Happy Halloween! This is a relatively new idea (about two weeks old, actually) but it wouldn't leave me alone. It was going to be a one-shot, then it was going to be two parts, now it's definitely going to be multi-chapter and I think I've lost my mind for sure on this one. Starts post 8/pre 9, and I'm still manipulating the timeline for my nefarious purposes. A heads-up, this is going to be DARK. I mean, DARK. I'll be more specific on a chapter-by-chapter basis, but I thought I'd let you know getting into this, what you might be getting into. Ok? Ok.

And away we go!

It's a sin with no name

Like a hand in a flame

And our senses proclaim

It's a dangerous game

Jekyll and Hyde, "Dangerous Game"

I had my favorite dress on, a glass of wine in my hand while my favorite album played on the stereo. I had spent the past week in a haze of indulgence; fancy hotels, spa days, fantasy travel destinations, all was fair game for six days and nights before I went back to my own house to say goodbye to what friends I had left, then enjoy the comfort of my own home. While I could, that is.

There was no need to watch the clock. I had timed the music down to the very second. The last song would finish playing the instant my time ran out. Ten years, exactly. No more. No less.

Maybe I should have been scared-well, more scared. These would be my last moments on Earth...but I didn't want them spoiled by fear. There would be eternity for that soon enough. Right now, the wine was sweet, the dress made me feel fabulous, and the music was like a cherished friend come to visit. For last moments, I think I could have done worse.

The last note faded out, and I took one last breath...

"Hello, darling."

I felt a shiver down my spine at the sound of the voice, soft with a slight rasp, nearly purring with satisfaction. It had been a decade since I heard that voice, but it hadn't changed at all. "Crowley," I said, keeping my voice calm and measured as I turned to face him. "Or is it Your Majesty?"

His smile held as much satisfaction as his voice. I assessed him in one look and found almost nothing different about the demon I had met ten years ago. Immaculate suit all in black, dark brown hair neatly trimmed although the beard was scruffier than I remembered, and the same arrogant light in those eyes that suggested he knew every move you would make ten moves ahead of time. "King of Hell," I went on. "Impressive."

"I always aim to astound," he replied, gazing around my living room. "And you. You've done well for yourself."

"I've learned a few tricks over the years," I explained, snapping my fingers. The fireplace roared to a blaze and the dimmed lights brightened, illuminating the room and half the house. I had good taste, if I said so myself, and the entire place looked posh and elegant without being pretentious or flashy.

I should know. I enchanted it that way.

Crowley looked only vaguely curious and mostly underwhelmed. "Oh, love," he said, sounding disappointed, "if you've spent the last ten years on party tricks and pretty decorations, you've wasted your bloody time."

"Actually, I've been taking a few lessons with your mother."

His face fell in less time than it took to say it.

I had been young, dumb, and desperate when I first went to the crossroads looking to make a deal. The demon who appeared had been haughty and supercilious but surprisingly charming as I stated my terms and he named his price: power beyond anything I had dreamed, a gift that was mine to do whatever I wanted with, and ten years to do it in. For the price of my soul, he made me a witch.

A broken home, a bad relationship, pick whatever sad history suits the moment. I needed what he offered, and with my new gift I freed myself. For the first time in my life, my destiny was mine, and the first five years were a wild celebration of my own liberation. As soon as I realized, however, that my time was half over, I changed lanes and sought out Rowena MacLeod, one of the most powerful witches in history, if not the most powerful. Under her tutelage, my own power grew and more than that, she taught me the magic of my own intelligence. My craft was only as good as my cunning, and with her guidance, both had thrived.

Such a possibility seemed to occur to Crowley, judging by the way his mood shifted. He slid his hands into his coat pockets and his shoulders dropped as he tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling. "Yes, indeed," he remarked dryly, "and no doubt, Mummy dearest taught you everything she knows, did she?"

"Not everything," I said. "We both know better. She's too tricky for that."

He rolled his eyes. "What do you say we cut the clap trap, love, and get to what I'm here for. You know what you owe me. Ten years with those flashy powers of yours, then your soul is mine. Time's up, dearie. I came to collect."

"Personally?" I asked. "You mean you don't have a host of lackeys you could have sent instead?"

