Crowley was not a happy demon.

The paperwork was only the beginning. There would always be paperwork; he could deal with that. It was the incompetence of everyone working for him that he couldn't stand.

A demon named Jenny had failed to collect on a deal because she thought the human was attractive, and thought it would be a shame for a hellhound to tear his beautiful body apart, so she'd fucked him instead. Another demon was trying to cash his deals in early, which was never good for business, and yet another demon had been caught trying to spray holy water on his top competitors. On top of that, a small group of Australian hunters was targeting his sales team, calling demons to the crossroads under the guise of making a deal and then exorcising them or drenching them in holy oil and setting them on fire. Australia was one of his best markets (it was such a dangerous country that its people were no longer afraid of anything, not even an eternity of torture—besides, Hell was cooler than summer in the Outback, and there were less spiders), and he couldn't afford to let these meddlesome humans get in his way.

It took weeks of watching and plotting, with plenty of breaks to deal with paperwork and insubordination, before he was finally able to kill the hunters in question. And though it was difficult, and he almost lost his favorite meat-suit, it was ultimately satisfying to get real blood on his hands again. He'd gotten a bit tetchy being away from Marian for so long—he'd lost the happy human feeling and was going through a bitch of a withdrawal—but killing put him in a slightly better mood. Still, if he could just get back to his angel, he'd feel much better.

All he had to do was take care of one more crisis.

And then another.

He should really kill his entire sales team and start over from scratch.

He was elbows-deep in a werewolf's torso, trying to get information on the hound's pack and why they seemed intent on meddling in Scotland's soul trade, but he wasn't getting very far. The werewolf was screaming and howling, but he didn't appear to have any actual knowledge about his family's habits—Crowley had picked the wrong man to torture. And while torture was always fun, he wasn't really feeling it today. He'd torn the mutt's intestines out with his usual precision, but what usually felt like an art form now felt like a chore: Ho hum, just sorting through some ropey bits of goo before I shove them back into place, more or less…Ugh, will you look at that liver? Is it supposed to be that color on one of these, or does it have some weird disease? It wasn't fun anymore.

When he was satisfied that he'd gotten all he could out of the beast, he cleaned himself up and headed back to his office. Just a few more days, and you can go back to the angel. Just a few more days of utter incompetence and stupidity…

"My lord?"

He turned at the sound of a familiar voice: Eloyah, his favorite sales leader. She was the best (aside from himself, of course) because she had the most attractive meat-suit: Dark skin, full pouty lips, a bosom so large it needed special reinforcement, and an ass that Sir Mix-a-Lot could write a song about.

"Yes?"

"I finished that report on rural India, and you were absolutely right—posing as local deities has increased our sales by 250%."

"Great. As long as the real local deities don't catch on, we'll be in good shape."

"Yes sir. I included that in the data as well—out of over 8,000 recognized gods and spirits, only 252 have any remaining hold in the country. As long as we avoid the stronger ones, there shouldn't be a problem."

"Yes. Good. Carry on."

"There is one more thing, Sir."

Crowley sighed. There was always one more thing. "Yes?"

"I just…Couldn't help but notice that you've looked more stressed than usual lately. Sir. And I wondered if there might be anything I could do to assist you?"

He blinked like a snake. "No. No, I've just been…Focused…On this project—"

"The Nutter Prophecy," Eloyah supplied. "Yes, sir. Lillith herself has decreed that no demon is to interfere with your—your work." Like many other demons, she had a basic idea that the Nutter Prophecy had something to do with creating a weapon for Lucifer, and Crowley had somehow found the key to creating that weapon. She'd gotten the memo, read 'male meat-suit required,' and stopped reading shortly after, unwilling to give up her prized Barbie doll look for a complicated and dangerous mission that might never pay out.

"Yes. I really do need to get back to it, but it's just one damn thing after another here."

"Maybe I could help with some of the paperwork?"

He didn't like the idea of giving another demon more responsibility and power. Eloyah was smart and hot, and just the kind of backstabbing little witch that would try to usurp his position if he turned his back on her. "What I really need you to do is stop me from killing every last bloody idiot in this department," he growled.

Eloyah stepped closer. "If I can be frank, Sir: When was the last time you got laid?"

