FALSE PROPHET
By the stone hearth in a small, crowded pub in Edinburgh, Jesus sat with an exceptional-looking man wearing black leather pants despite an unseasonably hot Scottish summer. This was Lucifer, smoldering and magnetic, terrifying and irresistible. Auburn-haired women admired him through the thick, stagnant cigarette haze, which rivaled the worst sulfur smog during Hell's days of yore. Empty plates of pub food and spent pints of beer rested on the table between Jesus and Lucifer, and three hounds of varying colors lazed at their feet, lifting an ear or an eyelid to sudden laughter or drunk singing.
"You can't be serious," Jesus said.
Lucifer's expression confirmed he was, indeed, serious.
"But what if—"
Lucifer smiled.
"I need time to acclimate," Jesus said. "What if there's an accident? I can't go down again. People have invested their lives in me for two thousand years."
"The odds are against it, Josh," Lucifer said. "And if there were an accident, someone would discover a long-lost text prophesizing your second demise. Or suppress it all. You've nothing to worry about. And it's been seventeen hundred years, not two thousand. You were floundering before Constantine."
"Whatever." Jesus cleared his throat and whispered, "But if I die again, what's going to happen to Christianity?"
Lucifer's eyes showed indifference.
"You'd love that, wouldn't you," Jesus said, before touching his temple with one finger. "I'm too ingrained to snuff out so easily."
"I'm sure you're right," Lucifer said.
Jesus' face grew red, and he gripped the arms of his chair as if they alone held him to the earth. With great effort, he willed himself to relax and sat back in the chair. "I won't do it."
"That's probably best," Lucifer said, signaling for another pint. "They won't believe who you are, anyway. You'd need me for that, too."
Jesus scowled. Lucifer never ceased to annoy him. And much of it was style envy. Lucifer always looked cooler than he did, no matter the season or situation. It was infuriating.
"You knew He'd show up sooner or later," Lucifer said.
"Sure," Jesus said. "The quick and the dead and all that."
"Josh, we're both aware you didn't say that."
Jesus sighed. "Sometimes it all blurs together. If He would have been more specific, if He would have provided me with precise wording, I wouldn't be in this position."
"He works in mysterious ways."
"Don't you dare mock me. Not now."
Lucifer laughed, and a hound raised a heavy eyelid. "Okay. How about this? He didn't provide the wording, either. So it isn't His fault."
"Well it's not mine."
"Yes. You were but a puppet."
Jesus glared at him. "Why can't you just help me?"
"I've tried to, but really, I don't see the tragedy of it all. When He arrives, talk to Him. All shall become clear."
"But what if it's too late?"
"For what?"
"To make them all believe."
"Josh," Lucifer said, "God doesn't want that."
"You can't possibly know what He wants."
Lucifer's steady gaze told Jesus the Dark Angel could know, and did.
Jesus shifted his strategy to pleading. "Lou, I need this. If we go with my plan, at least—"
"Your plan is full of holes, Josh."
"Name one."
"You can't descend from heaven."
"You did. Well, you fell. To put it kindly."
"I didn't," Lucifer said. "And you know it."
Jesus slumped in his chair. "But you could."
"The City isn't heaven, and it's not a physical place," Lucifer said. "Conforming to the accepted mythology would require a descent of nine days, from a heaven that doesn't exist. Through space."
"So?"
"You can't survive in space. To accomplish what you're suggesting, you'd have to come back as a man, biological and mortal."
"Because you won't help me." Jesus shifted in his chair and pressed his hand to his chest. "Why can't I return like this?" He pointed at the pub's heavy wooden front door. "Just walk right out."
"Because I'm holding you together right now," Lucifer said. "You're providing the function, but I'm maintaining the form. Without me, you can't exist indefinitely on this existential plane."
"Mom can do it."
"It took her centuries to learn," Lucifer said. "Your timeline is more immediate."
The pub's door opened and closed.
"This is your idea, not mine." Lucifer downed what remained of his pint. "No one is going to take your word for who you say you are. You'll have to prove it. They'll demand biological tests, which won't work unless—"
"I'm biological," Jesus grumbled.
