devil. "Let go of me!"

  "Stop the blades!" said Cobalt.

  "I'm warning you—" said the Devil.

  But his words transformed into a pathetic whimper as Cobalt pulled hard on his penis. The Devil raised one shaking hand and snapped his fingers.

  ****

  They were back in the cabin. Cobalt stumbled and smacked his forehead on the front door.

  "Go, Conjure Man!" snarled the Devil. "Now!"

  Cobalt fumbled for the handle, hardly believing what he'd just heard. But as he was about to open the door, he heard a sharp crack and a high whimper. He stopped and turned back towards them. The Devil was slowly advancing towards Salome, a long black whip clutched in his clawed fist. Salome looked over the Devil's shoulder at Cobalt, her eyes mutely pleading, a long bloody welt on her upper arm.

  "Goddamn," muttered Cobalt. Then he grabbed the poker by the stove and stepped in between them.

  "Out of the way, Conjure Man," snarled the Devil. "I've given you your life back. You should take it and run."

  "I'm taking Salome with me," said Cobalt.

  "Boy, not only are you dumb, but you're rude. This here is family business. It ain't got nothin' to do with you."

  "Call me rude, then," said Cobalt. Then he swung the poker with all his might and hit the Devil square in the forehead. But the Devil did not move except for his eyes, which crossed slightly as they gazed at the poker pressed against his brow. He frowned and the poker went white hot. Cobalt let out a yell and dropped it. Then the Devil hissed triumphantly and reached for Cobalt with a clawed hand while he drew back his whip with the other.

  "Daddy, please!" said Salome.

  The Devil froze, his hand a hair's breadth from Cobalt's face. "Baby girl . . ." he whispered. His face writhed with frustration.

  "I'm sorry I got you mad, Daddy," said Salome.

  There was a sound like a buzz saw on sheet metal and Cobalt realized that the Devil was grinding his teeth.

  "Please, Daddy," said Salome. "Please let us go."

  "Now why you gotta use the magic words!" groaned the Devil as he lowered his hands.

  "Magic words?" asked Cobalt wildly, the adrenaline pumping through his veins suddenly useless.

  "Please and sorry," the Devil spat the words out. He tossed his whip into a corner where it turned into a python and slithered away.

  "You're kidding," said Cobalt.

  "Hey," snapped the Devil, shaking a needle-sharp finger in his face. "You don't have kids so you don't know! I'm trying to raise a girl with manners, here. I expect her to honor words like 'please' and 'thank you' and 'sorry.' Now what kind of parent would I be if I didn't do the same? Consistency is the key to solid parenting."

  "So you're going to let us go because she said 'please'?"

  "And," said the Devil, as if this was direly important, "she apologized for her behavior."

  "So, Salome" Cobalt struggled to contain his temper, "Couldn't you have done that from the beginning?"

  "Well," said Salome, "I wouldn't have meant it then."

  "I see," said Cobalt levelly.

  "It was only your brave sacrifice that made me truly sorry that I had disobeyed Daddy. Because I'd rather be stuck in Hell forever than see you damned unjustly."

  "But what I don't understand" said the Devil, wringing his hands in frustration, "is why you want to go with this tiny mortal into his tiny, smelly little world when you already know damn well how it's going to end?"

  "I don't know how it's going to end," she said, her eyes wide and her lower lip trembling. "Every mortal is different. You've said that yourself a million times."

  "I meant that every mortal has different things that would torment them for eternity."

  "But if it's true for that, it's true for everything. And I just need a break from Hell, you know?" She gently took his massive clawed hands in her own. "Daddy, there's other things in creation worth doing besides tormenting souls and I want to do some of them before I settle into the family business. Why can't you let me have some time on my own?"

  "You had some time on your own, remember?" said the Devil. "And how did that go?"

  "But I've learned so much since then! It's been hundreds of years. How long is it going to take for you to trust me again?"

  The Devil stared at her for a long time. Then he turned back to Cobalt and on his face was a grimace, a wincing, pleading, loathing, wrathful grimace which was one step away from biting his head off. "I hope you have kids one day. Then you'll understand. So take my heart, my daughter. My baby girl. Take her away from me just like the last one did. You'll use her just like the last one did, and then you'll break her heart. Just like the last one. And I'll have to come and get her and wipe away her tears."

