Lucifer Beelzebub Satan was the first official arrival at the legendary Chimeric Bar, having brought it into existence himself a few minutes before. So far, things looked acceptable. As was his preference, the bar, invisible and muted for the mortals, floated peacefully above the backwater just north of the Iowa, Mississippi River town that was one of his favorite hangouts.
       Traditionally, whoever sent out the invitations for a gathering of immortals got to determine the location and appearance of the meeting place. This time, Satan, his preferred moniker, beat the others to the punch.
       And this time it was necessary. Ordinarily, he didn't try to force his will on other immortals, but he calculated a potentially serious problem: the sun's going nova within the unlimited lifetimes of immortals. In his opinion, it was time to start searching for a solution. With all the immortals, it was never easy to get a consensus, but now they would all have to pull together. Satan might have his flaws, but he didn't shirk his responsibilities.
       Since he was the one who constructed it, he could give the bar any appearance he chose. He preferred this particular manifestation, soothingly dark, expandable like the universe it was located in, a nineteenth-century American tavern, complete with a hitching post outside.
       That was to annoy the unicorns who hated being equated with the hornless mortal beasts. Satan couldn't resist this prank. He enjoyed the angry neighs it engendered too much.
       The worn, sun-bleached, wooden trough behind the hitching post, however, was relatively popular, especially among the winged horses. They loved to swoop down and gulp but insisted on clean tap water 'enriched' generously with various mood-enhancing substances.
       The bar's location above the backwaters of the Mississippi made it more convenient for the aquatic creatures to refresh themselves at necessary intervals in case the meeting lasted too long. Sea serpents and merfolk were always overly grateful for small mercies. Tonight, Satan might end up depending on them to persuade obstinate others.
       Some immortals, naturally, often complained about the pungent fragrance of dead fish and decaying vegetation from the backwaters. Mythological though they were, immortal creatures were still affected by the planet's physical environment, sometimes benevolently, sometimes not.
       The dark, walnut furniture in the bar made Satan feel calm and content. The fireplace, with its contents burning bright, blazed on the brick wall opposite the door. The fire's loud, crackling, red flames made him feel at home, even though the fragrance of burning wood was a poor substitute for sulfur and brimstone.
       Behind the bar, the bottles of John Barleycorn and his relatives' best sparkled in the indirect light from the odorous, yellow kerosene lamps. He really couldn't take credit for the local designation of devil's firewater for the alcoholic beverages, but since the others insisted on calling them that, he saw no need to contradict them.
       The mortals' fantasies may have brought him to life so long ago, but Satan and the other immortals had long since taken control of their existence. They learned to use the planet's resources to develop their individual strengths. Enough mortals continued to believe in their creations. This emotional energy ensured the immortals' longevity.
       Satan stood in front of the full-length mirror on the door to the outside. Since the mortals endowed him with all their own vices, he had no problem with luxuriating in feelings of vanity. He looked good.
       His shiny, cloven hooves were tucked neatly into his black leather boots, and his tail into his elegant, dark trousers. His bright red skin was smooth and hairless. His current choice of tall and muscular for a body type radiated the additional gravitas that he might need tonight.
       Satan cleared his throat, experimented with a few choice voice ranges, and settled on a lubricious baritone. Smooth would have to do it. Tonight he had to be persuasive, using whatever means that promised to be effective. Mythological creatures weren't like mortals; they couldn't be fooled or manipulated.
       He heard the angry whinnying before Rodney, a large, white unicorn, barged into the bar, crashing through the dark, swinging, wooden doors. "That hitching post thing is really getting old," Rodney said as he stomped his dusty feet into the floor's wooden slats and released a pile of excrement. Satan waved his hand, and the droppings disappeared, leaving, however, their scent behind. Satan had a preference for strong smells.
       "I suppose I should still thank you for the invitation," Rodney said, shaking his dusty mane and stomping around the floor. His ordinarily white hair and horn looked brown and dirty.
       Rodney must have galloped over gravel roads again. For some reason he preferred dodging tractors on the country roads to avoiding hot rods on the clean highways. Satan never understood why Rodney didn't just use his powers to make himself invisible and then travel at night when there was no traffic. Unicorns weren't the most logical creatures.
