"It's lovely to see you again, Crowley," said Aziraphale, pouring himself a cup of tea. "But I wasn't expecting it to be so soon. Is everything all right?"
Surrounded by luxury and high society, towering marble columns and glittering chandeliers, angel and demon were sitting together at their usual table at the Ritz. Crowley hadn't made a reservation. It had never occurred to him to make one.
"I'm fine. It's just that I spent a long time talking to Lady Tanya earlier today and there are some things you should know: she doesn't want the Apocalypse to happen, she doesn't want there to be a war between Heaven and Hell, and she'd rather keep things as they are."
"Really? That's wonderful!" Aziraphale smiled sunnily. "Provided, of course, that she can be believed. Isn't she currently reorganizing Hell? I had assumed she was doing that to be ready for the next war."
"No, she just wants to keep her 'employees' happy with regular pay and things to spend it on," said Crowley. "And she wants me to establish a 'cordial relationship' with you and any other angels I come across here on Earth."
"Why?"
"Uh, it's all part of the peace process. There'll never be any peace if we don't sit down and talk to each other now and then."
"But we already have a 'cordial relationship'," Aziraphale pointed out.
"Yes, but Tanya doesn't know that."
"Well, I don't see you as often as I'd like. I'm glad we have this opportunity to… ah, get to know each other a little better."
Crowley didn't quibble over the fact that they'd known each other for thousands of years already. Instead, he said, "With that in mind, there are some things I need to say to you. I don't think I've ever told you how much I…" He hesitated, swallowed and made a stumbling attempt to continue: "You really are my best friend, did you know that? There's no one I'd rather spend time with. You're the only one I'd bring to a place like this. And I haven't told you how… grateful I am that you rescued me in Hell. You were my knight in shining armour. Thank you." A moment later, cringing at his own words, he tried again, "I mean, you were a badass. In a good way." After another embarrassed pause, he settled on: "You were amazing."
"Oh, my dear Crowley," said Aziraphale, holding a hand over where his heart would be if he had a normal human anatomy. "You don't know how pleased I am to hear you say that." His voice faded to a whisper and he looked rather guilty. "You're my best friend too. I know I shouldn't feel that way, since you're a demon and I'm an angel, but…"
"I feel the same way," Crowley whispered, leaning across the table so as to impart those words into Aziraphale's ears without the possibility of anyone else listening in. Then, rather daringly, he kissed him on the cheek. At least, that was what he meant to do.
Aziraphale turned and looked up at him, mouth slightly ajar, perhaps intending to ask what he was doing. Their lips met.
They should have broken apart immediately. There should have been flustered apologies and denials. But that would come later. Instead, they stayed rigidly in place, too shocked to move or do much of anything. There was some experimentation with tongues and lips.
When they finally broke apart, sinking back into their seats, Crowley was quick to apologize: "Sorry! Uh, I'm sorry… I meant to kiss you on the cheek. A brotherly kiss. Because I'm so grateful to you." And then: "Not that I didn't enjoy it!"
"My dear, there's no need to apologize. I'm at least partly to blame. I'm afraid I mistook your intentions," says Aziraphale. "And… yes, I enjoyed it too."
Crowley was tempted to ask, 'Shall we do it again?' but he was afraid what might happen if he did. Would it be too soon? Would Aziraphale attempt to put him down gently? He knew he couldn't bear it if that happened. So, he changed his mind and said something else: "I'm glad. Uh, another pot of tea?"
"Perhaps something a little stronger?" Aziraphale suggested, signalling to the waiter as he passed by.
"I never thought I'd hear you say that," said Crowley, wide-eyed.
The latest unwanted visitor to Tanya's office wore a greasy leather jacket, a sash embroidered with the image of a deer, a bicorn hat with a mane of hair sticking out on either side, and a gloating smile on his face. He was clearly relishing the opportunity to tattle on one of his rivals: "I saw them kissing in that fancy restaurant! Him and his boyfriend!"
"Yes, he was acting on my orders. I told him that he should establish a cordial relationship with Aziraphale and the other angels who are active on Earth," said Tanya. "But I hadn't expected him to go to such lengths. I'm impressed by his diligence. Perhaps I should give him a raise."
"Seems to me that his boyfriend was already doing that, if you know what I mean," said Furfur. "Hur hur hur!"
