GOETIA

by straybluebird

Summary:

Clare Weir had her whole life figured out — three jobs, debts and no place to live except whatever couch she could manage to crash on for the night. She was a drifter, after all, moving from town to town, keeping a low profile, and just trying desperately to fake it until she made it as a film major.

And it was all going 'fine' — that is, until a three-legged crowd showed up with a letter of admittance to an academy called RAD.

Now she's stuck in Devildom (basically Hell with a brand name) on an exchange program, trying to survive the seven demon brothers until the year ends and the Demon Lord agrees to grant her one, single wish. And there's another catch too: if she wants to survive, she has to make pacts with the seven avatars of sin.

It's going to be a long year, but as long as they submit, it's her win. Right?

Chapter 1: first seal - letter

Smoke — the scent of sulphur and iron in the air. The heat is so searing that it makes her sweat through her shirt. Laying down on the grass, she tries to focus on the coolness of the blades, gazing at the night sky above her. It’s pitch black. The stars haven’t come out yet, but she looks for where the constellations are supposed to be. Orion and Acquilla. Cygnus and Canis Major. Andromeda — it’s gone. She can’t remember the shape of them. The memory trickled down somewhere in the ocean, where the darkness swallowed them whole and chained their bones to the rocks and stones weighed down by the earth. Even if they cried, nobody can hear them anymore.

“Save me.”

 

Somewhere in the distance, a child is crying. Her mouth is dry. Raising her bruised hand, she reaches out for the night sky while the column of smoke continues to rise higher. 

 

“I’m begging you. Please save me.”

 

━─━────༺༻────━─━ 

 

There were not many things Clare Weir could be certain of in her life — even death and taxes seemed to be more of a suggestion than an inescapable fate. Over the years that proved to be just the sort of thing she needed to keep herself afloat. It was, after all, a fact that chaos and misfortune tended to follow her wherever she went so she needed all the help she could get. She figured that if nothing was set in stone, then everything was possible. At least, that’s what she told herself after every failure and every mistake. One shouldn’t get comfortable for too long because you could never know what life would throw at you next.

 

Or who it could throw at you next. 

 

Whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, or something in the middle she’d have yet to see. However, when the chips came down, Clare could pinpoint with the accuracy of a Swiss clock just when exactly things went off the rails — more so than usual.

 

And, as she’ll claim later while telling the story to some unwilling ear in a bar, it all started with a strange dream and a crow trying to scam her into accepting a deal.

 

━─━────༺༻────━─━

“My shift starts in ten minutes,” she said, glancing at the clock.

 

Fridays were Clare’s favourite day of the week — not on account of the approaching weekend or anything like that (she was working three jobs already, with a fourth one on the way, so free time was literally an impossibility for her) but more about the sort of clientele who showed up just after 6 pm or earlier: university guys. Dumb, drunk, easily tricked university guys who went weak in the knees from a simple smile and one well-placed ‘handsome’. 

 

University guys whose idea of charming was bragging about their cars and daddy’s money, right before puking their guts after that third round of shots they couldn’t even remember ordering.

 

University guys who left her big tips because she was young and cute and laughed at all their stupid, stupid jokes while encouraging them to order that fifth bottle of vodka — and maybe some of the tequila too. 

 

University guys who were her territory and when it came to Clare, she would defend her territory, along with all the wealth it was willing to part with for her sake. Even if the thing that she had to protect it from was some weird, three-legged, talking crow — as one does every now and then.  

 

“I don’t understand.”

 

She thought a bit before she replied. “I need you to leave.”

 

Everything went quiet in the kitchen. Even though it was her who spoke, Clare couldn’t help but be taken aback by the fact that even in her slightly ruffled and dirty work uniform, with a stained apron and scuffed-up tennis shoes, she managed to assert enough authority to accomplish this. It helped gain her back a little bit of her self-esteem — which was an unexpected bonus that she desperately needed at this moment. After all, one could never be sterner than when talking with what could be assumed to be some type of demon which has taken the form of a crow.   

 

“Is there something wrong, Margaretha Clarissa We–”

 

“Yes! There’s a lot of things wrong!” she exclaimed. Massaging her temple, Clare tried to tell herself that talking crows were only weird if she made it weird. There was no reason to panic. She had already done that when the crow swopped in through the open window and perched on top of the shelves where they kept crackers and biscuits. It had brazenly opened one packet with its beak and taken a few bites before it addressed her, speaking with a mouth full, which she found even more disgusting than its general appearance. “I don’t even know where to start with it! That’s how much there is to it. First, who are you supposed to be, and why are you here exactly?” 

 

“Oh, what a poor a wretched thing you must be to not even heard of Karasu!” The crow’s wings were suddenly spread wide open, casting a huge shadow over the linoleum floor. “I, Karasu, the great demon crow, serving directly under the great Duke, Barbatos himself, first among the Demon Lord’s servants with 30 legions of spirits under his command, stand before you with a request from the Demon Lord himself!”

 

“I’m sorry, a Demon King is—”

 

She cringed slightly when its wings started flapping violently. 

 

“Demon Lord !”

 

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

 

Her only response was a furious caw. Huffing, Clare glanced at her phone, which sitting on the counter next to her, just a few centimetres away. If only she could reach it, she might be able to do something. Whatever that could be, she wasn’t sure, but it would be better to have it on her person than not. The only problem was that despite claiming it was a crow, the thing was watching her like a hawk. Every movement she made, no matter how small, was dutifully tracked by its small, beady eyes. Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t distract it — and she did try. The contents of the half-eaten cup of yoghurt that was supposed to be her pre-work snack were still dripping down the wooden doors of the cupboards, forming a pool of yellow goo underneath. In the hot summer air, it was already starting to fester, the sourness mixing with the sweetness in an overpowering scent. 

 

Clare grimaced when the smell hit her again. Much to her frustration, the thing did not seem bothered by it at all. 

 

“Ok, fine, Demon Lord! Now tell me what his business with me is!”

 

The crow paused. “That is not for me to say.”

 

Clare groaned. If only she had a broom on her, then she’d show this thing what it meant to put itself between her and her evening tips. “Then why are you here?”

 

“To invite you to meet him.”

 

This just wasn’t her night, was it?

 

“ Hell no .” She clicked her tongue, then inhaled sharply. “I am not falling for this. I’m not letting my soul get dragged to hell. I’ve seen enough horror movies to know where this is headed. You can forget about it.”