Demon sex is like a dogfight but with more genitalia. Generally speaking, both parties want to be on top, though if one demon outranks the other he or she will tend toward that position naturally. There are a lot more teeth involved than humans might deem enjoyable, and biting is encouraged even in the most intimate places. A battle of wills takes place as each tries to restrain the other with demonic energy, and being slammed into a wall or even ceiling is not unusual.

For the most part, everyone leaves feeling satisfied, but there is one major flaw: Demons can't really feel pleasure. They can orgasm all day, but even the best demon sex somehow pales in contrast to the worst human sex. It's like touching a hot pan with oven mitts versus touching it with bare hands.

Crowley was feeling particularly dissatisfied after his session with Eloyah, because he couldn't stop thinking about how much better it would be with his angel. Yes, Eloyah had better tits, and he'd have to be gentle with Marian and not just think about his own desires, but those things came rather naturally when he was under the influence of her angelic humanity. He couldn't recall feeling particularly 'in love' with any of his human partners when he'd been alive, not even the mother of his son—yes, she'd been attractive, but it was 1600's Scotland attractive, and things like deodorant and toothpaste weren't used by the lower classes yet. She was also, to be frank, a bit of a cunt, but her father had land and she didn't have many parasites, and as the town drunk she was the best he could get. Marian, on the other hand, was just stubborn and feisty enough to be amusing; she knew angels were assholes; and she had a really nice ass. More importantly, when he was with her he felt happy and loved and human.

As he straightened his tie and fixed his hair, he wondered whether killing Eloyah would feel better than fucking her. But she was his best agent, and the hottest, and that would be such a waste. He'd have to find someone else to kill—it wouldn't be hard to find someone worthy, given the current aptitude of his employees.

Before he could locate his next victim, however, he was met by one of the field agents he'd assigned to watch over Marian's friends.

"My lord. The hot girl and two of her hunter friends were on a witch hunt in Buffalo when they were taken by surprise. The coven got to them before we could extract them, and they're being held in a warded building."

"How many in the coven?"

The demon swallowed. "Seven, sir."

"Shelly Anderson wouldn't be one of them, would she?"

"Ah…Yes, sir. Do you know—"

"I made her!" Crowley snapped. "I'm the one giving her power." It had been long ago, before he'd become a crossroads demon. He'd worked with witches mostly in an effort to create someone strong enough to kill his mother, but that endeavor had failed and he'd gone on to bigger and better things. "What the hell is she doing warding from demons? The only reason a witch would do that…" He shook his head. "Have any demons been killed in Buffalo recently?"

"Six. We attributed their deaths to hunter interference, sir, but now—"

"She's been drinking their blood to enhance her own power. Whole coven's probably feeding off them like damn vampires." Crowley growled, his eyes going red. This bitch thought she could take advantage of him, and kill his demons—incompetent demons, but an important part of the sales force nonetheless—well, he'd set her straight. And she just happened to have Marian's best friend, too. He could make this work.

"Sir?"

"Tell the boys to hold their positions, and be ready. I'll get the warding down, and then we move. Get the dogs."

"Yes sir. How many dogs would you like?"

"All of them."

Marian nearly fell off her treadmill when Crowley showed up out of the blue in the middle of her workout.

"Crowley?!" She hit the 'stop' button and wiped the sweat off her face, trying to catch her breath. In the last few weeks, she'd only talked with him a few times through the strange coin, which was mostly him checking in to make sure she was still alive, and let her know that he was still alive. She wished he'd caught her when she wasn't covered in sweat, her hair sticking out at odd angles and her face red with exertion—not that she cared, of course, but she'd hoped he'd at least show up after she'd showered.

Crowley didn't seem to mind, though. He ported right in front of her, slid his arms around her, and gave her a deep and enthusiastic kiss. "Gods, I missed you angel. But I'm not here to visit; I need your help." He explained the predicament that the hunters had gotten into.

"You—you still have demons spying on my friends?"

"Of course, love. So what do you say? Get back in the game, one more time?"

"Yes." So what if it had been months since she'd done any real hunting? Her friends needed her help.