Lucifer spread his hands with the tiniest degree of sympathy for the biblical Son of God. "Blood and bone, Josh. It's the only way I'll help."
"But you'll help," Jesus said, brightening.
Lucifer made a gesture that committed to nothing.
Jesus leaned forward. "Lou. Listen to me. I'm worshipped here. I'm The Man. A worldwide belief system is built on me. But my place is tenuous in heaven."
Firelight reflected off the empty pint glasses. Lucifer disguised his amusement, though in truth he was not enjoying Jesus' quick sprint toward panic. "It's not heaven," he said. "We don't know what it is."
"It's close enough. Can we please skip the usual argument?"
Lucifer glanced across the bar, through the haze.
"All I have is my influence down here," Jesus said, gripping Lucifer's arm, "because when He gets back I'll be nothing up there. So this is where I have to make my stand. It's imperative I return in glory and righteous judgment and defeat the false prophet."
"That's me, right?"
"Of course you!"
Lucifer laughed and sat back. "No."
Jesus checked in both directions. "What difference does it make to you?"
"Maybe I'm not being painfully clear," Lucifer said, tapping the rim of his glass. "If I help you, and you reveal yourself as you intend, it won't summon the innocents to heaven, but it will unleash something like the ten plagues upon the world."
"I doubt that."
"Your pride knows no bounds," Lucifer said.
"And your intellectual arrogance blinds you to the beauty of creation."
Lucifer took a deep breath, and Jesus mimicked him.
"Josh, you're asking me to sacrifice what I know for what you believe, so if you want your second coming, we do it my way. End of discussion." Lucifer smiled. "You'll be my first."
Jesus half-listened, face blank, watching the smallest dog's twitching ear. Lucifer's revision to the plan was too far removed from how Jesus had envisioned his return to earth to be anything but a disingenuous roadblock.
"Day after day," Lucifer said, "I take inexplicable phenomena in immeasurable states with uncertain resolutions and shepherd them to self-awareness, while you're out on the golf course, tormenting yourself over whether to use a nine iron or a wedge. But I'm the bad guy, and you're worshipped by billions."
"Poor, poor Lou," Jesus said. "The vast unwashed don't appreciate him."
Lucifer looked off.
"You love it," Jesus said, and put up a pair of air quotes. "It's science."
"You wouldn't be here without my science. Not like this."
"You've said I was the easiest. I could have done it myself. You did."
"The easiest man," Lucifer said. So many years, so many similar discussions. "There's a big difference between a man and an idea. Only animals are easier than people. People agree on what an ostrich is."
"Cute," Jesus said, stifling a smile. "A veiled analogy from evil incarnate."
Lucifer rolled his eyes. "Evil is a concept, not an individual or entity."
"Without the concept, you wouldn't exist."
"Josh," Lucifer said with genuine surprise, "you've been paying attention."
"Yeah, touché touché," Jesus said. "But I fail to understand why you care. You have a role to play here, an essence to maintain. You can do whatever you want. Me coming back helps you. We can tussle in a grand battle for souls. Good versus evil. Darkness against the light. It might be fun."
"Light is the presence of all colors," Lucifer said. "Illumination. Truth. Reality."
The barmaid delivered two more pints as Jesus slumped in his chair. "I reject your insinuation."
"Anyway, you should leave the abstract battles to me. Yours are more tangible."
"Yeah," Jesus said, "I heard about your little idea."
"You shoot the evil eye at Judas every time you run into him. It might do you some good to kick his ass. Or vice versa." Lucifer leaned forward, the fire crackling. "I'm tired of the façade."
"Which one?"
"All of them," Lucifer said. "Change is coming, Josh."
The fire roared, the space between them hot and electric. Glass broke, and sharp laughter cracked through the bar. The red hound mumbled in his sleep while Jesus stared into space. Maybe he could circumvent Lucifer, get Albert and Nikola on his side, commandeer the technology—
"It won't work, Josh."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Jesus said. "And vice versa, regarding my thoughts. By your own admission, your predictive ability, aka limited omniscience, does not extend to mindreading."
"But I know how you think," Lucifer said.
Jesus studied his beer's rising bubbles.
