In a well-apportioned mansion in Dublin, an old woman ran a hand idly over her desk. “I do not see how helping an Englishman helps Eire,” she said, finally, “and I see no reason we should interfere.”

Aiobheal sighed inwardly; this conversation was going much as she had feared it might. But she had no choice but to persist; she was not strong enough to free Adam on her own. It had taken some time to gain an audience with the High Queen; The Morrígan would have to help her; if not, she had no time to find someone else.

“Highness, Adam White is not English. He is American.”

“English, English colonist, it matters not. It still has nothing to do with us.”

“He is prisoner of The Adversary, Highness. We have an obligation to fight evil, aye?”

“Aye, we do, but only when it affects an Irishman.”

“His wife is half-Irish, Highness,” said Aoibheal.

This was a lie, at least as far as Aoibheal knew. She knew nothing of Stephanie White's heritage, and for all she knew Stephanie was a pure-blood descendant of the House of Windsor. But she needed a bit of luck.

“I thought you said she was American,” The Morrígan said, frowning.

“Aye, but how many Americans are Irish? There are more of our sons and daughters in America than in Eire herself, as you well know, Highness. And this daughter of Ireland has had her husband stolen from her in the last days of his life, by the forces of evil incarnate. Are we not to interfere in such a case?”

The High Queen of the Gods of Ireland considered this. “America is our land, sure as Ulster is,” she said, nodding finally. “I do forget sometimes how close Ballycuggaran Woods are to Blarney. All right, I will give you assistance in your efforts, though I cannot go with you.”

“I thank you, Highness,” said Aoibheal.

The Morrígan smiled, emerald eyes flashing. “I wonder, Aoibheal. What you are attempting is dangerous. You will have my sigil upon you, and you will have my most trusted púca at your side. But more I cannot give. I do wish I had no reason to stay on Eire; I do miss battle. But my place is here.”

“Of course,” said Aoibheal.

“I only hope you are successful; you will not be able to luck your way through this, Aoibheal. Not like you did here.”

“Highness?”

“Stephanie White's maternal and paternal grandmothers both were full-blooded daughters of the Emerald Isle. Her mother's mother was an O'Brien, which should please you; her father's mother was a Delaney. You did not know this, but you thought you could deceive me into thinking you did.”

“Highness, I –”

“Do not apologize, Aoibheal. Were I in your shoes, I would have done the same thing. But had what you said been untrue, I would not be helping you. Indeed, I might well be angry enough to interfere, The Adversary be damned – which He is, of course.

“But no matter. Aoife Pwca will be waiting outside to bear you back to America. She is a fine and cunning ally, and she knows of more of transfiguration than anyone in Eire – aside from you. Use her. Free this Adam White. And when all is done, stop by for a pint. Has been too long, my dear.”

“Aye, that it has, Highness,” said Aoibheal. She would have a sigil and a púca. She thought that this was somewhat less than the High Queen could have given her. But she knew better than to complain; The Morrígan had the gift of sight, and she seemed to know better than anyone what would be needed at the moment of crisis. She would have faith. 'Twas all she could do.

* * *

Adam grimaced in pain as the woman brought her bare behind down on top of him, right-cheek-first, bringing all her weight to bear on his frame. Had the woman been Stephanie, this might almost have been erotic – the smooth skin of the woman yielded almost pleasantly before fat gave way to muscle, and both pushed him into the mattress below, until he was being squeezed on all sides by pain disguised as softness.

Of course, Stephanie, if she did this at all, would have rested her behind lightly on him, leaning forward to keep from crushing him. She would never have deliberately caused him pain. But this was not Stephanie. There was no joy to be found in this, only anguish.

Eight days it had been; at least, he thought it was eight. The hell that he had descended into seemed to have a routine that echoed the real world's – breakfasts, dinners, lights out for the night – and he thought it was eight times that Dr. Marbas had measured him. The last time, he had proclaimed that Adam was down to 7.6 centimeters – less than half what he'd been when he'd arrived. That was three inches tall, small enough that Adam had doubts he could survive the outside world even if he did manage to escape.

The behind of Tanith pushed down harder, and Adam fought to keep the world from swimming away, as it seemed to more and more; they were not careful with him, not at all. Tanith had been true to her word. She was evil and horrid to him, and far and away the nicest person he encountered. Andousha – the one who had brought him here – seemed to leech his strength each time she was the one who examined him, and while his desire to resist her was no less than his desire to resist Tanith, his ability to resist her was less, leading to the only times he registered shame on Dr. Marbas's crystals.

He had been brought out of his cage, brought up to her fiery eyes, her hot, sticky breath washing over him, and she had casually said, “You desire me.”