  "Wait a minute," said Cobalt. "I think you've got the wrong idea—"

  "Thank you, Daddy!" squealed Salome. "Thank you thank you thank you!!!" She threw herself into his arms and then spun around and grabbed Cobalt by the arm. "Come on, let's go! Quick before he changes his mind and uses your intestines for Momma's knitting!" And she began to drag him towards the exit.

  "Conjure man!" said the Devil.

  Cobalt's heart went icy. He turned around slowly, thinking it was all another trick and now he was going to die. But the Devil just stood there in his cramped cabin, his dark shaggy body heaving with emotion, his eyes pulsing with fire.

  And he said, "You know, you mortals have got me all wrong."

  "Oh?" asked Cobalt. "How's that?"

  "I was never an angel," said the Devil. "I never led no rebellion in Heaven and I never fell." His face curled up into a sneer, then. "This is how He made me. This is how I'm supposed to be." Then he snorted through his nose with a bitter laugh. "Now what does that tell you?"

  ****

  The motor still didn't work on the boat, but it didn't seem to matter. Salome just told Cobalt to close his eyes, the boat lurched slightly, and then the hot, salty smells of that tropical place changed suddenly to the rusty cold of Pittsburgh. He opened his eyes and saw that they were floating down the Allegheny River once again. It was early morning and the sun was still warming up as it lit guardedly along the golden supports of the river's many bridges. On the left, the downtown area glittered like a façade, and on the right, houses and bungalows perched atop the hills that overlooked the dockyards. It was brash, noisy, and dirty, and Cobalt couldn't help but sigh in relief.

  "Where do we go now?" asked Salome. "Will you take me to your home? Share with me your mortal life?" Her eyes seemed to throb slightly, and it felt like a magnetic field hovered between them and Cobalt leaned unconsciously towards her, his lips buzzing for her kiss. Strange possibilities flickered through his head, hopes and desires. . . .

  But then, over her perfect shoulder, he spotted a small powerboat with a tall, ugly, long haired white guy in it. And a different possibility occurred to him. One which was at once so wrenchingly full of loss and so thrillingly full of potential that he shivered.

  "What is it?" asked Salome.

  "I'd like you to meet somebody," said Cobalt. "A good friend of mine."

  Salome turned just as Angelface pulled up along side of their boat.

  "You guys need a—" And then he saw Salome

  "Uh, Salome," said Cobalt. "This is Angelface. Angelface, this is—"

  "Oh!" she breathed. "An angel! I've never known an angel!"

  Cobalt almost corrected her, but stopped himself. Instead, he just smiled.

  "Nice to . . . uh . . . meet you," said Angelface, his eyes flickering over to Cobalt in confusion. Looking for guidance.

  "How lovely you are, Angelface!" said Salome.

  That stopped him. He sta
red at her for a moment, then said. "Who are you?"

  "I'm Salome, daughter of Hell," said Salome. "Do you love me?"

  He looked at her for a while longer and then his mouth curved to the right in a wide smile. "Not yet," he said truthfully. "But I don't think it'll take long."

  ****

  Angelface towed their boat back to the pier. As they disembarked, an old lady stepped down on to the dock with startling agility.

  "I knows ya could do 'em, Hoodoo Man!" said John through the old woman's lips. "I weren't worried none at'all." Then he looked appreciatively at Salome. "And damn, girl, if you ain't jus as purdy as eva'!"

  "You're still here?" asked Cobalt, surprised. "Usually when the wrong's been righted, the spirit is free to go."

  John grinned and there was a hint of malice in it. "Now, was ya still thinkin' I was a normal ole spirit? Afta' what ya jes been through? Ya mean ya act'ly believed alla tha' 'Yessa' and 'Nossa' stuff? Boy, ya head muss be empty as tha' ole Devil's heart!"

  "John?" said Salome, her normally musical voice suddenly flat and cold. "Is that you in there?"

  "Sho' is, girl," said John.

