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The cafe was busy, and Simeon enjoyed the soft ambiance of the conversations flowing around him. In his hand was a creased page, one he had read at least a dozen times since he had received it. The words on the page had touched Simeon’s heart. There was an honest vulnerability and passion to the praise written. He would have liked to have thanked the sender if only they had signed their name.
Who among his peers thought him brilliant and kind? Powerful and innovative?
A chair scrapped the floor across from him, the only warning he had that Satan had joined him. Simeon hadn’t even realized the Avatar of Wrath had been here, so his uninvited presence at the table shocked him. He smiled and greeted the demon warmly, “Good afternoon, Satan.”
“Hmmm,” Satan said in reply. “That is the fourth time you have sighed, the sixth time you have read this paper and your drink is now cold. What is on your mind?”
Simeon blinked, taking a second to adjust to Satan’s blunt tone. “It seems I have a secret admirer. I was pondering who it could be.”
“May I?” Satan laid his hand down on the paper. With Simeon’s nod of permission, the demon picked it up. His eyes scanned the page swiftly, and he muttered as he read. “Clever. Not only did they not sign their name, but their choice of using a typewriter additionally conceals their identity.”
“Though I am disappointed, I suppose I just need to respect their desire for anon-”
“But not clever enough.” Satan interrupted. His eyes were bright and his smile was eager. “If you really want to know, we can find out.”
“How? There were no details on the envelope, no signature.”
Satan set the letter down and leaned in. “But there is a signature. Just not the signature of the sender. The typewriter has a signature.”
Simeon smiled. He could see where this was going. Satan had decided that this was a mystery that needed solving. He let the demon continue uninterrupted.
“It’s clear that this was typed on a Praxis ‘78. The Praxis models always were generous with their line spacing, and the ‘78 was the only one to use this particular font for its keys.”
“That’s still a lot of typewriters.”
“Not as many as you might think. The Praxis are expensive, so they would not have been accessible in public spaces. That eliminates your admirer using one at the library, or at RAD. No, your admirer will be powerful or comes from money.”
Simeon struggled not to laugh. It wasn’t a mocking laughter he was trying to keep contained, it would have been a purely joyful sound. But he did not think that Satan would take it that way, so he kept it inside.
“But, even more specific than that.” Satan pointed at the page. “See the S’s? There is a triangular dot of ink just to the lower left of each of them. The M’s? There is a lack of crispness and definition. This typewriter is worn, it has been well used. This is its signature, and it will be unique. We can find your admirer.”
The demon’s enthusiasm was catching. Why not let Satan try? Even with all his deductions, the odds of finding the note’s author were slim. And it would be a wonderful chance to get to know Satan a little better. “So, where do we start, my fine detective?”
Satan sat a little straighter. “By making sure the detective has all the tools he needs to crack this case.”
When Satan had mentioned tools, this was not what the Simeon had expected. He had pictured maybe a magnifying glass to get a closer look at the keys. Or a printed registry of the sales of that typewriter model. But when Satan exited his room, he carried nothing in his hands at all. He had, however, changed his outfit entirely.
“I thought we were stopping here to get the tools of your trade?” Simeon asked with an amused smile.
Satan smoothed the front of his very authentic, very vintage detective costume, and then adjusted the hat. “My mind is the only tool I truly need.”
“Does it work better with the hat on?”
Satan ignored the question and started walking with purpose down the hall. “Come along. We have clues to uncover and suspects in interrogate.”
“I want to thank my secret admirer, not interrogate them.” Simeon protested, as he trailed in Satan’s wake.
“Do you object less to the term question ?”
Spoken in that tone, it carried the same weight and implied threat that the word interrogate had. “Perhaps it is better I ask the questions. You are likely to give my admirer a heart attack with your intensity.” Simeon answered, catching up to the demon. “Where to first?”
“We will return to the scene of the crime. Purgatory Hall.”
“Is admiring me a crime?” The angel laughed.