"I'll put together the specifics, and you'll put it before the committee," Lucifer said with far too much satisfaction for Jesus' taste. "And lo, it shall come to pass."
⋆
The executive committee had gathered for an emergency session. A brilliant silver tray supporting a small mountain of frosted sugar cookies rested on the long conference table. Jesus sat brooding, a rolled parchment with a broken seal before him.
The room was in an uproar.
"Preposterous," Martin Luther said. "We can't allow it. It's—"
Gabriel cut him off. "Thus endeth the charade."
"Charade?" Martin Luther shouted. "And you think it's appropriate the Christ risk himself, like a—"
"A man?" Michael asked, chuckling and selecting a cookie.
"It's obscene," Martin Luther said, and spat at the floor. "And if we were considering it, which I pray we're not, we'd have to take into account that men, mortal men, have urges. If the Christ…" He closed his eyes, head swaying, and found the words. "If he died, or if, worse, if he, you know what I'm referring to, for all to see, it would be too much for the living."
"Martin—"
"Their devastation would be too much to bear," Luther said, ignoring Gabriel, who exchanged glances with Michael. "All their mortal lives they've known our Lord Jesus Christ as pure, unsullied, a true God—"
"To be fair," Gabriel said, cutting off Luther, "their certainty is misplaced, their assumptions wrong. Manifestations who attain self-awareness and reach the City embrace Lucifer's role on our plane of existence."
"I think we can all agree," Michael said, setting down his pencil, "Lucifer is not the enemy. Would any of us exist without him?"
Jesus raised his index finger while Martin Luther ground his manifested teeth.
"In so many ways he is our shepherd," Gabriel said.
"The Evil Incarnate role never fit him," said Michael. "He's got too much joie de vivre."
"Joi de what?" Martin Luther shouted, face crimson. He pointed at the archangel. "It's sacrilege, that's what it is. If God were here—"
"He would do nothing," said a voice, startling Martin Luther. All eyes went to a chair next to Jesus where Lucifer shimmered. He crossed his legs and steepled his fingers as he gained visual solidity, acknowledging each committee member in turn, before grinning at Martin Luther. "Hallo, Marty."
The reformer's eyes narrowed as Lucifer said, "There seems to be disagreement with the plan."
"Mostly," Gabriel whispered with a dramatic nod in Martin Luther's direction, "from a single quarter."
Moses fiddled with one ornate ring and reached for a cookie. He broke it in half to indicate his vote was far from committed either way, and, without a compelling argument and a sign from on high, unanimity would prove elusive.
"When guessing God's intent," Lucifer said, "consider I alone was manifested in much the same way He was. I grasp the logic and reason governing the mechanics of existence. I interact with Him. We are friends."
"Heresy," Martin Luther hissed.
"By your troubled, intentionally ignorant standards, I suppose it is. But true, nonetheless." Lucifer studied the reformer. "Marty, what is your concern?"
"You know exactly what it is."
"Are you so worried for Josh's safety that you would prefer he not return and glorify himself for all humanity?" Lucifer smiled. "Or is it concern about something else? Something more… instinctive."
Martin Luther struggled to remain still.
"You must admit," Saint Peter said to Lucifer, "were Josh to—"
"It would in no way compromise his stature."
Martin Luther exploded. "The Son of God does not do that!"
"Josh," Lucifer said, "what does the biblical Son of God not do?"
"Do not answer that," Martin Luther snarled at Jesus, surprising everyone.
"And why not?" Lucifer asked. "Are you under the impression Josh is untouched?"
Saint Peter, Moses, and Martin Luther turned incredulous faces to Jesus, who focused his heated gaze on Lucifer.
"Why would you assume celibacy," Lucifer asked Martin Luther, "for a man undocumented during his sexual prime?"
"How can you claim to know the will of God, Devil?"
Lucifer looked to God's biblical son. "Josh?"
Jesus sank in his chair. "It's not relevant," he mumbled.
Lucifer grinned while the others gasped, their expressions varying degrees of shock and indignation. Moses took another cookie, but this time failed to break it into perfect halves.