 

“But this is an invitation from the Demon Lord himself–”

 

“I don’t care. Find somebody else. Preferably in another city, or even another country. The world’s big enough, you know.”

 

Karasu spread its wings into what Clare could only assume was meant to convey shrugging. There was something unnerving in witnessing this sort of human characteristic in a creature like this. She’d seen movies and read books with similar plots, but never thought she’d have the misfortune of actually experiencing one herself. Maybe this wasn’t a coincidence at all — she was, very often, a girl in the most peculiar and unpleasant of circumstances even at the best of times, despite her desire for a dull and uneventful life.

 

But even so, this had to be a completely different kind of misfortune from the norm. 

 

“Can’t do. I was given specific orders and those specify you by name, Margaretha Clarissa We–”

 

“And stop using my full name! It’s so creepy!” Nobody but her aunt from her mother’s side had used it and even then it was mostly in that same flat, monotone timber she could no longer divorce from the woman. Her husband had always looked ready to fall asleep on the spot during all their talks — even if they happened at 3 a.m. after yet another runaway attempt. She was already 17. It was just one more year and then she’d be on her own, he told her, eyes darting towards the clock, while his hands were fiddling with the cup of chamomile tea he prepared for them. He used sugar, instead of honey, which made it somewhat bitter. She could last one more year, couldn’t she? The last time she saw him he was drinking his tea out of a thermos. They just waved at each other before she hopped on her bus to the train station so she could leave for her other uncle’s place. “Just call me Clare if you have to call me anything at all!”

 

A pause. “Very well, Margaretha–”

 

“Forget it. We’re done.”

 

Clare watched it as it puffed out its chest, ruffling its feathers. Under the flickering light, it seemed far more intimidating than any bird ever should be. Its head lowered slightly as it followed her around the room with its eyes while she was making her way towards her phone. Oddly, it did not try and attack her, even as her fingers brushed over the screen. It only spoke after she had stashed it away in her pocket, finding the thought of texting anyone about the demon crow currently keeping her hostage in her restaurant’s kitchen a little too insane. 

 

What would she even say? To bring a broom so they could chase it out? Anyone in their right mind would think she was joking and end the call. No, she was on her own here. 

 

“Are you upset?” Karasu asked eventually, once she was settled back in her chair. Clare clasped her hands in her lap, willing herself to look into its eyes without flinching. It was much harder than she thought it would be. “Have I done something wrong?”

 

“You really have to ask, huh…” Clare said. Then after a moment, she continued. “Listen, I’m very flattered that the Lord of Hell–”

 

“Devildom.”

 

“... Devildom. I’m very flattered that he wants to, uh, see me? That’s it, right? But I have to turn him down on account of… many reasons that would take all night to get across to you, actually.”  

 

“I have all night,” it replied without a hint of sarcasm.

 

Clare sighed. “That’s great for you, but I don’t. So, what I’m gonna do is very nicely ask you to leave and inform this Demon Lord that I’m unavailable. Though should I have the slightest window of time, I’ll make sure to swing by. I promise.” For emphasis, she crossed herself. The crow did not seem particularly impressed. “So with that said… Goodbye?”

 

The crow cocked its head. Skittering across the top of the cupboard, it suddenly spread its wings and jumped off. Clare screamed. She covered her head with her arms, afraid that the bird was finally going to attack her with its talons and beak. It made her regret not taking the chance to call somebody now. Who knows in what state this creature might leave her — perhaps mangled enough that nobody would recognize her, so they’d have to pull her dental records to check. That’s what they did in the movies. Except that she hadn’t been to the dentist since she was 13 and she wasn’t sure what exactly would happen under the circumstances. Maybe the coroner would declare they had insufficient evidence and file her as a cold case, forgotten in some dusty archive until 100 years from now they would have the technology necessary to identify her body at last. Not that it would help, because by then the thought of ‘death by demon crow’ would be so ridiculous no investigator would ever entertain the notion. 

 

She was doomed to an unmarked grave no matter what. And just when she finally got some good news in her life. That was just unfair. 

 

“Very well,” the crow said. 

 

Clare cracked an eye open. “I’m sorry, what?”

 

“I understand the issue now,” it continued. “And I’m sorry for bothering you with this. I shall take my leave.”

 

For what seemed to be the nth time today, Clare was left speechless. Raising her head slowly, she met the crow’s gaze. Its small beady eyes did not show a single trace of emotion. She bit her tongue before she could let out another scream. Up close the thing seemed even more malicious. It made sense now why Hitchcock decided to make a movie dedicated to these feathered horrors. They were unnerving once you got a good look at them. 

 

Resting her hands on her knees, Clare leaned back, trying to put as much as she could distance between them. But it made no move to follow her — instead, it ruffled its feathers again, picking at them with its beak. She did not have enough time to process this sudden turn of events because suddenly her attention was distracted by something else: a letter, pitch black, almost as dark as its feathers, was produced from behind one of its wings and set before her. The talons made an unpleasant scraping sound as the creature skittered on top of the counter, leaving marks that she knew would not be erased any time soon. Karasu looked at her, then tapped the letter twice with its beak, before hopping a few paces away.

 

Clare couldn’t help but find it oddly ominous. 

 

“But before I go,” it began. “I have to fulfil my last orders.” It paused. “Which are to present you with this letter. Here. Do you see it?”

 

“Yeah,” she replied. “It’s… why is the envelope black?”

 

“That’s what all envelopes in the Devildom are like. It’s our brand.”

 

Clare nodded. It made sense. She gingerly picked up the envelope, turning it on both sides — no return address. It figured. She heard once that hell was more of a state of mind than an actual place, and generally, that did not lend itself to any kind of postal service. She learned it the hard way during that period when she was still living out of her car. Holding it against the light did not reveal much about its contents. The paper inside was thick from what she could tell and in a similarly dark colour which made her want to roll her eyes — a brand was one thing, but this just seemed complicated. 

 

“You should open it,” the crow said, making her jump. Alarmed she suddenly noticed how it had moved closer without her even realizing it. “Lord Barbatos instructed me to stay around until the seal was broken, so if you open the letter, my job here is done as well.”

 

Clare bit the inside of her cheek. Looking back at the letter, she turned it around, fiddling with the seal on top of it. “Is that so? You’re not lying to me?”

