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even with him now . . . and you later.
Agonostis nodded. He shut his mind, effectively blocking out Lucifer s voice,
then concentrated on locating waiting supplies. Some of Hell s computers sat
in the pile, their souls shifting and stretching as they tried to get a feel
for the world in which they found themselves. He focused on those, and closed
his eyes, and thought himself to them.
The supplies sat in an abandoned warehouse computers and peripherals, racks of
clothes and boxes of shoes, boxes and crates of things someone had thought
might be necessary in bringing Hell to North
Carolina. Agonostis found the manifest, slipped into slow-time, and checked it
off he had no intention of signing in blood without being certain every single
item on the manifest actually existed. And as he reached the end, he was
pleased with himself for having checked. The manifest noted that five million
dollars accompanied the rest of the supplies Lucifer s war chest was deep. But
the actual amount of cash in the bags was only two and a half million.
Where s the rest of the money? Agonostis snarled into thin air.
Oh, just cross through that amount and write in the correct amount and
initial it, Lucifer said into his head.
Not a chance. I m not signing for anything until this manifest is correct.
Oh, nonsense, the Archfiend said. I ll send the other half along later.
Now, or I don t sign. I m not going to make myself responsible for repaying
two point five million dollars I didn t even get. I won t do it.
You become annoying quickly, Lucifer said, but the extra money appeared.
Agonostis counted it, and on an impulse, checked serial numbers on the bills.
About half of them were the same. I won t do this he started again, but
with a flash of ugly red fire and the stench of Hell, real money in the proper
amount appeared.
He moved back into real time as the first of his officers appeared. Devils,
demons, and leccubi clothes are here. Sludgewight, this to an ugly devil,
even by Hell s standards, you re paymaster until Squige reports in. Any
variances in the accounts, I will personally take out of your hide.
This was no empty threat. Agonostis had discovered several crates of Hell s
most up-to-date torture implements. Since, by God s rules, he wasn t going to
be able to use them on his human prey, he might as well get some good from
them; they d be ideal in keeping his underlings in line.
An imp appeared a vibrant blue imp with enormous bat-wing ears and a face like
a train wreck.
Mighty Lord Agonostis, he said in a shockingly deep, rich voice, Earwax,
here, reporting for duty.
Agonostis looked down at the imp and said, I ate you for breakfast today,
didn t I, imp?
The imp s blue flesh paled to a dusty, near-white color, and the obnoxious
creature went down on its knees. No, Great and Terrible Lordship I am not
that imp. I am the imp Lucifer gave you as your personal aide and gofer.
Agonostis smelled something worse than rat in that setup. He did, did he? And
what did you do before
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this? Agonostis reached out a finger and touched the imp s forehead, and the
fiery power of Hell itself flickered between them. The little imp froze.
Mesmerized, it answered, and its voice was flat and hollow. Insubordination,
mostly. I fetched for
Pusbucket as a low-level imp, operated a phone at central communications as a
mid-level imp, and recently received a promotion I read soul radar in the main
office; and just today I made the Evil One angry at me. He gave me to you
because he said you would eat me within a week, and then I would be out of the
way . . . and he could charge you for the body.
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Agonostis pondered. Earwax wasn t a spy, then. That was something to the good.
He was likely to be a pain in the ass, and that wasn t good. Agonostis didn t
feel like owing Lucifer for the body, though, so he determined that the imp s
skin would stay intact barring extraordinary circumstances. He would decide
those as he went along.
Agonostis took the whammy off of him. So you can answer a phone, can you?
Oh, yes, your Stupendously Stinking Magnificence.
Agonostis eyes narrowed. Sir, he snarled. Call me , you twittering
excrescence, or . . . But no.
sir
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