Tanya gave him a withering glare and was satisfied to see him quail before her. "No, I've no idea what you mean."
"Uh, never mind that. You told Crowley to seduce that angel?"
"Not necessarily seduce. Just make him more willing to listen to us, more sympathetic to our point of view," Tanya explained.
"So we can lead him into a trap or trick him into joining us," Furfur concluded, looking pleased with himself for figuring that out. "Gotcha."
"I can only hope Crowley doesn't intend to use the same technique on all the other angels. That seems like it could lead to unnecessary complications and hurt feelings," said Tanya. She remembered how admiringly Crowley had spoken of Aziraphale when last she'd spoken to him, so she surmised that he must have been infatuated with the angel for quite some time and – because the angel apparently felt the same way – he'd taken the opportunity to act on his feelings in such a way as to make it easier to carry out the orders he'd been given. Having reached that conclusion, Tanya was rather impressed. Instead of letting his feelings get in the way of his work, Crowley had done the opposite.
But what to do with Furfur? He was a slimy, conniving, backstabbing wretch, but such people had their uses. He had already proven himself to be highly skilled at spying on his colleagues. As a former human resources manager, Tanya prided herself on putting each of her employees in places where they could use their skills to best advantage. With that in mind, she asked him, "Would you like to be a duke of Hell?"
"Me? I'd be honoured!"
Tanya nodded. "You're aware that I've assigned many of my employees to complete various tasks on Earth, with strict rules as to how they should behave so as not to attract too much attention from the angels or mortal authorities. I need someone to make sure that my instructions are being followed and my rules are being obeyed. I think you would be ideal for this role."
"And you'd make me a duke of Hell as well?" asked Furfur, eyes narrowed, as if trying to figure out the catch.
"Yes. As my chief inspector, you'd need to be of high enough rank that my other employees have to take you seriously, so they don't feel that they can just ignore you."
Furfur grinned delightedly. "So they'll have to call me 'Duke'?"
"If you like. So long as you agree to take the job, of course."
"I'll take it!" Furfur cried. Then, it occurred to him to ask: "If I'm going to be your 'chief' inspector, does that mean I'll have others working for me?"
Tanya nodded. "You can't be everywhere at once. You'll need a team to assist you. About a dozen, to begin with, I think."
"Do I get to choose who's in my team?"
"Yes, but please bear in mind that I will personally be inspecting you and your employees from time to time, making sure that your work is of an acceptable standard and that you're being fair to those you're inspecting. Don't let power go to your head."
"Actually, that reminds me… Not long ago, Beelzebub was one of the leaders of the rebellion against you, but now you've released them and you're letting them go to Earth to enjoy themselves. I don't understand why you'd do that. If you give them privileges like that, don't you think they might abuse them?"
"I released Beelzebub because I needed them to help with the filing system. Since then, they have worked hard and made an effort to mend their ways, for which they have been rewarded," said Tanya. "I want to show all my employees that, no matter what they've done in the past, they will be rewarded for hard work."
"'Work will set you free.'" Furfur sneered. "Yeah, I've heard that one before."
"'Thou shalt not muzzle the ox who treadeth out the corn. And, the labourer is worthy of his reward,'" Tanya corrected him, though she grimaced as she always did whenever she felt the need to quote from the Bible.
"All right, fine. I'd best be going," said Furfur, trudging towards the door. "I'll make a start on putting my team together, shall I?"
"Yes, you do that," Tanya replied, returning to her paperwork.
"This new gang is taking over everywhere," said Warren White, the crime boss also known as 'the Great White Shark'. "We've got to put them down before they climb too high."
He and the other leaders of Gotham's organized crime gangs – those who weren't currently imprisoned in Arkham Asylum or Blackgate Penitentiary – were arranged in a loose circle, together with their bodyguards, in a dingy area that was part of the city's docklands. On one side, there were crumbling buildings, abandoned shipping containers and rusting machinery, and a patch of dead grass with a sign above it that said, 'DON'T TREAD ON ME'. On the other, there were the grimy waters of the Atlantic Ocean.
"Frightened of the competition?" asked the current leader of the Maroni crime family, with a scar-faced grin. The Maroni family was much reduced in size and influence since its glory days – and they changed leaders so often that hardly anyone outside of the family bothered to remember their names. Nevertheless, Warren made a mental note to have this one killed as soon as he could get away with it, whatever his name was.
