“This is where every soul comes when they’re entering Heaven,” Mike explained.

I blinked. “But I do not have a soul. I’m a devil.”

Raphe laughed heartily, clutching his sides as he shook.

“What is so funny about that? From everything I’ve seen of souls, they’re nothing but trouble for the owner.” The words caught in my throat. Jemma’s soul had only been trouble for her because of my machinations. And if I didn’t get back to Hell fast, she might still be in trouble, thanks to me.

“He really has no idea, does he?” Raphe chortled to his brothers as if I wasn’t even there.

“Silence.” Mike glowered a warning at the still-chuckling Raphe. My stomach twisted.

“What do I have no idea⁠—”

“Pete!” Gabe interrupted, shoving me towards the pearly desk. “Quit hiding back there, and do your job!”

The sound of someone spitting liquid erupted from behind the desk.

“S-sorry, Gabriel!” a tremulous voice stammered, and a small, ancient, human-looking male with white hair that stuck out in tufts around a bald pate popped up. He was wearing oversized glasses and a white robe that was stained with a nasty brown splatter down the front with whatever he’d just spat all over himself. He patted at the spot, his eyes darting towards me. His mouth gaped into a black, horrified slash, his eyes, already magnified by the thick glasses, going enormous.

“N-never thought I’d live to see the day …” His hands shook, but he scuttled out from behind the desk. He was tiny—shorter than Jemma by quite a margin. The Hounds stood chest-high on him. When he caught sight of them, he gasped.

“N-not the Hounds of Hell, too? W-what is this place coming to?” He pressed one weathered hand to a panel beside the golden doors, which slid open, revealing a mirrored box. “Devils walking the hallways of Heaven, their smelly p-pets in tow! And Sh-She says, ‘No soul-weighing required. Just send h-him straight up.’”

“We don’t smell!” Beezle growled indignantly, snapping his teeth in Pete’s direction. The little man yabbered in fright and scurried back behind his desk.

“Soul weighing?” I rumbled, rounding on the three angels. “You can’t possibly tell me that every single death-row murderer She allowed in managed to scrape by on the weight of their soul!”

“I-it’s Her system,” Pete mumbled, wringing his hands. “I’ll b-be the first to⁠—”

“Off you go!” Gabe interrupted, shoving me towards the gilded doors with such force that I almost tripped. “Top floor. You have questions? Don’t ask this snivelling little Saint. Ask the boss lady direct.”

I stumbled towards the doors, catching my first glimpse of myself in … however long I’d been here. I looked frightful. My hair was a lank mess, my skin was bleached to an odd burnt orange colour, and my horns were dull.