[27] A Hell She Couldn't Crawl Out Of

Ubiquitous Bal Berith. In no way had the centuries altered him. Which wasn't true. The gigantic, floor-scraping leopard-print fur coat didn't exist in the medieval era when Perfidia last crawled out of this Hell, unaware until she escaped it that it had been Hell at all. Nor existed the absurd purple felt hat with customized holes for his horns, or the gold chain with a diamond-encrusted piece that read LUST hanging from his neck. His two-toned spectator shoes with pump soles came straight out of contemporary styles, and his heart-shaped sunglasses, and the rainbow array of gemstones dangling from his long pointed ears, and essentially any superficial article or accessory that adorned his person. But it was him. Ubiquitous Bal Berith, exactly unchanged—she knew before he even said a word.

The word he then said, wielding a savage smile, was: "Why—"

Instantly interrupted by the yapping, snarling, slobbering thing that thrust itself between the trailing folds of his fur coat and pounced onto Perfidia, hurling her onto her back and pinning her to the mezzanine beneath its full weight. Hot blasts of breath buffeted her. The face pressing close had its eyes completely covered by a broad, gold-embroidered strip of black leather, and black leather also formed a choker around its thin neck from which a small medallion dangled. Much of the body, in fact, was tightly bound in black leather, except conspicuously the large breasts, which dangled completely exposed with pierced nipples that struck at Perfidia's rags like matches trying to light.

"Off her bitch," Ubiquitous said, a command that effected no change whatsoever in the doglike devil's posture. In fact, all the dog did was dry hump Perfidia's hips while raggedly panting and lolling its tongue.

"Off!" Perfidia pushed her hands against the dog thing's shoulders and its brainless happy panting turned into a feral snarl. Before Perfidia could pull her hands away, gnashing jaws full of razor-sharp teeth drove into a wrist and shook it like a chew toy.

"Bad! Bad dog. Dumb bitch. Brainless goon." Ubiquitous reached into his fur coat and produced the lashing crack of a long black whip, which he flicked again so that it coiled around the dog's throat and yanked it back bodily. Whimpering, the dog scurried back into the palace and vanished around a corner.

"Yow! Pain in the ass to break in new bitches." Ubiquitous coiled the whip and stashed it in his coat. "Forget it. Fuck dat noise! Look who it fucking is. Perfidia Bal Berith. My own little sister. Love it. Fucking LOVE it!"

He flicked his flopping fur sleeves out and tilted onto a single heel, his other leg kicking the air wildly. For an instant he looked like a sail flapping in the wind, unconnected to anything so that in the next moment he would fly away entirely. He didn't. He remained grounded. Perfidia rose, rubbing her bleeding arm.

"Lemme guess. Lemme guess Fidi. Shit went down and you went down in the shit." He sniffed. "Literally. So finally that Pride you pretend to have cracked. Came crawling back to ME. So what's the offer? Huh? Come on, come inside, let's talk. I wanna hear you say it Fidi. You know me."

Yeah. She knew. She limped all this way knowing what the arrangement would be. She'd entertained vague thoughts that maybe his desire would give her some bargaining power. Just a delusion designed to put one foot in front of the other. She knew. She always knew, and as he led her into his palace, as the memories rushed back in a downpour, a sickly crawl came across her skin. Here was his cluttered foyer, filled with even more knickknacks and gewgaws than before. Most not even valuable: abstract art, children's toys, other kinds of toys. Every so often something glittered gold or diamond, but only every so often. No thought given to organization or even aesthetic. No, he hadn't changed.

Something had though. Something felt off. She couldn't put her finger on it, couldn't figure out what was missing. Ubik hoarded so much garbage even her excellent memory couldn't keep a perfect catalog. She recognized some of the baubles, didn't recognize others, hadn't the faintest what item was gone, what was different, only that something was.

"Funny too Fidi. Was just thinking about you the other day." 'The other day' could mean decades. "In correlation with my new bitch even. She was Pride too, wouldja believe it? Or thought she was. Haughtiest little slut. Woulda sooner died than enter my employment—almost. You know how it is. Hard times for a no-name devil on the streets alone. Harder times still these past few years with the tighter quotas. When it came down to it, she didn't want to die. Make one crack in Pride's shell, amazing how quick the rest shatters. Working on putting Humpty back together though. When I do she'll be a fine earner and finer home defense. Saw her savagery from moment one. Bristling under those blue-blooded pretensions: a beast. Wrath and Lust—that's a combination certain clients will die for. Until then she's just a bitch. My bitch, but just a bitch. Love her though. Mwah!" He blew a kiss to the rafters, where random tapestries and flags hung.