"Of course I do, darling. I'm the king. None other before me. But I prefer to collect on my old deals myself, you see. Wrap things up the way I started them. No lackeys involved and trust me, it's better that way."

"Is that you telling me that anyone else, I'd already be hell hound chow?"

"Oh yes," he replied without missing a beat. "Flesh torn to shreds, favorite dress ruined. Not the way you'd like to go, surely."

"Since when did what I'd like become a consideration?" I asked. "And what makes you think this is my favorite dress?"

"No idea," he shot back. "Maybe because it's your last night on Earth, you've spent the last few days living it up on an international level, you're boozing it in your living room right now. Going out with a bang, and you wouldn't be the first."

"Have you been keeping tabs on me?"

"Professional curiosity. I heard you were moving up in the world of witchery and thought I'd better keep an eye on you."

"Why?"

"That's strictly need-to-know information, sweetheart. Now," he clapped his hands once, rubbing his palms together, "shall we get this show on the road, or do I need to call the dogs?"

I sighed. "I'm looking at eternal damnation, Crowley, surely you can spare me a few minutes."

He paused thoughtfully for a moment or two, then gave a small shrug as he sat down on the couch. "I suppose I could. But not without a nosh, thank you."

I moved to pour him a glass of wine but I had barely lifted a hand before it appeared in his. He swirled the glass around in a leisurely manner before lifting it to his nose and breathing deeply; "Interesting," he noted, then took a sip. "And not quite what I expected."

I listened but barely paid attention, considering my next words very carefully. So far, Rowena's information had been good, "He likes ye, or at the verra least, ye dinna annoy him," and that meant maybe-maybe-I had a chance. "So," I began, "Your Highness..." I played with the words as they left my lips, low and sultry then soft and breathy, and I saw him settle deeper into the couch, like a contented cat. "How is the new promotion working out?"

"Small talk?" he asked. "Really?"

I shrugged. And I waited.

"I'm at the top of the food chain, darling. Every black-eyed bugger in creation bows to my whim. Thousands upon thousands of yes-men and sycophants line up to lick the dirt from my shoes. If I so much as sneeze, it's a competition to be the first to say...well, not "bless you," but you do get the idea."

"I do," I agreed, returning to my own glass of wine and taking a swallow for effect before adding, "and that's not quite what I've heard lately."

He looked less smug and I pressed on, "The word going around is that there's an attempt at a new coup almost as soon as you put down the last one. Abbadon might have gone to ground, but there are still plenty who would have followed her, and there's a certain percentage of Hell who are a little...concerned, at your constant alliances with the Winchesters. However temporary or self-serving. You might be king, but your throne is far from secure."

There was almost no trace of satisfaction in his manner or expression anymore. He stared silently for a moment, then leaned forward to set the wine on the coffee table, propping his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers together as he regarded me. "And where, exactly, are you getting your information these days, pet?" he asked.

"Why do you want to know?" I countered, my heart starting to race. "Too accurate?"

"Hardly. I just want to know who you're letting fill your pretty head with such nasty stories."

"If they're just stories, then why are you so riled?"

"Riled?" Whether it was the magic in me or what he was putting out, the air around him seemed to shimmer with dry heat and I felt as though I was standing too close to a bonfire. "Don't be ridiculous. If I was, as you say, riled, in any shape, form, or fashion, I promise you, darling. You'd already be screaming."

I swallowed hard. He was struggling to hold the throne, and it was a sore point with him. "Fergus needs the upper hand," Rowena had told me time and time again. "He hates the feeling that he's not in control, and that's how ye snare him. Push him hard enough, he'll bend, and ye can predict and plan for that. Too hard, he'll break, and all yer wits and magic won't help ye then."

"You need allies," I told him, "besides the Winchesters. Somebody whose loyalty is assured, down in the thick of things, eyes and ears to the ground for any mutiny in the ranks."

"Oh, you think so?" he retorted. "A spy. How original. I wonder why I never thought of that before."

"You have. Several times. Half of your spies have already double-crossed you, and you're wondering which of the other half will be next."

His eyes narrowed and his voice was low and dangerous. "You're too smart for your own good, love," he told me, raising his hand and poised to snap his fingers.

"Wait," I said, lifting my own hand in a placating gesture. "I have a proposition for you."

