Mysteria Nights

“Never fear. Because of your newly finite life, you won’t have many years to fret your fate. Consider it a favor for your years of service to the Dark Empire.” Lucifer waved a clawed hand. “No need to thank me.”

A growl rumbled in the demon’s throat. Of all the many things he’d like to give Lucifer at that moment, thanks was not one of them. Yet, something told him it wasn’t mortality itself he needed to fear as much as the locale in which he would suffer it. “Where am I to be sent?”

“Why, to the very epicenter of your initial act of kindness.” Lucifer spat out that last word. Literally. A glob of moisture sizzled in one of the many fires burning deep within the bowels of the earth. “Mysteria. I trust you remember the place.”

He remembered it, all right. Remembered it all too well. The settlers he’d helped had founded the village.

The demon shifted his weight on aching knees as he mulled over his options, which were near zero, as far as he could tell. Time was running out to reverse course, so he did what he did best and sowed the seeds of self- doubt. “Are you certain this is the best plan for me, Master? The best punishment? Are you absolutely sure?”

The Devil’s voice turned deadly. “What do you mean?”

“What if it doesn’t work out? What if they don’t want me amongst them?” You can’t . . . you won’t. Try, and you will surely fail. . . . “Imagine it, the Demon High Lord of Self-Doubt and Second Thoughts living across the street, mowing the lawn. Coaching Little League?” The demon curved his lips into a between-us smile. “Absurd, is it not?”

Lucifer shrieked in incredulity. The sound of a thousand screams filled the chamber. Goblins and gargoyles somersaulted through the shadows, fleeing the chamber as a rumbling began under the cold stone slab of a floor. “Your dark magic does not work with me!”

“I’m merely suggesting that you look at all sides of the equation—”

But Lucifer continued to roar. Somewhere far above them, on the surface, the ground also shook. The demon half-wondered how many casualties there would be this time. But that was no longer his job. He’d been fired. He would no longer be tasked with planting defeat in the survivors’ minds, riddling their psyches with despair. At that, something close to relief filtered through him. Doing good has taken the fun out of doing evil.

Aye, it had. The demon sensed he’d never be 100 percent good. Yet, neither could he ever return to being 100 percent bad.

Lucifer grew in size until he towered above the demon, his clothing splitting and hissing as muscled flesh bulged and tore it apart. Horns sprouted from a ridged skull, curling upward, until they, too, were lost in the swirling mist of the chamber. Finally, he spoke. “I do not doubt, fallen one. I do not err. I do not have second thoughts!”

That much was obvious. Couldn’t Lucifer have made the point without all the needless death and destruction? Without the unneeded suffering? A growl vibrated deep in the demon’s throat. He’d witnessed such showy outbursts many times during his long existence, but this time, for the first time, a reaction to the master’s wrath formed inside the demon, as if he had a temper of his very own.

He made fists. It caused the manacles to bite into his wrists, pain he welcomed as a ball of heat swelled and exploded in his chest, a conflagration he couldn’t recognize or explain, for he didn’t have feelings. Never had. He couldn’t have performed his duties if he’d been created any other way. And yet, he felt something now, aye, something too wonderful and terrible to absorb, a sensation too new and yet inexplicably ancient at the same time. The pressure built and built until something finally gave.

The demon gasped in shock. It was as if his very core had wrenched open, releasing all he carried within him. The vileness, the blackness, he realized. The evil.

For half a breath he was so frighteningly hollow, he wondered if he were about to implode; then into the vacuum rushed something so sweet, so indescribably wonderful, that he nearly sobbed. What was happening to him?

“I’m sorry,” the demon whispered on a ragged breath. It was the only way to express what had boiled up inside him. “I am so very sorry. . . .”

“You don’t look sorry,” Lucifer hissed from high above.

The demon glared up at him. “Ah, but I am. Sorry for all the centuries of sowing doubt, of turning back those beings better than I. I am sorry for the evil I accomplished in your name. In fact, I hereby repent!” Aye, take that, you gutless stinking mountain of dragon offal.

“You . . . re-what?”

“I repent. R-e-p-e-n-t.” Was that not an Aretha Franklin song? Or was he confusing his tunes? The demon gave his head a shake. There they went again, his thoughts wandering. One thing was certain, something had happened—was happening—inside him, and he was helpless to stop it.

To stop the emotion, sharp and pure, filling him with anger, resentment, shame at his past. And hope—hope despite the completely overwhelming odds against him. Now you are just like the humans, he thought.

“I ask forgiveness for all the deeds I ever did in the Dark One’s name,” he said quietly. “Aye, I truly do.”

Lucifer’s voice was deadly. “I never forgive. You should know this, my minion. You of all the demon high lords should know.”

“It wasn’t of you that I made my plea.”

Lucifer’s molten eyes pulsed and glowed, his fangs glinting in the cast-off light. “What?”

“You heard me.” Angry now, the demon flicked his gaze upward—heavenward—to make his point clear.

Only the fretful twittering of goblins interrupted the shocked, appalled silence. Then, a strange noise stuttered past Lucifer’s parted lips. The demon marveled at that. It was the first time in all of history that he could remember hearing the Great Satan sputter.

Then, all hell broke loose.

Two jets of searing red lava shot out from the Devil’s eyes and hit the slab where the demon crouched. Rocks exploded, pummeling him as he fell backward. The air was on fire, something that the demon should have been used to—Lucifer lost his temper often; they’d all been charred now and again—but this was different.

This was worse.

The demon spun in the center of a tornado, wrenched and torn in every direction, inside and out. He could no longer see or hear. And, after a blessed while, he could no longer feel the pain that wracked him.

Bathed in white light, he floated. Is this what it feels like to die? If so, perhaps he would not mind. But he knew, even as he tumbled into oblivion—or, rather, into the forested slopes of Colorado— that Lucifer would never let him get away as easily as that.

Two

In a clear, sweet voice, Harmony Faithfull concluded her Sunday service: “Now, go in peace and enjoy this beautiful day the Lord has given us.”

The sound of her six-month-old puppy’s tail thumping on the hardwood floor was all that broke the perfect silence.

“Thanks, Bubba.” Harmony looked up from her handwritten sermon, which had taken all of ten minutes to read to the six rows of pews. Six rows of empty pews, lined up like abandoned soldiers on the pristine, knotty pine floor.

There should be scuffs marring those planks, she thought longingly, lost buttons in the corners, and crushed Cheerios. And under the pews, wadded-up Kleenex, handbags, and colorful hats . . .

Harmony sighed and neatened the lectern. “It’s nice to know someone appreciated the homily today.”

You’re talking to the dog again.

“Yep. And when you’re not talking to the dog, you’re talking to yourself.” Crossing her eyes, Harmony shut off the halogen reading lamp and the microphone. Sometimes, she wondered what she possibly could have been