The Devil wanted the bright and lovely Cassy for a bride. Instead, he got a neurotic trickster as a roommate for six months out of the year. He's not happy about it, and neither is Louie.
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"I'm leaving to speak with an angel. Can I trust you not to break something in here?" The Devil tucks his briefcase under his arm and pulls down the brim of his black hat, his face scrunched. He usually wears this expression when he addresses me. The same mix of exhaustion and annoyance, a cat awoken from its nap. He gestures around him. "Or is that too much to ask?"
My eyes flicker around. You can tell we share a room. Like much folklore, the Devil loves his luxury goods. A giant art-deco bed (unnecessary considering I've never seen him sleep), dark paneled walls, marble floors, and a giant mahogany desk. It's neatly organized, with pens, gold feather quills, and his prized collection of vintage paperweights.
And there's my stuff. Books everywhere, papers strewn across the floor. Fidget toys and knick-knacks are cast like fish in a big white stone pond. His downy comforter is pulled up to the pillows, and the little black quilt I brought from home is crumpled against the headboard.
I look up at him; I've been lying on the floor, spinning his all-black globe, tracing each delicate ridge with my fingertips. "Who, me?" My mouth curls into a small laugh. "When have I broken anything of yours?"
The globe spins out of my hands and clatters onto the ground.
"I see what you're trying to say. Get up. Let's go."
I fold my hands on my leg. "I wasn't saying anything at all."
"Very quaint, Louie. Don't speak to the angel. I will curse your mouth shut if you do."
I nod, making a zipper motion over my lips. "I don't know why you're so worried."
"You ruin everything for me."
I shrug, smiling sunnily at him. He wraps his hand around mine and pulls me to my feet (such a gentleman), his fingers as cold as you'd expect from the Devil. He's muttering, the words rounded, cool, elegant, though I can't pick up exactly what they're about as we leave his palace and track through red marshland and thick black fog. There's the distant sound of screams, the evil hiss of laughter, and the glow of faraway eyes watching us in the distance. Even still, there's the beep-beep-beep of construction machines. New condominiums built by corporations the Devil contracted. He has killer time management skills.
At last, the river. Murky green water, parted with wild mouths and white eyes that roll like dice in their tombs. On the surface, a glowing white yacht. An angel, seven-foot-tall, curly-haired, and white-winged, leans against the rails. His eyes trail along us. His bright face splits into a big smile.
"You've taken a mortal as your spouse, you old coot?"
The Devil laughs. "Please. This thing? Make me a drink and I'll explain it to you later."
We climb up the ascending ramp, the river wailing all the while. It's more wealth than I've ever seen on Earth, though displayed in that same classical style of everything else in the underworld. Marble with sculpted accents, roses dripping from every vase. The only other colors come from the liquor bottles on display by the sink.
The angel takes a shot of tequila, and the devil has an old-fashioned. I drink from a goblet of wine, preparing to nap at the stone table. And that's when the conversation changes from unimportant pleasantries and bad jokes. The words get louder, harsher. The angel's voice wavers.
"...We've never seen these things before. They're coming from before our universe, or a different one, or...something. And He won't talk to us. I don't want your advice, I just want to know if you've spoken with Him. I know sometimes He asks you questions."
"Not on this matter, no, but I say you storm in and demand answers."
The angel laughs. The Devil's eyes narrow.
"Pardon me, but look where that got you, Lucifer."
"Everything I've wanted? You kowtow to all asked of you. You've accepted being seen as a lesser being to that." He waves his hand at me and I wave back. "Less than mortal. Don't ask, demand."
"No. That's not my place."
"Pathetic."
I finish my wine. "Angel, is it true that heaven has pearly gates?" I eye his belt, the long keys hanging from them, my eyes tracing the white tunic draped along his languid body.
The Devil clears his throat. "Louie."
"Erm, yes, mortal." He flushes.
"May I have more wine?"
The Devil clears his throat. "Get it yourself." He watches me as I reach for it across the table.
I take a long swig. "My goodness! You gotta try this! This is absolute—" My mouth squeezes shut, choking off the word. Nothing can part my lips; even my theatrical hacking doesn't get me so much as a glance from my begrudged partner in crime.
The Devil crosses a leg. "As I was saying—"
I lift my glass and spin it in my fingers. I toast it up at the angel and drop it, shattering the glass and splashing dark wine all over his tunic. I pick pieces off his garment, rubbing the stain barehanded. The angel stands up while I moan and mutter apologetically.
"This has gone nowhere. I ought to go." He stretches his long wings. He fixes me one last glance as the Devil huffs and squeezes the briefcase.
"So be it. I was remiss to expect better of an angel."
The angel shrugs and exits through a large window. The Devil whips his head toward me, baring perfect white teeth. I feel the curse lift as the words "—ly should have some," finally escape me.
"What is wrong with you?"
I smile up at him, shaking the angel's keys. "I never promised I wouldn't break something."
The Devil's eyes widen. It's the first time I've ever seen him look at me like this, not with hate or disgust, but something else. Something warm, even.
