"I'll just ask God to turn him into a puddle on the ground." Agonostis snarled and slammed his fist into the horn; the car blared at a lady sitting in front of him who hadn't been doing anything wrong. The light was still red. Agonostis didn't care. He laid on the horn again.
He'd been driving around ever since he had dropped Dayne off at her apartment, trying to think of some way to shatter her faith. She liked him; he knew she liked him. She wanted him—of course. What woman wouldn't? He knew how to play the game—he could make himself into the man of every woman's dreams (or the woman of every woman's dreams, for that matter, but he preferred the state of maleness). Nice girls had to be played differently than sluts—different bait for different fish, he thought. For a nice girl, he had to give every appearance of taking his time, of being interested in her as a person, in wanting to spend time with her that wasn't related to sex. He knew he was playing Dayne right. He'd gotten the conversation back on track, and made a date with her for the next evening . . . and when he had, he'd seen her whole face light up. He had her, dammit. She wanted him.
But could he make her want him enough to sell her soul for him? He'd been sure before, but now he had his doubts.
Just getting her into bed wouldn't count. That wasn't a Hellfire offense. He wished it were—he would have had numbers beyond belief if he'd gotten two souls every time two people who weren't married got laid. It was their intent. . . .
He doubted he could get her to try to get knocked up just to get him to marry her. That was a damnable sin, but she didn't seem to be enough of a liar or a cheat to pull that stunt. He didn't think he'd have any luck getting her to sleep around on him—over years, with sufficient neglect and bad treatment, maybe, but that was one of those mitigating circumstances that could sometimes go the other way. It tended to be forgivable. And as for getting her to sleep with him, then cheat on him in less than a month—not a chance.
He drove, and glowered, and sulked, and drove some more.
"She's really something, isn't she, O Perfidious One?"
Agonostis jumped. When he was alone, he preferred to stay alone. He snapped, "What are you doing here, Earwax? You're supposed to be spying on her."
"Your car phone is about to ring. I'm going to answer it for you."
"Do and die."
"But I like answering phones. I was going to do Walter Cronkite—"
The phone rang. Earwax made a stab for it, but Agonostis got it. "What?"
"Wrong answer." Lucifer's voice cut through Agonostis' reverie.
"My apologies, lord and master," Agonostis said, and hoped he sounded both sufficiently obsequious and sufficiently soothing. "I expected the call of an underling . . . since you don't need phones."
"I don't like for you to get too settled." Lucifer laughed, and Agonostis' stomach lurched. The human body, he thought, was much more prone to those physical expressions of terror. It was annoying. "I don't think I have to worry about it, though," the Archfiend said. "I expect you'll be down here in a month, trying out life as an imp. That will be so entertaining."
"I'll get her," Agonostis said. He sounded confident enough—he wished he felt so confident. "I have some plans for expanding our North Carolina operations, too. I suspect with good management and persistence, we can affect the whole of the world from right here."
There was a pause. "I saw your plans. Well thought-out. I won't finance you, of course. I'll expect you to achieve that set-up on your own revenues."
"I already anticipated that . . . sir."
"It's ambitious, I grant you." He realized that Lucifer begrudged him the idea—its cleverness utilized modern technology and modern interests and rang some new changes on some very old sins. The Lord of Evil didn't keep up on modern technology—he'd picked up the last of his really vile new ideas from monks during the Spanish Inquisition. "I'm sure your successor will find the plan quite a challenge to implement."
"I'll get her soul," Agonostis snarled. "If I can't get her to turn her back on God on her own, I'll leverage her—I'll use her friends or her family. Or maybe even old Torry. I assume we still have him."
Agonostis glared at the telephone and told Lucifer, "She'll curse God. Before I'm through with her, she'll curse God and Heaven and the day she was born."