  "You shouldn't be in there," she said. "You should be back in Hell where you belong."

  "In Hell?!" said Cobalt.

  "Now that I meet him," said Angelface, "I coulda told you right away you'd been hoodwinked."

  "Not much help now," muttered Cobalt.

  "John," Salome said sternly. "How could you have escaped?"

  "Now, girl," said John, and his old woman lips curled up into a sneer, "didja' think I done live with ya fer a whole lifetime an' not learn a thing a' two? I wuz always watchin' ya when ya was don' ya magics. See, I's got my own power now, an' I ain't neva gon' leave this ole worl'."

  "It was always about power, wasn't it?" asked Salome. "You never loved me."

  "Girl, was' this nonsense you be talkin'?" snapped John. "Don' fugit we married. So shuddup an' come ova' here afore I beat you dumb."

  "Salome, you don't have to take that shit," said Cobalt. "This is—"

  Salome held up her hand.

  "It's okay," she said. "This is exactly what Daddy was worried about. But I really have learned from my mistakes." She turned pointedly to Cobalt and Angelface. "Would you guys mind stepping back and looking away for a minute? This is something I'd prefer you don't see until we know each other a little better."

  "Um—" said Cobalt.

  "Well—" said Angelface.

  "Please," said Salome.

  They both nodded, took a few steps back, and turned around.

  Cobalt heard Salome say in a chiding voice, "Now, John. You really want to be with me that badly? Well, I got just the place for you."

  Then he heard John gasp. Then his breathing came hard and fast and he whispered hoarsely, "No, no, no, no." There was a loud scream that was cut off abruptly by a strangely chilling vacuum sound. Then there was silence.

  "Okay," he heard Salome say. "You can turn around again."

  She was now easing an exhausted old lady onto a nearby bench.

  "Lord, Lord, Lord," wheezed the old lady. "I feel like I done run a mile!"

  "You're okay, granny," said Salome. "You just rest now. Get your strength back."

  The old woman turned to look up at Salome and her eyes widened. "Oh my Lord!" she cried. "Mister Sidney Poitier! Is it really you? What are you doing in Pittsburgh, Mr. Poitier?"

  "Just passing through," said Salome, completely unruffled. "And I saw that you needed some help."

  "Well, don't that beat all," said the old woman, her face shining with pleasure. "Helped to a seat by none other than Sidney Poitier. I think I could die happy now."

  "Now, now," chided Salome. "I think you got some time before that happens."

  Cobalt turned to Angelface. "What do you see when you look at her?"

  Angelface smirked. "Think I'm gonna tell you? I'd never hear the end of it."

  "Huh," said Cobalt. "Fine. Well, I won't tell you either, then."

  "Oh," said Angelface, "I already know what you see." Then he started to humming the theme to "A Different World" quietly to himself.

  "Haha," said Cobalt sourly.

  "Now, Mister Poitier," the old lady was saying. "Please forgive me for bein' so familiar, but you look jes as young and dashing as when you was in the movies."

  Salome smiled. "It's the love of my fans that keeps me young."

  "Say," said Cobalt to Angelface. "What happened to John, anyway?"

  "Not sure you want to know, CB," said Angelface.

  "Believe me," said Cobalt. "After what that punk ass bitch put me through in the past twenty-four hours, I wanna know."

  "Well, Salome swallowed his soul."

  "So what does that mean, exactly?"

  "Well, contrary to popular literature, souls are not digestible," said Angelface. "Not even for Hellspawn. So she'll probably pass him. In a few centuries."

  ****

  Jon Skovron's stories have appeared in such places as ChiZine, deathlings, and Lynx Eye Magazine. You can find other samples of his work, along with reviews, columns, and essays, on his website jonnyskov.com or his blog.

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  Femme Fatale by Jason Wittman

  Illustrated by Karl A. Nordman

  When I first met Molly Flammare, I hadn't heard any of the stories they told about her. She was definitely a dame to tell stories about—later, when it was all over, I heard any number of them told in darkened bars, or around barrel drum fires, by men with nothing better to do than sit with their buddies, or their shot glasses, and spin their dreams—though, when Molly was the subject, the dreams often turned into nightmares. But I was new in Minneapolis, so for me the subject of Molly Flammare was a blank slate. I think that was a blessing: for that reason, I could see her for what she was. And the reality was enough to put any story to shame.

