Dan got himself up at four the next morning so he would have some time to himself before the day started. He fixed himself a bowl of cereal—when did they stop calling them Sugar Frosted Flakes?—and ate his breakfast in bed while watching Headline News on CNN. The damned human race kept itself busy with the business of human damnation—fighting in the Middle East, war in Eastern Europe, war in Africa; torture in Central America; rape, murder, thievery, violence, hatred and greed everywhere. The reporters dished out their morning dose of poison with the unemotional voices and blank-faced "we're objective" expressions that said, Not me. I am above this. I am pure of the taint of human pain and misery.
"Fuck you," he yelled at them. "You're human! Give a shit about humans, you bastards."
He punched the off button on the controller and threw it across the room. In the shower, he stood under a spray of icy water until he had his anger under control, then dressed and went into the living room to wake Puck.
The devil slept on the couch, curled into a ball, snoring softly.
"Puck," Dan said. "Wake up."
"Mmmrmph?"
"Wake up. C'mon. Wake up. We have a lot to do today."
"We . . . do? What?"
"I have to go to work. Janna's going to go with you while your suits are fitted. Then you need to meet with more advertisers and do a couple of spots for the promotions for the advertisers we already have. I think she'll probably stick around with you for that. When the two of you are done, you're probably going to have to talk with Meg's investment group. After you've done that, you and I need to set up a schedule for on-site promotions and work out your calendar."
"Oh." The devil gave a tremendous sigh, rolled over, and shoved his face into the couch back.
Dan flipped on the light. The devil groaned, rolled back over, and swung his legs to the floor. "You'll survive—" Dan started to say, but when he got a good look at Puck, words left him. Puck's scales had shrunk to the size of pinheads, and their hard new-penny gleam had dulled and softened. Puck's hide could almost be mistaken for skin—in fact, Dan had seen rich women come back from the Riviera with skin browner and leatherier than his, though without the slight metallic underlay that made him look like he'd had a good paint job.
His face was another wonder. The horns, shrunken to the buttons that would look at home on the forehead of a baby goat, almost disappeared beneath a fuzzy thatch of soft, black hair. The fangs, shorter—almost but not quite the length of human canines—no longer bulged outward or forced Puck's mouth into a perpetual sneer. Without that sneering expression, he looked somehow vulnerable. His eyes, with their square pupils and pale irises, still clearly marked his Hellish origins. The expression in them, though, was neither scornful nor hateful, but full of wonder.
Puck sat staring at his outstretched hands. The talons were gone entirely, Dan saw, replaced by thick, rather ugly—but human-looking—nails. A few curling black hairs grew out from between the scales on Puck's forearms and the backs of his hands.
"I've changed," Puck whispered.
Dan could only nod.
"I did kind things for people . . . yesterday . . . did those things because I . . . because I wanted to. I wanted to."
"You haven't had the chance to do things you wanted very often, have you?"
Puck glanced up at him. "Hell is not noted for its enthusiastic support of personal choice."
"No. I don't suppose it is."
"Look at me. I remember hands like these."
"You're starting to remember your past?"
"Maybe. I can't be sure. But last night, Dan, something happened to me that . . ." He shook his head and stared off into space. "I dreamed, Dan. I dreamed. "
Dan gave him an encouraging smile. "You dreamed something special?"
For a moment, Puck looked impatient. "I don't know what I dreamed . . . it doesn't matter what I dreamed. The dreaming is the thing." Dan thought he saw the beginnings of tears forming in the corners of the devil's eyes. "There are no dreams in Hell. There are only nightmares."