He tried to argue, but she was concentrating on him. And he found himself unable to resist as she slid him down her unnaturally hot skin, between mammoth breasts and down into her shaved womanhood. Leaning him against it, she said, simply, “Now, you will pleasure me.”

He tried to fight this, as he always did, but it was as if his body would not respond to his commands. He wasn't sure how she was doing this, but he found himself caressing her fat, soft labia, found himself climbing them, in search of the giantess's nubbin, which he began to kiss and stroke, as she said, “Good. Good!”

She did not seem aroused, but rather amused. He could not stop himself. For almost an hour, he lapped at her, dove deep into her pussy, sucking in the stale, vinegar-sulfur air of her sex. He even explored her anus. He could not resist, even as his mind screamed at him to do so. And as he he serviced her, he began to wonder if perhaps he had wanted this, had wanted to please her with wanton abandon, to find joy in his agony. And that was the moment he felt shame.

When finally she took him back to his cage, too weak to move, Marbas shook his head at her. “Not useful data,” he said, as she handed him the crystal. “There's a method to this, Andousha. You know that.”

“It wasn't about the research, Marbas. I have needs. Needs that I have put aside for you. You cannot expect me to ignore them.”

“I can and I do. You have to allow him free will, or we get no good information. I'll be noting this, and you'll need to explain your actions to the new Chancellor. In the meantime, please stick with the program. You've set us back hours.”

Adam tried to reason this out, and failed. But it assuaged his guilt, and he felt a bit better at the end of it. She had used some trick to rape him. Maybe a drug, or hypnosis. But he hadn't done it freely. And he felt no shame about being raped; rape isn't the fault of its victims.

But pain – that he had registered, Over and over again, he registered pain. Marbas was the worst; he had cheerfully suggested that once he hit two inches, he'd be vivisected, because any smaller and Marbas would be unable to see fine detail. Adam wasn't sure if this was an idle threat; Marbas seemed wholly uninterested in usual scientific measurements, and far more interested in provoking emotional responses in his captive. But he had no doubt that Marbas would not hesitate to vivisect him if it met his needs.

Tanith crushed him and Andousha raped him, but Marbas simply tortured him. The needles...the fry pan...the cat – oh, God, the cat. He frankly wasn't sure how he was alive after Marbas released the cat to chase him around the enclosure. The cat had toyed with him, batting him about until he blacked out, certain that his arm was missing.

But he always woke up back in his prison, relatively whole except for some stiffness and the rare bandage; Adam couldn't understand how this could be. Perhaps he was already dead, and in Hell; it couldn't be worse than this.

And through it all, he missed Stephanie, missed her like mad. Once in a while, to torment him, Marbas would turn on the news, where talking heads were jabbering about how Stephanie probably killed her husband, vilifying her in the worst possible way. This was the worst of his agony, worse than the pain. He could live with the pain, even as it ate at him. But he hated that she was being flogged for something she would never do. He knew she loved him. He wished he could just tell the world he was alive, tell them she didn't have anything to do with it. He wanted her to have peace and a good life. He would gladly suffer this forever if he could find a way to salvage Stephanie's reputation.

He tried to have faith that things would work out, that he would live to fight another day. But his faith was wavering. As the world faded out of focus under Tanith's derrière, Adam found himself simply praying for release. Oblivion would be sweet compared to this.

* * *

Eros awoke first, and careful not to disturb Virgil, walked out of the tent into the Back Beyond.

He could see the dark realm of Hell off in the distance, only an hour's walk away. It had been frustrating, the long trek here; it felt like it might have taken months, even years, although Virgil assured him it would take no more than a week or two in real terms. Eros had complained many times, wondering why they didn't simply arrive in Hell as one would arrive anywhere else in the Back Beyond; Virgil smiled shyly, and said that it was the way to show respect to The Adversary, to walk the Road of Good Intentions into Dis, the suburb of Pandemonium. Besides, it gave them time to discuss the protocols of Hell, of which there were many, and the occasional opportunity to fuck, though Virgil had been so shy in first suggesting it that Eros himself had almost missed the pass.

Ah, shy boys. Eros smiled in spite of himself; that part of the trip had indeed been enjoyable. But he put it out of his mind. Today they would enter The Adversary's realm, and he hoped they would quickly secure a meeting with the Shaitan Himself. If Virgil was right, by the time they returned there would be but a week until the trial, and Adam would be but an inch or two tall. Eros just hoped that Adam had managed to avoid the Adversary's clutches. If not, all may already be lost.

* * *

“I still don't understand why Bertrand Russell sits on the Council,” said Aphrodite, digging through her notes. “He isn't a God.”

