Tanya Degurechaff, the new ruler of Hell, had intended to delegate the task of conducting performance reviews for her thousands of employees. However, it swiftly became apparent that this was a responsibility she could not entrust to anyone else; the high-ranking demons she originally assigned to do it proved to be overzealous, untrustworthy or incompetent. That was useful to know, but it left her in the unfortunate position of having to conduct all the other performance reviews herself, without any help. Of course, that would take much too long; since she had so many other duties to fulfil, she only had time to interview a select few. Most of them she chose at random, but there was one who had piqued her curiosity; she'd heard some ugly rumours about him, so she was looking forward to finding out the truth.
His name was Anthony J. Crowley, apparently. He was a field agent who had been on Earth for around six thousand years, spying on human affairs, spreading sin and corruption wherever he went. At least, that was what he was meant to have been doing. Tanya had heard mutterings that he had 'gone native' and spent most of his time pretending to be human. Others accused him of 'fraternising with the enemy', though she wasn't entirely sure what they meant by that. She was aware that such gossip usually had only a tangential relationship to actual fact. Therefore, she intended to meet him and judge for herself.
Instead of inviting the interviewees to her office, where they would be reminded of her current station and might be intimidated, she had set aside a small conference room where she hoped to put them at ease. It was simply furnished: neat, tidy and unspeakably drab. Just the way she liked it.
Crowley arrived promptly, at the exact moment when the interview was due to take place. Tanya idly wondered what that was meant to signify. Was it a sign of respect, a demonstration of effective time management skills and a way of showing that he would pay careful attention to her instructions? Other demons had attempted to flatter her by showing up much earlier than they needed to. Evidently, Crowley wasn't like them; he wouldn't waste his time or hers. Or was it meant as a subtle insult, hinting to her that she wasn't worth his time, that he would follow her instructions to the letter, but no more? Of course, she had no way of knowing what message the exact time of his arrival was meant to convey. Not without asking him.
He was one of a vanishingly small number of demons, including Tanya herself, who looked good in a business suit. Most of them were permanently filthy, scorched or soggy, ragged and bedraggled, to the extent that she was thinking of relaxing the dress code, but Crowley managed to look rakish and debonair. He was a handsome man – of course, he could look like whatever he wanted to – and he wore a charming smile to which Tanya was immune. Entirely immune. Still, she didn't doubt he had little difficulty persuading young, impressionable human women to do whatever he wanted them to.
Assuming that this was what he looked like when he went about his day-to-day business, she was somewhat surprised; she would have expected him to make an effort to be inconspicuous. Certain demonic traits would always show through no matter what body he was in, which was why he was wearing sunglasses to hide his reptilian yellow eyes. And it occurred to her that his snakeskin shoes might not actually be shoes. Clearly, he was trying to hide the fact that he was a demon; any human looking at him would assume he was young, wealthy and well-connected, perhaps a businessman or a successful lawyer. Even so, his appearance was distinctive enough to be noticeable, which she would have thought would be something he'd want to avoid. Or maybe not. People would look at him and make assumptions about who he was and where he'd come from, judging him by their own preconceptions, which would help to obscure what he really was. A clever if unconventional strategy. He'd been doing his job for thousands of years, so it would be surprising if he wasn't extraordinarily good at it.
"Hi," he said, offering his hand for her to shake. "Nice to meet you. I hope I'm not late."
Somehow, Tanya managed to resist the urge to roll her eyes at the suggestion that Crowley hadn't arrived precisely when he meant to.
"Not at all," she assured him, shaking his hand. "Welcome to your performance review."
"Should be interesting. I've never done anything like this before. I hope you'll go easy on me," he said, with a devil-may-care smirk.
Of course, Tanya did care. Very much so. She had the uncomfortable feeling that he was testing her just as much as he was testing him.
"Perhaps we should start by discussing your current job role," she said.
"My 'current' job role?" he asked, looking momentarily panicked.
"You've been a demon for the past six thousand years, but before that you were an angel, correct? What did you do then?"
"Oh. I helped to finish off our Father's grand art project. It was my job to turn on the lights. Some of them, anyway," he said, without enthusiasm. "Stars, galaxies, nebulae and so on."
"And you didn't enjoy that?" she inferred.
"I liked it very much. I believed I was doing something important. Something wonderful." He sighed. "But then I was told it was nothing more than background decoration. Sparkly wallpaper for people to gawk at."
"You must have been disappointed."
He nodded. "I was."
There was a pause. Tanya waited for him to continue, but he was staring at the wall, lost in distant memories.
"Is that why you fell?" she asked.