The point behind his chatty digression came clear enough. And he wanted Perfidia to say it herself. To ask it herself. To beg. Grovel. Could she? If he told her what he wanted and merely made her nod, it'd be possible. She could deactivate herself and take whatever he dished. But that wasn't the point for him. After all, despite his career, despite his gaudy necklace, his aspect was not Lust. And despite all his junk, the things he wanted to possess most were—

She realized what was missing.

"Ubik," a cutting, suspicious curiosity in her voice, "where are your girls?"

Before she finished the final word his fist was midair and to punctuate her question it rammed full force into what appeared to be a porcelain drinking fountain unattached to any piping system, and though he recoiled whipping a bloody knuckle the fountain did wobble with pendulous scraping weight.

"Those shit-eating grinners! Those fucking Seven Princes! Jesus Christ. Yeah, I said the name. I'll say it again: JESUS CHRIST!"

He sought something else to punch or kick, looked among the piled crap, but of course all that stuff was too valuable to him, too fragile. His eyes fell on Perfidia.

Uh oh.

His typical disposition darkened, his smile turned cruel as he advanced. No point running. Her eyes shut, she braced herself—but no punch came.

When she opened her eyes, he'd wheeled away, fluttering like a sail again, although with his bloody knuckle at his side to drip over his floor.

"Their fucking quotas. Higher every year. Keep making more devils too. More competition. More, more, more. Their mantra!"

"Yours too," Perfidia said. "No need for hypocrisy."

"I'm no hypocrite. I'm out for me and what belongs to me and nothing else. Seven Princes want more, means I get less. Fuck that. Fuck that sideways and in all three holes." He fired double middle fingers to the same sky he blew his previous kiss, although this time the particular direction made clear his intended target: he aimed straight for the pinnacle of Pandaemonium, parts visible through the foyer's elevated windows. "Suck my ASS you Stalins."

"Wait. Don't tell me—you're not reaching your quota, Ubik?"

He laughed, short and cold and bitter. "Course I hit my quota you stupid slut. But I got one hundred and seventy-four girls including the bitch you met at the door. Gotta hit their quotas too. And guess what? When quotas are tight across the board, that means fewer people wanna spend what little they got. So it fists me. Fists me right in the ass."

"If I recall correctly that's not something you fully oppose—"

"Oh! Oh okay. You're bleeding and dropping flakes of dried shit over my foyer and you think you're still good enough for snarky comments, huh Fidi? Well fuck you. Shit outta luck. I don't got enough to spare. Simple as that. I hoped to make you beg for it first just for the satisfaction but it doesn't matter how much you beg: I don't got it. Besides you really oughtta know better than to come back at all. You wanted that shot to be your own devil, stupid fake Pride of yours, and despite everything I gave it to you. I gave it to you! Wouldn't have done it for any but you, Fidi. Recognize that means something. If you blew your shot too bad. So sad." He lifted his knuckle to his lips and extended a long tongue to lap at the blood. His eyes narrowed. "Unless you wanna be mine again—forever. I protect what's mine."

"If you protect what's yours then where are your girls Ubik."

A pause. A formative sigh, then a flippant turn to face anywhere but her. "Managed to hit up my deeper contacts. Kedeshah helped. Bigshot Lust types. Mainly my chief rivals. None wanted just a quick fuck though. So I came up with a new package deal. Temporary—temporary—ownership change. One hundred seventy-two of my girls now officially belong to someone else—until the end of the year. Then I get em back."

Every word came out as a struggle. Many were mumbled. Perfidia found it reassuring to know she wasn't the only one who'd abandon her prime principles when pushed.

"So if I became yours again, you transfer me to someone else, and that's how you pay my quota."

"Correctomundo hermana."

"Great. Cuz I'm hitting my quota already fuckface."

He turned to face her. Baffled.

"It's always best to get Humanity straight from the source, huh?" she continued. "I've got a human lined up that'll cover me."

"Then why the fuck are you down here looking like a six-day-old shit?"

"I made a mess. A creation of mine's gone out of control. I need help destroying it before God catches on."

His jagged nails tugged down his sunglasses. "You came all this way, prepared to beg, just for extra muscle?"

"I'm hitting my quota but just barely. I can't afford to spend a fleck more."

"Not to say I'm not intrigued. But you can't trick some humans to do it for you?"

"I have contacts in local law enforcement but this creation's thorny. Cops might stop her but if they get their hands on her staff—"

"Her?"