"To continue to exist, a species and its ideas must adapt to reality," Lucifer said. "Evolution is not confined to the biological and cosmo-logical. A reasoning species' interpretation of reality must progress toward accuracy if it is to survive. Existence, as can be seen in any tree, system, or star, is pure reason." He set his gaze on Jesus. "Religion sep-arates humanity from reason."
"Blasphemy," Martin Luther muttered.
Lucifer began to shimmer. "Always a pleasure, Marty." Before vanishing he said, "Let me know what you decide, Josh."
✵
Stress squeezed his face like a lime. Jesus had read the parchment at least forty times before its plain words had squirmed through countless layers of denial, and the implications had taken their toll on his psyche, his hair, and his fashion compass. He'd walked from the villa dazed and disheveled, arriving in Freud's reception area before realizing he'd worn a vintage jacket with skinny pants, a dilettantish mistake, and risked running into those unforgiving know-it-alls at The Word, who would plaster Friday's society page with unflattering photos of Jesus Christ, formerly of "The City's Ten Best Dressed" list.
He recalled hearing sound from Sigmund's direction. "What did you say?"
"How do you feel about returning as a man?" Freud asked, sipping a steaming cup of black coffee, its buttery-bitter scent bathing the room in the flavor of long-ago Vienna.
"My Father didn't have to defile Himself," Jesus said. "He just set fire to a bush and there He was. Why me?"
"From what you have said, it seems to be zee way it was written. So to speak."
"Yeah, but that's because of certain assumptions I'm making, that all of us make. That Lou is on a level parallel to my Father. That they were both manifested in the same way." He sat up with sudden passion. "But what if they aren't? What if this is all a scam Lou and the angels have been selling us since my Father left? What if my Father comes back, roars in almighty anger, and smites Lou like a bug, like a… yeah. Like an unholy bug. What then?"
"How would you feel about zat?"
"I'd… which part?"
"Zee bug part."
"I'd feel vindicated."
Freud clucked his tongue. "Do you see yourself as vindictive?"
"I know I shouldn't," Jesus said. "It doesn't jive with my past. My written past, that is. But I go back and forth. I think I've really changed. Grown, I mean." His face clouded. "Since I left Jerusalem."
"Do you zink," Freud asked with greater care than usual, "Lucifer and zee angels are lying about Lucifer's place in zee order of zings?"
"I wouldn't say lying, per se. Lying is a definitive term. Not being entirely truthful would strike the more diplomatic note. But…" Jesus trailed off, his small confidence now gone. He slumped into the couch. "No."
"Zen if you zink he is telling zee truth, maybe zee question is not whezzer or not it is going to happen, but why does it bozzer you so?"
"Because if it's true, what about the other things Lou says, about my history? I enjoy being Jesus Christ," he said, slapping his palm against the cushion. "The Jesus Christ. But now everything's changing. If my Father doesn't rule absolute over the heavens and the earth, or if He's, if He's not, if Lou's not lying—" Jesus sat up again. "How can I be sure?" he asked. "I know exactly how Abraham felt."
"He works in mysterious ways."
"So help me, if I hear that one more time I'll let Paradise City secede."
"Do you possess zat sort of power?"
"I'm not sure how it all interacts," Jesus said. "I just know it's getting rough in the PC ever since the uptick in famous Muslims. Or, rather, infamous Muslims. It's created a real divide over there. Mo doesn't like to share the, uh, whatever you call them. Women, I suppose. And he won't do anything to diffuse the situation. Won't have simple chats with the newly aware." Jesus laughed. "It's a fiasco."
"It is best if we keep our discussions apolitical."
"You Swiss never want to commit."
"I am Austrian."
"Zat is zee same zing," Jesus said, imitating the psychoanalyst.
Freud narrowed his eyes.
"What I'm trying to say," Jesus said, "to get back to the point… Me being mortal is dangerous."
"No more zan zee first time."
"That ended well," Jesus said. "The problem is you can't work miracles in today's world. Too many cameras and web sites. During the time of me, the question wasn't if the miracle had been performed, but by what power. Every other moneychanger could make rain. Eventually."
"Did you work miracles?"
"Sure," Jesus said. "I mean, not verified. There weren't any miracle confirmation agencies or anything back then. I did what I could do."
"Which was?"