Eva
Sorren takes a slice of pizza out of the greasy box, the cheese stretching thin before he flops it onto his plate.
His eyes are wide and bright at the prospect of real food.
He grabs three more pieces and stacks them on top of each other.
I feel terrible for leaving him here all day with nothing to eat.
He could eat the entire pizza, and I would still feel terrible.
He was sleeping so peacefully when I came downstairs this morning, I couldn’t bring myself to wake him up. If he was half as tired as I was, he needed every second of rest he could get.
I grab a slice and go to the floor in the living room in front of the cozy fire he built. The kitchen table is still a mess, but I don’t have the energy to clear it off.
He sits down across from me and takes a giant bite.
“That’s good pizza,” he says with a winning smile.
“Best place in town. The only place in town, technically.” I hold up my slice and take a bite. “How does this compare with pizza in Hell?” I ask, laughing at the absurdity of having a demon sitting on the floor, sharing a pizza with me.
“Have you ever had those dirt cheap frozen pizzas at the grocery store? The ones that don’t look like actual food?” he asks.
“Of course.”
“That’s the only kind we have down there.” He finishes off his first piece. Honestly, I’m impressed by how quickly he eats.
“I guess it wouldn’t be Hell if the pizza was good” I say between bites. “What is it like anyway? I’ve always wondered.”
“You have?” He chokes on his bite in surprise.
“No, not really, but I am curious now.”
He thinks for a second and wipes his lips.
“Who are the worst people you know up here? Not individuals, but like groups of people?”
I take stock of the worst people on Earth. “Murderers, child abusers—”
“You know murders and child abusers?” He cuts me off.
“Well, no.”
“People you know.”
My mind immediately goes to the group of douchebag corporate bros that Grant works with. Not only are they obnoxious and morally pliable, but they seem to be having more and more of an influence on him every day.
“Corporate bros,” I say with conviction. No doubt. They’re the worst.
Sorren drops the half eaten slice of pizza, his mouth hangs open, utterly speechless.
I’m about to defend myself and apologize for the triviality of my answer when he responds, “Hell is like a giant corporation. It’s full of siloed departments refusing to work together.
All run by narcissists who think they are the most important people in the organization.
It’s endless, boring meetings run by people who have nothing but time. It’s truly awful.”
“That makes perfect sense.” It sounds like my own personal hell.
“When we meet our quarterly goals, we get pizza.” He shoves half a slice in his mouth all at once.
I laugh so hard it spooks the cat. Sorren’s laugh spreads through his body. He throws his head back and lets it take him over, to the point of needing to take off his glasses to wipe a tear from his eye. A ripple of magick in my fingertips pulses for the first time all day.
“The underworld has been transformed into giant windowless skyscrapers and apartment buildings.”
“That’s tragic,” I mutter.
“It is,” Sorren agrees with me.
“So, what’s your job there?” I imagine him chained to some cubicle working a ten-key with one hand while scanning rows and rows of spreadsheets with the other.
“Well, funny you should ask. I was about to take over as CEO when I got yanked.”
“No way!” I gawk in disbelief. CEO? Damn. I was all excited that we were bonding over our shared disdain for corporate life, and he’s going to be the leader of Hell.
“Yeah. My father, the last CEO, died a few months ago, and we’ve been in negotiations for months figuring out the future of the organization.”
“I’m sorry about your dad. That must have been devastating. Was it unexpected?” I feel the recognizable sliver of grief I get anytime someone tells me they’ve lost a loved one. My eyes wander to the picture of Grandma Iris on the wall behind the stairs.
“Thank you. You know, you’re the first person to say that to me,” he says.
“Wow. That’s fucked up.”
“Where I come from, people aren’t exactly known for their empathy.” He gives me a sad smile.
“But, jeez, they could still say something!” Why am I surprised? The real question is how can someone as considerate and kind as Sorren come from a place like that? “Is that why you need to get back so badly? You’re excited to start your new job?”
“No, not at all! I never wanted it. It’s more like, obligation. Carrying on the family name and all that.”
It shouldn’t matter whether he loves corporate life. It has nothing to do with me, but I still feel massively relieved that he doesn’t want to be in charge of such a terrible place. I tell myself it’s only because we’re becoming friends and for no other reason.