"If you'd prefer to catch her alive, whatever. As long as she and her staff are off Earth. Ubik. I know things ended poorly between us but we can work together can't we? I'll offer you 'temporary ownership,' like that deal you've got for your girls. A year, let's say. Yours for a full year. All I need in exchange is—"

His laugh cut her off. He threw back his head and bellowed a boisterous, deep-throated laugh that didn't fit the narrow body she knew—knew all too well—that he possessed under that thick coat of his. The laugh echoed in the rafters of the palace's gigantic foyer and returned magnified. His sunglasses fell low on his nose and the blood-red swirls of his sclera twisted terribly. He grew, or a phantasmic etching of himself grew out of him, half-faded into his home, while dust and pebbles rained from the cracks above and all his accumulated possessions twittered and rattled and even toppled.

Then he stopped. All at once he went silent, still, small, and stale. His face betrayed no emotion. When he spoke it came with steep venom:

"You're filthy. I can't stand to look at you. Or smell you. If you ripped off your clothes and offered yourself right now I wouldn't even take you. Clean yourself up, skank."

Perfidia forced herself to avoid smiling. She'd hooked him.

"Kedeshah," Ubik said.

"Yes, Master?" said Kedeshah, who'd always been there.

Ubik's big coat concealed his lanky, disproportionate elongation; Kedeshah only rose to his ribs. She wore a simple white sundress. On the hem, from which bare red shins emerged, a few flowers were printed. Simple bead bracelets rattled on her wrists as she clasped her hands behind her back and bent forward slightly, tilting her head to allow her piqued ear to better hear her Master's command. She bobbed up and down on the balls of her inward-tucked feet, while her tail, with two pink ribbons tied near the barb, fwipped back and forth with metronome timing. An iron shackle hung around her neck. Her sweet smile distracted from the blank intensity of her eyes, which riveted on Perfidia heavy enough to dig her three inches into the floor.

"Clean her. Patch her up. Prepare her. I'm gonna mull shit over in the meantime." Already Ubik floated away, facing nobody, swirling among his collection. "Wish ya never came back Fidi. Wish I coulda just forgot you."

Kedeshah bowed her head, finally relinquishing the physical force of her gaze. "This way, Miss Perfidia."

Perfidia had no choice but to follow.

When Ubik said he'd loaned out 172 of his 174 girls (he called them all girls, even the ones who weren't), with the untrained dog being one of the remaining, Perfidia already knew who the other was. Even following behind her, without those eyes aimed to gore, Perfidia's heart thumped harder than it had at any other point in the journey. Good rule of thumb to fear any devil older than you. John Verschrikkelijk and the customs devils and most of the losers in the street were babies next to Perfidia Bal Berith, new devils crapped out in accompaniment to the exploding human population, but Kedeshah—

"Thinking about me?" Kedeshah turned and continued walking backward with bouncy steps while she kept her hands clasped behind her back. She stuck out her tongue playfully. "It's been a long time, Miss Perfidia. Have you been well?"

"Yes."

"That's lovely." Feathery voice, soft as down. A tiny hand with well-trimmed nail pointed to a door. "In here, if you please."

The bathhouse. An enormous sea of white tile in well-caulked squares. Elevated platforms for jacuzzis, shower nozzles, dispensers for white cream soap and other slick fluids. The ends fell apart in the unbroken whiteness, but they had to be broad now that Ubik's operation had expanded to a whopping one hundred and seventy-four girls, enough for an entire military company. Plus extra space to entertain any clients who might find it enjoyable to join in the fun. To Ubik, though, the broadness alone might be the appeal, the sheer industrial size of the place despite its unblemished finery.

"You'll not need such filthy things anymore, Miss Perfidia." It happened while Perfidia was still taking in the bathhouse—an instantaneous flick of that ribbon-tied tail and all the layers of Perfidia's clothes shuddered off her body, cut cleanly down the center. A tap in the nearest tub turned on and steam sizzled. A gentle push turned Perfidia toward the correct direction and slowly, reluctantly, Perfidia stepped forward.

"You've had a hard time, haven't you, Miss Perfidia?" Kedeshah curved her body and scanned her heavy eyes upon Perfidia's bare form. "Let alone what Miss Bitch did to your arm, that wound in your back's quite serious. Oh, poor Miss Perfidia. Let's clean you up and make everything all better, shall we?"

The tip of Kedeshah's tongue swept out, wetting her lips. Perfidia heaved a breath and slowly lowered herself into a perfectly warm tub, on the surface of which floated bubble icebergs with a pink shimmer.

She exhaled. The grime and dirt cracked and broke off her body nigh instantaneously. The taut muscles surrendered to a kind of calm.

"There. That's much better, Miss Perfidia. You needn't fear me. We were comrades once; we may soon be comrades again." Kedeshah sat on the edge of the tub, rubbing Perfidia's back gently with a washcloth as she slowly tugged the heels of her white, ribbon-toed shoes off her feet one after another. Barefoot, she swept her tiny legs into the bath and slipped in, not bothering to remove her sundress. "You didn't always fear me." A slight pout in those eyes.

