Deals with the Devil (PA #1)

Chapter 17

As is often the case when I find myself in my room for a prolonged period of time, I'm stretched across my window seat with more than a few pillows strewn around me. Built at my request, the colorful seat is a comfortable spot to watch the outside world. While my view beyond the Devil's Domain is obstructed by the large wall running the length of Hell's innermost ring, there's still plenty of demon activity within the castle proper to hold my attention.

Like poor Kenneth trying desperately to wrangle the pigeons that Lucifer ordered for Ragnar's homecoming. The winged rats are supposed to fly across the back gardens once Ragnar enters the space for his party, but it seems like they're only capable of eating the carefully displayed food and then immediately pooping it out. Mostly onto Kenneth, if the white streaks on his clothes and in his hair are anything to go by. Honestly, I'm not sure why Lucifer thought that pigeons would be a good idea in the first place, but he was adamant about it. Even had them specially shipped in from New York City over in the mortal realm. If Gwen was here, I'm sure she'd make some rude comment about the birds being my long lost cousins or something.

Thinking of Gwen only reminds me of Aristotle's unexpected presence. I guess I should have let him stay so we could catch up properly, but my poor human body can't handle any more stress today and being in close proximity to him is definitely...stressful. Was he always that hot and I just can't remember? Did time at Purgatory Academy do all of that? Better question, will it do the same for me?

The loud bang of my bedroom door hitting the wall interrupts my train of thought and causes me to jump a little in my seat. Turning towards the noise, a dolled-up Elizabeth fills the doorframe carrying several bags of makeup, hair styling tools, and other torture devices. "Quit moping, Will. It's time to get pretty so we can party it up tonight. I've been working on that ass dance the humans do, I think it's called tweaking-"

"Twerking. Tweaking is a drug thing," I interrupt.

"Right. Twerking. Anyways," she drops all of her items on my desk and then braces her hands on her knees while squatting down and sticking out her butt, "it kinda goes like this. You're supposed to just move your cheeks, though. Not your hips."

What follows is a much needed distraction from all of my fear, melancholy, and anxiety. Eli spends at least ten minutes trying to teach me how to twerk properly, which frustrates her as much as it amuses me.

"Up-down, up-down, Will! I've seen geriatric humans with more rhythm and moves than that. I swear that ass is wasted on you."

"Other than me and the dead tortured ones in Hell, when have you ever actually seen a human? Let alone an elderly one. I call bull crap."

"Hey, I watch human TV, same as you. The Golden Girls is a particular favorite of mine. And bull crap? Better watch out, Will. That was almost a real curse word coming out of your mouth."

"I will punch you in the boob."

"Oh, kinky."

Rolling my eyes, I give up on the failed dance lesson and plop onto the corner of my still unmade bed. Bringing a fuzzy blue pillow to my lap as a comfortable barrier between me and the conversation we need to have, I ask my most pressing question first. Probably sensing my change in mood, Eli takes a seat in my wooden desk chair and just waits.

I blow out a breath. "So, when is Ragnar going to get here?"

Eli arches a black eyebrow at me. "Not even gonna ask me how the graduation went or anything? It was pretty cool, actually. And the school was even prettier in person, which is good since soon enough we'll be spending all of our time there. In fact-"

I cut her off. "Eli, please."

At this, she honest-to-Satan pouts. Like a child who just lost a toy. "Fine, take away my fun. Ragnar and his stupid cow of a future wife will be back with the 'rents in a few hours. They had to finish packing up or something. Plus, Dad wants to make sure the Lodes have enough time to complete the party setup." So, I have a little bit longer to stew in my anxiety before I have to worry about seeing Ragnar.

"Are you still trying to make Lode a thing?" I ask to deflect from the real focus of my thoughts.

"Yes. Lower-level demon is a mouthful. Lode practically rolls off the tongue."

"I doubt Tutor Jacob would agree."

She scoffs. "Tutor Jacob doesn't know his ass from his elbow. Mark my words, Will. By the time you and I graduate from PA, Lode will be an official word in the Celestial dictionary."

"Maybe that'll be the year we get snow in Hell, too," I quip.

"Fuck off, hater. Just for that, I'm going to make you wear heels with your dress tonight."

Eyes bugging at what I know isn't an empty threat, I resort to begging. "Please, no, Eli. If I wear heels then I'll break my ankles and almost-embarrass you. For both our sake's, anything but the heels."

She narrows her eyes at me. "Fine. But you have to sit still and let me do whatever I want with your hair and makeup."

"No glitter," I plead.

"No glitter," she acquiesces.