Betsy (she expects us to call her that!) had brought her from Hell to downtown Cannon Falls, given her a perfunctory “Good luck!” pat on the back, and promptly vanished. That had been how Jennifer had realized she wasn’t entirely jaded, because she still found everything about any encounter with Betsy to be surreal. She still couldn’t believe the twentysomething woman with absurdly high heels and virtually no short-term memory had defeated Satan. Twice. Then took over Hell and made all sorts of changes, and now here she was back in Cannon Falls, and fuck, none of this could be real, could it? Could it? Jennifer had been born and raised in the small river town about fifty miles south of Minneapolis, attended CF Elementary and graduated from CFHS, worked part-time at the bakery, and mourned the town’s lack of movie theaters. She’d passed the army reserve recruiting station every day, conveniently placed in front of the high school.