For a split second, he looked unnerved. Then, it was as if he'd put on an iron mask of distrust and calculation, hiding his emotions from view. "That's part of it," he muttered. "It was a long time ago."
"And now, you're one of Hell's field agents. A demon hiding among humans, pretending to be one of them, spreading discord and tempting them to sin," said Tanya, smoothly changing the subject. "Tell me about your work. What have you done recently?"
He grinned. "Yesterday, I drove all over London with a mobile phone jammer in my car."
"So, you stopped people from using their mobile phones for a very short time before moving on. I suppose that could have had severe consequences if any of them had needed to contact the emergency services, but otherwise it seems rather trivial. What was the point?" asked Tanya.
"It made thousands of people angry and frustrated, so…" Crowley hesitated, looking as if he regretted saying anything. "I wouldn't normally explain, but you've been unusually receptive so far. I'm sure you'll listen to what I say, right up until the time comes to punish me for it."
"I have no desire to punish you, only to understand your reasoning," Tanya assured him.
"Well… by annoying as many people as possible, I cause them to take it out on other people: on their families, work colleagues, the staff at the local coffee shop or whatever. Then those people will be in a bad mood and go on to be unpleasant to someone else. And so on, in a long chain of nastiness that'll keep spreading out for the rest of the day. The knock-on effects are incalculable. Thousands upon thousands of souls all get a faint patina of tarnish and I hardly have to do anything."
"Ingenious," said Tanya. Privately, she wasn't sure that making any effort to secure more souls for Hell was worth it. At any particular time, roughly half of the human population was damned by their own choices and actions, without the need for any demons to interfere in their lives. Besides, Hell was overcrowded enough already. She made a show of shuffling her notes, pretending to read through them, as if she hadn't already memorised the pertinent details. "One of your colleagues, Hastur, has spent years corrupting a priest, turning a pure and saintly man into a depraved sinner. Do you think that was a worthwhile use of his time?"
"I'd have to say… no. There are billions of humans. While he was slowly chipping away at a single soul, thousands of other priests will have lived pure and saintly lives, for years, free of any interference. And just as many will have chosen to be depraved sinners of their own volition, without needing a demon to tempt them. Humans are good at that. In fact, there have been times when I've considered sending a message down here saying, 'Look, we may as well give up right now. We may as well shut down Dis and Pandemonium and everywhere else, just sit back and relax while the humans do much worse to each other than we could ever dream of." He gave Tanya a considering look and said, "You used to be human, so I'm sure you understand. Most demons have no imagination whatsoever, whereas some humans are extraordinarily imaginative, which makes them much better at torturing each other than we ever could be."
"It says here that you were awarded a Commendation for causing the Spanish Inquisition," said Tanya, holding up a piece of paper that may well have said nothing of the sort.
Crowley winced. "I wouldn't say 'caused'. Encouraged, maybe, but I'm not sure about that. They were already angry, scared and looking around for someone to blame. Everywhere they looked, they saw traitors and heretics in their midst. It's entirely possible that they would have done everything they did without any help from me. All I can say for sure is that I was in the vicinity at the time."
There was a long pause while Tanya carefully considered what Crowley had told her. She sighed heavily, then said, "Performance reviews are nothing new to me, but this is the first time I've had one of my employees tell me that their job is worthless and has no need to exist. I'm fairly sure I would have remembered."
"Oh, I didn't say it was worthless," Crowley hastily backtracked. "I mean… There's an angel who spends his time doing the opposite of what I do. Instead of making people angry and frustrated, he does his best to spread kindness, charity and forgiveness, in lots of little ways. My actions counterbalance his."
"And I suppose there are angels who spend all their time doing the opposite of what Hastur does: sculpting a few individuals into perfect saints."
"Yes, exactly."
"Do you mean to tell me that you've been maintaining the status quo for thousands of years? That the forces of Heaven and Hell are evenly matched, so it's really up to the majority of humans to decide for themselves where they'll end up? That their actions and choices actually matter?"
Folding his arms and looking defiant, Crowley made a valiant attempt to defend himself: "What else do you expect us to do? If we were too successful, Heaven would send more angels to work against us, which would mean having to send more demons and before long there'd be all-out war. Maybe I'm in the minority, but I don't want that to happen."
"I didn't say I was disappointed in you," said Tanya, with a vicious grin. "In fact, I'm very impressed."
"I'm bored already!" declared the latest interviewee, flopping down on the only other chair in the room. Like every other succubus Tanya had ever met, she was exquisitely beautiful, tall and voluptuous, with a face that might have been carved by a master artisan. Her shapely body was emphasized by the fact that she'd chosen to wear nothing more than a few tassels and pieces of string. And she was sitting with her arms folded under her ample bosom, pushing it up so as to make it even more prominent. "Why can't we do something fun?"