Crowley snapped his fingers and her sweaty workout clothes were replaced with her usual hunting clothes: Jeans, boots, and the ever-important flannel overshirt with the secret inner pockets. She could feel the extra knife in her boot, the gun hidden inside the waistband of her pants, and every little gadget sewn into the liner of her shirt.

"All you have to do is cross out the warding," Crowley explained, handing her a can of black spray-paint. "There are five symbols: Two outside the house, two in the basement, and one in the attic. Once the fifth one is broken, I'll get you out, and my men will take care of your friends. If you run into trouble, there are witch-killing bullets in your gun. You'll also want these," he said, pulling several hex bags out of his pockets and stuffing them into Marian's. They'll protect you from most basic spells, but just…Try not to get yourself hexed."

There was one last thing before they could leave. Crowley had to carve the protective symbols into her chest and back that hid her grace from supernatural entities. He worked quickly, caring more about how long it was taking versus how much it hurt, but Marian wasn't going to fault him for that (even though it did hurt like a son of a bitch).

Crowley ported them to a stand of trees at the edge of the house's lawn. A handful of demons were lurking nearby, waiting for her to destroy the warding. Marian crept forward, slinking along the side of the house, and sprayed over the exterior symbols. She could hear people talking inside, but didn't see anyone through the windows—maybe this wouldn't be so hard. The back door was even unlocked for her.

Once inside, she drew her gun and headed upstairs. The attic stairs were hidden at the end of a hallway, through what looked like a closet door. No one was up there, or on the second floor at all. That did not bode well for the last two wards.

A little lurking by the basement door confirmed that the witches and her captive friends were all down below with the remaining wards. There would be no sneaking around to take care of these: She'd have to face the witches head-on, with a gun and a can of spray-paint, leaving herself and the others vulnerable in the process. If she gave up and headed back to Crowley, her friends would die. She'd just have to make a go of it. Like old times.

Someone was coming up the stairs. Marian slid back behind the door and crouched down just as it swung open. A middle-aged woman stepped out and headed toward the kitchen, leaving the door open behind her. Adrenaline rising, Marian slid around through the open door and peered down into the basement. She could hear the voices clearly now, and they sounded upset.

"It's same-day shipping, it's not instant! They have to take the stuff out of the warehouse, put it on a truck, and—"

"I know how it works, I just—I wish we knew how long it was going to take. This is boring."

"Wanna do something else?"

"I want to eat!"

"I know. I'm starving."

"We wouldn't have to wait if you hadn't used the last one on that demon!"

"I needed it! He was a nasty piece of work!"

"Shelley could've taken him."

"Shelley could've taken him because she's drunk more blood than any of us put together. That's the only reason."

"She has been a little selfish."

"She's in charge."

"Still, though…"

"Hey!" the woman from the kitchen shouted. Marian nearly had a heart attack. "We're out of spring rolls, how do you feel about pizza bagels?"

"Fine!"

"Yes, anything edible!"

She breathed a sigh of relief: She hadn't been discovered. There was an electronic beep and whir as the microwave turned on, and the witches in the basement settled into a light discussion on which easy snack foods they enjoyed the most. It was time for her to make her move.

There was no good way to sneak down a flight of stairs. The people below her would always be able to see her before she could see them. The solution, she'd found, was not to sneak at all, but to move obviously and deliberately, which tended to throw people off. She descended as quickly as she could, pivoting at the bottom toward the sound of the chattering women. There were three, gathered around a respectfully laid-out body, and behind all of them were her three friends, each bound to a separate support post, their mouths gagged.

"That was fast," one of the witches said. Then all of them looked up at once, and their expressions dropped from hungry expectation to surprise.

"Who the Hell are you? How did you get in here?" another snapped.

"I'm a fucking Girl Scout," Marian growled, aiming the gun at the witch's head. She glanced around the room and spotted one of the wards. If she shuffled to the side just a little, she'd be able to reach it. "Wanna buy some cookies?"

All three laughed.

"You must be here to rescue your little hunter friends," the first witch said.

"They killed Alice," Witch #2 said, gesturing to the corpse. "We're just waiting on a little item for our spell, and then they can help us bring her back. It's only fair."