“He's a prophet, and non-theistic religions can be represented by a prophet on the Council, child. You know that. What you need to be focusing on is how to use him to your advantage; he had a very wandering eye in life and would be sympathetic to a Love Goddess in general. You need to use him to bolster your argument.”

“Oh, I will, I understand that. I just don't understand how atheism gets a seat on the Council. I mean, that's the one religion that clearly isn't right in any way.”

“Isn't it?” said Mami Wata, as she fed Nyoka a squirming rat.

“Mami Wata, be serious.”

“I am, Aphrodite. Deadly serious. We Gods exist because of faith; you know that. Many, many people have faith that there is nothing. They believe in nothing as strongly as your most fervent devotee believes in you. Who are you to tell them they are wrong?”

“Well...I'm a God. My very existence disproves atheism.”

“How do you know? Perhaps there are no Gods, and you and I are just an illusion, a story people tell each other. How do you know you exist? How do you know I do? The reality is complex, an infinite braid of possibility bound with history bound with myth.

“The Maasai say the world was fashioned out of a tree. The Hmong say it was recreated when the King Above the Sky ordered holes punched beneath the world-ocean so water could drain, and things could grow, and the last remaining humans – a brother and sister – married and populated the world. The Shinto believe the world was created when Izanagi and Izanami stirred the ocean with a spear to raise islands of salt, which became Japan. You believe that Chaos begat Gaia – your grandmother, the world. The Christians and Jews believe that Yhwh created the world by speaking the words, “Let there be light,” and there was light, and the light was good. The atheists believe that the universe was created by a vacuum fluctuation, one that led to a rapid expansion of matter and spacetime, an expansion that continues today, one that occurred because of natural processes, with no God or Goddess interfering. And of course, there are as many versions of these stories as can be told, and some of them cross – Christians who think God caused the Big Bang, and so forth.

“You know the secret of this? All of them are right. Every story is true. The world was created by Chaos and by Yhwh and by Izanagi and Izanami and by the King Above the Sky and by nobody at all. All of these stories are true; all are equally valid. Understand that, and you understand what you must argue.”

Aprhodite stared at Mami Wata, slack-jawed. When she found her voice, she said, quietly, “I don't understand.”

“I know. Few do. But you will. You have to. Enough for today, child. Let us rest.”

* * *

Hell did not look much like Eros had expected it to, and nothing like Virgil had shown Dante. Far from being concentric realms of suffering, Dis appeared to be a reasonably normal town, the kind of bedroom community one might find surrounding any big city anywhere in the world. The houses had a bland sameness to them, but there were hints of individual touches. And there were shops and pubs and clubs and restaurants. Had Eros not known better, he would have thought himself to be in a suburb in Germany, or perhaps France.

“This doesn't look like the Hell you guided Dante through,” Eros said, as he noted with surprise a shop that sold sex toys and, according to the sign, sexual partners.

“I didn't show Dante Hell,” Virgil said, quietly, gesturing toward a side street. “I showed him a version of Hell. The version he needed to see and communicate to his fellow man. Oh, we hung a few lampshades. What was Trajan doing in Heaven? Why wasn't I hanging out with my fellow sodomites? But those were for posterity.

“No, Hell is pretty normal on the surface. It's not outside of those houses that are horrible; it's what's inside them.”

“What's inside them?” Eros asked.

“It depends on what the soul needs there to be. After all, you know how you end up here, right?”

Eros frowned. “Not really. The afterworld for my followers is Hades, no matter whether you're good or bad – unless we bump you up to Olympus for some reason, like we did for Heracles.”

“That's mostly true for all souls, everywhere – each soul is striving for the next level of existence, and each is given many chances to get it right, except for the most evil – they are punished, but not here. Judgment Himself takes care of them. No, nobody is consigned to Hell who does not believe themselves to be consigned to Hell. The souls here are here of their own volition, though they would never believe that.”

“And that's why there's no rain of fire, plague of locusts, people frozen in ice?”

“Oh, there are, and some of what I showed Dante was indeed contained in some of these houses – people who are tortured because they want the torture, they need the torture, because they blame themselves more than any God would for the mistakes they made in their volent lives. It's The Adversary's most brilliant plan. And the best part is, they torment themselves in exactly the proper way for their need to atone. Some actually torment themselves lightly – just live in the absence of God, go about their business. Those are the souls you see on the street. For them, Hell is not much different than the living world. But for others...no demon can imagine worse torments for humans than humans can. Fortunately, most souls realize this after a century or two, and then they're released to try again – and often, it turns out Hell helped them after all. Ah, here we go,” said Virgil, gesturing to a taxicab. The doors opened, and a bored-looking demon nodded.