"Did I speak too soon?" he ventured, more sarcastic than ever. "Are you trying to make another deal, when you're not even square on the last one?"

"Oh, forgive me, Your Majesty, but an eternity of torture and hellfire sounds slightly less than ideal."

"Well, bollocks, darling. That sounds like what's known as a 'you problem.'"

"The way I see it, we both have a problem, and we might be able to help each other out."

"And let me guess, we come to your deal."

"We do."

I had no idea who I was praying to, but by whatever force was listening, I hoped Rowena knew her son as well as she thought. "I'll be your inside man. If there's anything worth knowing going on Downstairs, I'll find out and pass it on to you. You do whatever you like with the information."

His eyes flicked up and down my person, taking my measure. "And why should I trust you, exactly? You're overdue for the rack. You'll say anything right now."

"You've listened to me so far without siccing your hounds on me," I pointed out. "You think I'd dare betray you, knowing I'm damned and waiting to be thrown into the Pit?"

"So, you spy for me and I spare you from damnation, is that it?"

"Close. I want to be queen."

The room was silent but for the crackle of the fire. I didn't say another word, and I hardly dared to breathe, waiting for him to respond.

He leaned back again, crossing one ankle over the other knee and draping an arm across the back of the couch. I wasn't aware of the moment the glass of wine vanished from the table, it was simply in his hand as if it had been there all along. "Queen," he finally said. "As in, Queen of Hell. As in, my queen." He swirled the glass, watching the liquid inside twirl and spin and not sparing even the most disparaging look at me. "That ginger bitch certainly got her hooks in you..."

"I wanted to make the bargain," I replied, "she only told me how to negotiate."

"The right hand of Hell in exchange for gossip? Is that how you negotiate?"

"The art of the deal, right?"

"Oh, darling..." He sighed and rolled his eyes. "If you're taking advice from that buffoon, you're already screwed."

"I don't want a parade," I added, "I don't want a fuss. Not even a coronation, if that's even a thing. I just want the title, security, and power to do my job. An all-access pass, if you will."

"And how effective a spy do you think you'll be, once word gets out?"

"It can't. It stays between us. As far as the rest of Hell knows, I'm just another damned soul tormented at your pleasure."

"And your explanation for being seen so often in my company, as you undoubtedly will be?"

"Tell them I'm your whore for all I care."

He paused again, finally looking up at me, and the instant our eyes locked his flashed red and I felt a rush of terror. It was subtle, so subtle I might not have noticed but for the magic in me, but...something passed through me, some outside force darker and more powerful than anything I had ever encountered in my decade of witchcraft, shifting through my blood and bones to invade my mind and pierce through to my soul. I couldn't hide anything, every thought, feeling, secret, sin, fear, and desire rising from the shadows of my being in one lightning-strike moment; he smiled, and I knew whatever control I had of the moment was gone for good.

"Ah," he purred, "so that's what you really want, isn't it? That's what you really, really, want. Forget whatever new deal you want to cut, forget titles and power and all that drivel. It's all just a means to an end, and it ends with you in my bed. Ah ah ah," he said, overriding the contradiction forming on my lips, "don't lie to me, pet. You're not the only one who listens to the rumors, and rumor has it you've got a bit of a dark side. Danger, domination, everything that makes Christian Grey look wholesome...it excites you."

I felt heat again, but it wasn't all coming from him. I had never even said so much aloud, and he let it roll off his tongue with almost enough mockery to hide the relish. I had heard the rumors about my tastes with my own ears and Rowena might have guessed how true they were, but no one ever knew for certain until now. My deal ten years ago was just the start, the thought of everything I was risking stoking a fever in my blood I had spent the last decade trying to abate. I had pushed the limits of my inhibitions along with my magic, and even now this game we were playing, discussing terms with my soul on the line, was enough to set my heart pounding and my need rising. If he always needed the upper hand, I always needed to up the ante. More thrills, more risk, and what could possibly be more dangerous than bedding the King of Hell?

He stood and slowly made his way toward me, the heat of his power and my want getting stronger the closer he got. "Oh, darling," he said, soft and silky as he leaned close to whisper in my ear, "if you wanted me to fuck you, all you had to do was ask."

Leave me some love!