Dear Mam
Thank you for the gloves. Your right it is getting pretty chilly up here on Earth now that winter is coming so they are going to come in very handy. It's not as cold as I expected though which the humans put down to this thing called 'global warming' but I think is just a consaqince (sorry, never could spell that word) of Persephone leaving the Gov.
He's actually doing better on that front. As you know hes been a bit delicate, especially of late. I think there was some fiasco down there with you not too long ago. Was that anything to do with the family? I hope not as that really seemed to shake him up a bit – not as much as when he discovered alcohol though Ha! – but I think he is doing better now.
The main reason for this is that the students are finally cooporating! Well, they aren't doing what we originally wanted them to do but they are helping us. It's all Georgie's idea – brilliant girl that one, shes going to conquer the world someday I bet, even though she does have a thing about welding and old bridges. Anyway, they are helping us find all the bad people in Exeter and making sure that when they die they don't manage to wriggle out of coming to join us in hell. I'm not entirely sure of the whole plan because they are still working through the kinks (great band by the way, look them up) but it all seems to be going swimmingly.
Sorry the letter is so short today but everythings pretty busy up here so Ill tell you all about it tomorrow. Please give Aithne my love, and Uncle Horror and my aunts Slime, Giggle, Pips, Squeak and Gutwenching Heart-throb and all the cousins and of course Gandma Rascal. I know they will just take the sentimaent and spit on it but its there all the same.
Buzbeep.
Spike checked his new phone, his Nokia, his pride and joy. It was Eloise saying they were on their way back. Good, Spike had been getting worried. In theory he knew that they could look after themselves, that combined they were probably the most dangerous thing that side of the Wessex border, but that did not stop him worrying.
Checking the time, the demon nodded to himself, blond hair flopping loosely over his eyes. "Just in time for tea. I'll just finish this."
Can you also wish cousin Knave a quick recovery? Imagine snapping both your legs at dental removal school, usually it's the spine.
Anyway, gotta go now mam. Looking forward to your next letter.
All my love, your boy.
Spike
PS. I would like to apologise for the very bad pun about gloves being handy. I think living with all these humans is starting to rub off on me.
PPS. That's actually quite a good thing. They are only human, but they are some of the nicest people you could ever hope to meet.
PPPS. I hope you like the rock cakes. Maybe you could take them to the next family get together.
Folding the letter into an envelope, Spike sighed. He was loving his life on Earth, all the well .... Life. Everything was so alive. The warm kiss of the sun which called you fourth each morning, the bran cereal served with fruit that prepared you for the day, the brisk breeze arising from the water as you walked along the river, the sites, scents, people, M and S baking aisle. It was all so wonderful.
But he still missed home. Not that home had been a particularly welcoming place. His whole family was quite keen on the whole being the leanest, meanest demons in the Lower Realm, something which Spike had just never quite got the hand of.
He had tried, really pitting the effort in to fit in with the crowd but things just never seemed to work out. He had been about six when, at the weekly family meetings, he had been given a slice of cake and told to sit in the corner while his younger sister had been the darling of the group. With hindsight, this had influenced his love of baking and literature, but these were earthly skills not demonic ones meaning that Spike was still considered by all but his Ma to be sub-par.
Constantly telling himself it did not matter and that the squeezing pain in his chest was just indigestion usually helped. One thing Spike possessed was a very good imagination. But just occasionally, he remembered that rather than being in the fold he was left to the side, forgotten, much like baking powder. Not that Spike was under any illusions that he was as vital as Baking Powder (I mean, come on) but it was the only decent baking metaphor he could come up with at the time.
Slapping his check, Spike willed himself out of his mope.
"Ow." He had not meant to do it quite so hard. Kissing the envelope, Spike rolled it into a tube to fit it into the capsule which would send it straight done to Hell. Hades may promote Fax for the receival of hellish reports and accounts but when it came to giving orders, handwriting was everything.
Pulling the leaver, Spike sent the letter on its way.
Bizzzzzzzzzzzzzzbupbizzzzzzzzzzz
"What the?"
Spike peered inside the bronze messaging system, scrunching his nose and closing one eye in a comical manner to pull the universal expression of 'someone looking for something and hoping desperately it was anywhere but behind the couch'. "Ah", Spike said noting the problem. There was a sign. It read Qued for Printing.
Spike shrugged. Oh well, it would send in its own time. When machinery was backed up there was nothing human, demon, or deity could do but wait. Shouting insults and threatening abuse would do no good, so why bother (Footnote 1).
Checking the time jumped Spike to action. Swiftly, he collected his writing equipment and ensured all on Hades' desk was as it should be. Pushing a pencil, a millimetre to the right, Spike appraised his work, nodding in satisfaction. His Gov had invited Spike to use his office while he was away and while Spike was more comfortable doing so then he would have been only a few weeks before, the idea of leaving it in any state other than perfect filled him with distress. Especially as Hades was due back from his trip away any minute.