       "The guild of unicorns elected you speaker again?" Satan asked. "I hope you don't disappoint them."
       "The invitation said that this was going to be a meeting, and I was the only one willing to listen to your boring monologues," Rodney said.
       "The invitation also promised refreshments and entertainment after the meeting," Satan said in a hurt voice.
       Fortunately, Satan then heard Winged Horse Wiley cough while guzzling the slightly watered-down whiskey in the trough. Wiley had an unmistakable snort, somewhere between a gunshot and an exploding stick of dynamite.
       "You said there was a crisis coming up that would affect all of us immortals," Rodney continued as Wiley staggered in. The gigantic, piebald, winged horse didn't manage to fold up his wings in time and knocked over two tables.
       "Crisis?" Wiley whinnied. "I thought there was going to be a party after the boring meeting. That sounded like fun. I had to beg the other winged horses to let me come this time."
       "Everyone is welcome in the Chimeric Bar," Satan said. "Glad you could come, at least."
       Wiley coughed. "The others might come later. There was talk of crashing the party after a few hours."
       "There are a few things we need to discuss," Satan said. "But after that, everyone can party. As you should remember, I can expand the tavern to make room for all of us."
       "Great," Wiley grunted. "A devil knows how to party." He trotted over to the bar while he tried to fold up his wings.
       Satan heard hurricane-strength winds that could only come from dragon wings. He quickly opened the roof and let the tavern expand. Coralville B. Dragon, one of the medium-sized dragonfolk, about three times as tall as Satan, flew down into the bar and let out a blast of fire from his greenish-gray snout.
       "If you want to cool your throat, the trough outside is still full," Wiley slurred.
       Satan calmly extinguished the table that Coralville B. had set on fire and closed the roof. The dragon lay down contentedly in front of the fireplace.
       "Glad to see you, Coralville," Satan said to the dragon. "Are any more of you coming?"
       Coralville B. waved his short arms and exhaled carefully, this time just a dark cloud without any flames. "No," he said. "The available dragons spent an evening playing cards to decide who gets sent to the meeting, and I lost every hand. So they sent me."
       "I didn't restrict attendance," Satan said gruffly. "It was your decision that only one of you should come to my party."
       "Don't get me wrong," Wiley said as he stumbled and slumped into the bar. "Your devilish parties are unparalleled. No one would want to miss out on one of your bashes. But whenever you start babbling about a crisis, no one wants to listen to your harangues. You're no fun when you claim things are so serious."
       Coralville spread his wings. "We take you seriously," he said. "That's why each species of us immortals decided to send at least one representative to this event."
       The swinging doors shook open and Cedric the sea serpent swashed his way in, accompanied by a water sprite and a mermaid Satan had never met before. The three inundated the bar with fetid Mississippi backwater. Satan whisked the fluid away, keeping the fragrance as part of his party ambiance.
       "So when does this crisis gathering get started?" Rodney asked.
       "I'm expecting a few more guests," Satan said.
       "Why can't we get started without them?" Wiley asked. "Then we can switch over to party mode sooner."
       "I have given some thought to a problem that will eventually affect all of us all. After giving it even more thought, I decided that we need everyone's opinion as to what we should do about it," Satan said. "So I want to wait for the others."
       As if they had been eavesdropping outside, Santa Claus, an elf, a leprechaun, the Easter Bunny, Jack Frost, a cyclops, and a minotaur marched in, accompanied by a griffin who flew in clumsily and immediately dropped to the floor.
       "Welcome," Satan said to the group. "We're almost ready to start."
       Suddenly the air in the bar darkened, the temperature dropped, and the festive atmosphere became oppressively dismal.
       "So you don't care about the absence of the sisterhood of witches," the woman said. She was clad in the traditional black dress with a pointed, black hat. She and her broom materialized in the air above the bar and flew aggressively around the guests.
       "What the damnation, Satan?" she said with a snarl. "Aren't you going to wait for the most important immortals, or have you forgotten us completely? Don't you remember? The mortals created us long before they bothered with you."