“Perhaps they feel it is, and that’s why they hid their identity.”
Simeon didn’t think it was Luke or Solomon, but he wouldn’t dare interfere with the master detective’s process. Even when it involved them knocking on the door to his own home and waiting for someone to open it.
The door swung inward to reveal Solomon. The silver-haired sorcerer looked at Satan and his smile quivered. Simeon cleared his throat and shook his head, warning his friend not to laugh. “Good afternoon, Satan. Don’t you look…” Solomon’s eyes twinkled and Simeon arched a warning eyebrow. The sorcerer finally settled on a word. “Dapper. What brings you by today?”
“There is a mystery that needs solving.”
“Is it that Simeon has lost his front door key?”
“Have you?” Satan turned to Simeon and asked. “We could tackle that next. Since I am already dressed for the part.” The demon could not see Solomon struggling not to dissolve into uncontrolled laughter behind him.
“I received to most beautiful and heartfelt secret admirer letter and Satan offered to help me find the sender.” Simeon explained, hoping to prevent the conversation from going further off the rails.
“And how can I help?” Solomon asked.
“I need to see your typewriter.”
“My- you think it was me?” Solomon winked at Simeon before continuing on dramatically. “How dare you make such an accusation?”
“You fit the profile. You have both the means and the opportunity,” Satan explained. “Now, your typewriter, please.”
Solomon waved an arm, inviting Simeon and his detective into the house. “Tell me more about this profile.” As he climbed the stairs leading to his room, Solomon continued. “It better include incredibly handsome, devilishly charming and awesomely powerful…”
Simeon lingered in the entryway and once they were out of earshot, he indulged in a warm chuckle. Having gotten it out of his system, the angel in inhaled deeply before following the pair. It was probably not a good idea not to leave the two of them alone for long.
“Let’s see, now where is it?” Solomon mused, looking at his room filled with treasured artifacts of the ages. “Don’t you think if I wrote the letter, the typewriter would be where I could find it?”
“You are too clever to make such an amateur mistake.”
“Did you hear that, Simeon? Satan thinks I’m clever.” Solomon was enjoying this as much as Satan, but in an entirely different way.
“I also think that you are stalling.” Satan crossed his arms sternly. “I do not take obstruction of my investigation lightly.”
“Does that mean you’ll punish me?”
“I think I saw it over here!” Simeon interrupted before Satan could answer. “Yes, it's right next to that Rosetta Stone and the ticket stubs from the premiere of the 1939 Wizard of Oz.”
“That portrayal of a wizard was criminal and set back representation for my profession back decades. We are not all frauds and charlatans!” As though to prove his point, Solomon gestured with his hand, and the typewriter came to life. The keys merrily rang out, stamping words on a slightly dusty piece of paper.
Satan strode purposefully to retrieve the page while Simeon came up alongside his friend. His smile was serene, but he quietly hissed, “Cut it out.”
“Oh, are you threatening to punish me, too?” Solomon murmured. “Lucky me. Just wait until you see what comes next.”
A sense of dread filled Simeon as his eyes darted to the paper in Satan’s hands.
“Is it a large enough sample size?” The sorcerer asked cheerfully. “I could go on.”
“Your prose has deteriorated since your last published work,” Satan said dryly.
“Language has moved on since I penned my part of the Bible and I have evolved with the times.” Solomon’s eyes sought Simeons, and he recited a passage from the Song of Solomon. ”How beautiful you are and how pleasing, my love, with your delights!” The corners of the sorcerer’s mouth crinkled with his bright smile. “It was a classic in its day, but I think Simeon deserves better .” Solomon cocked his head and earnestly asked the demon. “ Are you saying I’ve lost my touch? I think my new work is quite spicy and evocative, but tell me how would you describe Simeon’s-”
“I would not!” Satan crumpled the paper in his hand and threw it to the side.
“I worked very hard on that.” Solomon pouted playfully.