Marian took a step to the side. Witch #3 sighed. "Look, if I wasn't so fucking starving I'd drag this out for the fun of it, but we're going to have pizza rolls in two minutes, so I'm just going to kill you now. Suffocati." She blew a bit of what looked like flour at her face: Marian coughed, brushing it away, and felt one of the hex bags in her pocket get hot.

She entirely failed to suffocate.

"Okay," Marian growled, "Here's how this is going to go—"

"SHELLEY!" Witch #2 screeched.

"Shit." Marian fired at the witches while lunging toward the offending warding. She hit one on the shoulder. As the witches shrieked in fury and scrambled to find cover and arm themselves, she spray-painted over the symbol.

The one named Shelley stormed down the basement stairs, but she'd forgotten the Rule of Going Downstairs Under Enemy Fire and Marian shot her in the leg. She fell the rest of the way to the floor and Marian took the resulting moment of chaos to run toward her captive friends. She just had to get past the other witches first.

She was too close to her friends now to use the gun without risk of hitting one of them, so she holstered the weapon and reached for her knife. It wouldn't kill a witch, but it would still hurt like a bitch and would buy her some time.

"Ignis!" a witch shouted, flicking what smelled like lighter fluid onto her. Marian brought the knife up across the witch's face, slashing her cheek open. Surprised, the witch stumbled back, and Marian pile-drived her to the ground, knocking one of the others over in the process. The witch shoved her away and she scrambled to her feet, only to find her shirt was on fire. She dropped and rolled, but the flames only grew stronger and began to spread; by the time she realized they weren't going to be extinguished by normal means, the two uninjured witches were on either side of her.

"Stag—" one of them began.

Marian grabbed a hex bag out of her pocket, which was currently on fire, and flung it at the speaker. The woman caught it reflexively, then her eyes widened in horror as the fire spread from the bag and raced up her arm. At the same time, the fire assaulting Marian went out, as though she'd passed it along to the witch in a supernatural game of Hot Potato.

She scooted backward as the witch's friend attempted to extinguish her, first by hand and then with magic. She reached her friends and cut the first of them free, handing the knife to Erica and grabbing another from her pocket.

"You see that sigil?" she said, nodding to the warding on the wall behind them. "I need to destroy it. Are you good?"

Erica nodded, moving to free the other two.

Marian stood to move toward the wall, and was picked up off her feet and flung against the side wall, far from where she wanted to be. Her breath was knocked out of her as her back slammed into the concrete. Vision swimming, she looked up to see the witch she'd shot in the leg, leaning against a support beam as she held her in the air with her power. It was then that she spotted the blood stains on the opposite end of the basement, covering part of a wall and the floor. People had been slaughtered here.

Marian struggled as she felt an invisible hand close around her neck. She threw another hex bag at the witch, but it bounced off her harmlessly: she raised an eyebrow as if to say, Really? That's all you've got?

She glanced at her friends, who were attempting to fight back against the other three with a total weapon supply of one knife. They were, if anything, worse off than when she'd found them. She looked at the sigil. She felt the can of spray-paint in her hand. She looked at her friends, locked in battle between Point A and Point B.

"DAVID!"

The witch he was fighting was much smaller than him, but that wasn't stopping her from holding him up in the air by his neck. He was kicking and cursing at her, but turned his head when Marian yelled. She tossed the spray can as hard as she could (which wasn't very hard, given the witch's hold on her), and he caught it in a miraculous backhand save. He brought it around like a weapon and struck his witch on the temple; as her grip faltered, he sprayed paint in her eyes, and she dropped him, stumbling back and pawing at her face. He darted the rest of the way to the wall and drew a line through the warding.

The head witch Shelley was not impressed. Marian was raised up and flung back again, slamming her head. She was tossed all the way up into the ceiling, then slammed into the floor, and back up against the wall: she could feel her brain bounce against in her skull.

"Screw the ceremony," Shelley growled. "We'll find someone else to bring Alice back-we kill these fuckers now."

The other witches shouted their approval at the new plan, and closed in on their prey. Marian went to draw her gun, but found her entire body was now immobilized.

