Chapter Text
If five years ago, Dewi’s future self appeared in front of her and prophesied that she’d be living with an angel in an ala-cottagecore kind of life somewhere in the countryside of Italy, she would have gagged right then and there. She had not met an angel then, and thought the whole idea ridiculous and laughable, at best. Merely, she had escaped under their noses or steered clear from their territories. Her opinion about angels back then was not stronger than the uncontested rule of the angels as their enemies. Since she was young, she’d lived her life knowing devils and angels do not mix.
Knowing is only ten-percent of believing though, and Dewi has never believed it. Not until she met the naive and idiotic angel, Eniale. Now that she’s in the kitchen with one, she understands why devils and angels do not mix.
“Do you even know how to cook pasta?” Dewi eyes Eniale sternly.
Eniale blatantly raises an eyebrow in return. “Do you ?”
“I cooked for a sickly lady and her cat for days back in France. I know what I’m doing, Eni.” She smirks at her, hipping her slightly out of the way. “Now, move. ”
Eni scoffs, though she sticks her cheek against Dewi’s shoulder. “If this isn’t delicious, I’m going to let you eat everything.” She dips an exploratory spoon on the gurgling blood-red sauce in the heated pan. Dewi looks over to see her reaction once Eniale gingerly puts the spoon between her lips. At the taste, her gleaming ocean blue eyes put a smile on Dewi’s triumphant face.
“Told you.”
Eni nudges her shoulder. “I didn’t say anything!”
Giggling into each other’s foreheads, their not-so-Italian spaghetti almost gets forgotten. A ring from the doorbell alerts them both, bursting into a hearty guffaw when the heating sauce exudes an almost-burnt smell. Eni softly pats Dewi’s shoulder as she croons, “Go to the gates for me, will you, Dewi~?”
“And put poison in our spaghetti? Yeah, no chance.” But Dewiela already hands Eniale the spatula and is on her way to the door at any second.
“The only way this spaghetti is going to kill you is how delicious I am going to make it.”
Not letting Eni have the last word, Dewi pinches her cherubian cheek, earning a fond whine from Eni.
They should have been more suspicious about the recent unknown visitor. But it has been almost a week of their stay, and for the past few days, they have even cooked pies for their neighbors. That trumpet angel, Hanael, knows where they live, as a sole contact to Eniale should Dewiela wake up one day, follow the hell’s creed, and decide to kill her. “For heaven’s sake, Eni, you might be the one to kill me first.” “Angels don’t kill, Dewi.” “You sure ‘bout that?” And despite God’s approval of their arrangement, Eniale tells her she hadn’t told him…yet. Not even Gabriel, although that may come sooner than Dewi realizes. Maybe Gabriel is visiting them, she might be the one outside the gate.
Dewi hasn’t told her associates from hell, not even B.B. He knows about her friendship with Eniale, but after Armageddon, she has taken pains to obscure him from the progress of their relationship. Their tiny house tucked humbly at the outskirts of the Italian countryside is unbeknownst to anyone who knew Dewiela. And imagining them knowing has dawned upon her, what with the mystery of their visitor plying more suspicions to her. It’s not that she has never planned to tell hell and introduce Eni to them, it’s just…not the right time.
Confirming her fears, her lackeys are outside the low gates, waiting for her. Shit.
“Heeey, boys! Howdy!” Dewi waves her hands, trying to ease some tension.
“We’ve been looking for you everywhere in the world, boss.”
“‘Course you are, my very loyal friends.” They’re not really her friends. More like acquaintances. Eniale is the only person she has counted as a friend. “How did you find me?”
“GPS.”
One of the lackey’s devil’s tail flicks behind him.
“Right.” Goddamn it, I should have known that. The moment she had gotten the angel’s disease, she was whisked away to the countryside for clean air to rid of miasma, hence she has forgotten everything about her that is evil. Italian air must have been so good. “But why are, guys, here?”
Dewiela regrets her question right after she asked.
“Our father sends you a message.”
Fucking hell, shit. This is it, she’s done.
“To visit him next week, and take Eniale with you.”
The judgment of Satan has finally come.
“What’s wrong?” The worry in Eniale’s voice balms Dewiela’s emotional turmoil once she steps back into the house, the invitation letter heavy in the pocket of her skin-tight pajamas. And like angels do, of course, Eniale senses some dark cloud in Dewiela’s head. She chuckles teasingly, “You look like you have seen devils from hell.”
“I’ve seen them, alright.” With a weak shrug, Dewiela flashes her a timorous smile. “At the gates.”
Only with a shared look does Eniale realize the weight of Dewiela’s announcement. A shadow of fear momentarily crosses over her face before her brows knit into concentration. The thud of the spatula signals Eni’s dissociation from everything else around her. Dewi takes the handle, turns off the stove. She watches Eni’s eyes throughout the silence of the kitchen, the blue in them darkens like the sea when there’s a storm overhead. Dewi waits with bated breath.
“Eni, are you alright? Don’t tell me you’re more scared than I am, ha. ”
“I’ve got an idea, Dewi!” The devil almost jumps out like a stunned cat.
“Geez. Now, you’re scaring me.”
“But before that, I need to talk to Father Burroughs.” Determination is set on Eniale’s features. Dewiela has never been so scared for her.
Well, to hell be damned.