       "No chance that I could forget you, Walburga," Satan said. "I merely assumed you would show up just in time. Did you intimidate the sisterhood into sending you as its representative?"
       "No," Walburga snarled as she landed her broom on the bar. "I was the only one willing to waste her time on you."
       "Then I think we can get started," Satan said. He waved his hand, expanding the tavern again, clearing the air, but intensifying the odors from the various guests.
       When he snapped his fingers, all the guests had their favorite edibles and potables in front of them: a bale of heather for the unicorn, a pile of fresh Mississippi catfish for the sea serpent, a bushel basket of carrots for the Easter Bunny, frosted sugar cookies and hot chocolate for Santa.
       Raising his smooth voice slightly so that everyone could hear him over the chomping and slurping noises, Satan said, "As all of you know, nothing of the physical world lasts forever in its original form. We are immortal, but we maintain our existence through contact with the physical world and its life forms."
       Satan paused to wave his hands and remove the various heaps of excrement his guests continued to deposit on the floor and furniture.
       "Yeah, yeah, yeah," Walburga muttered. She waved her right hand, and a smoldering cauldron appeared at her feet in front of the bar. She stirred it with her broom.
       "We have to give some thought to our future," Satan began. "It is just a matter of time before the human beings here leave this place for greener planets. Their technology is progressing at a fairly impressive rate. We can't survive long without them."
       "That problem's easy enough to fix," Walburga interrupted him. "Prevent them from leaving. All we have to do is encourage the human creatures to dumb themselves down even faster than they are already doing. Then they'll lack the technology and knowledge they would need to ever leave their home planet."
       The liquid in her cauldron seemed to bubble and thicken with approval. It looked like she was having a harder time stirring.
       "That's true," the griffin said, lifting his front paws off the floor. "You know how willingly most of them believe in any fantasy and don't want to learn anything new if that requires mental effort."
       "And yet," Rodney interrupted. "We owe our existence to their willingness to believe in us."
       "Yes, that is precisely the problem," Satan said. "The human creatures created us by believing that we were here with them. Then we made ourselves into something much more powerful using all the planet's resources. But the reality remains that we depend on them for our continued existence."
       "All right, then," the Easter Bunny said, nibbling on a carrot. "If they leave, we have to go with them."
       "They might not leave, though," the mermaid said, swishing her tail over the floor. "I never leave the water for long, even though I could and even though the oceans aren't that sanitary anymore. Creatures develop a loyal affinity to the place they have always lived."
       "Yet, if the human beings stay on this planet," Walburga added. "Sooner rather than later, their star will go nova, swallow up the planet, and spit it out as a cinder. What happens to us then?"
       "Precisely," Satan said. "That's why we need to give some thought to alternatives and how we should prepare for the inevitable."
       "We should prepare for something that won't happen for another five billion years?" Santa Claus asked, spewing cookie crumbs out into his long, white beard.
       "Do I have to remind you that we are immortal?" Satan asked. "According to the babble of the bipeds, the planet could get quite toasty in less than one billion years. Besides, it might take us longer than we think to come up with some survival strategies."
       "What if we only exist as long as the creatures who invented us?" Cedric the sea serpent said, swinging his massive tail back and forth and knocking over a few tables in the process.
       "Right," the leprechaun said, jumping away from his table in time. "I see the problem. We were created by inferior creatures that we can't live without. Unfortunately, they might not be able to save themselves."
       "If, in fact, your claim about our dependence on people who believe in us is correct," Walburga said. "Many of us in the sisterhood believe that we receive our strength from the planet itself, not its inhabitants."
       "You're welcome to rely on your pantheistic babble if you want," Satan said. "But the rest of us will have to continue to try to save our immortal backsides."
       "So, you invited us here to brainstorm?" the water sprite asked.
       "More than that," Satan said. "The party here won't start until we have some specific solutions." He couldn't ignore the loud grumbling that resulted.
       Walburga stared into her cauldron and stirred it vigorously. Her facial expression didn't indicate any kind of tolerance.
       "All right," Satan said. "I don't want to waste anyone's time, and so here are my thoughts."