"Hardly a competition," said Oswald Cobblepot, who preferred to be known as 'the Penguin', leaning on his folded umbrella as if it were a walking cane. "What do I care if they sell cannabis and run a few bordellos? My business has been unaffected."
"They call themselves 'the Demons'. They're dangerous," said Dragos Ibanescu. "Yesterday, one of them got a faceful of lead, just walked it off like it was nothing. And there's not only one of them who's got superpowers."
"It wouldn't be the first time superpowered freaks have tried to take over Gotham's underworld," said Cobblepot, blithely unconcerned. "They'll learn. They always do. Brains beat brawn every time."
"Is that why you keep getting your ass handed to you by Batman?" asked Yuri Dimitrov, with a roar of laughter.
"As if you don't," said Cobblepot, with a contemptuous sniff.
"Gentlemen, this is all beside the point," said Warren. "You all think you're such big fish in a little pond, but what will you do when a much bigger predator comes for you? Don't you think it would be wise to unite against them before they pick us off one by one?"
Sometime later, after much discussion and disagreement, seven of Gotham's largest crime gangs agreed to join forces to drive out 'the Demons'. Warren could only hope that it would be enough.
"–and it continues for a while after that, but there's a lot of white noise," said Stephanie Brown, the teenaged superheroine known as 'Spoiler'.
"Impressive work," said Batman, examining the miniature recording device. "Especially considering that they must have scoped out the place beforehand, but they didn't notice you or where you'd hidden this."
"It was nothing," said Spoiler, modestly.
"I'll listen to all of it when I have the time. For now, can you tell me when this gang war is supposed to begin?"
"Tomorrow, after midnight."
"I'll have to be ready," said Batman. His mind was already racing ahead, forming plans and contingencies, making a list of all the tools he'd need.
"I could help," Spoiler offered.
"I'm not taking you out into a hail of gunfire. Unless you want to sit in the Batmobile and not touch anything."
"No… but perhaps there's some other way I can help?"
"Gather as much information as you can about this new gang, 'the Demons'," said Batman, after some consideration. "I suspect I'm going to need it."
It was early evening, much too early for most revellers and partygoers, when the angel Gabriel entered Lux. He had taken the form of a tall, beefy man with an honest face, clean-cut and wearing a grey suit. Recently, the demons of Hell had been unusually active on Earth – and many of them had been seen in this particular nightclub – which was why he had been chosen to investigate.
Lucifer wasn't pleased to see him, accosted him almost as soon as he entered, and said, "Gabriel. I hope you're not here to cause trouble."
"No, not at all," Gabriel assured him.
"You're not going to urge me to go back to Hell?"
"No, that's Amenadiel's job," said Gabriel. "And anyway, you must have mistaken me for someone else. I'm an ordinary human businessman, named Gabriel…" He looked around for inspiration. He noticed someone who was unmistakably a demon – a gender-indeterminate being with rumpled clothes, messy hair, and a fly buzzing in circles around them – sitting alone at the back of the room, nursing a pint of something tepid. "…Gabriel Glass. I've come to your fine establishment to enjoy a drink, like so many other humans do. Over there, I see an attractive person I would like to get to know better. I think I will sit and talk to them."
"Will there be dancing after that?" asked Lucifer, with some amusement. "Tell you what, if you promise not to start any trouble, the first drink's free."
"Capital," said Gabriel, beaming. "I'll have water."
"Are you sure? A bit boring, don't you think? There are plenty of other options. You can have whatever you like." Immediately after he'd said that, Lucifer winced, glanced at some of the bottles behind the bar, and muttered, "You could really make me regret that offer, you know. No takebacks."
"I like water."
"Suit yourself." Lucifer walked behind the bar, dropped a few ice cubes into a glass and fetched two bottles out of the refrigerator. "Still or sparkling?"
That got Gabriel's attention. "How do they make it sparkle?"
"Dissolved carbon dioxide."
"Sounds interesting. I'll try it," he decided.
Lucifer handed him the glass and one of the bottles – the one that had bubbles trying to escape from it – and returned the other to the fridge.
Bottle and glass in hand, Gabriel walked over to the gender-indeterminate being and sat down beside them. "You look like an interesting person. What's your name? How did you come to be here?" he asked.