"I don't know who you are," Shelley said as she stalked closer to her. "I don't really care. You're obnoxious, and I'm going to make you suffer." She twitched her hand, and a sharp pain bloomed along Marian's spine, like someone was playing Jenga with her vertebrae, pulling each individual bone out of alignment. She'd experienced back pain before, but this…This was so bad she knew she was either going to throw up or pass out or both. She screamed.

"Miss Anderson." Crowley's voice was calm. Too calm. "We need to talk."

The witch's face paled and her eyes widened, but she recovered quickly. "Hello, Crowley. I'd offer you a drink, but I'm in the middle of something here. Would you mind coming back—"

"Put the hunter down. Now."

She seemed surprised by the request, but shrugged it off as the demon being his usual impatient self. "Very well." She flicked her wrist again, popping another section of Marian's spine out of place and earning herself a strangled scream, before cutting her flow of power off and letting her drop to the floor. With her spine contorted, she was stuck in place. Trying to move resulted in the sensation of her body ripping in half and her vision whiting out.

Crowley's other demons appeared, staring down the other witches. The hunters, tired and wounded from the recent melee, were released and eyed both parties with equal wariness.

"What do you want?" Shelley asked.

"You've been a very naughty girl," Crowley replied. "Drinking demon blood? I thought you were above that sort of thing."

Shelley shrugged. "It's just a couple of grunts. Less competition for you, right?"

"Ah, but see, here's the thing: Hell's not going to be happy about a witch, a witch I created, snuffing out foot soldiers. Sets a nasty precedent, you see: If I let you play in the sandbox, everyone's going to want to play in the sandbox, and the last thing Hell needs is a bunch of superpowered witches running amok. To be honest, Hell doesn't even like witches: You're freelancers, and hard to control. Especially when you're chugging demon juice like a cabernet sauvignon."

"You're right. I am stronger." Her arm whipped around, and now Crowley was flung against the wall. He didn't look surprised: His calm expression barely flickered at all. "I'm stronger than you."

Suddenly the demon vanished. Shelley blinked in confusion, then gasped as a witch-killing knife was driven through her shoulder from behind. Crowley gripped her free shoulder, preventing her from turning or running.

"I very much doubt that, darling," he hissed into her ear. "I was going to kill you and use your friends to set an example. But you hurt the one person I care about in this whole bloody universe, and I can't let that go. So I've decided to give the lot of you to the other ladies I care about."

Shelley panted heavily through the pain in her shoulder. Her legs trembled, but she still struggled to free herself from Crowley's grip. She was confused, because the other demons in the basement were in male bodies. For a moment she had to laugh—what was he going to do, sic his army of sex workers on them? "What…What ladies…?"

Crowley whistled, and her blood ran cold. It was the sort of whistle one used to call a dog, and there was only one kind of dog that Crowley kept. She heard heavy, clawed feet running into the house, and the baying and growls of a pack of hellhounds. The demon released her, shoving her toward the stairs as he removed the knife from her shoulder. The stairs creaked and bent under invisible weight.

"Good girls," Crowley purred. "Enjoy your new chew toys, ladies. Make them last."

Shelley screamed as the first hound pounced on her; the other dogs made their way to the other witches, ignoring the demons and hunters. They tossed the women around and played tug-of-war with them, acting like puppies with brand-new squeaky toys. The witches tried hexing them, hitting them, and stabbing them, which the hellhounds thought was great fun. They didn't usually have toys that fought back.

"Get the humans out," Crowley snapped to the other demons. He would have liked to stay and watch the show, but Marian was in pain.

Marian's friends didn't know what to think. A moment ago they were fighting witches, and now there were demons and hellhounds running about. Were they supposed to fight the demons now? The demons didn't look like they wanted to fight, but they also didn't look particularly pleased with having to rescue the hunters. And the hellhounds…Well, they could hear them, and things were getting smashed up, but they seemed to be focused on the witches.

"It's alright," Marian said, raising her voice over the witches' screams and hellhounds' snarls. She tried to sit up, but her body was having none of it. Again, she had the sensation of being ripped in half, and then the lower half of her body went numb. Shit—was she paralyzed? She tested her leg—no, she could still move. She tried to fix her position and the pain worsened: her vision narrowed and went white, and her ears started ringing. "Go with them."

She felt Crowley's hand on her shoulder, and everything went black.