Perfidia averted her gaze as the washcloth rolled along the front, cleaning the crevices where was burnt the brand Ubik once gave her and that could never be removed even after he allowed her to leave his service.

Kedeshah's white dress turned clear in the water. Her thin red body showed through; the fabric clung to her breasts. When Perfidia glanced down, a nauseous wave gurgled in her gut.

"You used to rape me," Kedeshah said so sweetly. "You waited on your haunches like Miss Bitch for Master to give the command and when he did—remember, Miss Perfidia? Remember how eagerly you pounced on me, how you snarled and tore at my clothes, how I screamed and cried for mercy, how Master clapped and laughed? What a gay old time we used to have."

Her lips—her body—moved close. The wet fabric of her dress did nothing to diminish the touch of chest to chest. The soft small fingers touched, caressed. Something in a distant tub splashed and when Perfidia's jittery eyes glanced to check Kedeshah caught her cheek and pulled their faces back together. The force of those eyes made Perfidia's skin sag on her skull, the muscles and tendons tugging downward to the brink of pain.

Kedeshah lifted the arm the dog bitch bit and pressed her lips to it. The jagged scours of flesh came back together, knitted neatly so that no stitch or seam or scar remained. Kedeshah's kiss—the secret to Ubiquitous Bal Berith's success. His girls could be cut, bashed, broken, strangled, mangled, stabbed, sodomized, split, degloved, crushed, crumpled, or castrated, and that kitten-soft kiss was always there to make them whole again.

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Perfidia shook her head. "No." The word dry and porous. "No. No. I killed that part of me. I'm not that dog anymore. I'm—I—and he's already got a new dog anyway."

"He has seven." Kedeshah swirled around Perfidia like a sprite, and soon Perfidia felt those lips on the half-healed gunshot wound in her back, the tiny tongue probing into the scarred depression. "He has seven," she repeated as the lips left healed flesh, "but he's never happy with any of them. That's why he always tries to train a new one. They're never quite you, Miss Perfidia."

Something beyond the confines of the tub was sloshing across the tile, a slow and slimy thing. Perfidia dared not look away from Kedeshah as she crawled back to Perfidia's front. But then, like a flash, an angle appeared, an escape.

"Maybe," she swallowed a dry lump, "maybe he shouldn't take on more girls than he can chew. Is he really missing his quota? Him? He's the biggest succubus den in Hell isn't he? Or did me leaving reverse his fortunes too?"

Kedeshah's eyes narrowed, their weight focused, Perfidia's cheeks caved and her gums ached. Guardedly: "He is still the biggest."

"The guys at customs were complaining about their wages too. They're government guys though, they might not get paid well but they should get paid enough. Things Earthside suck of course, but it's like that down here too? The fuck's going on Kedeshah? What're the Seven Princes doing? Don't tell me Mammon's got the other six following his lead. What about Baal—"

The sweet smile finally dropped off Kedeshah's face. The squelching thing drawing ever closer to their tub fell still and went silent. A heave of breath escaped Perfidia's lungs: one thing still could clutch Kedeshah's attention.

The Seven Princes, rulers of Hell. Original fallen angels all, confederates in their plot to usurp God. Constructors of Pandaemonium, corrupters of humanity, and to whom all Humanity eventually went thanks to the quotas lesser devils were expected to fulfill. Each claimed dominion over one of the seven aspects. There was, of course, the leader: Satan, Lord of Pride. Then his faithful second fiddle, Beelzebub of Envy, followed by Moloch of Wrath, Belial of Sloth, Mammon of Greed, Rimmon of Gluttony, and last and least, Baal or Ashtoreth of Lust. Called Baal or Ashtoreth because they were both, the male Baal and the female Ashtoreth, capable of being one or either at any time: a complete master of sex.

Kedeshah was their selfcestuous offspring. Entitled to reign over a vast swath of Hell as second only to Pandaemonium's highest authority. Yet here she was. 'Property of U.B.B.,' same as any other common succubus. Perfidia didn't know why. But the subject of those Seven Princes always, no matter what, brought what lurked behind those eyes to fore, where it was far safer for it to be.

"It's Ashtoreth now," Kedeshah said. "Only Ashtoreth."

"And why—"

"I don't know why. I don't talk to them. But it's clear they're planning something. Something big. Who knows? Maybe they think they can squeeze out enough for a Divinity."

