Play with Fire

chapter Twenty-Four

“I MUST SAY Mal, you’re looking well,” Libby Chastain said. “I was about to add ‘for someone who’s been through hell, but then...” She let her voice trail off, with a smile.

“You’d be right, too,” Mal Peters told her. “When you’ve actually been in Hell, six months in a federal detention facility is a piece of cake, by comparison. Besides–” He laid his hand briefly on the thigh of the beautiful, thirtyish woman next to him “–I had regular conjugal visits, even if the correction officers never knew about them.”

Malachi Peters had once done “wet work” for the CIA, spending a number of years all over Europe killing people whom somebody in Washington regarded as a threat to national security. That had lasted until 1983, when Peters, on a mission in Budapest, had been betrayed – and shot dead.

As James Bond would have been shocked to learn (if he really existed), killing for patriotic motives is still considered murder in the eyes of the Almighty. Peters’ soul had been judged and consigned to Hell, where it had remained until last year.

That had been the year that one faction in Hell – demons being as prone to quarrels and cliques as humans, if not more so – had decided to have Republican Presidential candidate Howard Stark secretly possessed by one of their number and continue his campaign. With demonic assistance, the thinking went, Stark could become President, then use the powers of the office to carry out Hell’s longtime agenda – the destruction of the human race.

But another group of demons, some of them quite important in the hierarchy, had decided that if the plot succeeded, it would bring on the long-predicted battle between Heaven and Hell called Armageddon. The faction opposed this, because they had no faith (unlike some of their kind) that Hell would triumph in this ultimate confrontation. And if there was a worse punishment than the miseries of Hell, that group of demons was not eager to find out what it might be.

So their leader, Astaroth, had sought out a hitman. Peters had been given flesh again and sent back to Earth, with instructions to assassinate Senator Stark before he could win the White House. What would happen to Peters afterward had never been made clear.

Things had not worked out quite as either side had planned. But the election had come and gone, and Howard Stark, although still alive, was neither possessed by a demon nor President of the United States. Morris and Chastain had played a vital role in bringing about that outcome, as the new President, Robert Leffingwell, was well aware.

And now Peters, who had been released from prison the same time as Quincey Morris, sat on Libby Chastain’s couch next to the most beautiful woman that either he or Morris had ever seen. She could, at will, become the image of any man’s ideal woman, but her usual human form was tall, blonde, slim, and quietly elegant.

“I wondered whether you’d use your powers to visit Mal secretly. I guess I’d have been surprise if you didn’t.”

The woman sitting next to Peters called herself Ashley when on this plane of existence. But in Hell she had been a demon of the fourth rank called Ashur Badaktu, given human form by Astaroth and sent to assist Peters in his task of murder. She was also instructed to keep him happy, orders she had carried out by f*cking him stupid at every opportunity.

“Almost every night,” Peters said. “Sometimes the toughest part of prison for me was getting out of bed in the morning.”

“Libby and I were glad to learn that the two of you are still among us,” Morris said. “Us humans, I mean.”

“We were afraid that you were both going to be called back to Hell,” Libby said, “once the matter of Senator Stark was resolved satisfactorily.”

“You’re not the only one,” Peters said. “It’s pretty stressful knowing that every time you go to sleep, you could wake up to find yourself in Hell – forever.”

“I keep telling him not to worry,” Ashley said. “I’m pretty sure I’ve got it figured out. When I was allowed to leave Hell, there was a big division among the hierarchy over whether to put Stark, and the demon possessing him, in the White House. The whole Armageddon thing, you know?”

Morris and Chastain nodded. They already knew this part of the story.

“Well, the way I figure it,” Ashley went on, “things got worse after I left, especially once the Stark plan went to shit. My best guess,” she said, “is that there’s a civil war raging in Hell right now. Astaroth and the others are too busy with that mess to worry about a couple of pawns like Peters and me who’ve been left over on this side of the board. With luck, they’ll forget about us for centuries, maybe longer.”

