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I certainly hadn’t expected Hell to be this… organized.
We’d popped into a reception area after teleporting. A minor male demon sat behind his gigantic semi-circle desk and took all of our information. Sariel and I must have been equally flabbergasted at having to give our name, age, and date of birth to a demon because we gave it without much fuss.
Even more surprising than having to wait in the overstuffed white chairs scattered around the room was howpleasantthe demon was. He offered us snacks and drinks, and only when Barimuz growled at him to stop being a pest did he return to his seat behind the flamboyant desk.
I took a moment to appreciate how ostentatious this reception area was compared to the one I manned at Ambrose Media House. The walls here were terracotta and hung with paintings and art in gold frames. There were beautiful light fixtures in between them that seemed to flicker in and out in a pattern.
“It’s Tchaikovsky,” Barimuz said. He’d plucked one of the millions of magazines from the overflowing table next to us and sat with his legs crossed, left knee over the right, as he flipped through the pages.
“What?” Sariel asked, eyes still scanning the reception area.
“The pattern of the light flickering.” He used his head to nod at the light fixtures. “Today, it’s Pytor Tchaikovsky’sSwan Lake.Lucifer is a fan of the classics.”
Sariel and I exchanged bewildered looks. “And fine architecture?”
“Yes. The master does have impeccable taste.” He eyed the reception area over the top of his magazine. “Why are you surprised?”
Sariel scoffed. “Why am I surprised that the Devil has expensive taste? Is it because he’sthe Devil?”
“He doesn’t like that name. I wouldn’t call him that to his face,” Barimuz said, flipping to another page in his magazine. “My God, even now, Napoleon is still as dramatic as ever.”
He rolled his eyes and turned the page toward us. I froze at the image displayed on the pages.
“Napoleon…” I trailed off, my eyes widening as I turned toward Sariel, who was also gaping at the picture of Napoleon Bonaparte in what appeared to be a heated argument with someone that looked familiar.
“That’s Alexander.” Barimuz shook his head, taking the magazine back. “Napoleon was always the more hotheaded of the two. He’s always in the gossip tabs.”
Before we could determine who Alexander was and internalize that Hell hadtabloids, the reception demon stood.
“The master will see you now,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “He has asked that you, Lord Barimuz, return to your job in manning the gates to the world of the living.”
Barimuz frowned. “No, I don’t think I will.”
Sariel and I exchanged a stunned look. If he was off in the world of the living stalking Sariel and me, who was manning the gates right now?
The receptionist escorted us to an elevator, and we rode the eighty floors to the top in mostly silence, except for when curiosity arrested me.
I asked why there were eighty-one floors, not nine. He laughed and explained that each “circle” had nine floors.
We’d passed through every circle of Hell, yet the elevator hadn’t stopped once to pick up another person. Or demon, I guess. There hadn’t been one shriek, not one scream or one squawk to indicate anyone here was suffering.
It… sort of disappointed me.
It wasn’t that I wasn’t incredibly grateful that the afterlife seemed more like a corporate nightmare than the literal moaning and weeping and gnashing of teeth, but Hell just seemed… dull.
When the elevators finally opened on the top floor, Sariel grasped my hand and squeezed.
We’ll be fine,he reassured me.How bad could it be?
I glared at him out of the corner of my eye.This place might look quiet and uneventful, but this is still Lucifer we’re meeting.
He didn’t answer because we stopped in front of a pair of unguarded double doors. The place really was designed to emulate some Fortune 500 company.
Barimuz shoved the doors open with a flourish, his gown-like clothing fluttering with his movements. He took one step in the door and dropped to his knees, pressing his forehead into the floor in a deep bow and ridiculous show of respect. “Master, I have returned with the half-breeds.”
A giant, L-shaped, mahogany desk sat in the center of the room. While there were no bookshelves or other decorations, in the far back corner was a baby grand piano in the same color as the desk. A high-back leather chair was perched behind the desk, and the person sitting in it was turned away from us to take in the incredible view of the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Wherever Hell was, it was gorgeous, with sprawling meadows and ice-capped mountains in the distance. Birds flew by the window, and what looked like a dog jogged through the high grass beyond.
