Tadfield. Janet and Georgia's home. Georgia and Crowley are seated around the kitchen table, Janet is preparing mugs of tea and coffee.
Two coffees with cream, and one tea for me. Biscuits anyone?
Are they Georgia's brown sugar cookies?
Why, yes.
Then I'll have six, if you don't mind.
Janet opens the tin, and Crowley helps himself to half a dozen of the cookies, dunking them in his coffee as he consumes them while the three converse. As usual, he sits like a peasant, hunched with arm on the table surrounding his meal as if someone will snatch it away if he's not watchful. When he's finished wolfing his cookies he assumes his usual chair sprawl. Janet speaks.
So, I take it your attempt to get Karen interested in horses was a complete failure?
Was it ever. She took one look, then spent the entire two hours in the lounge, drinking instant coffee and playing some game on her phone.
Figured we were in trouble when she got out of the car. She took one sniff, said the place smelled like shit. Wouldn't even follow me over to meet Boris and Angel. Didn't want to get mud all over her boots.
Good thing she didn't see you after you and Boris and Angel went galloping off over hill and dale again. You really need to stop doing that, you know.
I can't stop them. And it was Angel that landed that hoof load of mud into my face, the little bastard.
What do you mean, you can't stop them? That gate didn't open itself.
It was either open it or go flying off over it. Riding bareback doesn't give you much of a seat, you know.
Or maybe liquoring up horses isn't such a great idea?
All right you two. Let's get back to the problem of Karen.
Georgia and Crowley each take a sip of coffee as they eye one other across the table. Crowley resumes:
I'm taking her over to the driving track tomorrow. She said what she'd really like to do is learn how to work on cars.
You're joking.
Nope. Turns out she had a little Vespa, taught herself how to service and repair it. Has her own little set of spanners and sockets.
What happened to the Vespa?
Left it in London. Too easily identified.
Are you going to get her a new one?
Not unless she asks. She's old enough to drive a car now. Has been tooling around in Uriel's old Mercedes. She told Uriel it was past due for an oil change, so I had her take it to Jimmy's garage at the track. Apparently she liked what she saw there.
Guessing a young female in Jimmy's shop will get plenty of instructional help.
No doubt.
Speaking of Jimmy's shop, you've got the Erics working there now, haven't you?
And in the office. Both Mary and Jimmy need to train up someone competent to fill in for them in a pinch.
Pepper tells me they were quite cautious around her at the party the other night.
I warned them that in this particular human culture, a female of Pepper's age is considered too young for sex. That they were not to tempt her, no matter how attractive they find witches.
Do you know what she told me they said to her?
Nope.
She said you told them she was likely to be pleased by any attention from them. Because human teens are notorious for not understanding consequences. Even if they're aware of potential bad outcomes, they tend to act as if they believe bad things will not actually happen to them, personally.
You're not going to tell me I'm mistaken, I hope?
Of course not. That's entirely accurate. Teens are very experimental and optimistic. One of their most endearing qualities.
Unwarranted optimism seems to afflict you humans in general.
I suppose. And at least one demon.
Point taken.
At any rate, Pepper said the Erics told her that, being demons and all, they _did_ have actual hard experience in bad outcomes. And lots of it. They know precisely and with dead certainty what will happen to them if they disobey Crowley. And so there is no way in Hell – literally – that they would ever tempt Pepper.
And how did Pepper react to that?
Well, you can probably guess. Relieved on the one hand, miffed on the other. No young woman enjoys being told by attractive young men that they're going to resolutely ignore her.
Fortunately, she's decided that they're "old." Ten years makes a difference at her age.
Janet and Georgia laugh. Crowley is mystified.
Can't say I've ever noticed that, myself. You humans seem to get it on no matter what age disparities. One of your more loathsome attributes, I might add.
Or delightful.
Well, yes. You go to extremes that would never occur to Heaven or Hell. Fascinating, really. In a gruesome sort of way.
Tadfield. The garage of the Tadfield Manor Performance Driving Course. Two vehicles are up on the hydraulic lifts. Beneath one of them, Jimmy, the two Erics, and Karen are standing.
Now, I'll only show you this once. The general technique applies to all vehicles, but you'll have to learn the differences for each make and model. . .
On the other side of the room, two young men converse as they select tools from a rack.
Who's that little heifer?
New trainee. Name's Karen. Fancy her?
Mill would have my nuts for breakfast if I did. You?
Same here. Bird in the hand. Thinking of popping the question soon, actually.
No shit? Well, congratulations. Those twins, though . . .
The two give one another significant looks, then burst into laughter.
Double Stuff Oreo threesome?
The two Erics turn to regard them, and the snickering abruptly stops.
Scary bastards, aren't they.
They say Crowley's mafia.
Aw, they say that about anyone who's a flash dresser with a crusty attitude. Ever see a gangster in a kilt? With a boyfriend?
Well, no.
There you are, then.
Café at the driving course. The two Erics and Karen are the only occupants other than the counter person, and are seated at a far corner window.
You two are new here, just like me?
Yes. We started only a short while ago. . . . Mr. Crowley wants us to learn . . . how to manage this course from the ground up.
The moving crew in London – there were many of you there. Were you sextuplets or something?
You could say that.
And you're both named Eric. How do I tell you apart?
That's not necessary. . . . We're pretty much . . . two sides of the same coin.
Seems a bit odd, if you don't mind my saying so. Still, as you please.
The three all take a sip of tea.
Are you foreigners?
Why do you ask that?
Well, you obviously don't know that it's impolite to stare at a woman's chest.
The two demons sit back and gaze at one another in apprehension. Then they speak in their back-and-forth fashion:
We meant no offense . . . It's just that . . . your breasts are . . . so plump and appealing.
Karen nearly spews her tea. Takes a moment to swallow.
You must be foreigners. No Englishman would say that, ever.
Really? . . . We did not know . . . we have only been . . . in London a little while.
Stay focused on someone's face when you speak to them. Don't give them the up-and-down, don't stare at breasts or at crotches.
The up-and-down?
Like this.
Karen demonstrates.
Ah. We heed your command.
'S not a command, for hell's sake. Just a piece of advice.
You are under . . . Mr. Crowley's protection. . . . We are his servants.
Really? Like, manservants?
Executive assistants.
Interesting.
How so?
Mr. Crowley seems a rather unusual person.
The twins regard one another.
You had best discuss . . . that matter . . . with him.
Oh, I'd never have the cheek to do that. I'm just saying.