"I'm Beelzebub. You're an angel, aren't you?" Their voice was edged with a faint buzz, barely perceptible. "I shouldn't be talking to you."
"It's fine," Gabriel assured them. "We're all friends here. Friendly friends getting to know each other. Where's the harm in that?"
"Next time, I hope she throws me in the Bottomless Pit," said Beelzebub, glumly. "More room to spread out."
"What do you mean 'next time'?"
"I rebelled against her. Together with two others – Azazel and the First of the Fallen – I tore her realm apart. She defeated me and threw me in the Blackest Pit. Not long after that, she released me because she needed my help with the filing system. She treats me the same as anyone else, gives me the same pay and even gives me opportunities to take breaks in places like this." They gestured around at Lucifer's nightclub. "Why would she forgive me like that?"
Gabriel was glad of the opportunity to hold forth on a subject about which he was an expert: "It is entirely within the power of one who has been sinned against to decide whether or not to forgive the sinner. To forgive is divine. All people make mistakes and God forgives them, and people are acting in a godlike way when they forgive others."
"Does that include demons?" asked Beelzebub.
"I don't see why not. You used to be an angel, didn't you?"
"One of the cherubim."
"Well, there you are. You've made mistakes, for which you were punished, but you can still be forgiven. No one is beyond forgiveness."
"God didn't forgive me, though," Beelzebub pointed out. "Does that mean she's more godlike than God?"
"If you – or any other demon – showed true contrition and a desire to repent, God would forgive you."
"Does that mean forgiveness is conditional?"
"It makes a mockery of forgiveness to forgive those who don't want it. But forgiveness will always be there for those who ask for it."
"Tanya forgave me without needing me to repent or show contrition or anything like that."
"Only because she needed you to do something for her. Not because she forgives as God forgives," says Gabriel, sipping his carbonated water. He didn't particularly like it.
Beelzebub appeared lost in thought. The fly hovering nearby seemed unusually agitated. "If I put my trust in God, admitted fault and asked Him to forgive me, what would happen? Would I be restored to my former greatness?"
"While you continue to sin, cause mischief and spread misery, you will always be a demon, but…" Gabriel hesitated, unsure of what to say next.
"You don't know, do you?"
"I am merely God's servant. I don't pretend to know everything He might do."
"Do you want to?"
"I… I'm happy as I am. I trust in God's judgement."
"I wish I understood why Tanya does what she does," Beelzebub said moodily. "She makes no sense. She defeated me in an eyeblink, but she acts like she needs to keep me happy. If she was determined to rule by fear and subjugation of those weaker than her, she could do it. Why does she make such an effort to keep her 'employees' happy? And why does she bother with filing and paperwork and so on?"
"Obviously, she will need powerful demons by her side when the Apocalypse comes and she must fight the armies of Heaven. Keeping you happy now is a small price to pay to have you by her side in battle."
"You may be right. Or maybe not. From what I've heard, Tanya doesn't want the Apocalypse to happen. She doesn't want to fight."
"That sounds foolish of her. If she doesn't fight, she'll be easily defeated and cast down."
Beelzebub finished the rest of their drink. Their head slumped to one side and the buzzing edge to their voice became more pronounced as they said, "Everything'zz upside down. Tanya izz willing to forgive but God isn't. Heaven wants war but Hell doesn't. Nothing makes sense anymore."
"It seems to me that you're having a crisis of faith."
"I had my crisis of faith long ago. That'zz why I'm a demon now."
"I didn't mean faith in God, but in yourself and what you've been fighting for."
"Yeah. You're probably right. I can't believe I'm asking this, but do you have any suggestionzz?"
"If I told you to put your trust in God and pray to Him, would you listen?"
"Probably not," Beelzebub admitted. "Would you like another drink?"
"Yes, please. Non-sparkling water this time," said Gabriel, as the demon got up and traipsed over to the bar.
To his surprise, he realised he was enjoying himself. He knew he should denounce Beelzebub as evil hellspawn who was trying to trick and corrupt him, but he found it refreshing to talk to someone whose beliefs and opinions were at odds with his own. Heaven could be such an echo chamber sometimes. Besides, Beelzebub didn't seem irredeemable, just cynical and unsure of their place in a rapidly changing universe. Perhaps it would be possible to redeem them.