Tanya raised a disapproving eyebrow and started writing down her initial impressions in her notebook. "Welcome to your performance review, Miss Karamel. Please take a seat. Oh, I see you already have."
"I don't want to be called Karamel anymore," the succubus decided. "It sounds too much like a stripper name."
"I had assumed that was the point," said Tanya.
"I want to be called 'Kariselle' instead. Geddit? 'Cos everyone's been for a ride!"
"Your sexual proclivities are no concern of mine," Tanya replied. "But I can't approve of your constantly changing your name. It makes it very difficult to keep your paperwork up to date."
"Ugh. Work, work, work," said the recently renamed Kariselle, sticking her tongue out and making an exaggerated show of disgust. "Don't you ever think about anything else?"
"Oh, many things. But not in the middle of a work meeting."
"I know you don't approve of my behaviour, or the way I dress, or… anything about me, really. But maybe I can win your approval some other way," said Kariselle, leaning across the desk between them, close enough for Tanya to smell her enticingly spicy perfume. "If you know what I mean."
"Are you trying to seduce me, Miss Kariselle?" asked Tanya, underlining what she'd just written in her notebook.
"Oh, just call me Kary. And yes… I'll let you do whatever you want to me! Anything at all!"
"What if I want you to get on with your work, obey the rules and abide by the dress code?"
"I'd say you need to punish me for breaking the rules. You should bend me over the couch and spank me. Make me scream."
"That's a chair, not a couch," Tanya pointed out.
"But you could turn it into a couch with just a thought. And I can shapeshift into whoever you want just as easily," said Kary. "Do you prefer men? I could be a man, for you."
As if to prove it, she changed her appearance to that of Anthony J. Crowley, whom Tanya had interviewed just a few hours before.
"He's rather dishy, isn't he?" said Kary. In Crowley's voice, issuing from what looked like his mouth, the words sounded quite self-congratulatory. "Shame he bats for the other team."
Hellfire burned in Tanya's veins, but now it turned to ice. "Do you mean he's a spy, working for Being X and his angels?" she demanded to know.
"No, I mean he's gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide," said Kary, giving her a pitying glance. "Didn't you notice?"
"How would you expect me to notice? It's not as if I paraded a dozen nude models of both sexes in front of him and watched to see which ones he responded to."
Kary gave a vague shrug. "Female intuition."
Rather than dignify such nonsense with a reply, Tanya stared blankly at her for a few moments. Then, with a heavy sigh, she said, "Anyway, so long as it doesn't interfere with his work, I don't see why I should care about his sexual orientation. He's an excellent employee."
"Yes, I saw you smiling after you left your meeting with him. I thought it was because you fancied him."
"I'm pleased to say that I had more professional reasons for being pleased with him," said Tanya.
"Maybe I was wrong to think you prefer men," said Kary, who didn't appear to be listening to her. "I mean, I saw you looking at my boobs earlier–"
"It's difficult to avoid looking at them while looking at you. Especially since you were making such an effort to attract attention to them."
"Why, thank you." Transforming back into her female form, Kary gave her what she probably thought was a winsome smile. "Now, what kind of woman do you like?"
She turned into a tall, statuesque blonde woman. Tanya was strongly reminded of… someone she could scarcely remember. Did she have blonde hair? Or was it light brown? I don't know. It was so long ago.
Seeing Tanya's hesitation, Kary put on a victorious smirk, leaned back in her chair and seemed to be trying to spread herself out as much as possible. "So, how are you going to 'review' my 'performance'?" she asked. "We could do it right here. Or on the floor – or up against the wall – or anywhere you like."
"All right, you've convinced me: there's not much point in continuing this interview," Tanya decided, putting down her notebook. "I've already learnt everything about you I need to know."
"Yes, come over here and ravish me like I know you want to," said Kary, waggling an inviting finger at her. "Whatever your kink, I'm sure I can find a way to keep you satisfied. I'll give you all the pleasure you've denied yourself for so many years!"
"No need for that," said Tanya, who was filling in a set of official documents so rapidly that her pen blurred across one page and then the next. "Here. These are for you."
She handed the documents to Kary, who glanced at them briefly and then gave an outraged squawk. "You're putting me on probation?! Workplace sexual harassment?!"
"You said that I should punish you – that I could do anything I wanted to you – and I have." Tanya smiled thinly. "It gives me great satisfaction to do so. Really, it's been a pleasure."