“What is the family name?” My entire perception of the afterlife has shifted over a slice of pizza. More than ever, I am determined to keep myself out of Hell.
“Mephistopheles, Sorren Mephistopheles. Future CEO of Mephisto Inc.,” he says, adjusting a tie that isn’t there.
We finish our dinner with Sorren telling me about the banality of Mephisto Inc. and me trying to not rub it in while I describe my quaint life here in Raincrest.
“I want to try something different. Last night we used spells. I think we try scrying tonight,” I suggest, as if he has any choice in the matter. For a demon at a witch’s mercy, he’s being pretty chill about it.
“You’re the boss,” he says, helping me up off the floor. “I’ll clean up while you prep.” He takes the dirty plate out of my hand and goes to the kitchen, humming a tune I can’t place.
In the back of the coat closet, on the bottom shelf of my shoe rack, sits my crystal ball. I wipe it against my jeans to clear away the dust. There are many different ways of scrying, but this is the most effective. Hopefully it will have some answers for us.
I position the coffee table in the center of the living room, lining it up between the fireplace and the kitchen door. I grab three golden candles from the broom closet and arrange them in a triangle around the ball. Gold for success and divine favor.
Sorren turns off the faucet and comes around the corner with a dishtowel slung over his shoulder.
“Ooh! What’s this?” he asks, full of excitement. Another difference between him and Grant. Grant tolerates my witchcraft, Sorren seems legitimately interested.
Don’t compare him to Grant.
“This is my crystal ball.” I present it with both hands, like a gameshow host. “I’m going to be honest, scrying isn’t my strength, but it feels right to try.”
“I can’t wait! I’ve always wondered if witches could tell the future in their mysterious crystal balls.” He sits down at the coffee table on the floor across from me. “Do we need to hold hands or something?”
“No. But I do need a lighter.” I pat my pockets and look around the room for the nearest lighter.
“Check this out.” Sorren snaps his fingers and all three candles spark to life.
His smile creeps back and my stomach does a backflip.
With a flick of my wrist, the house lights dim so I can see clearly into the ball. People usually get weird once they know I have some special abilities, so I’m usually more guarded with my magick around them. But if Sorren can conjure a little magic, I can too.
“What do you see?” He leans in to look at the ball.
“Nothing yet. This is a delicate process that requires patience,” I whisper. Just for show, I swirl my open hand over the ball, like the witches do in the movies.
“What’s that move called?” he asks, full of awe. Damn, this guy is easily impressed.
“It’s called, please be quiet, demon, I’m trying to concentrate.” I bite my cheeks to keep from smiling.
He zips his fingers across his lips and turns the imaginary key.
I look deeply into the clear crystal ball and let my eyes soften. I see everything, but focus on nothing. A deep exhale helps me narrow in on the scrying and not Sorren, who happens to be extremely distracting.
“In the center is a swirling mist. Which is good, the ball acknowledges why we are here. Confusion, seeking answers.”
Sorren leans forward even more. “I don’t see anything.”
“I see green and orange, swirling together and separating into two distinct swirls.”
“Where?” he asks, looking closer.
The mist takes the shape of a flower with orange petals and a green stem. It’s whisked away and replaced by a white moon, then a black crow. I whisper what I see, careful to not disrupt the vision.
“I can’t see anything!” He gets up and comes behind me. He puts his face next to mine, and I can feel his warm cheek almost against mine. “Show me.”
I grab his chin, the rough stubble of his jaw feels good in my hand. “Look there, but don’t look too hard.”
“That makes no sense,” he whispers back. I thought he was distracting with a coffee table between us. Cheek to cheek and breathing him in is a whole other thing.
The crow starts spinning, slowly at first then faster until it evaporates into a black smoke that sinks to the bottom and disappears.
Neither one of us moves. I don’t think either one of us breathes.
“Is it over?” he asks quietly, his voice hardly perceptible over the jackhammer in my chest.
“Yeah.”
We both lean back and Sorren takes his place on the other side of the table again.
He clears his throat and shakes out his hands. “What’s next?”
“Now, we find my old ‘Witch’s Guide to Scrying’ textbook.”