Chapter One
Crossroad demons get bored hanging around waiting for someone to turn up with a dream or a nightmare. Doing the crossword, only goes so far to alleviating the boredom. I found downloading every episode of Downton Abbey passed the time and was worth the effort as it helped me perfect my English accent. No one tells you that inhabiting a meat suit from New Jersey would result in an accent that after only a few days drove me slightly crazy.
Every time I opened my mouth I sounded like a high pitched motor-mouth woman who would have got thrown off the set of The Sopranos for being over the top. The original inhabitant in here, occasionally tries to poke me when I do something she obviously finds difficult; missing a bikini wax, wearing flat shoes, eating too many carbs. All those memories she has of nail salons and long lunches with other wives whose husbands make money in dubious ways are frankly tedious. Let's face it, she was pretty empty before I turned up, occupying a vacant property is a bit of a specialty of mine, perfected over centuries.
Strong personalities tend to have sharp corners and can make the stay quite taxing if I'm honest. Not that people believe demons can be honest and crossroad demons come in for heavy vilification on the truth front. Actually I've always found the truth when making a deal is far more compelling. I make it quite clear that everything comes at a price and your soul is a pretty high priced commodity. When they ask for what they want, or rather what they think they want I always point out the price, I don't hide it away in the small print or a foot note on the twelfth page.
Some give it away lightly, their eyes fixed on that glittering prize they want, job, money, success, film contract, record deal. Others are clearly torn, the ones bargaining for ten more years of life when faced with a terminal illness, just long enough to see their kids grow up, seem to reflect more on the bargain. Those that bargain for a loved one's life in exchange for their soul are in my experience the real catches because when that soul is taken it's a top quality one, they seem less grubby somehow.
Crowley once agreed with me after a long drinking session in a bar but as he pointed out a soul, is a soul, is a soul. Not particularly profound but then I wasn't about to point out how prosaic the statement was. You don't get to be around for as long as I have without knowing how to ensure the King of Hell sees you in a favorable light. The Downton accent was my small attempt to perhaps offer him some home comforts, if you get my drift. It pissed me off no end when his mother turned up with that broad Scots accent of hers , I figured then perhaps watching Brigadoon would have helped more but evidently Crowley himself had done a little accent ironing somewhere along the line.
I find Crowley quite personable as a master, there have been worse and I have seen a few come and go. My age does earn me some respect from many demons as I have been round the block, as they say, a few eons. I am a quick learner, each body I occupy has been my tutor in the way humans think and act. They never cease to be a wonder to me, although I would never say that out loud, it might be misinterpreted in certain circles.
I have learned that too high a profile in hell can lead to nasty consequences involving torments that could turn your stomach and I have decapitated, gouged, strangled and knifed with the best of them. Never gratuitously though, I've seen what happens to the ones who go out of their way to inflict as much pain as possible, they go a little crazy and a crazy demon is a vulnerable one. I can recall when Dean Winchester was here in hell, how he learned to inflict pain and torture and something behind the eyes died. He wasn't even demon occupied and he began to smell like us.
Things have a tendency to repeat themselves because I hear Dean is struggling with the whole inflicting pain thing again, although the finesse of torture can't be compared with the slashing and hacking he is indulging in at present. The Mark of Cain is a powerful thing that no one messes with, its early magic, magic from before and that is off limits as far as I am concerned. I intend to keep myself well away from any hunters, especially the Winchesters because if Dean is going ape-shit you can bet his brother is not far behind trying to shovel that shit up and any unsuspecting demon who gets in his way.
'Steer clear of shit' has always been my motto, or rather it was until I turned up at what looked like a run of the mill crossroad deal to find a rather chubby teenage girl dusting off her hands from burying a small tobacco tin in the ground. I should have walked away, I should have persuaded her that what she wanted was such a bad idea it would win first prize in the 'worst deal ever struck at a crossroads this side of hell' competition. However (don't you just love an 'however' it's so Downton) it takes two to make a deal and I should have just walked away.