"But…"
Injecting a trace amount of viciousness into her voice, Tanya continued, "I could have you fired. Out of a cannon, preferably. But I am a generous and benevolent boss, so I will give you one last chance: follow my instructions from now on or face the consequences. Is that clear?"
"Y-yes," said Kary. Her lip was trembling and her face was streaked with tears, but Tanya wasn't fooled.
"Good. Now get out of here!"
Scurrying away as if the hounds of Hell were nipping at her heels – despite the fact that Tanya had decreed that using them in such a manner was cruel and inefficient and they should be retrained as guard dogs – the succubus fled from the room, slamming the door behind her. This made such a noise that a shocked hubbub arose from everybody else nearby who now wanted to know what had just happened.
Hearing that, Tanya gave a contemptuous snort and went back to her paperwork.
"She offered me a promotion!" Crowley crowed. "She said I was resourceful and innovative and she wants me to be one of her executive staff!"
"Good for you," said Aziraphale.
"At last, I'm getting the recognition I deserve!"
They were sitting together at a table at the Ritz, which was one of their favourite haunts, in London's affluent Mayfair district. Each of them had a cup of tea and had just finished a rather excellent meal. Crowley was excited and pleased with himself; Aziraphale was more reserved, but he smiled because Crowley was happy.
Of course, neither of them would admit that they were anything other than archenemies, even under threat of torture. They were an angel and a demon who'd been assigned to the same part of the world, so they should have spent all their time struggling against each other. They weren't supposed to meet up for the occasional meal, cup of tea and friendly chat. It had been very wrong of them to come up with 'the Arrangement', whereby they had tacitly agreed not to interfere with each other's activities in certain areas, which meant that both of them could impress their superiors with how much they had achieved even in the face of such a cunning and dangerous adversary. They regularly met up to discuss any new orders they received and find a compromise that suited them both. And they would help each other out in little ways, just to make each other's workload easier.
For example, if Aziraphale's divine masters sent him to bless a few people in Milton Keynes, for example, while the diabolic rulers of Hell wanted Crowley to tempt a few other people there to sin, it made sense for just one of them to go and do the work of both. Aziraphale had the decency to feel guilty about this, but Crowley never did.
"Of course, I didn't accept. I told her I'm happy where I am," said Crowley.
"Ah. That's good," said Aziraphale, sounding relieved. "I mean, so long as you're happy."
"Would you miss me, angel?" asked Crowley, teasingly.
Aziraphale gave this due consideration. "I would," he admitted. "If you were to be promoted, I doubt your replacement would be nearly as reasonable and open to negotiation as you."
"How touching." Crowley took a slow and deliberate sip from his cup of tea. "Actually, she insisted on giving me a small promotion, which I accepted so long as I don't have to move anywhere. I'm now a department head. In charge of field operations here on Earth."
"What does that involve?"
"She told me to carry on the good work. All I have to do is maintain the status quo and thwart the efforts of the heavenly host. That's you, by the way."
"Oh, you're going to 'thwart' me, are you?" Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. "What will that involve? Am I overdressed for the occasion?"
If they didn't already know he was an angel, anyone who saw Aziraphale would assume he was an ordinary middle-aged man. He had wavy blond hair, exquisitely manicured hands, and he was wearing an old-fashioned suit that included a tweed waistcoat. He wasn't handsome, stylish or suave. And yet, there was an innocence about him. He tended to look at the world around him with joy and perpetual startlement, as if every day brought with it a new and pleasant surprise. Certain people, when they saw that look on his face, thought he was rather beautiful.
Crowley gazed at him for a moment, carefully put down his cup of tea, cleared his throat and said, "Hah. No, you're fine."
"Tell me more about your new job," said Aziraphale. "Do you have minions working for you now?"
"I'm supposed to be in charge of all the other field agents around the world. And any other demons who want to meddle in mortal affairs are supposed to discuss it with me first. Whether they'll take any notice, I have no idea."
"I didn't know Hell had any other field agents."
"There are a few. But they spend as little time on Earth as possible."
"Then they're not really field agents, are they?"
"Even so, Lady Tanya has made me their leader. Supposedly." Crowley shrugged. "I pointed out that some of them outrank me – Hastur is a Duke of Hell, whereas I'm not even a regional councillor – so she's thinking of ennobling me."
"I suppose congratulations are in order," said Aziraphale.
"It's not important," said Crowley, with a dismissive wave. "But it's nice to be appreciated."
"Yes, I imagine it would be."
"If you ever want to switch sides, I'm sure Tanya would welcome you with open arms. You'd like her, I'm sure."
"She sounds nice," said Aziraphale, somewhat dubiously.