"A Divinity," Perfidia tongued the word. "A Divinity? That's ridiculous. That's only a theory—"

"Maybe. But there's what? Seven billion humans on Earth now? You'd know better than me, Fids. They're not living in thatched-roof huts anymore either. They're not even confined to that world." For an instant Perfidia tensed, thinking of Whitecrosse, before she realized Kedeshah meant space travel. "Who knows. Maybe there's enough Humanity there in the aggregate to reshape the world entirely. That'd be Divinity by definition—no?"

"I guess."

The cold tone of voice turned the water in the tub lukewarm. A chill settled into Perfidia's body and her arms reflexively wrapped around herself while Kedeshah's gaze fell on her only half as heavy as before. "Ueckhhh," came the phlegmatic sound out of Kedeshah's throat. "You've ruined the mood entirely, Miss Perfidia. What a shame—maybe you really have changed. You're ready now, so get out."

Kedeshah climbed out of the tub and her wet feet smacked the tile as she tromped away, scooping her shoes as she left. For a moment Perfidia was afraid to watch her go, remembering the slimy thing she heard crawling across the bathhouse toward her, but nothing was there: only pure white.

After she exited the freezing cold water, dried herself, and put on the plain black bathrobe someone at some point left for her by the bathhouse door. Finally the pain of her gunshot wound was gone and she could stretch out her arms and back with a satisfying tug. She savored the moment, possessed of a contentment she hadn't felt in months—years maybe—and might not feel again for far longer.

She went to the church. Where she knew he'd be waiting.

The massive double doors swung open as she approached, creaking lowly. Nobody opened them. The church manifested in pieces as candles in competing rows lit two at a time. Most big old homes in Hell had a church—that sort of impishly contrarian blasphemy delighted the early tastemakers who defined themselves primarily by their direct opposition to God—but even by the time Perfidia had left for Earth the practice fell out of favor, replaced by newer fads of wickedness. By now the transitory circle of interest must have looped back around and a place like this would feel classic even to devils with names in languages still spoken Earthside. Perfidia could imagine the clientele, be they old money or nouveau riche, thrilled by the prospect of raping some succubus dressed like the Virgin Mary on the elaborate altar that headed the space, watched by the unseeing eyes of the statues seated on the pews, more of Ubik's collected items, although at least here with a theme: Idols once worshipped by ancient Middle Eastern civilizations, some still with dried blood on their weathered forms where humans had slaughtered one another as offerings. The gem of this collection was the statue of Dagon seated in the front pew, missing its hands and head after it toppled in the temple of Ashdod.

Beside the left wall—comprised of stained glass depictions of the Bible's more salacious scenes—Kedeshah in Japanese shrine maiden costume waved a wooden wand with white streamers. On the altar Ubik lounged lengthwise, one leg bent at an angle to rest his dapper shoe on the surface while his other foot dangled and circled in midair. He gripped a leash that kept the untamed bitch girl semi-sedate on the steps leading up to the altar; she rested with her tongue hanging out in a constant pant, her sharp quick breaths causing her bare breasts to bob. As soon as Perfidia entered, the bitch went still and alert, but at the first bark Ubik tugged the leash to silence her.

"Yow! Down. Sit! Sit. Good bitch." His shimmering sunglasses glinted candlelight down the aisle at Perfidia. "Now that's a much nicer look Fidi. That's the clean slate I'll need to break you back down."

Perfidia might have responded. Instead her eyes went to the massive altarpiece at Ubik's back, the most prominent and central place in the entire church. It had changed since she last came here. Changed in an odd way. Gone was the traditional if cliched depiction of Satan done in the style of Christ. Instead, the painted face that peered down at her with stalwart seriousness was that of Joseph Stalin, former leader of the Soviet Union.

"Ubik," she said. "Why do you have that portrait."

Ubik grinned, glanced back, cocked a thumb at the painting as if to draw Perfidia's attention to it, a wholly redundant gesture. "Like it? Great isn't it? Beautiful."

"Doesn't quite fit the vibe."

"Nah, nah, nah. You're just outta touch with the latest fashions. Lemme explain. You know Hitler right? Adolf Hitler?"

"Yes. I am aware of Adolf Hitler."

"Not long ago some devil came down from Earth and started talking up this guy he claimed he put in power in Germany. Adolf Hitler. Supposedly the evilest man of all time. So there's this big Hitler fad. You got devils in the street with Hitler mustaches, doing Hitler salutes, it's just the 'in' thing to do. But you know me. I can't hop on a trend. I gotta make it mine. So I do some research. First thing I find is that devil who talked about Hitler? Didn't even have shit to do with it. So I got to publicly humiliate him which is always fun. Then I find out Hitler mostly just killed Jews. Big fucking whoop! Everyone kills Jews. Bo-ring. But turns out there's this other guy who was like Hitler's big competitor or something. That man right there: Joseph Stalin. He didn't just kill Jews. He was out there killing everyone. He'd kill his own guys. No reason! He'd get a whim and be like, purge that man. Dead! And he did it to millions. So I'm making Stalin a thing now. Plus I'm hearing about this other guy, Mao—"

"The concentration camps were pretty uniquely awful."