 

“I am not.”

 

It was already late. Her co-workers were about to show up any minute now. It did not take the tram much time to reach the downtown part of London where their bar was and they would be able to walk in and see her facing off with a crow — a demon crow. Or at least so she would claim, except that nobody would actually believe her. Hassan would laugh her off, saying she’s been watching too many Hitchcock movies. Life was more than just studying, Irina would remind her. She wasn’t yet a director, so she could rein some of her fantasies in a bit. This was a workplace, after all. 

 

And Clare would agree, taking comfort in the scepticism as a means of assuring herself that the world was normal and dull. That she was just like everybody else, plagued by the same monotony which did not allow for thoughts of hell or demon lords or anything that might hint at a grander scheme. She was not the sort of girl to dream of grander things — life had beat that out of her until she managed to fall in line with everybody else and learn to be happier for it. 

 

She could have that back: her sweet, silly ignorance. It would be better that way. For her — and everybody else. Nobody liked crazy people, especially if they were girls. They were the ones who always got locked up. She did not want that. All she needed to do was open a letter. It wasn’t such a grand request.

 

The crow was still looking at her with those beady eyes.

 

“Ok,” Clare said. “I’ll open the seal and then you’ll scram. Alright? Deal?”

 

If crows could smile — all jagged teeth and sharp features — then this one did just that. 

 

“Deal.”

 

She used her fingernails to pry off the seal. It easily came apart. The bottom of the letter fell out almost instantly, revealing another black page, just as she suspected, adorned with another seal which did not belong to any country she recognized. The white ink was beautifully painted across the page, even she could tell, and when she touched the lettering the indents felt soft against her skin. It was superb penmanship. 

 

The letter read:

 

Congratulations!

 

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at the Royal Academy–

 

“ Accepted ? Academy? What the hell–”  

 

Clare hissed. She cradled her hand to her chest, surprised and embarrassed to realize she had somehow given herself a papercut without meaning to — and even more so when she realized that a few drops had fallen onto the paper. She let out a curse, that got cut off when she noticed how the paper absorbed the blood — as if drinking it in. At the bottom of the page, a few seconds later, her name appeared in bright red ink.

 

She turned pale. She made to turn towards the crow, but it was too late. The letters on the paper began to glow and she had to close her eyes at the brightness. A migraine was forming in the back of her mind, spreading throughout her body, from top to bottom. It was as if her soul was being ripped out from her, kneaded like dough. She could no longer feel the ground beneath her feet.

 

She started to scream, but by then it was too late — the ground had swallowed her whole, leaving behind the kitchen as it had been this morning before any human would step foot inside. Even the scratches left behind by talons and beaks were gone. All that would be noticed was the strange and unexpected smell of sulphur in the air and the cup of yoghurt that went off, thrown against the cupboard. 

 

━─━────༺༻────━─━

 

“Fuck.”

 

That was the first thing that came out of Clare’s mouth as soon as she realized that she was no longer falling in place. Instead of being swallowed up by endless dense darkness, she was lying on the cold, hard floor with a massive headache. Leaning on her elbows, she tried to push herself up, only to hiss when she realized that a bump had formed where her forehead made contact with marble. It felt tender to the touch. 

 

“ Fuck ,” she repeated, and then soon followed it up with, “Son of bitch, shit. This fucking hurts. Why the fuck–”

 

“You should stop,” a familiar voice reprimanded her. She swilled her head to the right only to see the same crow from before, hopping into place sporting a disapproving expression. “It’s very unbecoming of a lady to swear.”

 

“ You !” Clare spit out. Growling, she tried to catch the creature by its tail, but it simply moved out of the way. It didn’t even look that annoyed — unlike her. “You said that if I open that seal, you’d leave!”

 

The crow puffed up its feathers in the same shrugging motion from before as it made a show of looking around the room. “I’m not in the kitchen anymore, so technically, I left.”

 

“But you’re still here with me!”

 

“That was not part of our deal. You didn’t say anything about staying in the same place as before.”

 

Clare wanted to yell. Actually, she wanted to catch the crow and wring its neck, then pluck its feathers and boil it until the meat turned to mush, so she could dump it into the Thames along with all the other garbage. She was sure the damn thing would feel at home there. 

 

Groaning, she rose, folding her feet underneath, until she could stretch her back without it making her want to scream in pain. Then she shot another glare at the bird. It stared at her with a frustratingly blank expression, still hopping on the spot. 

 

“When I get my hands on you, I’ll—”

 

“What a dynamic entrance!”

 

Clare froze. Inhaling sharply, she kept her eyes trained on the crow, despite suddenly feeling another pair looking at her. Clapping soon followed — a sound so strange and unwelcome that it made her want to throw up. There was something very cold about this room. It was pressing down on her shoulders, trying to crush her ribs. She’d never felt this sort of pressure before. It was threatening to rip out a scream from her throat at any second, but she prevailed and instead kept quiet. 

 

The same voice from before continued. “I must say that I was quite shocked to see you choose such an unexpected method of entering Devildom! But it was certainly eye-catching!”

 

The booming laughter made her lungs constrict and made her worry even more. She’d never felt like this before — it was fear, pure, unadulterated as if guided by instinct rather than logic. Something in her gut was telling her that she should not be here, that this was not a place for humans. Her heart began to beat faster. What kind of thought was that? What sort of place was not suitable for humans to such a degree that her whole body would be repulsed by it?

 

As if sensing her confusion, the voice asked: “Oh? Is everything alright? Are you feeling a bit shocked right now?”

 

The crow cawed, and with a flutter of his wings took off, crossing the room. It settled down on the broad shoulders of the man who she suspected had addressed her. He was much taller than she expected. Much taller than any of the university boys she had to deal with. Her hands began to sweat. 

 

“Well, it’s understandable if that’s so. Humans do take quite a while adjusting to the Devildom, after all.” His smile was gentle. She did not expect that sort of gentleness from a man who seemed capable of breaking her in two if he so desired. Besides his height, she could see that his body was toned even cloaked in that red military jacket. “It will probably be a bit difficult for you in the beginning as well.”

 

Clare blinked. The bump on her forehead was beginning to ache, along with her joints. Just how high had been her fall? And how did she manage to survive with just a bump on the forehead? Though taking a look around again, she wasn’t sure if it was luck as much as misfortune playing its hand here. 