“Come along Simeon. He is not your secret admirer.” Satan huffed as he stalked toward the door. His mind was clearly set on the next objective. “The type does not match, and I doubt he could mimic the sincere tone of the letter you received.”
Simeon started to follow, but Solomon caught his hand. “You don’t need a letter to know how much I admire you and treasure our friendship, right? My world would be terribly empty without you in it.”
The angel’s heart warmed. Satan was wrong. Solomon could be very sincere when he wanted to be. Simeon squeezed his hand. “I know.”
“Simeon! We do not have a moment to waste!” Satan called out impatiently.
Solomon laughed and released Simeon’s fingers. “Go. Enjoy the rest of your game.”
By the time they arrived at the steps of the royal palace, Simeon was having second thoughts about this. “Maybe we shouldn’t-”
“Nonsense,” Satan interrupted. “Be brave. Be bold. Behind these doors, your admirer could be waiting.” He waltzed into the palace as though he had every right to be there and made his way to the library.
Simeon followed in his wake, smiling apologetically at the startled servants.
Impossibly tall shelves lined the room, and spiral staircases led to a second story. A sky light gave an amazing view of the dusky sky above. Satan was muttering to himself as he ducked into an alcove on the left. “I’m sure I saw it here…”
“And what might you be looking for?” Barbatos’ voice never rose above an appropriate conversational volume, but its authority was unquestionable. “Good afternoon Simeon. Satan. I was not expecting your company today or I would have prepared tea. Since you did not give me proper notice, you will have to suffer its lack.” His disapproval was unmistakable.
“Pardon the intrusion,” Simeon apologized.
“We have a mystery to solve.” Satan stated.
“There is unlikely to be any mystery to solve here.” Barbatos commented. “I would know if there were. There is little that goes on under this roof that I am not party to-”
“That almost sounds like a confession.” Satan’s eyes brightened with delight.
“And what, exactly, do you think I am confessing?” An eyebrow arched elegantly over the butler’s intense gaze.
Simeon smoothly explained the reason for the visit, while Satan would occasionally correct him and provide further detail. For a moment, the angel thought he saw a large shadow lurking near the doorway, but a disapproving sigh from Barbatos drew his attention away.
“To summarize, you believe that the Prince, myself or a member of the staff used the typewriter in question to write a letter of admiration to Simeon?”
“No, I think it was either you or Diavolo. The staff having had few interactions with Simeon are unlikely to be the culprits, and I doubt you would allow them to use a precious antique.” Satan took a step closer and looked Barbatos in the eye. “I wanted to examine the typewriter before you could dispose of the evidence.”
“Yes, there is a Praxis ‘78 on the premise, but as you surmised, it is a valuable piece of equipment. Ours is in pristine condition, as are all things in my care. I suggest you look elsewhere for suspects, and cease disrupting my day.”
“But you do admire Simeon, don’t you?” Satan questioned.
“I do, but I express that admiration over hand crafted treats, properly brewed tea, and intelligent conversation, not ink which can smear, and paper that can yellow with age.” Barbatos' expression softened as he turned his head to look in the angel’s eyes.
Simeon smiled, the memories of many an afternoon rising to the surface of his mind. The rare sound of the butler’s laughter, the flavours of their treats shifting with the seasons, and a warmth that had little to do with the fire in the kitchen or the tea they were drinking.
“That does not mean the Prince-”
The arrival of the demon in question cut Satan’s sentence short. “What about me?”
“My lord?” Barbatos asked. “Do you not have something more important to tend to?”
“The servants were in quite the tizzy, I had to come see for myself.” He looked at Satan, his eyes taking in every detail of the costume. “I am not disappointed. There is a mystery?”
“No,” Barbatos said wearily, while Satan contradicted him with an authoritative yes.
The Prince rubbed his hands together. “How can we help?”
“We need to examine your Praxis ‘78 to compare it to a letter Simeon received.”
“It’s in my office. Come along then.” With a bounce in his step, Diavolo led Satan into the hallway.