“I was very glad that you were still here in January, Ashley, to pay that call on President Leffingwell with me,” Libby said. “Presenting him with one living example of supernatural power might have been enough, but both of us together...”

“Yes,” Ashley said with a smile, “that did seem to seal the deal, didn’t it?” She gave Libby a very direct look – the kind that would have brought almost any man literally to his knees, panting with lust. “Is that the only reason you were glad to see me back then, Libby? Are you glad to see me now?”

Libby was using magic to guard herself, but even so she felt her body responding to Ashley’s succubus-like power. Being a demon, she was unconstrained by such human baggage as sexual morality. Ashley knew that Libby was bisexual and, some time back, had invited her to frolic. Libby had declined, provisionally.

“Cut it out, Ashley,” Libby said, not quite severely. “This isn’t the time, or the place.”

In that same throaty alto, Ashley said, “That implies that there will be a proper time and place, doesn’t it?” A wicked smile curved her full, red lips. Libby was aware that Morris, seated in a chair to her right, was shifting his weight uncomfortably.

Peters put a gentle hand on Ashley’s shoulder. “Come on, honey. Not now, okay?”

Peter’s relationship with Ashley, both before prison and since, was the kind that a man might have with a pet leopard. He did not give orders, but polite requests were usually complied with. Both leopards and demons, after all, are capable of affection for humans – up to a point.

Ashley rolled her eyes. “Oh, all right,” she said, in mock annoyance. “There goes my plan for the orgy I was going to suggest later. Okay, so what shall we talk about?”

“Well, the thing is,” Morris said, “we’d like to ask a favor.”

Ashley raised an elegant eyebrow. “Indeed? Well, since we’ve already established what kind of favor you’re not asking for, I’d be very interested to hear what I can do for you.”

“It’s something along the lines of the way you helped us at the Republican Convention last summer,” Libby said.

“Oh, you mean ‘Now you see me, now you don’t?’”

Libby nodded. “Yeah, pretty much.

“Well, that’s always fun. I love the way they scream when I do the big reveal. When and where is this party of yours going to take place?”

“The when is tomorrow, if you’re free,” Libby said. “Assuming the man we want to... impress is home, that is, and will open the door to us. There’s a tricky aspect to that, which I’ll explain to you later.”

“And the where is Brooklyn,” Morris said. “Just across town.”

“Brooklyn, huh?” Ashley pretended reluctance, “Well, I guess that’ll be okay.” She glanced at Peters. “To paraphrase something lover boy here once said to me – I’ve been in Hell, so I guess I can handle Brooklyn.”

She looked at Libby then. The gaze was not lustful, as it had been before, but speculative, instead. “So, if I do this job in Brooklyn tomorrow, that means you two will owe me a favor. Each of you. Are we agreed on that?”

Libby took a deep breath and said, “Yes, Ashley. I, personally, will owe you a favor. And if you want to cash that in by having me jump in the sack with you afterwards – then, okay, that’s what I’ll do.”

Ashley held the look, but there was some amusement in it now. “Gracious me,” she said. “You must want to impress this guy in Brooklyn pretty badly.”

“I said I’d f*ck you, Ashley.” Libby sounded tired. “Let’s not talk it to death.”

After a moment, Ashley said, “Nah – that makes it too easy. I may ask you for a favor someday, Libby, but it won’t involve you getting naked and letting me wrap my thighs around your head.”

Libby’s voice was steady as she said, “Fair enough, then.”

Ashley stood up to leave, and Peters followed suit. At the door, Ashley turned and gently rested her hand on Libby’s cheek. “But the day will come, my dear – and so will you, over and over.” Ashley took her hand away and grinned. “Afterwards, you’ll be asking yourself why you ever waited so long to say ‘yes.’”

After their guests had gone, Morris returned to the living room. Realizing he was alone, he turned and looked back. Libby Chastain was resting her back against the front door, her face a trifle flushed. Morris thought he heard her say, very softly, “Maybe I will, Ashley. Maybe I just will.”