 

The room she found herself in was large — almost the size of the bar she would have guessed, but much more decorous. Golden reliefs were carved along the surface of the wood, and though the pervading darkness in the room made it hard to see, Clare could guess at the fine craftsmanship quite easily. It was old and authentic and most likely worth more money than she could count. It resembled a court, with its jury box elevated slightly, so one had to go up the stairs to reach it, and with the seat of the judge presiding higher than the rest, framed by those candlesticks which were lit. More could be found along the lower box and some on the table, illuminating small segments of it, and making her strain her eyes as she took in the banner hung on the walls sections between the windows. She wasn’t sure but she could swear some of the figures resembled a pair of birds, a snake and even a unicorn. What sort of aristocratic houses had those symbols? 

 

She jumped when the crow cawed again. Perched on his shoulder, it gave her a smug look that got her blood boiling — before it suddenly dawned on her.

 

“Devildom?” she asked. “This is Devildom? Are you saying I’m in Hell?”

 

The man blinked. “What do you mean?”

 

“What?” Clare shook her head, then grimaced. Her headache returned with renewed vigour. She had to will herself from getting dizzy as she stood up. “What… You brought me to Hell ?”    

 

The crow made another shrugging. In the semi-darkness, its eyes seemed shinier than before, the blood-red shade sending shivers down her spine. Clare deeply regretted not taking the broom with her before she ended up doomed to eternal damnation. She could have at least squashed the small demon in front of her with it. 

 

“I see there’s been a misunderstanding,” the man said. “You are not in Hell, but rather in the Devildom.”

 

“And they’re not the same thing?”

 

He laughed. In the dark, empty room it came out sinister and menacing. It fit the aesthetic that he was probably going for. The crow definitely seemed impressed and even awestruck, though Clare gathered that it probably would have been singing its owner’s praises even if he had just finished the Sunday crossword. It had that sort of attitude befitting a “yes-man”.

“Not at all, but I can see how that is an easy mistake to make. You, humans, have formed your own impressions and expectations of this place over the centuries,” he continued. “It must be quite disappointing to see how different it truly is in reality.”

 

She wasn’t sure whether it was a joke or not. From the looks of it, he seemed quite sincere, but that just made her tenser. “Oh no, it’s fine. I’m actually not a big fan of pitchforks and eternal damnation anyway. Sorry for… making assumptions?”

 

“What a relief!” 

 

He shot her another smile. With his golden eyes and red hair he looked rather handsome — as soon as the thought came to her, Clare wanted to kick herself. She couldn’t go all moony-eyed over some demon she just met. She had to focus. “And it’s alright. No need to beat yourself up over it. In any case, I’m certain that this must all be rather confusing. So why don’t we start off with a proper introduction?”

 

He nodded, crossing his arms, just as the crow took off again. Clare gulped as she saw it hover above her head, its three legs now on display, looking just as sharp as she imagined them to be. It cocked its head, eyes shifting to a spot behind her, and as she turned her head, she realized what exactly it had its gaze set upon. A few feet away from where she was standing previously, the letter lay crumpled on the floor, only her signature clearly visible along with the first few lines at the top. It glowed slightly in the darkness — a soft, muted red that reminded her of blood and then bit by bit, it slowly folded itself, sealing the top. 

 

It looked as if it had been never opened. 

 

The crow swooped in to grab it in its beak, and she watched it circle around until it reached the man, safely depositing the letter in his hands. As soon as his fingers touched the paper, Clare felt as if her heart was being squeezed. He just continued to grin as he spoke, not even once taking his eyes off her. 

 

“My name is Diavolo. Ruler of all demons known to man, and someday king of the whole of Devildom. And on behalf of our inter-realm exchange program, I welcome you to RAD, Margaretha Clarrisa Weir.”  

 

Chapter 2: first seal - contract

When she was almost 14 years old, Clare managed to find a part-time summer job as a house sitter for an old researcher. It was the year she’d gone to live with one of her paternal aunts — the middle sister, a well-off lawyer who’d freshly divorced her husband of five years over an affair. It was her first real job and because her aunt didn’t care what she was doing as long as it wasn’t within the eyesight of the men she brought home, she didn’t mind much. Neither did Clare. Anything was better than being ogled by men thrice her age just because her aunt had terrible taste in both sexual partners and furniture. 

 

The researcher, who’d just gone into retirement, had bought the house next to them just a few months before she showed up. It was one of those old, slightly rickety houses which he claimed to prefer because he was a paranoid man by nature. The creaky stairs made it much easier for him to know where everybody was at any time of the day, and whether they were heading towards his study or not. That was his big obsession — location, location, location. At the time, she had found him to be nothing but an old coot, gone half mad perhaps, but the older she got, the more wisdom she found in his words.

 

The human mind, in all its amalgamation of nodes and nerves, was still that of an animal. It had the same instincts after millennia of evolution; always taking any disturbance in the air as proof of danger. It made hunting and survival much easier for her ancestors, and it was what got her to focus on small, little details such as the colour of the tiles and the rhythmic pounding of her head instead of the bigger picture. Such as that overwhelmingly dreadful realization that she might have just got stuck in a place where the ruler of a whole realm (not even a country, but a whole realm, whatever that was supposed to mean) was called Diavolo. 

 

“Like the sauce?” Clare blurted out. The silence that followed was excruciating, and she thought to herself that if she were to die at this moment her biggest regret would be that her last words were going to go down as the dumbest ones in all of the history of humanity. The humiliation was surely going to kill her before he did. 

 

Diavolo frowned. “Pardon me? A sauce?”

 

“Nothing!” Her and her big, dumb mouth. “Forget what I said. It’s just, uh, human jitters. That’s all. What were you saying about an inter-realm exchange program before?”

 

“I’m glad you asked!” he said. She felt relieved to see him grinning again. His aura was less intense when he was in a good mood, and given her precarious position, she was willing to do just about anything to make sure that he wouldn’t find any reason to frown again. “I’m overjoyed to see that you’re already showing excitement towards the project! It will make our mission so much easier this way.”

 

“Mission? I’m sorry, but what mission exactly? And how exactly am I involved in this mission?”

 

“I will take over the explanation now, if you don’t mind, Diavolo.”

