Hello fabulous readers!

This turned out to be longer than I expected, and to take longer than I had hoped. I hope it was worth the wait and that you all enjoy it. As always, I love to know what you think. Thanks for reading, following, favoriting, reviewing and keeping me inspired to write down more of my crazy little ideas.

psyche b.

6. Next Time

Sara had been lucky enough to find a parking space in the small lot directly across from the park. Before they went to the restaurant she put her hat and the folding chair in her trunk. She wrapped her white sweater around her shoulders and crossed back to the lake side of the street. They had time, so they walked slowly.

"So, better than a polka band?" Sara asked.

He chuckled. "Let's just say I didn't find it completely intolerable."

"Only partially intolerable. High praise indeed." She crossed her arms against the chilly breeze off the water.

"Darling if I want Mozart I go to Salzburg." He was silent for a moment. "The company here is far more interesting though."

Sara looked up at him. "Flattery? Really?"

"What? I'm a charming devil." He looked at her, a little smile on his lips. "Did it work?"

She laughed. "Not even a little bit."

"Does your little group ever give concerts indoors?"

She nodded. "They do. Why?"

"If I find myself attending again, for the company you understand, I would prefer not to bring my own seating." He stopped in front of the Adirondack Antique Mall and looked back in the direction they had come. "How many so-called antique stores are there in this town?"

Sara waved her hand dismissively. "I have no idea. They're really for the tourists though. The locals know that if you want anything really nice you go to St. Mary's thrift store."

He started walking again. "You're joking."

"No. People like to support the church so they donate all kinds of things. The woman who runs it is sweet and sincere, but she only thinks of things as functional or not. Whether or not a thing is beautiful or old doesn't really register. If any of the touristy places really knew what they were looking for they'd just go there."

"Is that where you got some of your pieces?"

Sara blushed. "All of the nice ones and I didn't think you'd notice."

"Darling, I notice everything. Especially when I'm trying to get a sense of someone."

She looked up at him. "What did it tell you?"

He studied her for a moment, considering how much to say. "You do have an eye, though I think it's more unconscious than trained and therefore has more scope. You have a sense of style that is unaffected by what expected. And you either have an astounding sense of timing, or you have some inside information. Am I close?" Absolute certainty was on his face.

She shrugged a little, and turned away. "We're required to volunteer a certain number of hours per semester. The thrift store just happened to be on the list of approved venues." Sara couldn't resist the little smile.

"That sounds remarkably mercenary for such a nice Catholic girl."

"What? They put the choice out there. The store gets free labor and I satisfy a requirement. Besides, I always wait until things are priced and on the floor for sale. The church got exactly what it expected to get from the sale." She glanced up at him. "God helps those who help themselves, every nice Catholic girl knows that."

He laughed. "Definitely mercenary. I can respect mercenary." They walked up the two steps to the restaurant. He moved to open the door for her, but paused with her trapped between his body and the closed door. "So what else do good Catholic girls know?"

His proximity and the intensity of his eyes was too much. Sara blushed and lowered her eyes. "I don't know how to answer that question."

He smiled a little. "Your rules darling."

Sara's heart started to flutter in her chest. "Th-the question is too big. I don't even know where to start."

A group of four people came up behind them. Crowley opened the door and Sara walked through. His hand caressed the small of her back. "We have time."

Sara didn't even hear what he said to the hostess. She was too focused on the heat that was radiating from his palm and what the gentle touch was doing to her senses. They were led up four thickly carpeted steps to a dining room that looked more like a large library in a country house, right down to the books on the shelves. Soft lighting gave the illusion that the entire room was lit by glowing candles. Tables were a comfortable distance apart and separated from each other with plants and screens painted with soft Victorian florals. Conversation was a soft hum underneath the Vivaldi that was playing.

The hostess led them through the room to a set of double doors. A sign reading 'Reserved for a private function' hung on the two handles. The way this side of Main Street had been built into the slope of the land meant that they were one story up. She could see the lights of houses nestled into the dark mountains across the lake. The sparkling path of the Milky Way was just becoming visible overhead. She let out the breath that she didn't know she was holding. A soft glow and the sound of soft conversation came from the diners on the terrace below. She heard a set of double doors close softly.

"I didn't even know this existed." Sara's voice was soft.

