Hell's Greatest Weapon

Chapter 6: Hell's Got Politics, Too

Crowley’s office in Hell was impressive, especially since he had moved things around after the last guy was overturned.  It was still equally as dark and gloomy as the previous king’s office had been, but that was to be expected given the limited window space and constant rain that fell outside—contrary to popular belief, there were parts of Hell tended to be fairly wet and stormy.  The previous king had been a type of hoarder, which was hardly a surprise since he had been in control for such a long period of time, easily a thousand years, and since Crowley came through the office had been cleared nearly entirely.  With the exception of desks filled with necessary curse or magic ingredients, stacks of books placed all around the room, and a single throne that Crowley had since revamped and (apparently) had shined, the room sat empty. The ground no longer had the rug the previous owner enjoyed so much, the walls were a bare concrete, and the pillars that were scattered around the room had seldom a decoration or important poster pinned up.

Crowley was sitting in his chair while going over an obviously aged contract, no doubt searching for some sort of loophole to get out of an agreement that had been signed hundreds of years ago, when you landed in his office.  He was visibly startled by the fact that anyone had managed to get through his “state of the art” security—it was impossible for angels or demons without the proper, personally assigned clearance to enter the office—but when his eyes landed on yours and narrowed, you smiled to him.

“Glad to see how far you’ve come since I last saw you, Crowley.” You said before slipping your hands in the pockets of your jeans. Crowley opened his mouth to speak, a confused look on his face, but his mouth slammed shut when a random pile of books moved across the room, stopping only a foot behind you.  Without saying a thing, you simply sat on the pile, mentally being sure that it defy physics and stay upright, even under your weight.  “I like what you’ve done with the place,” you waved a hand around, emphasizing his decorating abilities.  “It’s a lot tidier, works better this way.”

Crowley’s eyes narrowed and he crooked his lower jaw, obviously investigating the strange person that sat in front of him.  With a simple twitch of his wrist he sent the contract he had been holding to the ground, letting it burst into a small bundle of flames before it repositioned itself in the vault with the others—little did he know, that was a classic trick and security measure that you had personally helped implement centuries ago.  Having hardly noticed the disappearance of the contract, Crowley tilted his head to the side, eyes still narrowed.

“And who might you be?”

“Ah,” you nodded, all at once aware that you still had the camouflage on.  “I forgot I’ve been in hiding for so long that I need to make myself visible.” You laughed softly before letting the veil drop from your face, showing Crowley the one that he would most likely recognize.

Recognize it he did, and his eyes widened for a very brief moment, shock presenting itself before he regained control of his expression and let himself relax once again.  He readjusted in his seat, bringing a hand up to the tie that sat around his neck and straightening it out.

Crowley cleared his throat, sat up straighter.

“There’s been a rumor of your demise,” he said with a sly smile.  “Glad to see it’s not true.”

“Don’t try lying to me, you’re the king now. There’s no need for that.” Propping your elbows up on your knees, you leaned closer to Crowley.  “But now that I’m back I’ve realized that there have been a lot more changes made than I’d expected, especially over such a short period of time.”

Crowley waved his hand and a table appeared between the two of you with a pitcher and two glasses sitting on top of it.  You recognized the contents of the pitcher as being Craig, the favorite drink of the demon that sat in front of you. “Care for a drink?”