 

This time Clare shrieked. It made Diavolo jump back in surprise. She couldn’t fault him; the intensity scared her too. She had no idea the human body could literally feel its own lungs vibrate while screaming until that very moment. The man who might as well have materialised from thin air frowned. Raising a hand to his forehead, he waited patiently as her voice began to fade out, slowly turning into a whisper, then into silence, leaving just a sore throat behind. 

 

“Are you done?” he asked. 

 

Clare opened her mouth, then thinking better of it, closed it. Instead, she nodded. Her throat needed a few more moments to recover.

 

Diavolo chose to speak next. “There’s no need to worry, Margaretha! This is just Lucifer, Avatar of Pride, vice president of the student council and my right-hand man! Or rather, I would say that he is my most trusted friend among all demons here.”

 

Next, there was an exchange of words going on beyond the two of them, but she couldn’t hear any of it. Her senses had all shut down, forcing her mind to process the slew of information that she was presented with. Lucifer. She repeated the name a few times. Lucifer. Glancing down at his feet, she was disappointed to see that they were just normal, human feet, rather than hooves. The thought startled her.

 

Clearly, she was slowly starting to go insane. 

 

“Is something wrong?” the man — Lucifer — asked, and for a brief moment, Clare was confused as to her whereabouts. This had to be a joke. Or some sort of weirdly elaborate prank she couldn’t make heads or tails of. It couldn’t be real. Crows didn’t talk, people were not named after sauces, and Lucifer was not standing before her with his not-goat feet, looking more and more impatient by the minute.

 

It just wasn’t happening.

 

“You’re Lucifer ?” she asked at last. “ The Lucifer? Eden Lost’s Lucifer? The ‘better rule in Hell, than serve in Heaven’ Lucifer? The morning star? You’re that Lucifer?”

 

“Look at that, Lucifer!” Diavolo grinned. Excitedly, he began to pat Lucifer on the back, looking more pleased than the man — or demon, she guessed — himself. “You’re so popular among the humans that even Margaretha has heard about you! Isn’t that exciting?”

 

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Diavolo,” Lucifer replied. “As for your question, Margaretha, yes, I am that Lucifer. From your reaction, I take it that it’s a very important piece of information to you.”

 

It was. “I was raised religious, so…”

 

“We are aware,” he said dismissively. “Now, if you could focus for a moment and stop your gawking–” 

 

“Am I dead?” she asked. Raising her hands to the bump on her forehead, she winced as she felt it out. It had swollen considerably, so sensitive to touch that she wondered if perhaps it was no bump at all but an open wound or some sort of tumour — anything that could justify a sudden hallucination where she cast herself off into Hell because of some unresolved emotional problems as tended to be the case with those situations. Or maybe, it was all just some messed-up dream she would wake up from soon enough. 

 

She hoped it was the latter.

 

“Dead? Why would you think you were dead?” Diavolo asked, looking concerned. It flustered her, her face turning red, eyes averting to the side.

 

“Well, I mean, you just said that you’re the Devil, this is Hell — sorry, Devildom — and this guy over here is Lucifer. That, uh, usually doesn’t bring about any sort of good news for humans, I think.” She paused. “No offence.”

 

“None taken!” He let out another laugh that made Clare want to crawl into a hole in the ground. It was too loud and too booming. Diavolo then gestured towards Lucifer, who handed over a stack of papers to her. Among them, she could see a file bearing her own name and a picture attached, which looked suspiciously like the one on her CV — the forced smile seemed to her unnaturally stiff now. “It’s usually the standard reaction humans have when they first come to our realm unannounced. Though I suppose that you would have known that you would be here beforehand. How strange.” He crossed his arms, then closed his eyes in thought. “You did sign a contract to be our human exchange student after all. I thought the letter I drafted was very clear, but perhaps I was mistaken?”

 

“I’m sorry, what? Contract? An exchange student? What do you mean?”

 

“This is what I tried to explain earlier before you interrupted.” Lucifer’s pointed look did not go unnoticed. Shifting on the spot, Clare realized that if what these two were saying was true she was not in a position to do much beyond listen and keep calm. She wasn’t sure how strong demons were supposed to be, but movies always made it clear that they were not to be trifled with. At least unless one was an exorcist — and an exorcist, she was not. “Now, as I was trying to say: On behalf of the student body here at RAD we welcome you to our great and storied school as the newest exchange student from the Human Realm.” 

 

They probably must have expected a bigger reaction from her, given the questioning looks on their faces, but all Clare could muster was a simple nod of her head, expression blank. This was a dream she realized. A dumb dream caused by the expired milk her flatmate must have dared to drink last night when they wandered into the kitchen after they got home. Maryam, two years her junior, was working at the same cleaning service company Clare had got hired at two weeks prior. She was a smart if cunning girl, and as luck would have it, was also looking for someone to split the rent with. This was good news for Clare, as Maryam’s only flaw was that she was impulsive and had a way of goading you into doing something stupid without even realizing it. That was why she was now having the most elaborate fever dream anybody had ever had. If she wasn’t so tired, she would have been impressed by the details her mind could come up with under the circumstances. This was really more than just your average hallucination.

 

“Oh, so there’s a school in He– Devildom. That’s cool.” Reaching for her forehead, she felt for the bump. It still hurt. This must have been all part of the dream. “I haven’t been to school in a while, actually. I’m not sure that I would like to go back either… Why is there a school here?”

 

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed. He had handsome features, Clare realized. Probably her mind must have been stuck on some male model and was using his face as a reference. She read somewhere that those sorts of things tended to happen because the brain was trying to process all the information it was bombarded with during the day. That must be it. It would explain why the ruler of Hell was named after a sauce. 

 

“Diavolo believes that it is important for the three realms to build solid relationships with each other and strengthen their bonds. This means that we, demons, must learn to understand humans and angels better. As well as vice versa. And in order to facilitate that we have instated this exchange program in which representatives from all realms will be sent on a one-year exchange to other realms. We have sent two demons to the human world and two to the Celestial Realm—” That must be the name her mind came up for Heaven. “—and have received four in return as well. I suppose that by this point you’ve put two and two together?”

 

His arrogant expression made her reconsider the compliment she had paid him before. It reminded her too much of one of her uncles who liked to iron his ties every evening and spread them out on his bed, before going out to dinner and leaving his children on their own. When she had to be moved again, she took one of them with her as a souvenir and torched it in a dumpster fire five days later. It made the weight on her shoulders lift when she saw the embers floating.