"Well, I find that if you ask the right questions you learn all sorts of interesting things." His thumb traced slow arcs on her back. His voice was a soft caress that went deeper than her skin. "Besides, I dislike the idea of being casually overheard." He finally took his hand off of her waist and held out her chair.

She sat, hoping that he hadn't seen her knees tremble. He sat across from her. A waiter came out a moment later with menus and a wine list and left them alone again.

"You're not curious?" He didn't lift his eyes from the menu.

She glanced up at his serene features. "I am very curious, but the way I see it there are two options." Sara waited until he looked at her, the candlelight setting off sparks in his eyes. "Either you stuck to the deal and used some ordinary means to set this all up, or you didn't. Since you haven't broken any deals before I'm going to have to assume it's the former."

He looked at her and raised an eyebrow. "But do you trust that it's the former?"

"I don't know if I would say that."

He smiled a little. "Money. Maybe more than most people would have access to for a pleasant evening but still within the bounds of our agreement." He lowered his head again. "If I attempt to order for both of us, will you make me stand in the corner?"

Sara blushed. "No. But how do you know what I like?"

He smiled a little. "I'm a good guesser. Besides, the appetizer is already on the way."

The waiter came back with a plate of six quarter-sized potato pancakes topped with an artistic nest of thinly sliced smoked salmon. Black caviar was inside each little nest. They were arranged in a straight line on a rectangular plate. Crowley ordered filet mignon for both of them and a bottle of wine. After the waiter was gone he took one of the delicate little creations and savored it. He gestured toward the plate. Sara selected one.

"Have you ever had caviar?"

"Once. I spent Christmas with a friend a couple of years ago." She put the single, delectable bite into her mouth. "It was an…interesting party but the food was delicious."

"Interesting how?" His eyes were alight with curiosity.

"Well, my friend's maternal grandmother, a rather generously proportioned woman, arrived slightly drunk wearing this bright pink dress that would have been small on me and proceeded to come onto everything in pants. Her aunt and uncle announced their divorce. Their fifteen year old daughter announced that she was a lesbian and the evening ended in a screaming fight. They had the food set up on a buffet and no one else seemed interested so I stood back and watched and sampled."

He stared at her for a long moment. "Are all of your friends so unusual?"

Sara shrugged a little. "In Stacey's defense, she was mortified. She said they never behaved that way before. I don't think that was true. They seemed too good at it."

The waiter appeared again, this time with a bottle of wine. He poured a bit of the ruby liquid into Crowley's glass. He studied the color in the candlelight, closed his eyes and inhaled the scent. He took a sip and thought for a moment. Finally he nodded at the waiter and he filled both glasses.

"Is there anything else I can bring either of you?"

Sara could feel the young man's eyes linger on her for just a moment. She didn't raise her eyes.

"No." Crowley said, his dismissive tone laced with warning. He waited until the young man retreated again. He picked up his glass and took a long swallow. "So, where does a nice Catholic girl learn to summon demons?"

Sara saw the shift in him. The game was on. "The school library. Why does Hell need a king?"

"Why does anyplace need a king?"

"You can't answer a question with a question." Sara's eyes were on his.

"That was never stipulated."

"Honest answers were." She held his gaze.

He studied her for a moment. "Hell is no different than anyplace else, pet. Demons like to say they don't want to be governed, but in the absence of central authority things get very feudal very quickly. Business gets pushed aside in favor infighting and what business is conducted is inconsistent. Customers don't know who they're dealing with and that leads to uncertainty. Word of mouth is everything in my business. Your school library has a large demonology section does it?" He selected another of the caviar appetizers.

"If you know where to look. I don't have any frame of reference for if it's large or small though. I can appreciate the need for a king in general, but what about Lucifer?"

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Lucifer. The narcissistic brat gets mad at daddy and has a bloody tantrum and the world remembers his name forever!" He drained his glass and poured himself another.

Sara just looked at him, waiting for him to either go on or ask a question. "He's the one who made it into the only source I have." Her voice was soft. "At least the only source I can begin to make sense of."

He studied her for a moment. "What did the others say?"

"Something about a cage, though I have no idea what that could mean in this context. I'm not sure how to phrase that in the form of a question either." Sara took another of the appetizers, hoping her voice hadn't sounded as uncertain to him as it had to her.

He thought for a long moment. "I want to temporarily change the deal."

Sara forced herself not to shift in her chair. "To what?"