  I was fifteen. I'd been orphaned a couple years back, Dad taken by the Germans at Omaha Beach, Mom by tuberculosis. But I wasn't going to any orphanage, so I left Chicago for Minneapolis and took to playing my dad's trumpet at the corner of Lake and Garfield. Apparently I had talent, 'cause people threw me enough coins every day to buy a hamburger at Charlie's Diner, and sometimes a lot more than that. So I kept playing, and things were looking up. But then Johnny Icarus sent some punks to pay me a visit.

  They were just kids, high-school dropouts with too much time on their hands. They came to me on a July morning when people had yet to come out in full force, and there were only a few nickels in my hat.

  "How you doin', kid?" said one. I looked around, and smelled trouble right away. There were four of them, surrounding me on all sides.

  "Who wants to know?" I asked, trying to sound tough.

  "Johnny Icarus," said the same kid. "That's who."

  "Never heard of him."

  The kid shrugged. "He's new to this town. But he wants to make a good impression here, really wants to help people. In fact, he looks at people like you, and he sees someone in need of . . . protection."

  I stifled a groan.

  "How much?"

  The kid smiled. "Cut to the chase. Johnny Icarus likes that. Well, just for today—" He reached for my hat. "—we'll only take what you got right now. But our going rate is ten per—"

  I kicked him in the face, picked up my hat, and ran like hell.

  Maybe that was stupid. What was really stupid was running away from Charlie's Diner, where Charlie could protect me. But there was nothing I could do about that, and as I ran it became clear I was falling right into their trap.

  Three more kids ran up to head me off. I ducked down an alley—where four more kids waited for me.

  I stood there, clutching my trumpet. They would probably just rough me up; I could survive that. But they would trash the trumpet too, and that was my only way to make a living. Where would I get a new one? Charlie? I didn't think he could afford it. And what would I do next time this happened?

  "Hey," said a voice
from the other end of the alley. "Why don't you pick on someone your own size?"

  A man stood there, holding a two-by-four. By his clothes, I guessed he was down on his luck. But it looked like he knew how to use that two-by-four, and I was taking any help I could get.

  The gang leader whipped out a switchblade. "You think you can take on all of us?"

  "What the hell." The newcomer tapped the two-by-four in his palm. "I got nothing to lose."

  I braced myself. I still didn't like the odds—but then something happened that made the odds irrelevant.

  Suddenly, the sunlight dimmed—looking up, I saw storm clouds that looked like they'd been there forever. A cold wind blew through the alley, and I shivered like it was the dead of winter.

  "Leave them alone, boys," said a woman's voice from the other end of the alley, opposite from Mr. Two-by-four.

  Peering into the wind, I saw her for the first time.

  She was tall. Good God, she was tall, the kind of tall that had to duck through doorways. The way she stood said she knew exactly what she was doing. But her face didn't say much of anything. It was hidden under the brim of her hat.

  She stood in the alleyway like the cold and wind weren't even there.

  The gang leader hesitated, weighing his options. He decided on the safe route.

  "L-look, ma'am, we . . . we don't want any trouble . . ."

  "'Course not." She had a deep voice that could hold a stadium's attention with a whisper. "The only one who wants trouble is Johnny Icarus. That's his name, right?"

  No one said anything.

  "Beat it," she said. "And tell Johnny that Molly Flammare sends her regards."

  And those kids beat it, like the proverbial bat out of hell.

  She just stood where she was. She might not even have been looking at us. The wind still screamed in our faces, and the brim of her hat still kept her face in shadow. Then, without a word to either one of us, she left the alley. And just before she turned the corner, she reached up with one hand, made a sweeping gesture at the sky, and it was sunny again.

  Sunny again. Just like that.

  I looked at Mr. Two-by-four. We both wore the same expression, like the rug had been pulled out from under us. Then I ran after Molly Flammare.