"I'm not sure about that. She is a demon, after all, even if she used to be human." Crowley paused, looking thoughtful. "Actually, she reminds me of some of the angels I used to know, before… Well, you know. Prissy. No sense of humour. Somewhat overbearing."
"But basically well-intentioned?"
"Maybe. She has lots of ideas for how Hell could be improved, made better and more efficient."
"In what way?"
"I'm not sure," Crowley admitted. "But she's very keen on justice."
"That's not necessarily a good thing. Justice without mercy can be terrifying," said Aziraphale. "Nevertheless, I hope she will change things for the better."
Crowley was struck by a sudden gloomy thought: "Maybe it won't matter. In a few years, Warlock Dowling will be a teenager. And who knows what will happen then?"
"Is he still the Antichrist? Even now his father is no longer the ruler of Hell?" asked Aziraphale.
"He's a supernatural being whose sole purpose is to bring about the Apocalypse. I don't see why that would change just because his dad has given up being 'the Lord of All Evil' and decided to run a nightclub in Los Angeles instead."
"But he seems like such a nice little boy!" Aziraphale protested.
"He's a brat. Still, considering how his parents treat him, I don't think he can be blamed for that." Crowley looked contemplative. "I've heard stories about people who tried to raise wild animals as pets. Wolves and monkeys and so on. Apparently, they can seem very tame and docile when they're babies, but when they go through puberty they often become savage and unmanageable. Maybe that's what'll happen to Warlock."
"I haven't seen any signs that he has supernatural powers."
"It's possible that he'll gain them as he moves towards adulthood."
Aziraphale's face fell. "And then, maybe he'll have no choice about taking on his prophesied role, which will start off a chain of events that no one will be able to stop."
"I'm sure Lady Tanya doesn't want war, but she may not have a choice," said Crowley. "She'll be forced into it, one way or another."
"Too many of my colleagues are rather 'gung ho' about the prospect of fighting a final battle against the forces of Hell, defeating them once and for all, and so on," said Aziraphale, pronouncing the unfamiliar phrase 'gung ho' with the delicacy of an old lady using a pair of sugar tongs. "No matter how much suffering, death and destruction it will cause."
"The stars thrown down to Earth, the dead rising from their tombs, etcetera," said Crowley. "Or, more importantly, the destruction of the Earth and the deaths of billions of innocent human beings who just happened to be in the way."
"But what can we do to prevent it?" Aziraphale paused, looking harried. "I suppose we should carry on as we did before, as if nothing had changed. We'll keep trying to guide young Warlock along the right path."
"We may as well." Crowley shrugged. "It's not as if I have any better ideas."
Once that was decided, they changed the subject. For a while, they sat and talked about inconsequential things, until at last they finished off their pot of tea.
In a dank, miserable corner of Hell that hadn't yet been converted into office space, three monstrous figures were having a secret meeting. One of them was Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies, an androgynous figure with long, insectile limbs, who was surrounded by swarms of winged insects and a pervasive scent of rotting meat. Another was Azazel, a mass of shifting black shadows with dozens of fanged mouths and gleaming feral eyes. Outwardly, the third resembled a human being with pale red skin, who was sharply dressed in a stylish suit, but inwardly he was the most monstrous of all. These were some of the most powerful demons in existence, who chafed under Lady Tanya's rule and were plotting to overthrow her.
"Zzzo, we are in agreement," said Beelzebub, when it seemed their discussion was reaching a satisfactory conclusion. "We will rule together, azz a triumvirate."
"But first, the upstart must be dealt with," said the First of the Fallen.
"Killed, you mean? Why be euphemistic?" asked Azazel, sounding amused.
The First of the Fallen sneered at that. "I would rather she were imprisoned and tortured for the rest of eternity."
"While ze has the Key to Hell, ze izz more than a match for any one of uzz," Beelzebub pointed out. "Here on zer home turf, at least. Better to lure zer away, to somewhere ze can be outmatched."
"You want to capture her? That should be simple enough," said Azazel. "The English occultist Roderick Burgess managed to snare Dream of the Endless and cage him for nearly a hundred years. And he did it by accident."
"Compared to the Dream King, Tanya Degurechaff izz nothing. Barely a gnat."
"Roderick Burgess is long dead. His followers likewise. His works are forgotten," said the First of the Fallen.
"His mansion and tools lie undisturbed since Dream made his escape," Azazel pointed out. "It shouldn't be too difficult to reconstruct the ritual he used and make a few minor adjustments."
"And then, we'll need a suitable occultist." A fiendish smirk spread across the First of the Fallen's face. "I know just the one."