"You tell me three things about your school that aren't generally known, and we'll have story time." The sparks were back in his eyes.

She forced herself to count to five. "And then?"

He shrugged. "Our former deal is back in place."

Sara studied him for a moment. Even in the limited time she'd spent with Crowley she knew that he loved to talk, especially about himself or anything remotely related to himself. She took a sip of wine. "You Googled it didn't find anything."

"What makes you think I did that?"

"I'm young and sheltered, but I'm not silly. If you checked me out, you checked out the school." He sat back and watched her. "If you found anything you wouldn't ask me for random facts because they might be things you already know. If you already had some facts you would have asked for some specifics. At least, that's my best guess."

A slow smile spread across his lips. "You are most definitely not silly. Do you agree?"

"Yes." The word was out before Sara had time to consider what she was going to say.

The door opened and the waiter came in carrying a tray. They both fell silent.

"Not interrupting anything am I?" He smiled at Sara and then at Crowley.

"Is that any of your business?" Crowley asked.

The young man's eyes widened, his smile faded. "Well, I-I mean-" His voice trailed off.

"Get out." There was an edge of menace under his words, even though the volume of his voice hadn't changed. "Next time you come out here, you'll knock and wait to be admitted."

"But-"

Crowley raised an eyebrow.

A little color drained from the waiter's face. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yes Sir." The waiter backed away and closed the door behind himself.

Sara put her napkin in her lap and surveyed the beef, roasted potatoes and asparagus. "He was only trying to be friendly." She didn't look at him, she just picked up her knife and fork.

"Diplomacy is rarely required in my position."

Sara smiled a little. "More of a rank by assassination organization?" She took a bite of the beef.

He chuckled. "I prefer to think of it as rank by opportunity. So tell me something about your school."

Sara thought for a moment, looking for facts that would satisfy his conditions without revealing too much about herself. "I don't know what to say really." She looked down at her plate. "It's a boarding school. I went to a public school until I was eight but that was so long ago. I know it's weird and I've found a few big things like the no advertising but the rest is so subtle. Half the time I think it's just me being paranoid."

He watched her for a moment. "Go on." His voice was soft.

"It's a small school. A little over half the girls have lost one parent."

"Divorce isn't so unusual, even among the Catholics."

"You're right. But when I say lost I mean dead."

A bite of asparagus paused halfway to his mouth. "Really. Now that is interesting. Where did you get your numbers?"

She looked at him over the rim of her wine glass as she took a sip. "I asked." She set the glass down again.

A little smile crossed his lips. "Of course you did. What else?"

"St. Augustin's and St. Al's aren't just close in proximity, they're connected some other way."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning…I don't know really. This is where the paranoid part comes in. You already know that you can't find anything on my school. Did you check out St. Al's?"

His eyes narrowed. "Why would I?"

She gave a little shrug with one shoulder. "You probably wouldn't, but if you did you'd find exactly nothing."

Crowley pulled out his phone and started to type a text. He hit Send and looked up at her. "Is that the only connection?"

"No. If a girl is going to my school and she has brothers, they go to St. Al's. Always St. Al's."

He looked at her as if he was expecting more.

Sara looked back at him. "I told you, it's vague and probably paranoid."

His phone chirped and he looked down at it. His eyebrows rose. "You were right." He looked up at hers. "One more interesting fact and you've earned your story."

"In the last few years, there have been anywhere from one to three college graduates per year have joined the order. From what I'm told that's about average for them. None ever come back to the school even if what they want to do is teach. Of the nuns that are there now, none of them graduated from St. Augustin's."

"You asked?"

"And looked back at yearbooks dating back to the fifties. I'm guessing that means there are other schools like St. Augustin's, but I have no idea where they are or what they might be called. If they're as off the grid as my school I don't even know how to start looking." She smiled a little. "Not that I've tried."

His eyes were filled with curiosity and possibilities. "Of course not. Is there more?"

She smiled a little. "You've had your three facts. I want my story."

"Over dessert." He picked up the bottle of wine and went to fill her glass.

"No, thanks."

He didn't listen, refilling it again. "Darling you've only had half a glass."

She laughed. "I know, but I still have to drive home, probably have a fight with a nun, and definitely have a fight with several nuns in the morning. I need to have a clear head."