Barbatos sighed again and shook his head. Simeon laughed and patted his friend on the shoulder. “It will be over soon, and we will get out of your hair.” They followed the detective and the prince into the corridor.
“So, what are you going to do with the culprit when you catch them? Imprison them?” Diavolo looked over his shoulder at Simeon.
“No!” the angel called out, horrified. “I was going to thank them for the kind words, and treat them to a nice meal so that we could get better acquainted.”
“No handcuffs? That’s disappointing.” Diavolo pouted.
Satan reached into his pocket. “I have a pair if you change your mind, Simeon.”
“I am not going to need them!”
Satan shrugged and put them away. “It would keep them from fleeing the restaurant.”
“I should hope that they don’t wish to!”
Diavolo threw open the door to his office. “Feel free to examine anything! I have absolutely nothing to hide!”
Satan bee-lined to the desk, and the typewriter sitting there. Diavolo stood to the side, a huge grin on his face. Barbatos glanced at his prince’s hands and let out a soft growl, but whatever he saw there did not prompt him to interrupt.
With a flourish, Satan fed a fresh sheet of paper into the machine and swiftly typed out a few sentences. Diavolo was nearly vibrating with excitement. His eyes watching every move the detective demon made. As Satan pulled the test page free, and took a breath to announce his findings, the Prince interrupted dramatically. “I confess it was me!”
“Really? Your highness, I don’t know what to say.” Simeon’s hand rose to his chest.
“I would have told you in person but it would have been unseemly for a demon of my station to be so eager in my praise of our angelic visitor. So, I concocted this clever ruse.” He turned to Simeon. “Now, where are we going to eat?”
“It was not you,” Satan said, dropping the page on the desk with a disappointed sigh.
“It was!” He crossed the room and picked up the abandoned paper. “See! The letters are damaged, just like you said!”
“Eavesdropping is beneath someone of your station,” Barbatos chastised. Simeon remembered the lurking shadow in the hallway, and his body shook with silent laughter.
“Yes, the letters are damaged, but not in the precise fashion we are looking for.” Satan took the evidence from the prince’s hands. “The ink is a deep royal purple, not the black used in Simeon’s letter. The damage to the letters is fare more prominent. Not the result of use, but intentional sabotage. Likely, the result of being etched by a sharp claw. Your claw, since you are leaving fingerprints on the paper now.”
Diavolo’s face fell, and he looked at Simeon with puppy dog eyes. “So, that’s a no to dinner?”
Simeon came over to Prince and patted him on the cheek. “How about Ristorante Six?” Barbatos cleared his throat, and the angel amended his offer. “Once you have finished with the tasks Barbatos has for you, that is.”
Diavolo’s smile returned as quickly had disappeared. “I look forward to it.”
“Satan?” Barbatos asked. “Might you do me one small favour? Your handcuffs, please?”
“At least someone will get to use them,” the demon muttered, fishing them back out and handing them to the butler.
“Barbatos!” Diavolo protested. “Time with Simeon is incentive enough, there is no need to resort to that!”
Simeon laughed. “Guess you shouldn’t have been so eager to use them earlier. Good luck.” He sought Satan’s gaze. “Where to next?”
“Back to where we began.”
Satan’s mood was noticeably darker as they circled back to the House of Lamentations. The steps had been light, full of excitement were now heavy. His lips were no longer tilted upward in an amused smile, they were pursed tightly together.
“Satan, you know we could-”
“We are not quitting!” He nearly growled, glaring at Simeon.
“But you aren’t having fun anymore,” Simeon offered gently. “That you tried is enough. It’s not that important.”
Satan paused at the foot of the stairs leading to his home. “Not that important?! Of course you would say that.”
“Maybe some mysteries are best left unsolved.” It had been a fun adventure, but Simeon didn’t want to draw it out if it wasn’t any fun for his partner anymore.
“Do you want to know who wrote the letter?” Satan demanded.
