Free Blood Lite II: Overbite by Kelley Armstrong Page B

passing through and I saw your sign. It said ‘Come 4 bread, stay 4 ever,’ so how could I resist?”
    The preacher nodded as if he’d never considered the message was an invitation. In the Devil’s vast experience, churches loved to recruit, but they didn’t really want to strain the resources. The ideal parishioners mailed in tithes and only showed up for services on Christmas. All that talk about leading souls to the Lord was just another type of pride, built on body count but ultimately measured by the bottom line.
    “Are your vegetarian principles based on health reasons or moral reasons?” the Devil asked.
    “Every decision is based on morality,” the reverend said. “Even if it’s for your health.”
    “So your position’s supported by verse?”
    “The Book of Leviticus. ‘Ye shall eat neither blood nor fat.’”
    Ah, the Old Testament book, with its restrictive guidelines that people tended to pick and choose among as it befit their various ideologies and sociopolitical needs. Its proscriptions had been used for or against drinking, homosexuality, working on Sundays, and the eating of meat, depending on the whims of the moment. But its original purpose had been as a cookbook for the priests.
    “I know,” the Devil said. “But Leviticus also instructs not to cut your hair roundwise or shave your beard, yet you have done both.”
    The preacher’s eyes narrowed, like an animal suspicious of being cornered. “For it is written, the Lord works in mysterious ways.”
    “That has been written, true; but never in the Holy Bible.”
    “Let he who is without stones cast the first sin.”
    “Do yourself a favor, Reverend. Stick to the high spots. For God so loved the world, yadda yadda yadda. Your audience is going to be drowsy from all this food and they might doze off.”
    “Pardon me?”
    “Like what happened in Bible college recitals. You remember.”
    “The memory of the righteous is pearls before swine.”
    “That verse you were supposed to memorize. The one written on the back of your hand? That was a good one, the way you clasped your hands like you were praying. Until the instructor caught you.”
    “You’re—”
    “Yes. The one your precious Creator said was the master of this world.”
    The reverend didn’t seem surprised. “I figured you’d catch up to me sooner or later. ‘Blessed are those who are promiscuous because of righteousness.’ You can ruin me now, strip me of the cloth, embarrass me in front of my congregation, but you’ll never get back the four-hundred-and-twenty-seven souls I’ve delivered unto salvation in the meantime.”
    The Devil winced. “That many, huh?”
    “I take pride in the Lord’s work. That’s why I’ve studied so hard.”
    “But you can do better.” The Devil held out a deviled egg. “Eat this and I promise you won’t misquote a single verse ever again. You’ll have your own television ministry, a bestselling set of Bible study guides, a fund-raising arm for Christmas charities. And need I bother mentioning that it’s all tax-free?”
    “Ah, but how much profit does a man make if he inherits the wind but sells his own soul?”
    “You misquoted again, but the answer is roughly thirty-seven million and change.”
    Betty, who was wrapping foil over a few abandoned dishes, hollered, “Fifteen minutes until showtime, Reverend.”
    The Reverend Maynard Gray glanced at his watch. “No man knows the hour, except the Apostle Rolex.”
    “It’s only an egg. Besides, it’s already dead.”
    “Whosoever shall believeth in Him shall not parishioner, but have ever ready batteries.”
    “Then perhaps you’d like to try the tater salad?”
    “Man does not live by bread alone, but by the biscuits of the Lord.”
    “Isn’t that ‘doughnuts’?”
    “You need to crack the Good Book now and again, Mr. Devil.”
    “You’re proud of the Lord’s work. But wouldn’t you be prouder if you got more credit for it?”
    “Verily. Pride goeth before