"Now, what could you have done to get into so much trouble?" Crowley sat back in his chair and studied Sara. Laugher and music floated up from the lakeside terrace below as the seconds stretched close to a minute and beyond. Sara swore that she wouldn't look away but as time ticked by the weight of his appraisal began to send shivers racing down from the top of her head to her toes. Her heart began to pound and the urge to bite her lip was almost impossible to resist. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. "It can't be sloth. Anyone with eyes can see that you're not lazy and anyone who spends more than five minutes with you knows your mind is always moving. True?"

Sara nodded. "True."

"I think you'd be truly outstanding at wrath, but I don't think that's what happened today."

"Why?"

"I'm the King of Hell. You need more of a reason?"

She smiled a little. "Yes."

He chuckled. "We've have a relaxed evening. Rage doesn't dissipate so quickly. Though I may need to revise my position on greed. May I continue?"

Sara nodded.

"Gluttony barely raises an eyebrow anymore, hardly worth such resources. Envy, you're too confident to have any more than a fleeting flash of envy. Greed, well, if I don't have anything you want then how could anyone else?" He leaned forward, a hungry little smile on his lips. "I'm hoping for lust."

Sara felt heat rise to her cheeks. "You forgot pride."

"Pride is hardly a vice when you have something to be proud of. In general it bores me. Lust doesn't."

There was a timid knock on the door.

"Bollocks." Crowley growled under his breath. He lifted his eyes to Sara. "You'd be upset if I killed him, wouldn't you?"

Sara looked at him for a moment. He was absolutely serious. She swallowed hard. "I-I don't think I know you well enough to watch you kill someone."

He shrugged. "Probably right." He turned toward the door. "Come in."

The waiter came out again. "I was just wondering if either of you would like some dessert."

"The chocolate mousse for two and coffee." Crowley said.

"Right away, sir." He cleared their plates and was gone again.

"Do you kill waiters often?" Sara asked.

"Only when they burst in at the wrong time." He looked at the door and then back to her, a little smile teased his lips. "We were talking about lust."

"You were talking about lust, and what I did wasn't one of the big seven."

"If we have to go through all the venial sins we'll be here for the next three months. Confession is a Catholic thing, tell me."

Sara laughed. "Yeah, but then you're hoping to get absolution, not encouragement."

He looked perfectly shocked. He put one well-manicured hand against his chest. "You think that I would attempt to capitalize on a sacred trust?"

"Yes." Sara said.

Crowley chuckled. "You might be right, but only if you've actually sinned." His eyes held hers. "I don't think you have."

Sara looked down at her hands, considering how much to say. The waiter knocked again. Crowley admitted him without the threats of violence. He placed the dessert between them and a pot of coffee on the table. The waiter left again as quickly as he could. Sara studied the dessert. Two comma shapes were nested together to form a circle. The edge where the white chocolate half met the dark chocolate half was artfully swirled and feathered together.

"So, tell me." The voice was soft, tempting. He stroked the handle of his spoon. It would have been so easy to just tell him everything. She reminded herself just who she was talking to.

"I told the truth at an inconvenient moment." Sara sampled a little of the dark chocolate mousse. It sent a shiver of pleasure down her spine.

"About?" He took a large spoonful of the white chocolate.

Sara shook her head, her eyes on his. "I've shared quite a bit this evening. You promised me a story." Her spoon stroked slowly over the swirled margin between the dark and white. "You do keep your deals, right?"

His spoon approached hers from the opposite direction and for a delicious moment they circled each other while barely touching the dessert.

"Utterly delicious." His voice was a soft and his eyes sparkled, holding hers.

The moment stretched until Sara looked away. She took the bite of dessert from the spoon, trying to tell herself that she couldn't let him affect her that way. It didn't matter. Her heart was still pounding and she was still trying not to stare as his lips when he spoke.

He sat back in his chair. "The first thing you have to understand is that God, everyone's favorite deadbeat daddy, plays favorites. He made the angels first, but they're not the fluffy protectors of lost children like on your church windows."

"What are they like?" Sara asked, fascinated. An insistent whisper teased over her consciousness. She brushed it aside, sure that it came from the terrace below.

He raised an eyebrow. "Who's telling this story?"

"You are, but you asked me questions about the school and I answered." She took a bite of the white chocolate side of the mousse.

Crowley thought for a moment. "They're not much different than demons really. They like to think they are, but they have their own agendas that they pursue in the same way that I pursue mine."

Sara couldn't resist a little smile. "With ruthless charm?"

