Chapter One #2
“The embassy said he’d be here at two o’clock,” Mr. Connors said, glancing toward the enormous clock in the corner of the room.
It said ten to the hour, and I relaxed a little; surely someone like the Devil would never arrive early?
Punctuality had to be a positive attribute, while being tardy would correlate to the more fiendish side of things.
We were at Clarence House, one of the royal family’s many houses in London. Queen Victoria had allowed the Devil to stay here, since his being in a hotel, no matter how grand it was, would cause consternation and possible actual danger to the other guests.
I’d never entered Clarence House before, what with not being related to, or needing access to, the Queen. I rather wished I’d never had to, but here I was.
It was splendidly furnished, though it seemed as though there were just a few too many items; overstuffed sofas upholstered in dainty floral fabrics sat atop luxurious Oriental and Turkish rugs, while chandeliers hung overhead.
Tables were placed alongside and in front of each possible seat, so there was no chance anyone would have to look around for where to put their tea.
The servants who were bustling about preparing seemed adept in dodging all the obstacles, however, so perhaps it was just me being unaccustomed to such… overabundance.
The night before, I’d spent several hours in our office, trying to find as much information as I could about our guest. There was shockingly little written about him.
I’d seen references but only oblique ones—articles mentioning “the man from down there,” which I would have assumed was a gentleman from Australia, or the “fire and brimstone creator,” which sounded like a theatrical trick.
In more direct references, I read things I already knew: He was leader of the underworld, he was evil incarnate, he reveled in punishing people for the wicked deeds they’d gotten up to when alive, and he apparently tolerated heat quite well.
That last was my own extrapolation, given where he lived.
The only thing that wasn’t explicitly stated, but perhaps should have been, was that he was also very real.
So I was completely unprepared to meet him, but at least, I consoled myself ruefully, I wouldn’t have too many preconceived notions about him.
My parents had been radical in their thinking, even before the Great Revelation, and had raised me without inculcating me with a terror of what might happen to me if I did not behave according to a capricious set of rules.
Which is to say my clothes were mostly made of different fabrics, Sunday was my day for cleaning my small house, and I was often seen in public without my husband, since I didn’t have one.
My parents were also responsible, in a roundabout way, for my having this position in the first place—since they’d been freethinkers, I hadn’t flinched when asked if I could handle dealing with a variety of species. Apparently I was unusual among other humans.
I sometimes wished my family were alive to see this world, and this work, but both my parents had passed within a few months before the Great Revelation; I liked to think it was because they were so in love they couldn’t stay on Earth without each other.
Someday, perhaps, I would have that as well.
We heard the sound of the front doors opening, and Mr. Connors and I straightened our spines (and one of us straightened a tail), standing at attention as the group made its way down the hall to the reception room.
Clarence House’s butler—a third-class wizard whose specialty was cleaning spells—flung the doors open, revealing a grand entourage.
The Devil was at the head of the procession, stepping into the reception room with a haughty mien I’d only ever seen on the Queen herself.
He was shorter than I would have expected, about my height, and looked like a well-to-do merchant, albeit with curled horns on his head and a long red tail dragging behind him.
He wore an elegant suit of a dark-purple wool, rings on every finger, and a cane far fancier than mine in one hand.
There was a faint aura of smoke around him, and I tried not to cough as he approached.
Species of all sorts poured into the room behind him, several of a type I didn’t think I had ever seen before, but I didn’t want to be caught gawking.
He eyed the two of us with disdain. “The Queen is not here?” he said, flicking his cane as he spoke.
“She is at rest, Sat—that is, Lord Satan, sir,” Mr. Connors replied. “She will emerge somewhere around six o’clock, I believe.”
The Devil’s lip curled. “Yes, of course. I’d forgotten she is limited to the nighttime.” He made it sound like a shortcoming, which it likely was, from his perspective.
“I am Mr. Connors from the Diplomatic Office,” my boss said. “This is Miss Hastings. She is to be your escort around the city.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Lord Satan, sir,” I said.
“Hmm” was all the Devil replied. He didn’t even look my way.
That was fine with me, I told myself. The less notice I got from the Devil, the better.
“We need to get settled in our rooms.” The voice was from someone in the rear of the entourage, a person who stepped out of the crowd and forward to stand just slightly behind the Devil.
This was the most attractive individual I had ever seen across all the species, including fairies, who were renowned for their beauty.
He—because the being was in the shape of a man—was tall, taller than the Devil by at least six inches, with coal-black hair; pale, nearly translucent skin; a mouth redder than most cherries; and two dark slashes of eyebrow.
But it was his eyes that were most arresting. They were gold, his pupil a tiny black dot in the middle, fringed with dark lashes, as though he had dabbed kohl on them.
“This is my eldest, Marcellus, the Marquis of Hell.”
“A pleasure,” the marquis said. This hellish arrival did look at me, and I tried not to stare.