Hell's Army

Chapter Nine- The Welcoming Party

Ingleseid walked down the sleepy street, passing dainty little shops that looked like they could be made out of gingerbread. Cakes as detailed as stone carvings lined the windows of some, extravagant gowns hanging perfectly on pale, expressionless mannequins in others. The agency loomed into view, and he hurried over.

He almost tripped over what he mistook for a giant slug sitting lazily on the sidewalk, but was, in fact, a little man in a sleeping bag.

He was scrawny and olive skinned, blue eyes shimmering like light sparkling across the ocean.

"Are you alright?" Ingleseid asked after a moment.

The man slowly looked up at him. "I'm homeless," he said. "Generally there's a degree of not alrightness in that."

Fair point. Ingleseid dug into his wallet, pulled out a hundred dollar note. He handed it to the man, whose dirty fingers curled around it greedily.

"You're very kind," the man said.

"No, I'm not," Ingleseid murmured. "But thanks, anyway."

Those piercing blue eyes followed him all the way to the agency. There was something about that man, Ingleseid thought. Something odd. But he couldn't put his finger on it. He hurried up to Holly's apartment and found her giggling on the phone with an alarming degree of cheeriness that did not suit her usually frowning face.

"Oh, hang on," she said to the receiver when she saw him. "Gotta go. I'll call you later, yeah?" She hung up.

"Who was that?" Ingleseid asked casually, rummaging around the pantry for something vaguely edible.

"Felix."

He made a face.

"Oh, don't start," she muttered.

"You two seem awfully cosy of late."

She raised an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged. "I just don't think you'd be good together, is all."

She snapped the phone onto the hook with a little more force than was strictly necessary. "I start spending time with a guy," she snapped, "and you think I'm running off trying on wedding gowns? You think I'm that desperate?"

"Are you?"

She gave him a hateful glare and barrelled past him.

"He's a witch, Holly," he said. "He's dangerous."

"Oh, right, 'casue all witches are dangerous."

He frowned. "I didn't say that."

She rounded on him, something flickering dangerously beneath her eyes. "You know, of all the dangerous situations I've been in lately- the vampires, the angels, Hell- they haven't been of Felix, Ingleseid. They've been because of you."

Ingleseid opened his mouth and closed it again. He tried to think of something to say to that, he really did. But there was nothing.

Her face softened. "Oh, come on. I didn't mean it like that-"

But he never did find out just what she meant it like, because at that moment the ground gave an almighty scream and ripped apart, the wooden floor snapping in on itself, dirt and earth groaning beneath them as it was pulled apart by invisible hands.

Suddenly, there was nothing below Ingleseid's feet, and he was tumbling down, the wind ripping through his hair.

"Abner!" was last thing he heard before he landed less than gently on the cold glass floor of the Devil's throne room.