If you were to approach the average human on the streets of Soho and ask about the little record shop "The Small Back Room", she would shrug. "Never been inside, myself. The woman who runs it is supposed to be a character. Seems a bit timid and old-fashioned but I've heard she can be a real demon at times. Shop's definitely a front for something though. Who buys records in this day and age?"

Having thus successfully fulfilled her role in launching the narrative, Ms Norma Elle Pearsone would then continue about her day, blissfully unaware of how simultaneously very close and very, very far she was from the heart of the manner.

Inside the shop, the female-shaped being, sitting neatly behind the counter, would feel her lips quirk into an ironic smile. This was not unusual for her. She, unlike the owner of the coffee shop across the road, enjoyed smiling.

In general, Maggie[1] didn't mind being called timid and old-fashioned. It was true enough, and she had long discovered that a softer approach could be just as effective as a fire-and-brimstone one. A forced smile and a strained "I'm not judging you" – both of which instantly communicated an "I'm actually extremely disappointed in you but let's just sweep it under the carpet and change the subject, hmm?" – could achieve easily as much as a far more active approach in Tempting. Reverse psychology was an extraordinary tool.

[1] Originally, her name had been much longer and (slightly) more intimidating until just over 4000 years in, when that blessed young carpenter who she was meant to be Tempting[2] had insisted on calling her Maggie and the nickname had stuck.

[2] She had tried beginning with Lust, which had largely consisted of her batting her eyelashes and enthusiastically wriggling her shoulders, at which point the carpenter had raised an eyebrow and asked politely if she would like to be Exorcised. Waves of Divine Grace had followed instantly, and Maggie had leapt away, her entire body prickling with the unpleasant sensation of lying down on a beach with scorching sand. She had returned the next day and tried a different temptation. And the next. And the next. Pride, Greed, Wrath, Envy, Gluttony, Sloth – Maggie had tried them all. None of them had any effect.

Instead, Maggie had been greeted every time with a raised eyebrow and a partial discorporation in increasingly embarrassing, albeit surprisingly painless, ways. Every time she had returned, spitting fire[3] and trying a new approach. The orders from Down Below had been very specific, after all.

[3] Not literally. Budget cuts in Hell, and all that.

The seventh time this had happened, the carpenter had heaved a forgiving sigh and asked if she would like to join his group for dinner, since she was evidently hellbent on hanging around with them. Maggie had beamed and agreed. In general, they had been a nice bunch. Mark and Matthew, in particular, she had got along with. Peter, not so much, but that was his own fault. Jealous ponce. It wasn't her fault the carpenter had taken such a shine to her. He had been a nice young man. It was a real shame, what had happened to him. But that had been so many lifetimes ago. She'd even had a different face, back then.

The shop bell dinged, and Maggie blinked, taking a sharp left turn out of memory lane.

On one level, it was true that technically the shop could be classified as a front, in that its primary purpose was not in fact selling records, but rather operating as an outpost for the Legions of Hell. On another, it turned out that a surprising number of people did buy records in this day and age. Apparently vintage was back in fashion, and business was booming. Much more of this and she'd need to expand the shop. If she held off too long, it might not even count as a frivolous miracle, which would be a pity. After the Apoca-wasn't, Maggie technically didn't need to perform frivolous miracles anymore, but she'd found she enjoyed it. A demonic miracle prompted by practical necessity was never as pleasantly tingly. Oh well. A problem for later.

Maggie adjusted her bandana and employed her Customer-Service Smile. "Hi, welcome to The Small Back Room! How may I help you?"

The wave of vintage enthusiasts was particularly strong that day. By the time Maggie had finally encouraged them all to some suitably demonic records[4], it was almost closing time. Not that it mattered much what the customers chose. The music on any vinyl or cassette that had been in her shop for over two weeks would invariably turn into bebop hits. To be clear, this was not due to any inherent satanic nature of the genre. It was simply because Maggie adored bebop and thought that everyone should be given the opportunity of listening to Bill Evans and Ella Fitzgerald.

[4] Anything acapella or involving crooners was the work of the Devil and Maggie would not be persuaded otherwise.

Besides, customers were now buying records so frequently that probably a third of them had ended up with the original albums. As well as the customers in her shop, Badness knew how many records that pub in Edinburgh "The Resurrectionist" had been buying from her recently, and always sending her back the same blessed disc. If she had been a human shopkeeper, Maggie would have been up to her ears in Buddy Holly records by now. Thankfully, a small demonic miracle had ensured "Everyday" was constantly trending online and the single was constantly in demand from the customers, so the number of records she was constantly receiving in the post was only a small inconvenience.

Even so, maybe she should look into it. There was definitely something off there.

