"Holly Lisle - Sympathy for the Devil" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lisle Holly)

with one, who claims she is a succubus straight from Hell.”
 Chapter 1

FRIDAY, OCTOBER 8TH
Lucifer—Puissant Lord of Evil, Utmost Originator of All Things
Foul, Master of the Netherworlds, Purveyor of Anguish—glanced up
from his newspaper to stare thoughtfully over the miles of open
office space that made up the central nervous system of Hell.
Uncounted thousands of imps and leccubi and damnedsouls sat at
uncounted thousands of obsolete, cantankerous computer
terminals, alternately typing and swearing. The air-conditioning was
on the fritz again, and Hell’s computers worked poorly in the
resulting heat.
Lucifer’s main office manager, the fallen angel Sertapius, had
sent in a request for more computer techs. Unless things improved,
he wasn’t going to get them. They were hard to corrupt. They liked
their work too much, and happy people didn’t go to Hell. Lucifer had
some of his top people working on a way to convince computer
techs to get involved in politics—after all, bureaucrats were easy.
Hell was up to the tips of its horns in them.
The news was about average—wars, famines, plagues,
shootings, hatred, racism, sexism, politically correct fanaticism—in
other words, all good. Lucifer flipped to the entertainment section
and read Calvin and Hobbes, which he enjoyed when Calvin was
being terrible. And then he read his weekend horoscope—he
always read his horoscopes. Some of his best future denizens
wrote them, and he liked to check out the talent.
LIBRA—fellow libran, concerned by issue of fairness—like
all born under your sign—intercedes on your behalf.
beginning of new week brings you unimagined opportunities.
Lucifer arched an eyebrow and rubbed thoughtfully at the base of
one of the curled ram horns that sprouted from his forehead.
Promises, promises—the horoscopes were always full of them. Of
course, where he was, nothing ever came of those promises.
That was the hell of Hell.




Chapter 2
Dayne Kuttner was trying to catch up on her charting. She kept
one eye on the monitors—rows of green light slid across the black
screens in a variety of ugly, irregular patterns. Nobody looked good
today, and she waited tensely for the next lethal change.
She glanced at her watch and wrote: “1432. Systems
assessment—see previous notes. Changes are as follows—both
pupils now fully blown, no reaction to light. Sclerae edematous.
Eyes lubricated, padded and taped. Decerebrate posturing
noted . . .” She went through the list, noting every sign that the
woman in bed 432-D wasn’t going to be getting better. Mrs. Paulley,