“Where to?”

“The Palace, please.”

The demon nodded as the two men piled into the back, and the car sped off toward Pandemonium.

“Name's Expositonem. Now, let me see – never forget a face. Virgil, right?”

“Yes,” said the God-Teacher, quietly.

“Thought so. Been centuries, hasn't it? Nice to see you back in our fair land. And who's your friend?”

“Um...Eros. Nice to meet you.”

“Eros. Eros. Oh, you're a God, right? One of the Greek ones?” the demon said. “What're you doin' down here? Looking to convert?”

“No, though from what I understand, my stepfather did.”

“Heh. I see. You're the Chancellor's kid, right? You stopping by to congratulate him? I mean, he's the first new Chancellor we've had in over a thousand years. Not many openings, you know. But Ba'al Adar-malik was getting tired of the grind; he retired from existence, and the Big Guy wanted someone good, 'specially someone who was a Fire God. Chancellor Hephaestus Adramelech was a perfect fit.”

“That so,” said Eros, noting that the bland suburbs were now receding into an area of urban blight, populated by prostitutes and drug dealers; he sighed. These would be the people who would consign themselves, he thought. But if they could get their fix, even in Hell, at least they could numb the pain away.

“Yeah. Anyhow, you gonna see him while you're here?”

“Not if I can avoid it,” said Eros. “Actually, we're here to see The – uh, to see Shaitan Lucifer Iblis.”

“Meh, call him The Adversary. Call it to him to his face – the Big Guy loves it. Once, eight hundred years ago, I was at a party when he showed up, some fallen Muse calls him The Adversary by mistake, the Big Guy laughed like crazy. Says it's an honor to be thought of as the opposite of the smug, self-righteous bastards that run the universe – no offense.”

“None taken,” said Eros, chuckling.

“Well, he'll enjoy seeing you. Always enjoys entertaining, y'know. Especially loves when Gods drop by the palace. Loves to see 'em all surprised when it isn't filled with wailing and gnashing of teeth. Unless you're into that sort of thing. You're a Love God, right?”

“Yeah.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I suppose I do,” he said. Eros frowned. He felt something he rarely had felt in all his existence – nervousness. The Adversary was cunning and powerful. Surely He wouldn't simply tell Eros what He was planning with regard to Adam White.

They drove on in silence for some time until he saw the castle – a massive, onyx-black monstrosity that appeared to take up dozens of city blocks, one that soared hundreds of stories into the sky. It was covered in intricately carved gargoyles. Though the area around it appeared to be a lush, green park, the obsidian walls seemed to reflect the flicker of flames, tall as the building itself.

It was utterly terrifying, and utterly beautiful.

“Takes your breath away, don't it? I'll take you to the main entrance – you're expected, you know. Oh, and before you ask, no charge – the Big Guy wants you to know that he always shows visiting deities His most generous hospitality. He will take care of my remuneration.”

“Please,” said Virgil, slipping a silver coin to the demon, “take this as a token of our esteem; though I appreciate His hospitality, you deserve compensation from us as well.”

“You're all right, you guys. Okay, here you go. Good luck. You'll need it.”

And with that, the taxi abruptly vanished, and Virgil and Eros stood at the end of a long, red carpet that led into the gates of the palace, a gate fashioned in the form of a demon's mouth. Two brigades of demons stood at attention on either side of the carpet, and a biting fanfare in a minor key rang out.

“Damned souls and Demons,” said one demon standing at attention near them, “I present Eros Elutherios, Lust God of the Olympus, and his companion, Demigod Publius Vergillus Maro. All hands, salute!”

With this, each demon in unison beat their chests and held out their hands, fist-first, in an angle eerily reminiscent of the Nazi salute. Eros found it discomfiting, but Virgil simply nodded ahead. And so the two walked through the gauntlet, toward a functionary by the gate. All things considered, Eros though he would take a bit less of Lucifer's hospitality.

* * *

Adam was blinded by the pain. Marbas was observing while Tanith crushed his genitals with her thumb and forefinger. She worked it over repeatedly, until he was quite certain that whatever was left would be incapable of function; not that it mattered. He simply cried out with each pinch, and Marbas took notes. It was a fairly common routine.

“All right, that's enough for the moment,” Marbas said, coolly, and Tanith removed her fingers. He sighed. “No closer,” he said, frustrated.

“Why are you doing this?” Adam groaned, not even daring to feel for what was left of his manhood. “Why are you torturing me? What do you hope to find?”

“I have told you,” said Marbas. “The secret to your change.”