He chuckled. "Trust me, pet, none of them have even a passing acquaintance with charm, let alone personal style. Except Balthazar. He could be fun at parties. The angels were created to be God's own personal army. Of course, he didn't just want soldiers, he wanted slavish obedience and worship. For quite a while his army of Ken dolls was enough. God had the adulation he wanted and the angels were, well, I don't think they're capable of happiness, but they were content. Then, Daddy noticed you lot." He took a bite of the white chocolate.

Sara licked a bit of dark chocolate off the spoon. As fascinating as the story was, she realized he could be talking about lawn mower maintenance and she would still be as eager to listen.

"You were the naked apes that could and God was completely taken with you. He guided you, helped you, gave you all those delicious souls. The angels could see God becoming more and more infatuated. Perhaps some nurtured their own seeds of discontent, but their programming kept them from acting on all those resentments, for a time. Of course it wasn't just infatuation. God found you all malleable. You worshipped him of your own free will. You subverted your nature to follow all of his arbitrary rules. It gave him all the right tingles in all the fun places. The angels had their uses, but it wasn't the same so he let it be known that you were his favorites." He drew a curving trail from the white chocolate section into the dark chocolate with the tip of his spoon. "Lucifer was already having issues with the family."

"Why?" Sara asked.

"Body art."

"What do you mean by-?"

"Whose story is this?" Amusement sparkled in his eyes.

Sara shook her head. "Sorry, go on."

"That's not an answer to my question." He grinned. "Your rules darling."

Sara blushed. "It's your story. Please go on."

"Well, since you asked so nicely. As I said before, Lucifer was always spoiled, always vain, always favored by daddy. He fought with his brothers, was far too open about his contempt for the new favorite. Personally, I don't think his little display of free will was appreciated by the management. God told him to get out, and Luci did. Of course he wanted his own back, but what would God take personally?" He looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

It took Sara a moment to realize that he was actually asking her a question. She blinked. "Well…I mean…" She thought, searching for anything and finding nothing. "I have no idea."

A glitter of predation flickered through his eyes. "He found one of daddy's precious humans and twisted her soul to create the first demon. He might as well have spit in the old man's eye. Even with all that patience and forgiveness he's reputed to have he couldn't stand for that. He sent the former favorite into a permanent time out, except the naughty chair was in the deepest part of the pit inside a cage." He took a bite of the white chocolate.

Sara studied him. "And that's it? He's just been sitting there all this time?"

Crowley grinned. "That's a story for another time, pet."

#

The sidewalks of Graton were empty when Sara left the restaurant with Crowley. Somewhere in the questions and stories, laughter and challenges, it had gotten to be nearly one in the morning. She couldn't remember the last time she had spent so much time in anyone's company and enjoyed every minute of it for so many different reasons. Sure, most of those reasons were confusing, but it didn't seem to matter right at that moment.

He stopped and leaned back against the railing surrounding the park. "So, where should we go next time?"

Sara smiled a little, she felt a blush rise to her cheeks. "Why Crowley, are you asking me out?"

He shrugged. "Normally I show up and hearts flutter. It's predictable and boring." He looked at her. "You are not boring."

She smiled. "What do you have in mind?"

He looked over at her. "Is that a yes?"

She leaned forward, bracing against the railing. "It's a maybe. What do you have in mind?" She looked over at him.

"I know of a wonderful little café in Paris."

She laughed. "Crowley-"

"A restaurant overlooking the Colosseum in Rome."

"Crowley-"

He leaned closer. "You'd prefer the thoroughly disreputable little bar I know in the back streets of Prague. You Catholic girls, always naughtier than you first appear. I think it's those little plaid skirts."

She blushed and tried not to think about how close he was to her. "I was thinking of someplace I don't need a passport to get home from if you disappear."

"You still don't trust me." She could feel the caress of his warm breath against her cheek.

Sara smiled a little. "No." She shook her head. "I don't know why I'm even talking about this. I'm probably going to be confined to campus for the rest of the summer."

"That must have been quite a truth."

Sara knew she needed to put some distance between them, but she just couldn't make herself do it. "Half the time for truth, half the time for the fight tomorrow morning."

"They haven't built the convent yet that can keep me out." He put his hand on her waist. "And if I can get in, I can get you out."

Her heart began to pound but before she could say anything he led her across the quiet street. Sara wished she had parked closer to the only light in the parking lot.