Leaving the office, Spike made his way downstairs. It would be good to see his Gov. Hades had begun spending more and more time with that woman Emily Mathias, riding around on her death-trap of a vehicle like the apocalypse was tomorrow. Spike could see that she did Hades good, but that did not stop him feeling – though he hated to admit it – just a wee bit of jealousy. Not much naturally, he wanted what was best for his Gov and if that was spending the weekend at an antique furniture action, who was he to judge.
The thing was, Spike had never really had a lot of friends and in Hades he believed he had found one. Yes, he was his boss and a bit morally iffy, but beggars can't be choosers. So, Spike was perfectly within his right to be a bit miffed if his new best friend started spending all his time with someone else. Not that he would tell anyone that. He had to maintain some street credibility, what little he had had to begin with.
Hitting the bottom step, the one that had developed a creek like a hedgehog with a particularly nasty bout of food poisoning, Spikes' finely tuned nose told him that his steak and ale pie could do with a few more minutes. To fill the time, he opened the door to the dining room turned war office.
If, in 1940, you had wondered into the British government command centre for war and somehow not been shot on site, you would have been met with a hustle and bustle akin to that which assaulted Spike's sences. The table, once so beautifully varnished, could no longer be seen, beset upon as it was by students tapping furiously away at laptops and typewriters. Open files were sprawled across the space between, glimpses of hardened criminals and little old ladies wearing pink to be seen at the tops of pages. Pastel highlighters and Helix Oxford Hb grade pencils littered the remaining space, sometimes picked up for a moment to scribble a note or underline an important fact before being thrown back into the fray (Footnote 2).
Telephone chatter filled the room, ringing and beeps and cries of 'Good afternoon you lowlife bastard' overlay each other like a radio desk eating a call centre. Between the occupants present, were calls for the biscuit plate to be passed, wonderings of how petty crime should be rated, and cries of 'Good grief, have a look at this one'. It reminded Spike of home.
Stacks of paper three feet high edged the room like a particularly raggedy group of soldiers on parade. Only one wall was kept free, and this contained a newly installed chalk board, its black surface obliterated by arrows, thoughts, and little doodles of Hades in varying states of distress. Spike snorted.
The chatter continued but Georgie, who had been clacking away at her Underwood typewriter like writers' cramp was just something that happened to other people (Footnote 3), walked over. Trying to do something with her hair which looked as though she was trying to bring poodle rock back and succeeding, she smiled.
"That's Seb's handywork", she said, nodding to the lifelike depictions of Hades. "Who knew he was such an artist."
"It's very impressive", Spike replied, then guiding Georgie further from the others and lowering his voice he asked, "How is he doing by the way."
Running her hand through her hair, Georgie closed her eyes momentarily. "I don't really know. He's acting the same as he always has, same old delightful Seb, but -", she paused. "It's difficult. Hades said something a couple of weeks ago about Seb and since then I've just started noticing things. Everything his does is an facade, or if not an act then forced. I'm beginning to wonder if there's another person there, one who is kept hidden from everyone."
Risking a quick glance at Seb who was on the phone smoking an unlit cigar appearing to be having a whale of a time, Spike tried to see what Georgie suspected. It was there, the bags under the eyes, the smile that did not quite go all at the, the slightly ridged way he sat. Now he had noticed it, Spike could not unsee it.
"Poor boy", he sighed. "Don't you think it could just be about the Gov being who he is? Seb was fine before that."
"In part", Georgie agreed. "But there's something else too. It's like he's enslaved himself, locking away all natural feeling."
"It's not all an act. I think some of his feelings are true."
"Really?"
'Well, he adores you for a start. For Pete's sake girl, how dense can you be? Should I tattoo it on your forehead for you?'
"His feelings towards his friends and those he loves. That's real."
"Then there's hope for him", said Georgie straitening her shoulders. "Thanks Spike, I've been feeling a bit low about that." Shaking her head to show she was sweeping the concerns aside, she said "Have you heard from the girls?"
"Yes", Spike said. "Just had a bing from Eloise to say they are on their way back. She also said they stopped six people buying the Big Issue today."
"Awesome", unconsciously, Georgie made a small air grab. "Small steps Spike but I think we are doing it. We've made quite a bit of progress in here as well today." Gesturing for Spike to follow her, Georgie led the way around the room. Cautiously stepping around scattered files Spike wondered if there was some sort of organisation that he was just not seeing, or if they had just been thrown over shoulders once they were done.
"We've got into the police records and are noting down potential Hell occupants within the city of Exeter. We're then grading them on severity of moral corruption and correlating this with their age and medical records to get a picture of who we need to concentrate our efforts on first."
Handing Spike a colour coded spreadsheet, Georgie pointed out what they had done so far. "We're using the rainbow spectrum. Red means fit as a fiddle, purple means don't bother praying."
"Wow", said Spike. "This is amazing. So much better than anything we have back at home. You should see the Gov's filing system, it's-"
"Hellish?", Georgie cut in.
