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Cat in a corner. Paranoid. Slightly pissed.
The only thing in front of her is a barely touched cup of coffee that’s being circled by a fly. She watches it now, as it lazily circles the cup and then begins a dance around the table. She raises one hand—
And slams her palm down, which no one but he and Lauren?iu hear in clank and hiss of pans and grease and the din of conversations about the upcoming elections and worries over an outbreak in the north.
Lauren?iu gives a brief glance behind him.
Gaze suspicious, her eyes fall on Paimon. She stares down at the table, as if bracing herself, or recognizing what she’s done.
“I would come here late at night to study,” Lauren?iu starts, nonplussed by the minor disturbance. “You know, a friend once told me that the hashbrowns are perfect to eat when you’re hungover.”
“Was this friend...?” Anthony.
Lauren?iu’s mouth is a thin line. “Yes.”
“Ah. Did you ever try it?”
“I’m afraid not. I didn’t drink much in college. It doesn’t appeal to me very much.”
Paimon says, invoking Lugosi, “You don’t drink wine, is what you’re saying.”
“I’m assuming that’s a reference.”
The demon starts, “Back when we got pulled over...”
“I’m not sure if we should mention that in a room full of people.”
“You said ‘stuffing’.”
“It’s what I stay in place of...”
“I’ve never heard you say that once.”
Lauren?iu cups his mug and rotates it, the ceramic scraping against the table. “Demons in Hell who enjoy prodding souls with pointy objects tend to become bent toward punishment when they find something to mock.”
“I’m not mocking. Or at least, that wasn’t my intention. It’s just strange.”
“I’m not sure what ‘strange’ means when it comes to us.”
“Touché. It’s queer to find someone who doesn’t release a string of curses every once in a while.”
One side of Lauren?iu’s mouth quirks up. “Maybe that’s a better word. It’s simply how my parents were raised, and it’s how they raised me.”
“I know we’ve been over this, but darling, it’s haunting me. Absolutely ripping my nonexistent soul apart. So, let me get this straight, just so we’re clear.”
“Yes?”
“You’ve fucked for cash. You’ve killed people.”
“Yes, I recall. The proper term for the first one, I believe, is escorting.”
Paimon stares in utter exasperation.
So, am I the King of Heck? The King of H-e-double hockey sticks?
“You went to Hell and saw debauched orgies and horrors beyond comprehension.”
Dryly, Lauren?iu tells him before taking a sip of strong coffee, “You’ll need to tell me why you’re repeating my own experiences back to me.”
