The universe was sexist, it seemed like, and nobody, nobody at all had known that the anti Christ was a girl.
I mean, who could have expected the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, angel of the bottomless pit, great beast that is called Dragon, Prince of this world, father of lies, spawn of Satan, and lord of darkness, to be a girl?
But, unfortunately for sexist demons and angles and humans alike, anti Christ was a she, the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, angel of the bottomless pit, great beast that is called Dragon, Princess of this world, Mother of lies, spawn of Satan, and lord of darkness, and she was feeling rather bored.
It had been 5 hours and 27 minutes and 31 seconds since she was born, and the only people she had met were two boring demons and one demon-but-not-quite.
Of course, she saw nothing, enclosed in the woven basket, but voices told stories.
If she had been a normal child, she would have been sleeping right now, and yes, she did feel the urge to take a really really long nap, but her mind was spinning too fast to be quieted.
She had no intelligence of a 5 hour old. She had the intelligence of centuries of demons and angels and humans and...Satan himself.
The only thing preventing her from leaping out of this outrageous but sort of comforting basket was her mortal body. And her annoying inability to speak.
The basket swung and she knew she was in a car, a good one, and heard very loud and abrupt noises.
It was music. Galileo gallie-
"Ohshitshitshitshit! Why now! Why me!"
Crowley the demon-but-not-quite was yelling, interrupting the music, and she sighed a bit, sorry that she couldn't listen to it more closely.
She mindlessly deduced that Crowley was not happy to be the one to receive her, because he didn't want the world ended.
She had heard of her role from the other demons, Hastur and Ligur, and had puzzled over that. Why would she want the world to end? She had been here for 5 hours so far and it had been certainly fascinating.
There were new things at every corner, like music Crowley's radio was playing right now, and the smell of the earth and the rocking of the car and everything she could do when she was older.
She was already dreaming, and seeing the future with clarity. Crowley was important. And some other blonde hair angel...he was also there with him, a bond between them.
The singer's voice suddenly became something else, and she stiffened.
She hadn't wanted to hear those words again. The words of the Satan.
The car veered and she started to cry, scared now, despite of everything her mind was telling her. Even if she was an anti Christ and she was clever (although clever was an enormously huge understatement) she was a baby still, and her father-evil and despicable-scared her. It was instilled in her bones.
Crying led to fatigue and fatigue led to sleep, and she soon fell, knowing where she was going to wake up.
The inevitable game of cards were about to start.

~~~7 years later


How to find a demon in London.
7 year old Eve Young a.k.a Anti Christ and blah blah blah mused in front of a lap top, her eyes half closed and her legs swinging underneath the chair.
She knew his name of course, but it was only a single word. She wasn't even sure if Crowley was his last name or first.
All the information she had on him was that he was a demon, his name was Crowley Something or Something Crowley, and he owned a Bentley.
Learning how he owned a Bentley had been easy. She remembered with glass like clarity how riding his car had felt like, and there was that distinct rumbling, too.
All this was not much, and the human part of her believed this was impossible, annoying and so tiresome, and just wanted to go back to painting her dress with muck.
But the immortal part of her had waited 7 years, years she felt she needed to grow and react and think, and she had jumped to a conclusion after that.
She wanted to meet her kind.
She wasn't all demon, but was half, and she wanted to see that demon that had taken her to her parents-yes she had grown to think that the Mr and Mrs. Young were hers, possessively,-and make sure that the anti Christ thing was not a fairy tale she had came up with, like other stories her parents had told her.
Because no matter how her memories were perfect, there was always that little squirming doubt in her, that told her she was an attention seeking bastard with just a bit of intelligence in her.
She wanted to cry every time the doubt rose it's head, but she had gotten over crying. It was a phase reserved for babies, and she was not a baby anymore.
So. Back to finding the demon.
She jumped off the stool, and ran happily to the coffee table next to the couch. Or more likely, the telephone book on the coffee table.
It took 26 minutes to find 13 possible candidates. She smiled against the book that smelled like spilled coffee, and looked at the list.
She knew how to do this. This was like every morning when she guessed what the head title of the newspaper was. And trust me, she was never wrong.
She closed her eyes, held up a hand, and pointed at the paper. Then squeaked a eye open.
Her fingertip grazed a name, and conviction rose in her heart. It was him. She was sure.

Anthony J. Crowley.

Nice to meet you, demon-but-not-quite.