Summer 2007 by Subterranean Press Page A

believe in ye.”
    The Devil shrugged. “Nobody’s asking you to believe in
me. You don’t, and I’m still here, aren’t I? If it makes things easier, think
of me as the garbage collection subroutine of the strong anthropic principle.
And they”–he stabbed a finger in the direction of the overhead LEDs–”work
by magic, for all you know.”
    Davy picked up his glass and drained it philosophically.
The hell of it was, the Devil was right: now he thought about it, he had no
idea how the lights worked, except that electricity had something to do with
it. “Ah’ll have anither. Ye’re buyin’.”“No I’m not.” The Devil snapped his
fingers and two full glasses appeared on the bar, steaming slightly. Davy
picked up the nearest one. It was hot to the touch, even though the beer inside
it was at cellar temperature, and it smelled slightly sulphurous. “Anyway, I
owe you.”
    “Whit for?” Davy sniffed the beer suspiciously: “This
smells pish.” He pushed it away. “Whit is it ye owe me for?”
    “For taking that mortgage and the job on the
street-cleaning team and for pissing it all down the drain and fucking off a
thousand citizens in little ways. For giving me Jaimie and wee Davy, and for
wrecking your life and cutting Morag off from her parents and raising a pair of
neds instead of two fine upstanding citizens. You’re not a scholar and you’re
not a gentleman, but you’re a truly professional hater. And as for what you did
to Morag–”
    Davy made another fist: HATE. “Say wan mair word aboot
Morag…” he warned.
    The Devil chuckled quietly. “No, you managed to do all
that by yourself.” He shrugged. “I’d have offered help if you needed it, but
you seemed to be doing okay without me. Like I said, you’re a professional.” He
cleared his throat. “Which brings me to the little matter of why I’m talking to
you tonight.”
    “Ah’m no for sale.” Davy crossed his arms defensively.
“Who d’ye think Ah am?”
    The Devil shook his head, still smiling. “I’m not here
to make you an offer for your soul, that’s not how things work. Anyway, you
gave it to me of your own free will years ago.” Davy looked into his eyes. The
smile didn’t reach them. “Trouble is, there are consequences when that happens.
My employer’s an optimist: she’s not an Augustinian entity, you’ll be pleased
to learn, she doesn’t believe in original sin. So things between you and the
Ultimate are…let’s say they’re out of balance. It’s like a credit card bill.
The longer you ignore it, the worse it gets. You cut me a karmic loan from the
First Bank of Davy MacDonald, and the Law requires me to repay it with
interest.”
    “Huh?” Davy stared at the Devil. “Ye whit?”
    The Devil wasn’t smiling now. “You’re one of the Elect,
Davy. One of the Unconditionally Elect. So’s fucking everybody these days, but
your name came up in the quality assurance lottery. I’m not allowed to mess
with you. If you die and I’m in your debt, seven shades of shit hit the fan. So
I owe you a fucking wish.”
    The Devil tapped his fingers impatiently on the bar top.
He was no longer smiling. “You get one wish. I am required to read you the
small print:
    “The party of the first part in
cognizance of the gift benefice or loan bestowed by the party of the second
part is hereby required to tender the fulfillment of 1 (one) verbally or
somatically expressed indication of desire by the party of the second part in
pursuance of the discharge of the said gift benefice or loan, said fulfillment
hereinafter to be termed ‘the wish’. The party of the first part undertakes to
bring the totality of existence into accordance with the terms of the wish
exclusive of paradox deicide temporal inversion or other wilful suspension
contrary to the laws of nature. The party of the second part recognizes
understands and accepts that this wish represents full and final discharge of
debt incurred by the gift benefice or