They stopped next to her car, Sara found herself trapped between him and cold metal of the car. His hands rested on her waist. "Someplace relatively nearby it is."

"Where?" She asked. The word was a barely form whisper.

He shook his head. "You'll just have to trust me, pet."

Sara was beginning to get her pounding heart under control. "When?"

"No input? No demands?" His thumbs stroked the front of her waist on either side of her navel.

It was all Sara could do not to moan. "You find me demanding?"

"Now that is the first silly question I've heard you ask." He leaned down, his mouth approaching hers.

At that moment Sara was perfectly split between need and panic. She tilted her head, but put her hands flat on his chest. He paused with his mouth barely and inch from hers.

"Something wrong, pet?"

She could feel his warm breath, his hands shifted and pulled her forward. Sara didn't resist. The distance between his lips and hers almost closed.

"This is…unexpected." As she spoke, her lips brushed against his.

"And unwelcome?" The same teasing touches. She wrapped her fingers around his lapels and then let go.

Sara hoped he didn't feel the little shiver that coursed through her. "Not unwelcome, just…too soon."

His fingers stroked down her back, he still hadn't closed the scant distance between them. "When?"

Sara's head was spinning. The soft brushes of his lips on hers was almost too much to take, but she couldn't force herself to break the contact. She leaned into him a little more. "Next time."

He smiled a little. "Are you sure about that, Pet?"

At that moment Sara wasn't sure what planet she was standing on. "Next time." Sara was sure that he would hear the uncertainty in her voice.

"Next time." He stepped back, his hands sliding off of her waist.

Sara found herself barely able to meet his eyes. She turned away and took a step toward the driver's side door.

He caught her hand and Sara looked back at him. "So if I were to pop in about an hour from now, technically that would be next time." A little smirk played at the corners of his lips.

Sara laughed. "No, it wouldn't."

"Can't blame me for trying."

She gripped his hand for a moment. "Thanks Crowley."

He disappeared and Sara got in the car and tried to stop trembling. Next time? What kind of an idiot was she? There might not be a next time.

#

Crowley took a long drink of his scotch, hoping the burn of the alcohol would banish the feeling of her lips fluttering against his. It hadn't worked. Well, the first eight glasses hadn't worked. He hadn't finished this one yet.

The girl might not be impressed, but she was certainly impressive. Her recitation of little-known-facts had told him a bit about the school, a bit about the girl, and a great deal about how her mind worked. She was accustomed to hiding in plain sight. Accustomed to listening. Accustomed to drawing her own conclusions and waiting to see those conclusions validated. Where she had learned to play the long game, now that was fascinating.

The fact that the mind came wrapped in a pretty little package that also wasn't tempted and wasn't afraid, well, that was a rather delicious bonus.

He felt the flutter of those soft lips again. From anyone else he would have called all of it simple teasing. Being king had its perks, but it also meant that everyone was working an angle. Men tended to approach their teasing as a business transaction. Women almost invariably used sex. They were practiced and mechanical and he used them as hard and as often as he could. She wasn't teasing. He had felt her tremble. He saw her pupils dilate and when she gripped his lapels-

"Your Majesty?" He looked up at the questioning faces that surrounded him in the throne room.

One of the demons wore a rumpled gray suit and a creased maroon tie that was badly knotted. He was the supplicant who had just come in to beg his indulgence about…something.

"How long have you been in that queue?" Crowley asked. He held out his now empty glass and someone poured him another.

"I…well I'm not sure exactly…" His voice was brittle sounding.

Crowley looked at the white-haired butler. "Three years, five months and eleven days approximately, Majesty."

"Close to three and a half years and that's the best presentation you could come up with?"

"Well I…I'm not…I thought…" He took a deep breath. "I'm not sure that you heard all of my points-"

"You bore me into a coma and you blame me?"

His eyes widened. "No your majesty, I didn't mean-"

Crowley looked at the servant. "How long is the wait now?"

He studied the ledger for a moment. "If your Majesty continues to see supplicants at the current rate, the wait is five years two months and approximately five days."

"There you are. You have five years and a bit to come up with a presentation that won't bore me to tears."

"But I've already been in line-"

"Welcome to Hell." Crowley waved his hand and the two guards gripped the supplicant by his armpits and dragged him toward the door.

Next bloody time. What had he been thinking?