FLAGSTAFF - AFTERNOON

In the Pine Park RV Resort in Flagstaff, Arizona, two demons stood guard outside an airstream trailer, kicking away some loud, orange cats that wouldn't leave them alone.

Inside the trailer it was all yellow and white, furnished art deco style, with cherry red accents and cheesy little tchotchkes all around. At the nose of the trailer was the dinette - a circular booth with a little round table that was set for low tea. The spread was American and granny-style, from the alfalfa sprout sandwiches to the honey taffy and peanut butter fudge squares. There were two red crystal glasses, yet to be filled.

At the icebox, an old woman fetched out a red crystal carafe and brought it to the dinette. She was a sunny, goofy little blonde, dressed in khaki polyester. She was frail-looking, but had a sort of vigor about her, like Teddy Roosevelt.

Crowley sat in the booth, awkward and annoyed, and trying his damnedest not to show it. "I suppose you already know why I'm here," he said.

"Do I look like the president of your fanclub?" the old woman asked, giggling. She filled her glass. "Honestly, I miss the hell out of being obscure. Back in the day, nobody expected jack squat from me, and now I'm supposed to be everyone's biographer." She held up the carafe to Crowley. "Hemo?"

"Not really," Crowley said, "but I'm very European. Gives the same impression."

"It's a drink, chuckles," she said, and filled his glass. "It's got vitamins, I'm sure you've heard about those on TV." She smiled and sat down across from him. "Why don't you take your coat off, honey, you look like an ass."

Crowley took a deep breath through his nose. "Mistress Volva," he said, "I've been refered to you. Half my sources say I'll live, half say I won't. But as a demon, I shouldn't have a destiny of my own at all. You can see how the matter has me at loose ends. It's one thing to hear you're destined to die, you can get your affairs in order. But this... How does one make plans? You see my dilemma."

"I see a crock of bull," Volva said, and took a big sip from her glass. It made her so happy. "But if I had to venture a guess-."

"Guess?" Crowley asked. "You're guessing about my fate?"

"Shut up and drink your drink," Volva said. "It's not there to wash your beard in. Anywho, as I was saying. If I had guess, I'd say your fate was tangled up with a human's. That can happen when you cross a hero-type."

Crowley took a sip of his drink and choked a little. "You didn't happen to put an entire bottle of rum in this?" he asked.

Volva nodded. "That's how I take it," she said.

"Now, what did you mean, 'hero-type?'" Crowley asked.

"Well," Volva said, "there are certain individuals out there whose actions are destined to count from more than your average jerk-off. And when they have a choice set in front of them - like whether or not to leave the house - the two possible outcomes can change the world in very different ways. The whole of creation is a series of binary choices, linear and logical in progression, but with unpredictable repercussions. Like Plinko! When there's a place of both great heat and terrible cold-."

"Missouri," Crowley said. "You're thinking of Missouri. This is all very illuminating, madam, but I was wondering if you couldn't give me a reading? I need to change my fate."

"Well, like I said, a place of heat and cold. But I should probably back up a ways, so it all makes sense."

"You don't have to back up," Crowley said quickly. "Just go straight to the part about my fate and how to change it."

Volva scrunched her nose thoughtfully. She shook her head. "Hmm, I really should back up, though," she said. "See, in the Beginning of Time, there was an insurmountable gap, and to one side of it was a place of fire. To the other side, a place of ice..."

As she told her story, Crowley's face fell with sour resignation. He started drinking his Hemo.