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“Does anyone else think there’s something up with Duke Dagon?” asked Furfur in the main break room of Hell, which was, as usual, full of demons talking over one another and getting nothing done.
“Other than they keep discorporating us?” asked one of the Disposable Demons.
“That’s normal,” said someone else. “They always do that. Speaking of-” and they pulled out a knife. The Disposable Demon startled, and ran away.
“They’re repainting their office for the fifth time this week,” Furfur continued.
“Oh, shut up, Furfur,” groaned a demon from the crowd. “They’re a Duke, and you’re just some guy.”
“You’re just Ken,” chimed in a demon who’d recently discovered TikTok and had done no work since.
“What’s a Ken?” asked Furfur.
Meanwhile, in their office, Dagon stared at the walls, as if willing them to dry faster. They were a familiar shade of pink, like flushed cheeks, with gold accents if you looked close enough. Not very demonic, but then, Dagon had sharp teeth to tear out the throat of any lower demon who dared question their design choices. They didn’t care about random demons’ opinions.
They picked up their phone, snapped a picture, and sent it to the only being whose opinion did matter.
The reply came almost instantly. Lovely.
A one word response. Dagon growled. If they had their angel here, they could push her against their pretty walls, make her complexion match them. Then their angel could properly appreciate their hard work. But it would be hard to get away with bringing an Archangel into the midst of Hell. If only there was some way they could bring their angel to their nest!
The house was isolated, on its own at the top of a cliff overlooking the rough seas. Perfect. Miraculously, the human selling it agreed that of course Dagon had paid in full. They started to set up.
Cozy blankets and pillows arranged on a four poster bed with curtains hanging all around in the bedroom. A display of medieval weapons at the entryway, because Michael enjoyed weapons and Dagon enjoyed Michael with weapons. An office each, Michael’s left empty and Dagon’s crammed with filing cabinets. A tank of whale bone worms, pressurized. Plenty of space for them both to add things.
Come here, Dagon texted, and sent the address.
The air crackled with electricity as Michael appeared outside the house. “What’s this?” she asked.
Dagon twisted their hands nervously. They hadn’t expected they’d be nervous. “I got us a house,” they said.
Michael looked them over. “You got us a house,” she repeated.
Dagon nodded.
“Well then,” said Michael, “let’s see it, shall we? Lead the way.”
Dagon did. When Michael saw their nest – the bed with its elaborate arrangement, perfectly designed to hold two bodies, she smiled a genuine smile, a rare and beautiful thing.
“This is your nest?” she asked, though it was obvious.
“Our nest,” Dagon corrected, daring the Archangel to contradict them, hoping she wouldn’t. Were they being presumptuous?
“Our nest,” agreed Michael, and took her demon in her arms. “Let’s test it out.”