"So were the Siberian gulags."

"Hitler started a massive war. You can't discount that."

"War shmwar. Napoleon started a war. Oh you missed it Fidi. Before Hitler it was Napoleon. Everyone was walking down the street wearing that bicorne hat of his. But Hitler—and Stalin, and Mao, all these guys—they're blowing Napoleon outta the water. Guess that's the upshot of there being so many more humans now. You can murder so many more of em. They even got a word for it now: Genocide. Didn't used to call it shit. But that is a good word, genocide. Thinking of naming the bitch that once she's trained enough to deserve a name. Whaddya think?"

"The whole reason the word 'genocide' exists is because of Hitler you know."

"You're just being contrarian Fidi! Stalin is way cooler. For sure. It's gonna be the next big thing. Guarantee it."

Perfidia said nothing as she slowly proceeded up the aisle.

"For me, for my money, it's about the terror," Ubik continued. "You could be Stalin's best friend and he might still ship you off to the firing squad with no warning whatsoever. That's evil."

Certainly, had Stalin been the big fad in Hell, Ubik would instead be telling her how Hitler was truly the most evil of the two. And of course it was idiotic to extol either of them. Humanity came only from live humans. Those guys who slaughtered millions of them wholesale were just flushing devil income down the drain. The devils here in Hell didn't have to care about that. They had their own economy, insulated from Earth endeavors.

"So about my offer." Perfidia reached the base of the steps leading to the altar and stood there, looking up at him. "One year temporary ownership. In exchange, you help deal with my problem."

His chattiness dispersed. He always liked to talk about the things he owned; give him a few more minutes and he'd be rattling off factoids about the Stalin painting itself, how it was actually commissioned by Stalin, how his supplier Earthside smuggled it through customs for him, that sorta stuff. No point belaboring. The terms were clear, spoken and unspoken. Under ordinary circumstances Ubiquitous would never go for a temporary deal. He disliked renting, he wanted to possess wholly. He did not relinquish his things easily. She knew that better than any, being the one thing he had relinquished.

She'd been a dog, better trained than that bitch, not quite devoid of speech, but a dog nonetheless. His dog, his item, he her Master, she his pet, his whore, his slave. She'd been the first pet of Ubiquitous Bal Berith and for a long time he was nobody, any one of the million Lustmongers in Hell. Then somehow he met Kedeshah and his fortunes skyrocketed. He usurped established pimps one after another, clawing his way to the top, recognized by one Prince after another—eventually by all of them, save the avatar of Lust themself, who tacitly ignored him.

The Princes recognized him, which didn't mean they patronized him; they were above all that. Then it so happened one day there was a commotion. It surged through Ubik's palace like electricity, zipping from one girl to the next until it reached Ubik and the faithful dog by his side: A Prince is coming. A Prince is coming! Even Perfidia's dog heart stopped cold at those words; Ubik went a pale shade of rose and his fingers scraped at his throat. Kedeshah was the one with a cool head. She ordered the terrified girls into place, whipped them into their best behavior so that they stood in even rows in this very church, silent and waiting. Ubik managed to compose himself and waited in front of the altar, clinging to Perfidia's leash.

The door darkened. Someone gulped. A figure entered.

They'd all assumed it'd be Ashtoreth or Baal. The only Prince to have not given their enterprise some note of approval, and the one most innately predilected to Ubik's particular services. Kedeshah had thought so as well, apparently, because even her straight faced blanched at the figure who stepped through the threshold. It was not Ashtoreth or Baal, nor Rimmon nor Mammon nor Belial nor Moloch nor Beelzebub.

It was Satan.

He looked different then than in his BELIEVE posters that dotted Hell now; more traditional, like a Roman statue, possessed of Classical beauty, with long and feathered wings. Some of the girls fell to their knees. Kedeshah trembled. Ubik's fists clenched in fear—and then he strode forward, stating his typical spiel as always, albeit hurling every placatory title and sobriquet thinkable, appending that "all is free, all is free, we lowly sorts could never take a coin from you, O Lord of All Hell," his hand constantly indicating Kedeshah, whom they all assumed was the reason he came.

"Ssso you're the new upssstart," Satan said, and the moment his voice left his lips everything else went silent, from the breathing of the girls to the crackling of the fires that illuminated the space, to the ambient noise of Hell outside: All dead silent save for him. "Ubiquitousss... Bal... Berith. Your forebear once fought bessside me, brave and true, and sssuffered... unduly... for righteousss loyalty to their true Massster. Have you ever... sssuffered, Ubiquitousss?"