 

“I’m the newest student here at RAD, meant to… teach demons about the ways of humans?”

 

“Exactly!” Diavolo beamed. “You catch on very fast! That’s remarkable.”

 

Clare baulked. “Oh, so you’re not kidding. You’re serious. You’re actually expecting me to stay here for a while—”

 

“A year. You are to stay here for a year as an exchange student, working on tasks assigned to you,” Lucifer interrupted severely. “Moreover, you will be expected to write a paper at the end of it, which will—”

 

“ A year ?” Her knees had started to shake — eyes darting from one side of the room to the other, she tried to calm her heartbeat. She couldn’t have a heart attack now. She had to breathe in, breathe out, and think about yoghurt, and puppies, and kittens, and how funny Lucifer would have looked with hooves. But not about this. This was not happening. It was fine. She was fine. It was fine. There must be a way out. There had to be. “I can’t stay here for a year! That’s… insane! No! I’m not doing it!” 

 

The temperature suddenly dropped. The skin on her arms broke out into goosebumps — she hugged them, trying to rub some warmth back into them. Lucifer’s expression was colder than ice itself — she was certain that he hadn’t been all that fond of her to start with, but now? Now, he looked as if he was just waiting for the slightest sign from Diavolo to take her head off. She bit her tongue before harsh insults came spilling out. Clare knew that if she wanted to live, she shouldn’t try and goad them into killing her. Even if it was tempting to tell Lucifer what part of a mule he was reminding her of at the moment.

 

“There must be some misunderstanding,” Lucifer said. “We are merely informing you of the situation. You have already signed the contract so you have no choice but to stay here as agreed.”

 

“But I didn’t agree to anything!” She pointed at the papers that he was holding. “This is the first time I’ve ever seen any of those papers! I have no idea what contract you’re even talking about!” Her breathing became laboured. “I-I can’t stay here! I have a job! I have rent to take care of! I have… I…”

 

She froze when Diavolo placed his hands on her shoulders. From up close his golden eyes seemed even more eerie, full of magic and something too close to humanity. She shrunk under his gaze, wishing the earth could actually swallow her. His touch, his person — everything felt wrong. 

 

“Margaretha, I understand that this must be very frightening for you, but please, won’t you reconsider?” His grip was like iron. Though he seemed sincere, Clare could not shake off the fear that he was just trying to trick her into something. “We can take care of those matters quite easily, trust me.” She didn’t dare imagine what he meant by that. “So, is there any reason that you can not spare a year of your life for this?”

 

“ Spare a year?” She frowned, fear slowly giving way to exasperation and anger. “I’m sorry, I don’t know how long-lived demons are but humans can’t just spare a whole year of their lives! There are dreams and goals I have to achieve and I can’t just waste a whole year playing… ambassador like that! I have so much work to do and…” It suddenly hit her. Trying not to move too much, she reached over into the pocket of her apron. She pulled out her phone, grimacing at the cracked screen (from the fall she just endured, no doubt) and opened up her mail. Diavolo stepped forward when she showed him the screen, squirting a bit so he could read the small letters. “And I just got this chance at an interview with this newspaper that is hiring at the moment! This could be my big break! And it’s this week, in just two days!” She did not particularly enjoy playing the poor card. She still had her pride, after all. But she figured that maybe this time she could make an exception — losing her head wasn’t going to be worth it to keep her pride. And a little bit of guilt-induced coercion usually worked in her favour. “If I lose it, I’m not sure when the next one will come along, and I have bills to pay and a lot of debts and money to return. I’m in a really desperate situation…”

 

Diavolo’s face was impossible to read. Next to him, Lucifer remained impassive, merely glancing at her screen with a frown. When Diavolo finally leaned back, he was sporting the same exasperating smile as before. What it meant for her fate, however, wasn’t certain. Though from the looks of it, she most likely was not going to like it.

 

“That’s all?” he asked. Then, after taking one look at Clare’s face, he chuckled. “I thought that you might have some more pressing concerns awaiting you, but if this is all—”

 

“‘ If this is all ’?”

“Then we can certainly come to an agreement.” Diavolo snapped his fingers. Suddenly, the lights in the room started to flicker. On his shoulder, the crow spread its wings and took off, leaving behind a flurry of feathers. Before she could blink, it returned back to its spot, this time with a piece of parchment in its beak. In the light from the candles, its eyes shone with almost demonic malice. 

 

Clare gulped. What a fool she had been. Wasn’t it a pastor who always told her that demons loved nothing more than despair in humans? And she’d served them a meal of herself without them even needing to ask. 

 

“One that would benefit both parties.”

 

Unfolding the parchment he presented it to her. It contained a long list of runes and sigils which she couldn’t make sense of at first. Then, slowly, the squiggles began to morph and ended up as letters that she recognized as belonging to the Latin alphabet. The text mentioned her name and Diavolo’s, something about a promise, followed by several lines listing the riches of the world and other things. Clare looked up at him in hopes that he would explain it. 

 

“This is a contract,” he said. “One which stipulates that should you agree to be an exchange student for a year and help us become more familiar with the ways of humans, then I, Diavolo, will make certain to fulfil one wish that you have — regardless of what it is.”

 

In the sudden flare of the candles, his shadow looked so much grander. It seemed as if wings had sprouted from his back — the sharpness of them, visible right at the edges. Four sets of them. It reminded her of bats, but clearly, she must have been mistaken. His form, his suit, did not change one bit, so that shadow must have been her imagination. The whole nature of this Faustian bargain that had been proposed to her was making her skin crawl. She thought of the dangers, the consequences, and what this could ultimately mean for her — it wasn’t a good idea to trust the devil. 

 

That’s what that pastor had tried to force into her head during the little time she spent at another one of her aunts’ places. He had a clean-shaven face that made him look younger, and he liked to stop every few words, to let out a hum. They ended up calling him the Hummingbird for that, as well as on account of his strangely thin nose. Whenever he started shouting his face turned bright red, and Clare had to hide behind one of her cousins so he wouldn’t spot her shaking figure. The one time he did her aunt made her skip dinner because she was laughing at a man of the cloth, and that was not allowed. 