       "I can summarize the following scenarios: The bipeds stay here, the planet gets incinerated, and we lose our existence. Or, some of the bipeds leave, and we go with them, but they never arrive anywhere alive. Then we also lose our existence, if in fact we can survive the trip. I don't see any great probability for all of us arriving with them on a new planet and thriving there."
       "Why not just come up with a way for the planet to survive its star going nova?" Santa asked while sipping his hot chocolate.
       "We are immortal, mythological creatures, not engineers," Satan said sadly. "There is a difference between science and magic. We use our powers for what we're good at. We interfere with human life because it's fun. We don't invent technological toys. That would be too much work. But it would be hugely optimistic to assume the bipeds will find a way to save their own planet."
       "And yet you say we absorb energy from this world and its inhabitants," Cedric the sea serpent said. "I'm no genius, but it seems like we should be able to use that energy somehow to save ourselves."
       Satan nodded, but Rodney the unicorn snorted.
       "Wait a minute," Coralville B. said, stretching out his wings. "That isn't as absurd as it sounds. We have this energy; we live off it. Some of us use more, others less, but it's there."
       "There might be a way for us to tap into the energy from the planet and its inhabitants more than we have until now," Walburga spoke up, to Satan's surprise. "The energy is there."
       "Yes," the mermaid said. "We have all sensed that there is more power available than we have used."
       "I have an idea," Satan said.
       "Of course you do," Walburga said. "Isn't that why we're really here, to agree to your suggestion?"
       "Actually," Satan began. "My idea would only work if every single immortal agreed, and so, obviously, I can't force it down anyone's throat."
       "And what is it?" Walburga asked. She pushed the broom around. The liquid in her cauldron seemed to have solidified. Santa wondered if that was a kind of therapy for her.
       "As has been said," Satan began. "We have a fair amount of time available, at the very least, one billion years. My suggestion is that we use our combined power to nudge the planet slowly out to an orbit farther from the sun. That would also give the human creatures time to make the technological progress they need to keep the planet livable, even when it's out of the nova's danger zone."
       "Which would be where?" Walburga asked.
       "My guess is somewhere out past Neptune, but I'm no astronomer," Satan said.
       "And we could really do this?" Cedric asked.
       "Well, we would have to use our complete, combined power to move the planet very slowly," Satan said. "It also has to be an extremely gradual process so that we keep our creatures alive. And it will only work if every single immortal cooperates."
       "It might even be too much to ask, although every other alternative is worse. We would also have to adjust our attitudes and, in fact, use our powers for work instead of just having fun."
       Satan looked around the eerily silent tavern. His immortal guests looked thoughtful.
       "When would we have to start?" the mermaid asked.
       "To be absolutely safe," Satan said. "I would recommend as soon as possible. The longer we wait, the lower the chances of success."
       "Hmm," Santa Claus said. "And what would the downside be?"
       "We'd each have less energy at our disposal. We would be able to do less. You might have to cut back to four reindeer for your trips."
       Walburga looked up from her cauldron. "You're saying we'll have fewer magic powers," she said. "Then it's a good thing I still had my powers today to communicate with the sisterhood with the liquid in my cauldron."
       "And what does the sisterhood say?" Satan asked.
       "We're in," Walburga said. "We're not happy about it, but recognize the logic of doing what we can to save the planet and the creatures who believe in us."
       "Then I can only ask the rest of you who represent a group of similar immortals to persuade them to join in. We'll all just have to get used to weaker powers."
       "Won't the mortals notice our celestial interference?" Rodney asked.
       "Not at the slow speed we have to maintain," Satan said. "And besides, not that many of the creatures believe in all of us; in fact, just enough of them do to keep us alive. So, are you in, or should I forget the whole thing?"
       It began slowly and tentatively, but soon the tavern shook with applause. "Then, it's party time," Satan said, as he opened the roof and expanded the size of the tavern. "Let everyone know who wants a good time, and tell them to come."
       "And if your great idea doesn't work?" Walburga asked.
       "Then you're all invited to meet here again in about a billion years, and we'll have to come up with something better," Satan said.