Silence. No sound was permitted. Ubik's lips moved but nothing came out.

"I thought... not." Mellifluous, a river. "You have never known war. You have never encountered an angel. You have never fought against God. Why, then, dear Ubiquitousss, do you consssider yourssself our equal? Why isss even your name... ssso... irksssome?"

Frantic mimed shaking and gestures from Ubiquitous as Satan stepped closer and closer. Hands gesticulating wildly toward Kedeshah, lips mouthing: Take her. Take her.

Satan paused; considered the offering. "Oh, dear Ubiquitousss. I know of your... golden whore... whom you ssso Proudly rent to all Hell. Do you... believe... that owning the daughter of a Prince rendersss unto you sssuch... pomp? I think... you mussst learn your place..."

It was a terror Ubik had never known that gripped him, because he did something he would never otherwise do, something that for all his other failings would have destroyed him. He seized Kedeshah and pulled her in front of him, as though using her as a shield, and then pushed her toward Satan as though offering her to him, not a whore to be used once, but a gift. In that moment he relinquished ownership of his most prized possession.

Still, it was not enough. Satan slowly brushed a hand, as though wiping a speck of dirt from his shoulder, and Kedeshah hurtled violently across the church, driving her head through the stone wall before her limp body crumpled in a plume of dust. Had she been any lesser devil—had she been Ubiquitous or Perfidia—she would've been dead.

"That girl isss... filth to me," Satan said. "I do not want her."

Ubik dropped to his knees. He clasped his hands. Before them all, he begged. He mouthed that he offered anything, everything, to Satan.

Satan extended a hand that seemed made of marble, flawless in every way. It slowly lowered and stopped on Ubik's head, as though blessing him.

Satan's eyes shifted. To Perfidia. "I'll take her... your sssissster."

Perfidia did not remember what happened next. She awoke some weeks later, violently ill, but after she vomited a bucketful of blood-red bile she was much better. She returned to her typical duties. Nobody mentioned what happened—the other girls may not have remembered. Ubik did though. Ubik certainly did.

Something had changed, though. Fidi was no longer just a dog. There was something there now, something there that hadn't been. It didn't manifest right away, but whenever she thought back on it, she knew the encounter with Satan must have been the genesis. Fidi became Perfidia. Became an identity. Slowly, over centuries, it gestated within her mind: herself.

Now she was back here, where it began. Ubik given the opportunity to reclaim his lost property. Despite the terms of the deal, in no way would he intend to let her go again. He thought in a year, after the practice he had on his new dog bitches, he could break her again. Destroy that spark of an ego and return her to a state where after the terms of their contract ended she wouldn't want to leave. As her owner, he'd have license to do anything to bring her to that point, and he'd do it.

Perfidia believed she could last long enough to see her freedom once more. Then everything would've been worthwhile; everything would have been in service of a meaningful goal.

"How dangerous is this problem of yours," Ubik said.

"It's a humanoid girl with less than 1 Humanity. Early teens. She possesses no relevant powers except a staff that reanimates the dead. She's already reanimated at least one man, who guards her at all times. There may be more now. If she's killed or I get my hands on the staff the undead no longer matter."

"Reanimated dead. I see." Ubik fiddled with the leash. "That's annoying. Still, nothing human muscle can't handle. There oughtta be someone up there you can pay off. Someone who'll handle it and make sure you still get your staff. What's the catch?"

"The catch is she's fallen in with some major Christian organization. They wanna put her on TV tomorrow. I need it done by then. No human's competent enough to do it and also reckless enough to do it that quickly. You, on the other hand, are both."

"Iunno Fidi. For someone so certain they've got too much Pride to be a whore, sure seems like you're coming back to me a little quickly. Maybe you secretly want to come back, huh? Where it's safe. Where you're protected—loved. Whaddya think Kedeshah?"

"I think as you think, Master." Kedeshah waved her shrine maiden wand sunny as before.

"I've tried to stop this girl myself before and it went badly," Perfidia said. "I can't afford for it to go badly again. So I've decided to take no more chances. That's why I'm here. The only reason."

The dog bitch yawned; Stalin sent down his iron aura. Ubik's glasses caught and reflected the rainbow panoply of his idols set in congregation before him. He sashayed his head on his shoulders, letting crack a kink in his neck, while one lip corner curled to reveal a golden fang.