The door dinged open again, cutting off her train of thought, and Mr Fell walked into the shop. Maggie blessed inwardly. The rent. Of course. A hundred years of this shop and she still managed to forget from time to time.

Mr Fell really did age extraordinarily well. And he was the spitting image of his grandfather.

"Good afternoon, Maggie!" he said, cheerful as ever. "Was just popping by to check everything was alright?" He looked slightly concerned and Maggie wiggled her fingers. A string of numbers rearranged themselves in a nearby bank database and the necessary funds suddenly found that they had leapt over into Mr Fell's bank account.

"Yes, of course! The rent should be with you now."

"Ah, yes! Thank you, Maggie." Mr Fell blinked as though he had forgotten. The man would forget his head if it weren't screwed on. At least, that was the impression he clearly wanted to give. There was something a bit uncanny about Mr Fell and his bookshop. Its opening hours were all over the place and people bought books – Maggie knew this – but the recent boom in business had given her a much better feel for the number of people needed to make a functioning shop.[5]

[5] Even if your imagination had more stretch capacity than a particularly gluey piece of toffee, it would still fall many bookcases short of, well, an antiquarian, in any attempt at categorising A.Z. Fell & Co. as a 'functioning shop.'

It made her uneasy.

Then Mr Fell started asking questions about the single "Everyday" and Maggie's sense of unease doubled. Coincidences did happen, but in her experience, they were few and far between. It didn't help that in between those questions, he was throwing in other studiedly casual ones about her attitudes towards romantic love.

Apparently the lyrics of "Everyday" had inspired him to do a lot of thinking about love creeping up on you.

This was, Maggie was sure, not a severely misguided attempt at flirting. While the questions were odd, the overwhelming aura Mr Fell exuded was one of 'well-meaning albeit scatty confirmed bachelor[6] uncle interrogates niece over sorry state of love life' rather than 'horrifying sleazy landlord.'

[6] who, coincidentally, has lived with his best male friend in their one-bedroom Soho flat for the last twenty years.

By the time the interrogation was over and Mr Fell was leaving the shop[7], Maggie's unease had turned into fully-fledged foreboding.

[7] He was thanking her for the 'nice chat' as he did so, which somehow made it feel even more sinister.

At the doorway he paused. Pivoted. "Forgive me for asking," he said, "but I always seem to notice you bringing over rather a lot of records to the café near you. I hope Nina appreciates the thoughtful choices."

Maggie shrugged. "I'm not sure. She's yet to accept one."

This was a dance they'd done since Maggie had started selling music. Every so often, she would bring Nina a piece or a record that reminded Maggie of her. Nina would place it gently but firmly back into Maggie's hands, their fingers brushing. Heaven was watching. Maybe one day.

Mr Fell sighed wistfully. "Oh well. Sometimes these things take a while in coming."

This time, he left the shop properly and Maggie was left with the feeling that she'd missed something.

She shook her head. A nice cup of coffee. That was what she needed.

Maggie had never much liked alcohol. Over the centuries, she had tried it, but she had made the mistake of starting off with wine. Red wine, specifically. Even though other drinks afterwards hadn't quite shared the same tang, the taste of alcohol raised enough nasty blood-of-Christ associations to make her shudder.

That and alcohol made her feel loose-limbed made her thoughts start feeling blurry in her head and Maggie didn't like not feeling in control of her thoughts.

Coffee, on the other hand…

Coffee made her senses snap into action. She liked the fragrant smell wafting up at her, the taste of deepness on her tongue, the way it made the world feel brighter. Maggie loved coffee, and she loved getting it whenever she could. She was already beaming as she stepped into "Give Me Coffee Or Give Me Death."

The woman-shaped being behind the counter was not, but there was already a drink in her hand. "One skinny latte. There you go, sunshine."

"Thanks, Nina." Maggie beamed some more as Nina handed it to her, her fingers brushing Maggie's just a little longer than necessary. "I see you still remember my coffee order."

Nina gave her an exasperated[8] look. "You still count as one of my regulars, you know, even if you visit at the most irregular times. That said, if you want to confuse me you could always switch it up a bit. Would it hurt you to order something other than a skinny latte? Or to look slightly less cheerful?"

[8] 'Exasperated' was the adjective Nina would use. If you asked Maggie to describe Nina's expression, she would label it 'fond.' The truth is, it was a mixture of both and had been for at least two millennia. Things are so rarely one thing or the other.

Maggie pretended to consider. "Hmm – I suppose not. But then if I did that, I'd rob you of the joy of judging my coffee order. And as for looking like a wet weekend, well, you're the one who started calling me sunshine." She looked slyly at Nina and tried not to go pink in the face. This low-grade flirtation wasn't new for them but it still made her feel ridiculously giddy.