 

Clare had always said that she wouldn’t be so dumb to trust the devil if he offered her a deal. But standing here in front of him she understood what the appeal was. Her interest was piqued. A wish — ‘anything she wanted from this world’ could mean a lot of things. Above all, the most important was that she could get another job offer — scratch that, she could get rich immediately and never work a single day in her life. She could retire somewhere in the Lake District and spend the rest of her life worrying only about hiking trails and photographic sceneries. The thought of spending every day with a camera in her hand, capturing the beauty of the land, from dusk to dawn and even beyond was far too appealing. She wouldn’t even have to worry if they sold. Her vast riches would take care of all that. She could buy herself a little bakery, go to uni, fund a movie production of her own life and even set aside enough money to take trips around Europe whenever she felt like it. 

 

Hell, she could do all that and more. Charities always needed Good Samaritans. She could be one of those, couldn’t she? A rich, posh snob who threw money at sick animals and community projects while gorging herself on shrimp and caviar. 

 

The possibilities were endless.

 

She glanced back at the contract, reading between the lines, looking for a catch. But there didn’t seem to be any hidden there. As far as she was aware, Diavolo was telling the truth — as strange as that sounded — and she was desperate enough to believe him.

 

She just needed to spend one year here and act like an expert on human culture. That was all. 

 

It shouldn’t be that hard. 

 

Inhaling sharply, she stuck out her hand, expression set and trying to look as determined and imposing as possible. “Any wish, right? No matter how stupid?”

 

“Any wish you can think of.”

 

She bit her tongue when his hand touched her, almost engulfing it in his. She knew he was tall, but even so, she’d never felt smaller and more vulnerable than now. Lucifer’s expression was still stern, but a brief shadow of satisfaction fell over his face. 

 

Clare gulped. “Ok, then, Lord Diavolo, you have a deal. I’ll stay here for one year and be part of your exchange program.” His face broke out in the widest grin she’d yet seen, and when he shook her hand, she was worried he might rip it off. Turned out demons had no understanding of how strong they could be compared to a 25-year-old temporary waitress at a hole-in-the-wall bar. 

 

“Thank you very much, Margaretha, for your compliance! Hopefully, this will be an experience that will help bridge the gaps between our worlds!”

 

“Uh, yeah, sure,” she replied with an awkward smile. “And Clare is fine. Being called Margaretha is just… weird.”

 

“My apologies, I will remember that in the future.” 

 

The genuine regret on Diavolo's face took her by surprise. Coughing, she tried to wiggle out of his grip before he realized what she was doing and released her. 

 

“It’s fine. Just, uh, make sure that I stay alive until the end of the year or something, right? And with all my limbs intact?”

 

She meant that as a joke, rubbing her wrist for emphasis but the dark shadow that suddenly took over his face gave her pause. 

 

“So you are concerned about your well-being as well? Yes, Solomon warned me that I should take this into consideration when introducing you to the idea. It seems that his suggestion was quite accurate.”

 

“He is human, after all,” Lucifer added, with a hint of disdain. “It’s not surprising that he would know about these things.”

 

“Indeed,” Diavolo nodded before he turned to her again. “I understand your concern, Mar— Clare, but you needn’t fret! I’ve made sure to provide a chaperone for you. You will not be left on your own in the Devildom at the mercy of demons.” Ignoring her look of growing apprehension, Diavolo signalled to Lucifer. He nodded and raised his hand. Clare wasn’t sure what was supposed to happen, but she watched the process of Lucifer suddenly snapping his fingers mesmerized. 

 

She expected the crow to move again as it did before, but nothing of the sort happened. It just stood there, head raised towards the ceiling as if watching something. She tried to peer through the darkness to spot whatever might have been hiding but her eyes started to water from the strain. She wiped away the tears before looking at Lucifer in confusion. He simply sighed, before letting out a small smirk. All it did was add to her apprehension.

 

Then, just as she opened her mouth to ask them to clarify, something fell from the darkness with a thud. It landed at her feet.

 

For the second time that night, she shrieked. It was even louder than the first one once she realized that the object which had fallen from the ceiling was, in fact, a body.

Chapter 3: first seal - house I

The body didn’t move — not for a while. It just lay there on its side, bound with rope and motionless. Because she only saw its back, Clare couldn’t tell much about it. But from what she gathered it was a man, around his early twenties, with tanned skin, and fair, almost white hair, short and messy. He was wearing a dark jacket, shorten than Lucifer’s and more crumpled (for lack of a better word) with matching pants. Underneath it, she could spot a green shirt, untucked and several rings on his fingers. 

 

Still frozen in shock, she watched as Lucifer kicked the body. It rolled over, now facing her.

 

“Mammon.” Clare swore the temperature in the room went below zero degrees. “How kind of you to drop by.”

 

Mammon groaned, wiggling in place as if trying to escape the restraints. So far, he was having no luck. The ropes just cut into the skin; from the looks of it, he was left hanging up long enough for all the blood to come rushing to his head until his face was left with a purple hue. It was a wonder that he was even alive at all. 

 

Diavolo laughed. “What an entrance! And it’s the second time this day! You know, Clare, I have the feeling that you and Mammon will get along really well.”

 

“Indeed,” Lucifer added. “They even seem to have matching forehead injuries.”

 

Maybe it wasn’t too late to get out of this whole deal. She could do without a wish. And riches and happiness were overrated anyway. Most people spent their lives grinding away at some job they hated, before settling down and dying without fulfilling a single dream — who was she to go against the grain?  

 

The ropes around Mammon suddenly gave way, as he stood there groaning (or maybe moaning might have been a more appropriate term, the noise sounded much too close to the keel of a dying man for her comfort) and rubbing his head. Clare baulked when she saw a small trickle of blood make its way down the side of his face. 

 

“Hey! What’s the big deal, Lucifer?” There was a rough edge to his voice, the kind that reminded her of bikers and leather jackets — although it was lost in the boyish lull that seemed to be so much more overwhelming. “Why’d you hang me from the ceiling like that, huh? Shit, now my head hurts like crazy…”

 

“Silence,” Lucifer said. “Are you going to act like you don’t know what you did? I’m talking about how you tried to sneak off from school today and ignore the direct summon from Lord Diavolo in regard to your chaperone duties. Do you need a reminder of what happened after I caught you?”