She got him. Next they'd haggle the price. He'd up the ante a few years—a lot of years, probably. Then she'd have to whittle. Ubik was good at driving these bargains but she still remembered the tricks he used on his clients. If she—

The giant wall of stained glass behind Kedeshah exploded. A figure in all black tactical gear smashed through a stylized depiction of Onan's priapistic cock, two more shattered Lot and his daughters into a million technicolored pieces. A hole blasted out of the floorboards in the middle of the aisle and a gaggle of helmeted imps came out cackling maniacally and firing shotguns skyward. Through the doors rushed pairs with tall plastic riot shields and by that point Ubik had his hands raised in a shrug as he said, "What the fuck? What's this shit? Who do you Stalins think you're fucking with?"

He reached into his coat and pulled out two tommy guns and Perfidia only barely managed to dive and cover her head as a vicious ratatat sent bullets streaming down the row in a plume of dust and woodchips.

Perfidia scrambled on knees and elbows to get behind the nearest pew as the guys with guns—more rappelling from the rafters—returned fire. Ubik howled laughter, dropping his tommy guns as soon as they ran out of ammo to draw a crossbow in one hand and an AK-47 in the other. A devil with a bloodsmirched faceshield toppled over the back of the pew that protected Perfidia, an arrow quivering out of his throat. Another devil clambered from under the pew, swiping a gloved hand at Perfidia's ankle that she could not kick away. One sharp tug dragged her even as her fingernails drove into the wood to slow her. The faceless devil laughed until the statue of Dagon seated above wobbled, toppled, and crushed his skull to pulp.

Crouched upon the altar Ubik fired a harpoon that impaled some guy across the room and reeled him back still alive enough for Ubik to pistol whip him to death. Perfidia sighted a small door off to the side of the altar, near where Kedeshah stood idly as a devil dropped in front of her and fired a shotgun point-blank into her face, to no effect whatsoever. The dog bitch had someone's stomach split open and tore hungrily at their entrails. Yet more goons kept streaming in, each wearing the same tactical ops style gear. What was this? A rival pimp making a power move? These guys were organized, though. And even the most desperate rival would never try anything as long as Kedeshah remained. The one who shotgunned Kedeshah in the face was now in five distinct pieces and ten more indistinct ones, which was enough to send an entire column sprinting away in fear.

"Wait, dammit! Wait!" someone was screaming from the other end of the church. A devil wearing some sort of shiny badge leaned out from the half-closed doorway. "Ubiquitous this isn't about you. It's not—"

The devil's head blew off in a puff of red mist. Ubik lowered the scope of his sniper rifle. "It's about me now you Stalin ass Mao Zedongs. You Pol Pots!"

Another devil found the one with the badge's head and squished it back on. "Listen here Ubiquitous! We've come on orders way over your head, got it? I've got a court order here. Signed by a Grand Judge!" He flicked out a long scroll of brown parchment that promptly received three holes in it. They reformed immediately.

"The Grand Judge can suck my cunt—but he'll have to pay first! All my shit's in order yo. Not a license or stipulation outta line, and if you disagree ask my bookkeeper over there." He nodded the muzzle of his latest armament toward a Kedeshah whose shrine maiden outfit remained spotless despite the three-sixty degree fan of blood around her.

"Help me, oh fuck help me, no no no not there—" screamed the guy who was having his genitals torn to shreds by the dog bitch.

"It's not about your licenses Ubiquitous. Like I said, it's not about you."

Perfidia glanced around. Nobody else was near her. She figured soon enough everyone would be shooting again; best to slink away before that happened.

"Don't spout that shit at me pig. You're in my crib, it's about me motherfucker. Who the fuck else could it possibly be about?"

Making as little noise as possible, although the floorboards in this ancient place creaked (at least the moans of the dying were there to muffle her), Perfidia rose into a crouch and duckwalked to the side door.

So concerned with escape she didn't think until her hand was already on the knob that it was strange for Ubik to have put a door here, any extension he built to the house on this side would've obscured his stained glass and the view of Pandaemonium. The door was already opening by the time she continued that thought to its logical conclusion, combined it with her short term memory, and decided she hadn't actually seen this door here when she first entered the room. By then it was too late. The door opened and the lead devil with the badge was already there, his neck still oozing blood as he wrapped an arm around her and held her body to shield him when Ubik swiveled his gun.

"Perfidia Bal Berith," the cop said, "under the decree of a Grand Judge of Pandaemonium you are hereby under arrest for crimes against Hell, including but not limited to irresponsible use of devil magic; performance of acts that may draw God's eye upon devilry; and lying to a customs agent. You have no rights. You shall be brought before a court of Pandaemonium immediately to have your case heard..."

A pair of jagged handcuffs clapped around her wrists and dug into her flesh. As Ubiquitous shouted "Stalin! Stalin!" over and over, the chief policeman dragged her back and everything dropped into darkness.