or spoon to eat them with.
She intrigued Leianna, seeming not to belong in Hell, much less subservient to its youngest prince noted for his lewdness. Leianna would pursue this later, not now. Tonight she would broach the possibility of an Alliance between Heaven and Hell.
She glanced across at Lucifer. He had finished his soup and was chomping his salad with the heartiness of a man for whom food was an art, who cherished every nuance of texture and flavor. He swallowed and said, “Eat! Eat, please! The food’s been tested. It’s safe.”
Startled at the thought that the taster earlier hadn’t only been approving the taste of their dinner items, she tried the soup, mildly seasoned, its vegetables crisp. The others did likewise, even Regan, as if Leianna were a bell, leading the rest of them.
They ate silently, slightly strained in their quiet courtesy, body language veiled.
The first course ended. Regan stood up and cleared the salad and soup dishes away. Slender and small, her shortness was the one trait completely opposite to the regal height of Affaeteres. Regan moved between two serving stations and the table, carrying heated plates filled with roasted beef and potatoes and vegetables smothered in a rich wine sauce, serving one to each diner, her own last. She then accepted from the head waiter three large baskets of soft, fragrant rolls and butter, placed them on the table, front, middle and end.
“And now,” Lucifer said, “please take your time and savor our chef’s culinary delights. We can reacquaint ourselves in a friendly manner while we appreciate his skills. But first, some wine!” He snapped his fingers and a rich, red Burgundy appeared in decanters on either side of the banquet table, as well as wine glasses for everyone. “It wouldn’t be Hell,” Lucifer joked, “without a little magic. Actually this is my own private stock, its vintage quite ancient, and its taste exquisite.” He snapped his fingers again. Regan stood up and served the wine, then reseated herself.
Lucifer raised his glass. “A toast then. To a new dialogue between Heaven and Hell and to the renewed courtship of my son Bael and the beautiful Leianna!”
Bael and Leianna drank along with the others, nodding to them. Quatama pointed his emptied glass at their host. “A true dialogue will bring many benefits. Heaven wishes to reform Hell. The time for its use purely as a punishment plane, for mortals consigned by their actions or trapped into it or resigned to it by false belief, is soon to end, along with the condemnation which you, Lucifer, and your followers, who rule it, have suffered.”
Lucifer swallowed his mouthful of wine-drenched beef. “By whose decision?”
“Our Creator’s,” said Quatama.
Lucifer poured himself more wine and sipped it thoughtfully. “We have done quite well on our own over the centuries, punishing sinners.” He smiled wistfully. “Sometimes we also reward them if it suits our purposes. Does Heaven propose to forgive them all, even those most evil, lifting them sentimentally into higher planes? And do I get to ride along . . . back home?”
Quatama helped himself to more wine, drank it sparingly and set the glass down. “Heaven is aware that some of those whom you call sinners are not capable of entering Heaven, due to their soul’s current negativity. But we have long known that no one is eternally damned, no more than any being can be eternally blessed. One can only be and in the process of being, learn about oneself and in learning, advance spiritually into a better self, and eventually into an unselfish state that brings accord with all things in the universe. All entities undergo this growth process. Even those who dwell in Hell, including yourself, have an eternal right to it.”
“And so?” Lucifer speared a chunk of beef, waving it. “How do you propose to educate the damned in exercising this right?”
“By rehabilitating them.”
Azmodeus laughed aloud, leaning out over the table, looking down it to Quatama. “And just how do you expect to do that? Prayer sessions? Send a troupe of Catholics down to sprinkle them with holy water? Have a tribe of Jews tear up bits of bread for them to throw into the lava rivers of Hell, to burn up their sins?”
Leianna leaned toward him. “The proper ritual is to throw the bread into a real river during the High Holidays to carry any troubles and wrong-doings we committed out to sea and away.”
Az smirked. “Like you know everything, right. Well, we had our share of trouble and sinning down here. But, Quatama, what will your method of rehabilitation be? Hair shirts? Praying to God on their knees morning, noon and night, which it’s hard to tell the difference between, here in Hell? Or perhaps leeches to bleed their sins away? Just how do you intend to reform the lost sinners of Hell?”
Quatama had pushed away all of the beef on his plate and was enjoying the potato, mixed with his salad greens. “We intend to use psychology.”
Lucifer nearly choked, coughing loudly, and then calmed himself. “Psychology?! Are you serious?!”
Quatama nodded. “And meditation. And perhaps some psychiatry thrown in. We will also determine if the earthly life traits were due to chemical imbalances in the brain and body.”
“Whoa,” Lucifer said. “I think we’ve got West Side Story here, complete with the equally useless social worker, shrink and job counselor. What’s that line?” He sang out: “We’re no good, we’re no good, we’re no good, we’re no good. The whole lot of us is no damn good!”
And Azmodeus said: “And don’t forget our own Romeo and Juliet.” He turned to Regan. “I forget the names of the couple in the Bernstein movie, not that the guy could dance as well as the Puerto Ricans.”
Bael drained his wine. “Tony and Cleopatra. And I also have my right-hand man.”
He flicked his glass at Ashtoreth, who put in, “But we’re not going to fight you.”
“Oh, man,” said Azmodeus, “no battle in the barrio?”
“No,” Ash told him, “this is about positive change, regardless of whether you think it’s possible.”
Az took Regan’s hand in his. “They want me to grow. Where shall I grow, my dear?”
She didn’t answer, but Leianna did: “Don’t be rude!” Her tone rang out sharply, regally, visibly startling Azmodeus. He let go of his concubine’s hand, saying nothing. Leianna felt certain that no other woman had ever shut his mouth in centuries.
Quatama said with a touch of ironic humor, “Behavioral therapy is also an effective tool.”
They could feel Az’s anger at being the butt of the joke. He now responded, his voice low, his words measured, laced with a subdued fury. “I’d forgotten how difficult it was for you to deal with conflicts, Leianna. Everything had to be proper and perfect. You should fear this Alliance you propose, but I fear that you do not know what fear is. We of Hell do. Tell her, Father, her and Quatama, what horrendous challenges waited for you and our people when you were first thrown down into Golgotha! I was spared from them, having beforehand been torn from my family and flung through the winds of the canyon into a mortal woman’s womb, to be born as a mortal on the Earth. But when my mortal body died, I found my way back to my father and my family in the hellish world our Creator had banished them to. And they told me of horrors which I’m sure would have cost you your mind, Leianna. You ought to know a good deal more about our world before you so blithely invade it! Tell her, Father, tell her and Quatama of your arrival in a world you eventually came to rule.”
