killed four of
my subjects with a machine?” The silky, oily quality was fading, replaced by
the hysterical screams of rage. The audience found that immensely reassuring,
it was business as usual. The unnatural calm had been horrifying from its
unprecedented nature. A raving, screaming temper tantrum was much more
familiar. “And nobody saw it?”
“None
Sire. Although we do have a message that was transmitted by one of their
warlords. It refers to a Predator aircraft.”
“And
just what is a Predator?” Satan was struggling to keep his temper under
control.
“A
hunting bird.” The voice came from a tiny minor demon on the floor. Satan
glanced sideways and his glance mashed the speaker into a purple pulp that
drained away through the stone floor.
“Does
anybody else want to state the obvious?” There was a sudden shuffling of cloven
feet and demons glancing sideways at each other. The more astute of them were
already trying to work out the best place to take cover when their infernal
overlord decided it would be necessary to stage a massacre.
“There
is another problem with that message.” Asmodeus spoke carefully. “The warlord
spoke of ‘major enemy leadership figure’, we assume that means an important
person here. Yet there was nobody on that stand of any importance, a few
relatives of Abigor, that is all. None in the leadership and none of any
importance. We do not understand this.”
“Perhaps
I can explain.” Beelzebub was also speaking carefully. “The warlord also spoke
of ‘information received from reliable informants’. There can be only one
explanation for that comment. There are those of your Infernal Majesty’s
subjects who are in contact with the humans and are passing information to
them.”
A
horrified gasp went around the hall. The whole concept was a nightmare to
contemplate yet was also eerily plausible. Who here had not sold information on
an ally to an enemy in order to bring about a tactical advantage?
“But
Sire.” Asmodeus was appalled, his voice terrified at even speaking of this
idea. “Nobody important was killed.”
“Nobody
important perhaps.” Beelzebub spoke almost as smoothly and calmly as Satan had
done. “Not in our terms perhaps. But the traitor – or traitors – who sold the
information to the humans may have been using them to settle a private score of
his or her own. Who knows where treason might end?”
Even
Satan was silenced by that thought. The hall was still, silent as the occupants
absorbed the implications of what Beelzebub had said. Then, the glances that
they were exchanging underwent a slow change from apprehension at what might
Satan might do next to suspicion at what their neighbors might be saying to
these upstart humans. No matter how intense those suspicious glances became,
they couldn’t match the ones Satan was casting at them.
Room
352A, Arkham Asylum, New York City, NY
The
voices had been haunting Julie since her sophomore year of high school. Every
time she'd tried to tell them to go away, they simply laughed at her. And when
she denied they were real, they'd whisper to her, caressing her mind like an
unwanted lover, telling her secrets – what was happening far away, what others
were thinking about her, telling her things that were never wrong.
And
they were always right, always there, always just out of her senses, dripping
across her mind like black grease. Even after she'd tried to kill herself – it
hadn't worked; they'd told her that it was pointless, that someone was at the
door just as she'd watched the blood stream from her wrists with morbid
fascination – even after the suicide attempt, when her family had tearfully
waved her goodbye, and she'd gone to Arkham for treatment (which hadn't worked)
and incarceration, they were telling her things, what was happening outside.
The conquest was on, they'd said. The infernal deal that had haunted her
nightmares since she was five, that had haunted every waking moment
my subjects with a machine?” The silky, oily quality was fading, replaced by
the hysterical screams of rage. The audience found that immensely reassuring,
it was business as usual. The unnatural calm had been horrifying from its
unprecedented nature. A raving, screaming temper tantrum was much more
familiar. “And nobody saw it?”
“None
Sire. Although we do have a message that was transmitted by one of their
warlords. It refers to a Predator aircraft.”
“And
just what is a Predator?” Satan was struggling to keep his temper under
control.
“A
hunting bird.” The voice came from a tiny minor demon on the floor. Satan
glanced sideways and his glance mashed the speaker into a purple pulp that
drained away through the stone floor.
“Does
anybody else want to state the obvious?” There was a sudden shuffling of cloven
feet and demons glancing sideways at each other. The more astute of them were
already trying to work out the best place to take cover when their infernal
overlord decided it would be necessary to stage a massacre.
“There
is another problem with that message.” Asmodeus spoke carefully. “The warlord
spoke of ‘major enemy leadership figure’, we assume that means an important
person here. Yet there was nobody on that stand of any importance, a few
relatives of Abigor, that is all. None in the leadership and none of any
importance. We do not understand this.”
“Perhaps
I can explain.” Beelzebub was also speaking carefully. “The warlord also spoke
of ‘information received from reliable informants’. There can be only one
explanation for that comment. There are those of your Infernal Majesty’s
subjects who are in contact with the humans and are passing information to
them.”
A
horrified gasp went around the hall. The whole concept was a nightmare to
contemplate yet was also eerily plausible. Who here had not sold information on
an ally to an enemy in order to bring about a tactical advantage?
“But
Sire.” Asmodeus was appalled, his voice terrified at even speaking of this
idea. “Nobody important was killed.”
“Nobody
important perhaps.” Beelzebub spoke almost as smoothly and calmly as Satan had
done. “Not in our terms perhaps. But the traitor – or traitors – who sold the
information to the humans may have been using them to settle a private score of
his or her own. Who knows where treason might end?”
Even
Satan was silenced by that thought. The hall was still, silent as the occupants
absorbed the implications of what Beelzebub had said. Then, the glances that
they were exchanging underwent a slow change from apprehension at what might
Satan might do next to suspicion at what their neighbors might be saying to
these upstart humans. No matter how intense those suspicious glances became,
they couldn’t match the ones Satan was casting at them.
Room
352A, Arkham Asylum, New York City, NY
The
voices had been haunting Julie since her sophomore year of high school. Every
time she'd tried to tell them to go away, they simply laughed at her. And when
she denied they were real, they'd whisper to her, caressing her mind like an
unwanted lover, telling her secrets – what was happening far away, what others
were thinking about her, telling her things that were never wrong.
And
they were always right, always there, always just out of her senses, dripping
across her mind like black grease. Even after she'd tried to kill herself – it
hadn't worked; they'd told her that it was pointless, that someone was at the
door just as she'd watched the blood stream from her wrists with morbid
fascination – even after the suicide attempt, when her family had tearfully
waved her goodbye, and she'd gone to Arkham for treatment (which hadn't worked)
and incarceration, they were telling her things, what was happening outside.
The conquest was on, they'd said. The infernal deal that had haunted her
nightmares since she was five, that had haunted every waking moment
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