Chapter 22 #2
He made a sound like he doubted what she was saying was true. “It’s 11:59.”
“He said noon, so he’ll be here at noon,” she said. “Belphegor is nothing if not extremely punctual. He’s a rule follower to a fault.”
“And you really think he is the right person to help us?”
“I must have missed the line of individuals able, let alone willing, to help you.”
Finn jerked back in surprise, muttering a slew of swears under his breath in Gaelic.
In the middle of the bar, flanked by his six closest friends, stood Belphegor, looking mildly amused as he fanned the smoke from the air in front of him.
“Apologies for eschewing the door,” Belphegor said. “But in the interest of keeping our operations covert, we thought it best we not be seen arriving.”
Effie hopped off the pool table. “Belphegor. Thanks for coming.”
He dipped his chin. “In this, our interests are aligned.”
“Mm, what about me?” Asmodeus broke away from the group, sauntering over to her. “Do I get a thank-you?”
With his long, dark hair, unlaced linen poet blouse, and dark breeches, Effie had always thought Asmodeus looked as if he’d stepped off the cover of a mass-market romance novel from the 1980s. He certainly had the Casanova-esque personality to rival the heroes who resided in those pages.
“Hello, Asmodeus.” She bit back a smile when he reached for her. “Thank you very much for coming.”
“Oh, my pleasure,” he purred, bowing to kiss the back of her outstretched hand.
Finn cleared his throat rather loudly.
Asmodeus straightened slowly, dark, kohl-lined eyes sweeping lecherously over Finn’s form. “Your husband, I take it?”
She nodded. “Asmodeus, this is Finn. Finn, this is Asmodeus.”
“Had I a soul to sell.” He leered at Finn. “Tell me, have you ever been to Paris, Finn? Perhaps you’ve met my good friend Lucky Pierre there?”
“Okay!” Effie clapped her hands before anyone else could proposition her husband. “Let’s get the rest of the introductions out of the way, shall we? Everyone, this is Finn. Finn, you’ve already met Belphegor and now Asmodeus. This is Beelzebub, Mammon, Abaddon, Leviathan, and Satan.”
Finn frowned. “Satan? I always thought—”
“Oh, no. Common misconception,” Satan said, pushing his thick-framed glasses up the bridge of his nose.
With only a few words, she could feel her blood pressure drop, Satan’s soft-spoken voice working better than any ASMR. “A simple case of misidentification paired with a troublesome little recording error has led to centuries of confusion and a generally accepted, if frustrating, merging of our identities. But rest easy, Lucifer and I are most assuredly different people.”
Finn turned to her. “So, when you say for Satan’s sake—”
“He’s a peach, Finn. Just listen to him. Everyone loves Satan.”
Even Beelzebub, the surliest of the Seven Princes, nodded.
“I’m a peach.” Satan smiled beatifically. “But if my name is troublesome for you, Finn, feel free to call me Stan. It’s what Lucifer calls me.”
“Your name is…fine. I guess what I’m struggling with is why you’re all willing to help us,” Finn said. “I mean, here we are, trying to thwart Lucifer, and if I understood it right, y’all collectively serve as his right hand. Isn’t this—”
“Treason?” Abaddon pulled the shade down over the window. “Indeed.”
“Well, right now it is seditious conspiracy,” Belphegor said. “We have not yet committed treason.”
“But to be clear, we are conspiring to.” Leviathan turned away from the jukebox, whose offerings he’d been perusing. “Hey, does anyone have a quarter? No?”
He shrugged and made his selection anyway, bypassing the pay-to-play feature with magic. “Cotton Eye Joe” by the Swedish Eurodance group Rednex started playing. Leviathan scuttled across the bar, looped his arm around Belphegor’s, and attempted to do-si-do.
Belphegor rolled his eyes and turned in a half-hearted circle. “That is why it is called conspiracy, Leviathan.”
“Treason, sedition, mutiny, I don’t give a fuck what we call it,” Beelzebub said, an ugly sneer twisting his fine features. “We’re dethroning the motherfucker.”
“You could try to sound a little less enthused about it,” Abaddon said.
“Why? I am enthused.” Beelzebub leaned against the bar.
“Warms the cockles of my heart thinking about putting the rat bastard in his place. You know, he made me kiss his ring the other day? Out of nowhere. We were having a perfectly lovely conversation and then bam! The bastard shoves his hairy fingers in my face and tells me to pucker up. Fucker,” he spat.
“We’ll see how he likes it when I make him kiss my ring.
” He smirked and stroked the ruby signet ring on his left little finger. “No, how about I make him lick my—”
“Whoa.” Effie held her hands up in a T, calling time-out. “Look, I am all for putting Lucifer in his place, and I know we’re all, like, evil, but maybe we ought to steer clear of crimes against humanity.”
“Boots.” Beelzebub sneered. “Make him lick my boots. For Satan’s sake, Eithrig. What do you take me for?”
Satan shrugged and mouthed the word peach at Finn.
“We are not dethroning one despot just to replace him with another,” Abaddon said, his tone final.
“While it’s evident that malice may motivate some among us”—he gave Beelzebub a punishing look—“it doesn’t motivate us all.
I have faithfully commanded Lucifer’s army for several millennia, but I know a losing battle when I see one.
Civil wars are destructive, destabilizing—”
“They cause economic collapse,” Mammon complained.
Leviathan, swiveling and chasséing by himself to the god-awful techno-hoedown beat, scoffed.
“They do,” Mammon argued. “Lucifer is driving our economy into the ground. There is no other kingdom that could levy sanctions against him; we must do it.”
“Your economy?” Finn asked. “Pardon my ignorance, but can’t you just poof more money? Forge some?”
Mammon squinted harshly at him. “Just because we don’t engage in fair trade with humans doesn’t mean we don’t have a well-regulated, if insular, economy.”
“Mammon’s the head of the ITC,” Effie explained. “The Infernal Trade Commission.”
“Ah.”
“Every kingdom divided against itself is brought to desolation, and every city or house divided against itself will not stand,” Abaddon said. “If Lucifer must be usurped to prevent a civil war, so be it.”
“A preemptive strike.” Finn nodded.
“Indeed,” Abaddon agreed. “The purpose of all wars is peace.”
Finn snorted. “And here I thought it was oil.”
Abaddon chuckled.