“You walk a dangerous path,” Gino said as he digested what Bael had asked him to do, “It seems somewhat drastic, considering everything appears to be going so well.”
“Do you believe Lucy can be trusted?” the Baron asked with a sour expression. It was getting late and the garden where they had met was rapidly growing cold.
Gino shook his head. “No, I do not. The question I ask is this, why didn't you lock her up when you had the chance?”
“At the time I deluded myself into thinking that I was being prudent by letting her walk free. I thought I was keeping my options open. Then I remembered that the devil coming to the mortal realm was part of that stupid prophecy.” Bael was trying not to beat himself up over that mistake, but it was hard not to. “Even if Lucy doesn’t plan to do it right now, eventually she will betray us.”
The Baron had been so eager to believe things were moving towards his happy ending that he let it blind him to the truth. Promise or no promise, Lucy would never fully submit. She would rather burn everything to ashes than give up her power, if past behavior was any indication.
The elderly Bishop looked at his brother thoughtfully, “It is no sin to hope someone can be redeemed. Even the Devil is a child of God, and I’m sure he loves her, as he loves us all.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s blasphemy,” Bael pointed out.
“Oh hell! I’m a demon possessing the failing body of a holy man, my very existence is blasphemous!” Gino raised his hands in annoyance. “Do you know how maddening it is to know there is a heaven, and when I die I might not get to go there? Not because of anything I have done, though I have sins of my own, but because of rules and tradition? I have forsaken hell, and yet heaven may not want me.”
Bael could understand the feeling, in light of what he had requested. “So, brother of mine, will you do as I ask?”
The Bishop shook his head at the absurdity. “Sure! Why not! It serves me right for reaching out to you after all these years.” Gino paused. “But I won’t do it for free. I want you to do something first. I want you to get on your knees, and pray with me.”
“You have to be joking,” Bael said, looking at his brother in disbelief, “Demons don’t pray.”
“And yet, you will,” Gino replied, “There are no atheists in a hospital waiting room, or when the hour grows late and your child still hasn’t returned home. They pray, as you will pray with me.”
The Baron glared at his brother, “Why? Why would I do that?” he asked, “What good would it do?”
Gino wanted nothing more than to smack some sense into Bael. “You ask me to take your offer to heaven, but you won’t bend the knee to the one who rules it. Sure, you know as I know that we can’t stand against him, yet you offer not even lip service to help your cause. How stupid is that?”
Bael continued to glare at Gino as he got down on his knees. “Fine,” the demon said, “You win.”
***
The angels keeping an eye on Bael watched the scene unfolding below them with disgust. “Is he trying to corrupt that priest?” one asked, flapping his wings violently as if trying to get dirt off them, “If so, how disgusting.”
“It’s a bishop, and yes, probably. Tempting mortals is kind of their thing,” his partner replied, “Do you have any idea why Gabriel has us tailing this guy?”
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“No, the Archangel wouldn’t say. But apparently it’s important,” the first angel said, puffing up at the idea that they were carrying out a critical mission on heaven’s behalf, “Bael Sharoth is supposed to be some bigshot down below. If he’s here in the mortal realm, something major is probably about to happen.”
The second angel wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that. He had kept on as a reservist with the understanding that things were quiet and would continue to stay that way. “Do you think we should go and report this to the boss?” angel number two asked.
The first angel shook his head. “Nah, let’s wait and see where else he goes. That demon is probably up to something nasty and I don’t want to miss a piece of critical information.”
“You take this stuff way too seriously,” the second angel told him, “Chances are, even if we saw him bringing forth the antichrist, heaven wouldn’t do anything about it. As angels we’re supposed to sit back and let the divine plan work itself out, that’s what we do.”
“You’re no fun,” the first one said, “Where’s your sense of adventure? Don't you want to fight the good fight?”
The second angel glared at his partner and pulled open his shirt to reveal a massive scar. It stretched diagonally across the length of his chest like a sash. “I lost my eagerness for battle on the elysian fields, along with a third of my blood and several good friends.”
“Did you get a medal?” asked the first angel, perhaps a little too eagerly.
“No,” replied the veteran, his eyes icy cold, “I did not.”
***
As Bael got in Murphy’s backseat he felt like a weight had been lifted. He thought that was funny, the paradox of feeling better after what many would consider a betrayal. If any of the other barons found out what Bael had done, they would probably create a new circle of hell, just for him. Judas would finally have someone to look down on, and Bael would never be heard from again. But only if they caught him.
Moving against Lucy had put an expiration date on his career in Hell, he could see that now. Her eagerness to use and discard him meant that a lateral move was his only option for survival. It might take her a hundred years to get even, but the Devil always got her due.
Going over to the other side was the logical choice, given the circumstances. He had something heaven wanted, they had something he wanted. It would take a while to hear back from his opposite number upstairs. But once the paperwork was signed, Gabriel would be unable to touch Bael, or his family.
The Baron looked at his hand and made a fist. Time in the mortal realm had been good for Bael. He had lost weight and regained some of the vigor hell’s bureaucracy had stolen from him. Better yet, he would get to spend three whole days with his daughter, camping and eating junk food out in the woods. That was sure to put some pep in his step.
It would have been nice to have Maharet along for the trip, but he understood that she was busy. Gannon had agreed to perform a small private wedding for them next week. That, along with his updated will, would make Bael’s plan rock solid.
He chuckled as Murphy drove down the road towards home. The apocalypse might still be coming, but that would have to wait until after his camping trip. Bael had much more important things to think about, like smores (or how to put together that damn tent).
The Baron looked out his window as if seeing the world for the first time. As someone ageless, the seasons rarely mattered to him. But soon school would start, and that meant summer was ending. This week was his last chance to spend quality time with Six before that happened, and he intended to make the most of it.
Unbidden, a half remembered line of poetry came to the Baron. It tugged at his mind like a cobweb. How did it go again? Bael thought, trying to recall a long forgotten poem that nobody had bothered to commit to paper.
As Murphy pulled into the driveway, the words finally came to him:
Where summer meets winter you’ll find me,
And when spring meets winter again.
Between the seasons I tumble,
End passing over end.
The Baron looked at his house. No child wanted summer to end, Maharet had told him as much on their first night in the mortal realm. And neither did he, so Bael decided that they would make the most of the time they had before school started. They would say goodbye to summer with roasted marshmallows and warm nights spent under the stars. That was an end he could be happy with.