“Well, yes, but-”
“Then we will determine their identity.”
“But you-”
Satan made an irritated sound. “You take care of everyone else and ask for nothing in return. You constantly put your wants aside for the comfort of others. This was one thing you wanted, and it is one thing I can give you. We will solve the mystery. We will see this through to the end.”
Simeon had thought this was all about the thrill of the chase for Satan. That playing the game itself had been his only goal, and that the letter was just an excuse. This was unexpectedly touching, and the angel didn’t know what to say.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Satan grumped, looking down at his jacket and brushing away an imaginary spot of dust. “I don’t give up and you shouldn’t either.”
Simeon decided that his words of thanks would only make the demon uncomfortable, so he kept them inside and instead changed the subject. “So, who is our next suspect?”
Satan climbed the steps and steeled himself before opening the door to his home. When he looked back over his shoulder, the smile was back. Though now it had more teeth and felt predatory. “Lucifer.”
The angel had to scramble to catch up. Nearly bumping into Levi in the foyer in his haste to follow Satan. “Sorry Levi. Are you alright?”
Levi looked flustered, and it took a second for him to stammer something that was coherent. “Simeon? What-what are you doing here?”
“Solving a mystery with the great detective Satan. Now, if you will excuse me, we are about to interrogate Lucifer.” Simeon hurried down the hall. He could already hear raised voices.
“He’s - your- what?” Levi called after him.
Simeon could hear Lucifer’s words are clearly as though he was in the room with them. “Satan. You will explain yourself.”
“Gladly.” Satan took a deep breath, happy to have an excuse to once more express the brilliance of his deductions.
Lucifer listened to it all with a bored frown, his attention clearly more on his paperwork than Satan. “Are you quite finished?” he asked, when his brother fell silent. Lucifer looked over at Simeon. “I expect this kind of nonsense from him, but you are a far too levelheaded for this. Do you honestly believe it would be me?”
“I could hope it would be you.” Simeon said softly, looking down from Lucifer’s angered gaze.
“It was not.” Lucifer returned his attention to Satan. “I suppose you will not abandon this foolishness until the game is played out in its entirety.” He gestured to the bookshelf to his left and looked back down at his work. “Make your examination and then get out of my office.”
Satan did not waste time and would not need a second invitation. He swiftly prepared the machine and effortlessly typed a few paragraphs.
“Now that your flawed hypothesis had been proven false. Leave.”
Satan stared silently at the page in his hand. His voice was incredulous when he spoke. “It’s a match.” Then he beamed and repeated the sentence with authority. “It’s a match.”
Simeon didn’t know what to say. He had thought that today would end with no more clarity than it had begun. Lucifer? It really was Lucifer?
“Ridiculous! You must be wrong. Give it here.” Lucifer growled, stretching out a hand.
“And allow you to taint the evidence? I think not.” Satan drew closer to the desk. His confidence grew with each step. He held the page out to Lucifer and pointed to the keystrokes that matched Simeon’s letter.
Lucifer’s eyes narrowed, and he frowned. “All this proves is that it was written on this typewriter. It does not prove it was by my hand.”
“No one in this house is permitted entry when you are not here. You change the curses on that door daily, and they are nearly impossible to break. I know. I’ve tried. So, if this was not written by you, then tell me who was able to break the spells of the Almighty Avatar of Pride?”
Lucifer rose from his chair. The very implication that someone was better than him making an already tense situation worse. Simeon tried to get their attention, but nothing would break the stare down in progress. “Are you calling me a liar, Satan?”
“I wonder what is going to wound you more, admitting someone got the best of you or admitting that you still admire Simeon?”
“It does not hurt me to admit the truth.”
“Then say it!”
The air felt heavy, like the moments before a storm broke. There were sharp daggers in their eyes, and Simeon worried that they might actually harm each other. He opened his mouth but Lucifer spoke before the angel could utter a syllable.
