A seaside hotel in Falmouth. Aziraphale, Crowley, Hekla, and Eric are having tea, seated in comfortable chairs at a small table near a window overlooking the terrace and view of the ocean. It's that time of spring when green shoots are appearing but everything nonetheless still looks muddy and blowtorched. Overcast and windy to boot. Sea the color of lead, white breakers grinding ashore. The tea is exceptionally tasty, the staff having ample time to prepare it due the decrease in bookings. Crowley has just ordered a second bottle of champagne, his teacup remaining conspicuously empty.

The tour of the Castle was swell and all, but I'm enjoying this more.

Indeed, Crowley. Watching those waves roll in makes a body feel comfortable and secure just sitting here.

Aziraphale looks around the room. Continues:

Not many other visitors this time of year. The weather, you think?

Not to mention the plague.

Crowley, this is nothing like the 14th century.

Not yet. But one can always hope.

Really, my dear.

Yeah. Too many decent humans would go right along with the trash. Hell's already groaning under the load. What's it like in Heaven these days, Hekla?

Hekla considers a moment.

I probably shouldn't reveal this to you and Eric, Demon Crowley. But there has been talk among the ranks about the increasing burden of humans. Many angels are resentful. They feel as if we're hotel servants to the humans. They don't like it.

At least we demons get to torment the bastards.

Hekla makes a face.

In Heaven, the bastards are tormenting us.

Don't like humans, Hekla?

Hekla suddenly looks shifty. Crowley murmurs:

Careful, angel. You're on thin ice with this one.

Hekla gazes at him in alarm.

Demon Crowley! You know?

I made inquiries. Hell's archives aren't a patch on Metatron's, of course. But a reporter for the Infernal Times was way ahead of me. Called me to ask what I knew about the Angel Hekla and a human named Steinunn Ravnsdotter.

Now it's Eric's turn to look distressed.

Please, Demon Crowley. Don't say more.

Hekla's face twists in pain as she regards Eric.

Eric. Tell me. Is she in Hell?

No. We looked. Not there.

Hekla is nearly ecstatic with relief.

Oh! Thank the Almighty! I searched everywhere in Heaven for her. 'Twas why I wanted keep my sweeper's job. But I could not find her. The thought that she must be among the damned . . .

Hekla hangs her head in anguish.

Crowley growls:

Must've had a light heart. Despite the adultery.

Hekla winces. Looks up and regards Eric.

So you know?

Yes. But I don't care, Hekla!

You have told me what demons think of those who have congress with humans. Incubi, yes?

It must not be the same for angels!

Oh, it is, Eric. It is. That's why I wasn't granted enough power to miracle an escape. I was left to be burned at the stake. And then abandoned in Housekeeping for six hundred years.

What can only be described as an evil grin appears on Crowley's face.

Well, at least you're moving upscale with your lovers, Hekla.

Silence all around. Then Hekla's soft voice:

No, Demon Crowley. That would insult the memory of Steinunn. Eric is different. There is no upscale to love.

Her beatific smile lands on the disposable demon like golden light.

Eric nearly collapses with relief. Gets up and moves his chair alongside hers so he can hold her hand.

Crowley regards Aziraphale:

We now seem to have two unrepentant angels. My my. How times do change.

And two unrepentant demons.

Well, we demons are damned and unforgiveable, of course. Repentance isn't really an option. But I will say that Beelzebub has been oddly merciful lately.

What do you mean, Crowley?

She pinched my tail and made me squeak, but she let me escape from Hell. And she didn't discorporate Eric and DeeDee. Even though they betrayed five fellow demons.

Eric winces.

We expected to be tormented into grease spots.

With good reason. Hastur and Ligur enjoyed telling me how they'd read my report on the Spanish Inquisition. Were all set to try things out on me until I was squishy. Hell's learned a lot from the humans about how to do it right.

Aziraphale looks thoughtful, then murmurs:

Hekla, Crowley says your sword now burns blue. As does mine. And Eric is now marked with a gold star. Like Crowley's. The Almighty seems to countenance our love.

'Scuse me a mo.

Crowley gets up, walks to the far exit and goes outside. Pulls out his phone and makes a call.

Crowley.

Hey, Prince Bee. You saw Eric's gold star? That pot of Hell Fire is still in storage in Heaven. Word to the wise.

Beelzebub disconnects.

He's about to re-enter the room when his phone vibrates.

Evgeny. What's up?

Was that a voice call to your boss just now? You didn't see her face?

Nope. Was she smiling with delight to hear my dulcet tones?

Evgeny's snort comes through the phone.

Thought she was going to melt the fucking screen. Don't fuck up whatever the fuck you're doing right now, 's all I can say.

Thanks, Evgeny. Noted. You like oysters? Can bring you some.

Fuck no.

Local gin it is, then. Ciao.