. . .

“Hey,” the Devil says. The Devil tries to pick young Peter up.

Peter kicks the Devil below the belt.

The Devil winces, but he’s a one-off, a singular oddity, a non-sexually-reproducing species, so it’s not as bad for him as it might otherwise have been. He puts young Peter down.

“It’s just,” he says, sitting down on Peter’s bed, “that I was looking for an antichrist.”

Peter pulls himself away to the far end of the bed. He looks at the Devil with deep suspicion.

“Seriously!” says the Devil.

“No,” says Peter.

“No?”

“Don’t want antichrist,” says Peter.

“But —”

The Devil stares at him in bafflement.

“It’s a good job! There’s health insurance! There’s a dog!”

“Nuh-unh,” says Peter.

“Oh,” the Devil says.

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