many conflicting thoughts racing through her head that she got confused and while her prayers started strong (“Dear God, My Lord and Savior, hear my prayer...”) they got lost somewhere along the way and became meandering and meaningless long before they reached “Amen.” Quiet reflection wasn’t working, either. Every nugget of information, every packet of knowledge, every bright and shining fact she thought was true could also be a lie, a Satanic deception, diabolical misinformation. Even worse, what if they were all true? Or what if Satan wanted her to think they were misinformation so that she would doubt and doubt was like poison for the soul?
She emptied her mind and tried peaceful meditation. She was just starting to realize it wasn’t going to work either when someone sat down next to her.
“Sister,” the someone said. “I sense that your heart is troubled.”
Sister Mary opened her eyes. The man who sat next to her had flames dancing around his head and a black leather book resting on his knees. He wore a threadbare brown robe and leaning against the wall next to him was a heavy wooden club, knotted and gnarled. His face was lined, his head was bald and a long white beard reached to the middle of his stomach. There was such grave concern, such kindness, in his expression that Mary felt her throat contract painfully.
“Saint Jude,” she said. “Why?”
“I go where I am needed, child,” he said. “As the patron saint of lost causes and desperate situations, I could find no cause more lost than yours. No situation more desperate.”
“I’m so confused,” Sister Mary said. “I don’t know what to believe.”
“Tell me what confuses you,” Saint Jude said. “I can’t promise that I will be able to help you, but I can promise that I won’t make it worse.”
And so Sister Mary opened her heart to Saint Jude, the patron saint of hospitals and terminally ill children, of the Chicago Police Department and of Rio’s Regatas dos Flamengos football club. And as she unburdened her heart, a lightness entered her soul.
“As light is associated with shadow, as day is associated with night, so too are you associated with us, Lucifer,” Michael said. “Your actions are a dark mirror reflecting faint glimmerings of our holy doings, and we are beings who respect law and order. When you ignore your duty to the dead you are acting in a lawless manner, and that reflects poorly on our Creator. It will not be allowed.”
“You want me to go to court with these people?” Satan said in disbelief. “That’s not how things are done.”
“Silence!” Barachiel thundered. “How dare you tell us how things are done! We tell you how things are done!”
The archangels were all watching now. They loved a good fight. Metatron stroked his pretentious goatee, while Jegudiel took it all in without betraying his own thoughts. Raphael just looked nervous.
“I’m Satan,” Satan said. “I can’t take time off to go to court. What would happen to Hell?”
“It could hardly get worse,” Gabriel said.
“The Creator is fair,” Michael said. “Hard but fair. Most of the business of death is your responsibility and if humans are unhappy with it then they have a right to hold you accountable. Our Creator has agreed, however, that if you are not served the subpoena there is no need for you to appear in court. But if served, you must appear.”
“Oh,” Satan said, relaxing. “That’s not so bad. Americans are terrible at geography, there’s no way they can figure out how to get to Hell and serve me a subpoena.”
“There are going to be some changes, though,” Gabriel said.
“What do you mean?” Satan asked. Then he turned to Michael. “What does he mean?”
“It has come to our attention that Hell is in turmoil. It loses money through mismanagement and inefficiency. We here in Heaven are worried about the safety of the billions of souls in your care,” Michael said.
“So give me some money,” Satan said.
“We have lost confidence in your ability to operate Hell,” Michael said. “We will assume control of your sphere.”
“What?”
“We’re taking over Hell,” Barachiel said. “And there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“You can’t do that,” Satan said.
“If we win the Ultimate Death Match this year, then we can,” Michael said.
“But only if you win.”
“Who’s wrestling for you this year?” Barachiel sneered. “I heard you’ve got some problems with your wrestler.”
“I’ll figure something out,” Satan said.
“It’s two weeks away,” Barachiel said. “Come on, you have to know who’s going to fight for