“I do admire him!” Each word sounded like it was being pulled out by force. “He is gentle and kind. He is clever and considerate.” The words grew softer, less like a storm and more like a gentle rain. “Everything he does has an air of grace and poise. He puts himself last, caring for others above himself.”
Simeon felt like his heart was going to melt. His eyes glistened with tears. To hear his oldest friend speak so fondly of him again brought him so much joy. “Lucifer,” he whispered. He didn’t know what else to say, but the fallen angel’s name had passed his lips without conscious thought.
“But I did not write the letter.”
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t need to have the words written on mere paper. Not when they are inscribed on my heart now.” Simeon laid his hand on his chest.
“What do you mean it doesn’t matter?!!” Three heads swivelled to the doorway where Levi was standing, his face red. “Are you just going to throw it away? Because his words are prettier?”
Simeon heard the heartache in Levi’s voice and the saw fear of rejection in his eyes. Ah, this made much more sense. The words on the page had felt rehearsed and honed, while the ones that Lucifer had spoken were raw and unfiltered, likely almost as much of a surprise to him as it was to everyone else in the room.
“Levi?” Satan asked. “You broke Lucifer’s curses? You?”
Levi bristled at the disbelief in Satan’s voice. “I’m smart enough not to have to. I used the typewriter when I was in here updating his firewall.”
“And did you have something to do with the fact I needed that update?” Lucifer questioned, a growl deepening his tone.
Simeon stepped between Lucifer and the target of his anger. “That was very clever of you,” he complimented. “No one would have suspected you of using something so low tech.”
“And I thought it was fitting, because you are my favourite author to, you know, use a typewriter.” Levi lowered his head and smiled shyly.
“You could have just told me.” Simeon approached Levi slowly, like he was trying not to startle a wounded animal.
“Just a filthy otaku. Don’t deserve to spend time with you.”
Satan had no such care for the moment. He stood tall and adjusted the lapels of his jacket. “Lucky for you Levi, that is what you get to do. Isn’t that what you said you would do when you found your secret admirer, Simeon? Take them out for a nice meal to get to know them better?”
“Yes, where would you like to go, Levi?” Simeon asked the otaku gently.
While the Avatar of Envy was stammering and trying to form coherent words, Lucifer broke into the conversation. “I’m afraid Levi will have to take a rain check on that meal. I think he will be grounded for the foreseeable future.”
“That is not my problem.” Satan bowed with a flourish and tipped his hat. “The case of the Secret Admirer has been solved and my work here is done.” He strutted out of the room.
Simeon chased him, leaving a whining Levi to bargain with Lucifer. “Satan? Wait!”
He wanted to say thank you. Satan had done so much for him today. Their investigation had uncovered more than one person who cherished Simeon, and the angel felt loved and appreciated. He remembered now all the little acts of friendship that had been showered on him in the weeks and months he had lived in the Devildom. And it was all thanks to Satan.
Simeon wouldn’t say any of that. The afternoon having proved that Satan wasn’t fond of such things. “I was honoured to be your assistant today.”
“No, you were my client.” Satan snorted. “You do not have the skills or training to be my assistant.”
“Then teach me.” That was how Simeon could show how much this meant to him. He could honour the skills used on his behalf.
Satan’s poker face fell for a moment, revealing pure joy, but it was back in place when he spoke. “I can be an exacting teacher,” the demon cautioned. “And we cannot start until your are appropriately attired.”
Though Simeon nodded seriously, he was beaming on the inside. “I’m sure I can come up with something suitable.”
“No. I’ll provide you the pattern. If you are going to do this, you will do it right." Lucifer’s voice rose in the other room and Satan nodded to the door. “Now, you might want to rescue Levi or else he might replace Mammon as a chandelier tonight.”
Simeon watched Satan walk away, the spring in his step restored. The angel chuckled, wondering what adventures awaited them in the future. A whimper from Levi brought him back to the present, and Simeon steeled himself for the miracle he was about to attempt.