only accept if you agree to a few ground rules,” Jonah said.
“I would expect nothing less,” Satan said. “Rule away.”
“His soul has to remain on Earth. No running off to hide it in Hell.”
Behind a veil of rising smoke, Satan snorted. “I’d planned on it. Why jaunt off to Hell if you can’t follow? Where’s the fun in that?”
“And the hiding place has to be in the States.”
Satan lowered the cigar and tapped away the ashes. “Why?”
“Like you said, why jaunt off somewhere I can’t follow? I’m a man of limited funds. If you go sauntering off to Italy, I’ll never find you guys. It’s not a very fair wager if we don’t share equal resources.”
“Fair? Now there’s a word I don’t hear every day.” Sarcasm dripped from his voice, poisonous honey from a dangerous hive. “Well, in the interest of playing fair, I’ll concede to your request. But if I have to hide it in the U.S., then you have to give me something.”
“Such as?” Jonah asked, his mind conjuring terrible requirements, such as walking across hot coals or swallowing buckets of broken glass.
Satan chewed his cigar and eyed Jonah. “You have to do this the old-fashioned way.”
“I’m afraid I don’t follow.”
“Come on now, lad, you know exactly what I mean. A good, old-fashioned road trip. Gas up the car. Load up on snacks. Crack out the maps.” Satan stressed the last word long and slow, as if there were some hidden meaning behind it. He pulled hard on the cigar—its glowing tip an angry red with the intake of breath—then blew a puff of smoke that faintly resembled the outline of the United States. The States smoke shape lingered in front of Jonah for a moment before it floated away. “What do you say, son? You look like the kind of guy who can read a map.”
“Yeah, I suppose I can.” The coincidence was too much. Jonah wondered just how much the Devil knew, how much was guesswork, and how much was designed to irk him. “So essentially no GPS—”
“Instant point A to point B? No. You don’t need advice from the heavens. Keep your feet on the ground. Plan your route by hand, just like your forefathers did. Then it’s just you and your little red car and the wide open road.” Lucifer paused to rap his knuckles on the Focus’s hood. “I’m sure that hunk of junk can take it. And if all else fails, why, just put your thumb to the wind and wear your best smile.”
“Then I have to stick to driving, with no … um … modern help.”
“Hell, I don’t care if you ride a bicycle. But if I catch ya using any highfalutin’ gadgets, you forfeit and I win. Got it?”
“I think I got it.” Jonah was glad he’d left the tempting GPS at home.
“Then stop sounding so glum about it. I want this to be an experience. It’s meant to be an adventure. I want you to have stories to share when you’re done.”
Confused by the sentimental tone, Jonah echoed, “You want stories?”
“Hell yes, I want stories! Why do you think I’m agreeing to this circus?”
“Then why not just go find stories and leave us alone?”
A smile gleamed around the cigar. “Where’s the fun in that?”
“Of course,” Jonah grumbled, suspecting he was about to get very tired of hearing that phrase.
“Besides, there’s nothing better than a road trip for cooking up the best yarns. I’ve been on some amazing road trips myself. Of course, back in my day, road trips were more intense.” As he chewed on the burning cigar, Satan absentmindedly scratched at the label of the beer bottle and stared into the distance at nothing in particular. His sapphire eyes gleamed with memories. “Yeah, back in my day, every trip was a road trip. Me and the guys would pack up and head out for some godforsaken spot. And I when I say godforsaken, I really mean godforsaken.”
He paused, mid-speech, to let out a little giggle.
“I remember this one mule in Macedonia,” Satan continued, “who would suck on anything, and I mean
“I would expect nothing less,” Satan said. “Rule away.”
“His soul has to remain on Earth. No running off to hide it in Hell.”
Behind a veil of rising smoke, Satan snorted. “I’d planned on it. Why jaunt off to Hell if you can’t follow? Where’s the fun in that?”
“And the hiding place has to be in the States.”
Satan lowered the cigar and tapped away the ashes. “Why?”
“Like you said, why jaunt off somewhere I can’t follow? I’m a man of limited funds. If you go sauntering off to Italy, I’ll never find you guys. It’s not a very fair wager if we don’t share equal resources.”
“Fair? Now there’s a word I don’t hear every day.” Sarcasm dripped from his voice, poisonous honey from a dangerous hive. “Well, in the interest of playing fair, I’ll concede to your request. But if I have to hide it in the U.S., then you have to give me something.”
“Such as?” Jonah asked, his mind conjuring terrible requirements, such as walking across hot coals or swallowing buckets of broken glass.
Satan chewed his cigar and eyed Jonah. “You have to do this the old-fashioned way.”
“I’m afraid I don’t follow.”
“Come on now, lad, you know exactly what I mean. A good, old-fashioned road trip. Gas up the car. Load up on snacks. Crack out the maps.” Satan stressed the last word long and slow, as if there were some hidden meaning behind it. He pulled hard on the cigar—its glowing tip an angry red with the intake of breath—then blew a puff of smoke that faintly resembled the outline of the United States. The States smoke shape lingered in front of Jonah for a moment before it floated away. “What do you say, son? You look like the kind of guy who can read a map.”
“Yeah, I suppose I can.” The coincidence was too much. Jonah wondered just how much the Devil knew, how much was guesswork, and how much was designed to irk him. “So essentially no GPS—”
“Instant point A to point B? No. You don’t need advice from the heavens. Keep your feet on the ground. Plan your route by hand, just like your forefathers did. Then it’s just you and your little red car and the wide open road.” Lucifer paused to rap his knuckles on the Focus’s hood. “I’m sure that hunk of junk can take it. And if all else fails, why, just put your thumb to the wind and wear your best smile.”
“Then I have to stick to driving, with no … um … modern help.”
“Hell, I don’t care if you ride a bicycle. But if I catch ya using any highfalutin’ gadgets, you forfeit and I win. Got it?”
“I think I got it.” Jonah was glad he’d left the tempting GPS at home.
“Then stop sounding so glum about it. I want this to be an experience. It’s meant to be an adventure. I want you to have stories to share when you’re done.”
Confused by the sentimental tone, Jonah echoed, “You want stories?”
“Hell yes, I want stories! Why do you think I’m agreeing to this circus?”
“Then why not just go find stories and leave us alone?”
A smile gleamed around the cigar. “Where’s the fun in that?”
“Of course,” Jonah grumbled, suspecting he was about to get very tired of hearing that phrase.
“Besides, there’s nothing better than a road trip for cooking up the best yarns. I’ve been on some amazing road trips myself. Of course, back in my day, road trips were more intense.” As he chewed on the burning cigar, Satan absentmindedly scratched at the label of the beer bottle and stared into the distance at nothing in particular. His sapphire eyes gleamed with memories. “Yeah, back in my day, every trip was a road trip. Me and the guys would pack up and head out for some godforsaken spot. And I when I say godforsaken, I really mean godforsaken.”
He paused, mid-speech, to let out a little giggle.
“I remember this one mule in Macedonia,” Satan continued, “who would suck on anything, and I mean
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