“But why do you want it?” Adam said. “So you can torture others as you torture me?”

Marbas laughed, a mirthless, bitter laugh. “There is that, Adam. But I am thinking of the bigger picture. The world is a finite place, and we are running low on resources. What better way to solve those problems than reducing consumption – by reducing people?”

Adam coughed, and winced. “You want to shrink people? And then, what, rule them?”

“Oh, not me. I'm a behind-the-scenes guy. But if I find this secret, I know many well-connected men who will be happy to get their hands on this process. Of course, they would remain full-sized – someone has to. But most people will be reduced, and the world will be a paradise. No more oil shortages, no more food shortages. Think of the joy, Adam, that your pain will cause.”

“No,” said Adam, bitterly. “You're lying. Nothing you do would be put to good use. You want to enslave people.”

“Oh, Adam, such a lack of vision. Do you not love humanity enough to give them this chance?”

“I love them enough to fight you,” Adam said. “I wouldn't want this for anyone. I sure as hell don't want you shrinking Stephanie when I'm gone.”

A slight chiming could be heard from Marbas desk. He looked over at it, and smiled. “I suppose not. You do love Stephanie, don't you? You would do anything to protect her, right?”

“I do,” Adam said, and through the pain, he focused on her face, her touch, her sweet support, even when he had been at his worst. She had even known when to leave, to force him to make his choice to live or die. She was the best thing that ever happened to him, and he would fight for her. He would never give them what they were looking for.

“We could bring her here, you know.”

Adam opened his eyes, and looked at his tormentor through the tears. “What?”

“We could bring her to you. Let you have your time with her. Let you love her, until you vanish from sight. No more torture – we've run enough pain scenarios anyhow. No, you could be with her as you were meant to.”

Adam coughed, and winced again. It was a trick. It had to be. And even if it wasn't....

“No,” Adam said. “You leave her alone.”

“Hmm. You would not bring her here, even if I promised I would not harm her? Even if I promised that in the New World Order, she would be one of the glorious masters, not one of the hoi polloi?”

“Leave her alone,” Adam said. “Kill me, but don't touch her.”

“Love. Protectiveness. Caring. Yes, of course. Foolish of me not to realize it immediately. How else would She work?”

He turned back to his prisoner. “All right, Adam. I will leave your Stephanie alone. You have convinced me.”

Adam groaned in agony. But less misery. Stephanie was safe. That would be enough.

“Now,

.אין די נאָמען פון שׂטן, היילן די ווונדז

That should take care of your immediate problems. Rest, Adam White. You have finally given me my answer.”

Adam felt the pulp that was his manhood restore itself, as if it was made of Silly Putty, sliding itself back into position. He did not know what answer he had given Marbas, and for the moment, he didn't care. All he knew was that the pain, for now, was gone. And with that, he fell fast asleep.

* * *

Aoibheal and Aoife flew over the Atlantic, Aoife in the guise of a great black crow.

“So you tracked him into the midwest?” the crow asked, as Aoibheal crossed the jet stream yet again.

“Aye,” Aoibheal said.

Aoife had been waiting, just as The Morrígan had said, outside the door to her study. She had been in the guise of a beautiful, raven-hared woman, which surprised Aoibheal. Púcas were animals, after all. They could be any animal, but they were always animals.

Aoife had merely smiled, and noted that humans were animals, too. And then she had transformed, and said it was best they were off immediately.

And so it was. Aoibheal had filled her companion in on the story thus far, and Aoife mostly listened, occasionally asking perspicacious questions that established quite clearly her use as an ally. As they approached the office park where Adam was sequestered, Aoife suggested the simplest tactic.

“The easiest way to do this is for me to enter, and you to wait outside,” she said. “Her Highness' sigil will protect you, but The Adversary's magic does not affect me as it does you. We are not all good, you know.”

“I know,” said Aoibheal, as they began their descent. “But for that reason, should I not go with you?”

The crow laughed. “I understand why you ask that. Know that I am bound to help you; I am in Her Highness' service, and I do what she tells me to do. I will do nothing to harm this mission. I promise.”

“Can you get to him alone?”

“I have no idea. But I can try. If I cannot, I will return for you. Hopefully, you will be able to prepare Adam for his journey home.”

“Aye,” said Aoibheal. “For that will be a trick; he will need to believe this was accomplished on his own.”

“Indeed. All right,” the crow said, alighting on the ground. “I can feel that this is the place. I will try the guise of a rat,” she said, instantly becoming a smallish rat with dark black fur. “Wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” said the faerie queen, as she watched the rat scurry toward the building. She had a bad feeling about what was to come. But she began her preparations nonetheless.