He smiled and said, "Thank you," when they returned with a bottle of water for him and a fresh glass of whatever they were drinking, which looked like it had shreds of pondweed floating in it.
"We're under attack!" yelled Eric the demon, suddenly appearing in the lobby of Tanya's hellish office building.
Hastur glanced around, saw nothing out of the ordinary – there were just a few demons scurrying in and out, busy with various tasks, or standing to one side and conversing in hushed tones – and replied, "No, we're not."
"On Earth, I mean! In Gotham!"
Hastur was none the wiser.
"It's a city in North America!"
"Oh, right." No one else seemed willing to take charge, so Hastur said, "Lady Tanya's not here right now. Can I take a message?"
"We need help right now!" cried Eric, who was wearing the form of a scrawny human with hair sticking out at odd angles.
"What exactly is going on? Who are you being attacked by?"
"Gangsters! With guns!"
"You're a demon. What do you care about a few bullets?"
"It hurts a lot," said Eric, showing him a new bullet wound, through which black ichor was slowly seeping. "And they've got bombs as well!"
"Fine. In a few hours, I'll have gathered a sizeable force–"
"We don't have a few hours!"
"Pull yourself together!" Hastur snapped at him. "I'll come right now, along with…" He glanced around and grabbed the first few demons he could see who didn't appear to be busy. "Scumspawn." He immediately suspected that might be a mistake. Scumspawn wasn't much of a fighter. On the other hand, he was an accomplished shapeshifter, so perhaps he could transform into something that would terrify the gangsters into running away. "Shax." She was cruel and ambitious, but she'd sided with Tanya during the war in Hell – for whatever reason – and by all accounts she'd fought well. "And… Baytor, isn't it?"
"I am Baytor!" cried one of Etrigan's former henchmen, whose head appeared to consist entirely of teeth.
Hastur frowned. "Didn't you used to be the king of Hell?"
"I am Baytor!"
"Yes, he did. That was one of Lucifer's little jokes," Shax hastened to explain.
"Come with me, you three," said Hastur, beckoning to them. "We're going into battle."
"Me?" Scumspawn squeaked.
"I just need you to scare the humans, that's all. Transform into a gigantic crustacean with tentacles and glowing red eyes, or something like that," said Hastur. "Humans are terrified of that sort of thing."
"Um. I'll do my best."
"That's all I ask," said Hastur, clapping him on the back and causing him to stumble.
"If I do this, how will you reward me?" asked Shax.
"I'll put in a good word for you with Tanya. Same with you two as well," said Hastur, nodding to Scumspawn and Baytor.
Shax nodded, satisfied. "All right, I'll do it."
Hastur turned to Eric. "Take us to wherever you need us."
With a heavy sigh of relief, Eric opened a portal, through which could be seen the silhouettes of concrete buildings, roads strewn with rubble and makeshift barricades, lit only by the fires of burning wreckage.
"Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more," said Shax, rolling her eyes.
"I am Baytor!"
"Let's get on with it," said Hastur, stepping into the portal.
Dream studied the plastic card Tanya had given him, then the piece of paper on which she'd written a set of instructions, and then the machine in front of him, which had a small screen with a set of buttons underneath. After a couple of attempts, he managed to get it to work.
"That is… quite a lot of money," he said, looking at the numbers on the screen. "Tanya's hotel must be doing well."
"Does that mean we won't need to see your friend?" asked Delirium, who was lying on the floor next to him.
Dream discovered there was a hard limit to the amount of money he could withdraw from the ATM, which was much less than he needed.
"No, we're still going to see Pharamond," he said. "We'll need plane tickets, a car and someone to drive it."
Even so, he put all of the money the machine would give him into a coat pocket that hadn't been there a few moments before. Then, for good measure, he put the plastic card and Tanya's instructions in the same pocket.
"I could drive. I bet I'd be really good," said Delirium.
"No."
"Hmph."
As they walked down the street and across a bridge, towards the headquarters of Farrell Travel, a corporation owned by a former god who still owed Dream a favour, it occurred to Delirium to ask, "Why are we doing this? We could just pwoof and we'd be there. Straightaway. Through someone's head. Pwoof."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because there's a right way to do things."
"You're very silly," said Delirium.
"I know," said Dream.