Lord Lucifer came by the office today to invite me to a party. I was right in the middle of instructing a lesser demon in the proper way to insert a spike into a body maximum discomfort (on said demon, of course, there’s no substitute for experience!), when the First Among the Fallen appeared in a burst of flame and sulfur.

 

“Vlad! Buddy!” He walked over and clapped me on the shoulder, his perfectly white wings folded close to her back.

 

“Dark Lord.” I greeted him with a nod before looking up at the demon sliding slowly down the tall wooden spike and asked, “How does that feel? Can you notice the difference?” The demon nodded enthusiastically, his movements causing him to slide further.

 

“We’re having a little get together after work,” Lucifer said, shoving his hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts. The pockets seemed useful but I didn’t think they struck the correct tone for leadership. A nice flowing cloak would work wonders. Instead, Lucifer looked like he intended to fish off a pier.

 

I adjusted my own cloak so that it lay properly over my shoulders. “I do not care for parties.”

 

“I’m not taking no for an answer,” he said in a tone that brooked no excuses. His grin shifted into something more malevolent.

 

I smoothed my mustache to gather my patience. I did not care to be ordered about, not even by one so high as Lucifer himself. Still, one did not refuse the First unless they longed for a long bath in eternal hellfire.

 

“Of course.” I bobbed my head in acquiescence. He vanished in another flash of fire, that smarmy grin of his fading last of all.

 

Fuck.

 

I hate parties.