 

From the way Mammon shivered, Clare was certain that she also didn’t want to know what Lucifer looked like when he was angry. Hell, he didn’t seem all that pleasant when he was merely irritated. There was something dark and foreboding about him. Like he was capable of much more harm but was holding back for either her sake or Diavolo’s. Probably, Diavolo’s. He most likely would have found it amusing to toy with her a bit before tossing her to the other demons like scraps. 

 

“No! That’s fine! My memory’s just come back, hahaha!”  Mammon stood up. After dusting himself — and checking to see that his rings were alright — he turned towards Clare and frowned. “Who’s this?”

 

“This is the human that you will have to take care of for the rest of the year.” 

 

Clare returned the frown. Apparently, she couldn’t even get an introduction and instead was relegated to just ‘the human’. At least it was better than Margaretha, she supposed. 

 

Suddenly alert, Mammon turned towards Lucifer. “The hell? I haven’t signed up for that! Why’d I have to look after this schmuck?” 

 

“ Mammon .” The glare Lucifer sent him was glacial. Even she cowered before it, taking a step back out of instinct. At this rate, she might end up dying before even getting to attend this so-called school. Wouldn’t that be a riot? “Surely, you’re not going to tell me that you have an objection to this arrangement, will you now?”

 

“Well, I… uh…”

 

Silence. Then, as if a switch, had been flipped, Mammon looked back at her with a determined, if frustrated expression, squaring up his shoulders and crossing his arms. He didn’t look to be much older than her, though his appearance screamed ‘problem child’ from the way his tie laid crooked to how disorderly his jacket was. It was as if he had just woken up and put on the first things he could have found, without caring too much about actually looking presentable. It rather undercut the intimidating aura that he was attempting to portray. 

 

Clare had dealt with problem children before — both as one and as an adult. Whatever Mammon had planned to try on her, he would be sorely mistaken if he thought she was going to just roll over and take it. 

 

“Listen up, human —” She scoffed. He must have learned that derisive tone from Lucifer. They even had the same cadence to it. “—because I’m only gonna say this once! This is a huge pain in my ass, and I’m way too important for this kind of shit, but since Lucifer told me to do it, I gotta. Got it? I’m not doing it out of compassion or any of that crap!” 

 

He paused, waiting for her to reply. Clare kept quiet. 

 

“ Tch . You’re really got a lotta nerve ignoring the Great Mammon, the Avatar of Greed, like that! Dontcha value your life, huh? Or are you too scared that you’re shakin’ in your boots?” 

 

He smirked, stepping closer. Although he wasn’t as tall as Lucifer or Diavolo, he still towered over her quite easily. To be fair, most people did, but it was more annoying to find out that this disrespectful asshole was one of them. When she didn’t back down, he went right back to glaring at her. 

 

“Now, if ya wanna survive then you better do what I say and hand over all your money right now! Got it! And all other expensive stuff, like a watch, or a necklace, or those earrings! ‘Cause if not I’m gonna wipe that dumb look off your face by eatin’ you all—”

 

“ Mammon, shut up .” 

 

He yelled as he was sent crashing to the floor. Diavolo’s boisterous laughter drowned out Mammon’s groaning, while Clare stepped around him, trying to draw back from the group — until Diavolo’s hand came to rest on her shoulder. That stopped her in her tracks. He was still grinning and it made her wonder if muggings were just a normal part of this realm. Is that why he seemed so nonchalant about it? Or was it some demon thing she couldn’t figure out? 

 

“Lucifer’s brothers really are a riot. Don’t you think so too, Clare?” 

 

She looked at Mammon. The second fall made him look even more dishevelled — he also acquired a nosebleed that had stained the floor with a few drops. 

 

“He’s… something else, alright.”

 

“Yes, he is,” Lucifer said. “Quite too much of something, I’d say. Mammon, get up from the floor and escort Clare to the house. Make sure that she settles in. And that Beel won’t try to eat her.”

 

Eat her . Clare tried to pull away but Diavolo’s grip on her was like iron. She barely managed to let out a squeak of surprise, before she was patted rather roughly and pushed forward, stumbling. On Diavolo’s shoulder, the crow let out another caw, as it started hovering above their heads for a bit, before landing on top of Mammon’s. To her surprise, he didn’t shoo it off. It blinked at Clare as she glared at it. 

 

Diavolo began to speak again. “I’m glad to see that you’ve started off on a good foot.” Clare bit her tongue, gaze shifting to the side, as she caught a glimpse of Mammon’s confused expression. At least she wasn’t alone. “This is very important since you’ll be staying in the House of Lamentation with Lucifer and his six brothers. That will be your home while you’ll be on this exchange program. You will be taken good care of while there, you can rest assured. I trust Lucifer completely with this task. As well as you, Mammon.”

 

“Huh?” Mammon scratched the back of his neck, looking apprehensive. “I mean… Don’t go blaming me if someone gets eaten. This human looks like she has a few screws loose.”

 

“At least I’m not a scumbag mugger,” she muttered under her breath, yet Mammon must have heard her. His glare was, however, nowhere near as terrifying as Lucifer’s so she simply ignored him, looking instead at Diavolo’s calm and assured expression. Out of everybody in this room, he was the most confident about this plan — which didn’t inspire as much trust in her as he probably intended. 

 

But there was still the promise of that wish. She breathed in, trying to relax. She could do this. She could survive until the end of the year and reap the rewards. Not all demon pacts have to end badly. After all, look at Faust. Clare grimaced. Actually, no, that was a bad idea.     

 

“Demons, angels, humans — this is my dream. A world where we are all brought together as friends and accept each other. And this exchange program — you , Clare — is part of the foundation for it. I am certain that if we only learn more about each other’s ways we’ll come to a better understanding.”

 

Diavolo stayed quiet for a while. A brief flash passed by in her mind and she blinked. She supposed this was a noble dream — of sorts. The more she thought about it, the more she was sure that she was being reckless, plunging head first into danger she couldn’t understand. It wasn’t prudent. The clock on her cracked screen flickered slightly. Behind it, she and her grandfather’s faces from ten years ago were smiling up at her. She was fifteen and with a cast on her arm, sitting on a bed while posing, his arm around her shoulders. It was just a few weeks after the accident, and the cuts on her face hadn’t healed quite yet. The corner of her mouth was still held together by stitches. 

 

She exhaled. It was just one year. 

 

“Let’s, uh, make it a year to remember then. That’s the plan, right?”