"Exactly", agreed Spike. "This is actually going to work. I didn't think you'd find a way but this, this is IT." He shook his head in awe.
"It's still in the development stages at the moment", said Georgie, putting the spreadsheet back in its appointed place (or just anywhere she felt like, it was so hard to tell). "But this is much more promising then some of our earlier ideas. It helps that we have access to private and government records now."
"Oh yeah, said Spike, eyeing a slice of cake in disgust, it had begun to stale. "How did you manage that? It's very impressive."
"Cheers", said Georgie, "credit goes to Nayla for that. Genius, that one, got into MI5 in 37.2 seconds. She made us time her."
"Who?", asked Spike, removing the offending slice of confectionary from the table.
"Me", said a thick Highland voice at Spike's right elbow.
"Holy moly", cried Spike, leaping back a foot. Panting with his hands clasped to his chest, Spike looked to Georgie for an explanation.
"Nyala", said Georgie concerned. "Remember, she's the seventh border, lives in the spare room. You though she was rats stealing from the pantry. You have met."
"Yep", said Spike, still possessing a pallor death would be proud of. "I just didn't expect to see her again, ever." He looked back at the groups new hacker who smiled without teeth, as if worried she would frighten him.
"Those giant chocolate cookies you make are gorgeous", said Nyala gently.
"Good", said Spike. "Good".
Raising her eyebrows, Nyala turned back to her computer to continue with her ground-breaking and highly illegal work.
Tapping her hand on the table Georgie said, "Do you demons all scare easily?"
Spike had to defend his species. "We're demons Georgie, not monsters. Inflicting pain is our business not our joy", the silence stretched. "But yes, for the most part they do enjoy their work and are touch as titanium nails while I'm considered wetter than a fish whose just had a bath at Triton's Ocean spa.
Spike could see Georgie wondering if this spa was a real place 10,000 leagues below the surface of the Pacific, and then if Jules Verne had ever frequented it and then..... Spike saw her stop her roller coaster thoughts and get back to the matter in hand.
"Our next step is going to be ascertaining the morality of a select group of individuals. Just because their crooks and gangsters doesn't mean all these people we have files on are evil. We haven't quite worked out the kinks in this plan yet. I was all for dark glasses and long coats, but Seb said we needed to slow down and think of something a little less exciting."
"Because your way was a first-class ticket to having our kneecaps broken", Seb turned in his chair. "Not that it wasn't a great idea. I just don't think all of us are up to John le Carré type espionage."
"No no", insisted Georgie. "You were quite right. We need to come up with different ideas." Turning back to Spike, she said "This is all we have so far, but we can afford to go slowly. We are all going to be here for the next two and a half years, baring holidays, and some might stay longer if they decide to do a masters. Also, this isn't something you can rush."
"Quite right, Georgie girl."
Like dancing figurines in a music box, everyone turned towards to open doorway which a lounging Hades was occupying. Warmth bubbled up in Spike as a shining smile split his face and he cried "Gov".
"I say you have all been busy", said Hades appraising the room cheerfully. Sporting a yellow sating suit with matching cravat and knee high boots which somehow went, Hades was the picture of health and joviality. "I haven't seen this much work put into something since – Mats my boy, what have you done to yourself?"
Mats who had been continuing to scribble notes, gave Hades his full attention, eyebrows drawn together in puzzlement. The eyes beneath these were shrouded in black, far deeper than any shadows caused by sleep deprivation, not that Mats had ever suffered those. Looking around the others for help, wondering if he had lost something in translation he asked, "What?".
"Have you been fighting?", asked Hades, walking over to Mats. "Do I need to obliterate someone. Give me names and it will be done."
Mats face was showing an expression which clearly read as 'I am so confused'. Fortunately for him, Advik was there to provide an explanation.
"It's his girlfriend – "
"Girlfrind", cried Hades. "I'll destroy her for this."
Mats yelped.
"No", said Advik hurriedly. "She's introduced him to rock music. He's started wearing eyeliner."
Hades rounded on Mats, sqinting as their noses brushed together. "Ah, yes, eyeliner. It doesn't suit you."
"Nonsense, he looks like a regular Alice Cooper", said Mathias walking through the door much to Spike's pique.
"I was going for Kurt Cobain", murmured Mats weakly. The foundations of his self-esteem shaking at the hit it had taken. But no one was paying attention to him for in Mathias' arm was a tiny ball of wriggling fluff.
"Everyone", said Hades, gently lifting the wriggling creature out of his friend's arms, the butterfly ears of a Papillion rising in excitement, this is Garma. The new love of my life."
As the students crowded round Hades and the new puppy, passing Garma around each other and gently stroking her delicate little head, Spike alone remained apart.
"I've been replaced", he said to himself.
1. In this, Spike had progressed further than any forward-thinking human had ever done. When technology doesn't want to work, leave it.
2. Weeeee
3. Lucky bugger