Nina rolled her eyes. "I can take who's next, please!"

Maggie winked at her over the foam and took a sip, still holding up the queue, but looking so happily oblivious to it that the person standing behind her didn't dare to cut in front.[9] "Perfect temperature, as always. Thanks a million, Nina, you're a miracle worker."

[9] The man waiting behind that person would, consequently, miss the Tube due to Maggie's queue-blocking tactics and be late to his evening Important Governancy Meeting in Westminster. Inspired by this embarrassment, he would force through unnecessary 'renovations' to the Victoria Line which would prove ineffective in achieving anything beyond pissing off thousands of Londoners during the line's six-month closure.

Maggie, placidly holding up the queue, was unaware of the specifics of this outcome, but she was familiar enough with human nature to know that there would be some vaguely devilish consequences. It's the little things in life, after all.

Nina's eyes narrowed. "You're welcome. Next, please!"

Maggie pouted and went to sit inconveniently at the one remaining table with a power socket while she waited for the queue to die down. This lasted approximately fifteen minutes, before a frazzled looking student approached with a laptop in hand and Maggie huffed a sigh, moving to a different table. It was almost closing time anyway.

Pathetic excuse for a demon. Maggie huffed another sigh and firmly told the echo of Shax's voice in her head exactly where it could go piss off, as Nina started wiping down tables and putting up the closed sign. She gave the student an extra five minutes and then politely booted him out the café.

Maggie turned back to her, picking up the conversation and a second rag immediately and starting to wipe down another table, admittedly with much less enthusiasm than Nina. "Mr Fell's a regular of yours, right?"

"Right."

"Has he said anything odd to you lately? Asked any weird questions? Been acting strangely?"

Nina frowned. It was a frequent expression on her. "Not any more than usual…although that red-haired partner of his has been around a lot more than usual. Ordered six shots of espresso. And me asked some weird questions about romance? About whether I thought love was something that could just creep up on a person? And then started talking about you. About whether you appreciated how I always made sure your coffee was ready for you the moment you stepped into the café."

"Funny. Mr Fell asked me pretty much the exact same question earlier today. Only he was talking about you."

"Funny." Nina repeated.

The angel and the demon frowned slightly at each other, confusion starting to clear, then –

"Ooh, that bastard." Nina sounded grudgingly impressed. "It was Mr Fell who put his partner up to this – I'll bet you anything."

"They're trying to set us up, aren't they?" If Maggie's cheeks had felt warm earlier, all the blood in her corporation had now apparently migrated to them. "Of all the ridiculous things."

Nina's mouth opened and shut. She seemed to be mentally rotating through any number of responses. "Yes, of course," she said finally, piling several cups on top of each other. She cleared her throat. "Like you say. Absolutely ridiculous."

Maggie's brain was still tangled up with the noun Nina had used earlier, or she would have noticed that Nina's tone did not entirely match her words. Maggie's brain. "Hang on. Partner. You said partner."

Nina blinked. "They're not together? But – you've seen the way they look at each other as much as I have, right sunshine?"

"If they were together Mr Fell would absolutely have brought it up at some point." Maggie could feel a grin spreading across her face. "Oh, the audacity of those two idiots." She turned her smile on Nina who kept moving mugs from table to table, almost absently.

"You know how you're a celestial being of love?" Maggie made her voice as sweet and persuasive as she could.

"Your tone is making me worried about where this is going, sunshine."

"My idea is brilliant. Pass the teacup? Ugh, fine I'll get it myself. Anyway, as I was saying," she continued, her arm brushing Nina's as she leant for another cup, just out of reach, "well, wouldn't getting involved in love be a suitably angelic pursuit?"

There was a smashing sound. Nina had dropped the cup she was holding. "I thought we'd agreed it was ridiculous." Her voice was pitched slightly higher than Maggie was used to hearing.

"I've only just brought up the idea, how could you possibly have – oh." Maggie shifted. "Ah. I meant turn the tables on Mr Fell and his…err partner. If they're going to try to set us up, we might as well return the favour, right?"

"Oh. Yes. Of course. That's what I meant. I mean, I still think it's ridiculous, but maybe it's something worth doing. Sure. Let's try it. Whatever. Moving on." Nina nodded fervently. "Who knows, maybe it will work." It was slightly odd behaviour, for her to agree so quickly to something Maggie suggested, but she was hardly about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Maggie grinned. She held out her hand. Nina hesitated for a moment, then took it.

"They're not going to know what's hit them. Everyday it's-a-getting closer, indeed."

Thoughts? Feels? How do you think angel Nina & demon Maggie compare to Azicrow? Any romcom trope predictions?
Concrit is greatly appreciated!

(Title taken from "You're my best friend" by Queen)