We went to Jack’s. It’s my favorite because it’s the quiet option on the Fifth Floor. The Sixth has two bars and a Mexican restaurant, according to the rumors, but at Jack’s, there is a secret draw. You see, bars in Hell serve only Jägermeister. Even if you like Jägermeister, if it’s the only option day after day of cleaning up human pulp, you will hate it in a year, tops. Jack saw the market and started a little bootleg operation a while back. He charges an arm and a leg (not literally, although that joke would kill down on Second) and might not give you anything, even if you pay up, if he doesn’t like your face. But it’s worth it for anything that doesn’t taste like Lord Licorice nutting all over a Christmas tree.

“So, have you gotten used to the puddles yet?” I asked, eyeing the lower half of her pants, soaked to the knee.

Cal reddened as she shrugged off her coat.

“Yeah, I don’t know what happened. Guess I misjudged how deep it was?”

I grinned. “Nope, not you. They’re set on random here. The depths change constantly. One time, when I first got to the Fifth Floor, I stepped off the curb and wound up soaked to my elbows. It took three people to pull me out.”

Jack glanced our way, and I put my hand up in a brief wave.

“Heya, Pey,” Jack said, sliding a bowl of peanuts toward us.

“Jack, this is Calamity, our newest recruit.”

Jack put out his meaty hand, and Cal looked at it the same way she had looked at mine. But then she glanced at me, smiled, and shook it.

“So, in a few centuries, do you think you’ll be as haughty as this motherfucker?” Jack asked, nodding his head toward me.

I harrumphed.

“That big fancy office, it’ll go to your head, princess. Be careful.”

“I’m . . . I’m brand-new,” Cal stammered. She had the perpetual air of someone who just made a very loud noise in a museum.

“You know the deal, Pey,” Jack said, putting his hand on the bar, palm up. I pulled my wallet from my pocket and gave him all the cash I had. I took it out earlier that week, knowing I would need a visit to Jack’s before the weekend. Cal reached for her wallet, but I put my hand on her arm.

“My treat,” I said.

“I can’t—”

“Consider it a welcome present.”

“I’ll see what we’ve got,” Jack said, and turned down the basement stairs.

Cal stared at the bar.

“Peanuts?” I asked, tilting the bowl. She shook her head. I looked at the TV. It was the Hell welcome video, again.

“I don’t mean to be square, but I don’t . . . I don’t do drugs.”