The winged git was in his classic form: a sphere of light surrounded by eye-covered rings that turned and twisted about the central blinding ball. All of this was kept afloat in the air by three wings that did not flap and instead turned slowly about the creature — the wings were made of feathered light (and more eye-balls) and were mounted somewhere behind the hovering, ocular-orbited, over-bright orb.

Me? Think: handsome guy in a suit. Pick your man-crush and make him dapper (ie: plop that hunk in a good suit), wrap a pair of dark shades over his eyes and add a little stubble if he doesn’t have some already. Got the image?

Yo.

It’sa me, man-crush. Wanna fu—

“I need your help, demon.”

The Angels voice echoed about the empty valley and bounced around the rocks and trees and rattled my damned rum-addled demonic head.

I pinched the bridge of my nose and crushed my vision with a brow-crushed clench. Hopefully it would stop my brain from bouncing around my skull. “Could you use your inside the realm of mortals voice, please?”

“Oh, sor—”

“And form. You look like a mess and it’s making me dizzy.”

The eyes on the rings and wings closed, and then the golden hoops merged and floated to the top of the orb as the light at the Angels center stretched and unfolded into a sleak and still shinning humanoid form. The wings wrapped the angels body as he descended and landed before me... barefooted but clad in a white-suit that had been pressed into impeccable and indestructible crispness.

The angels skin was a radiant golden shade, as though a mortals olive skin had been gilt from within. White hair spiralled from the creatures head and fell about at shoulder length, the chaos and order of waves and waterfalls came to my mind.

Her face holds a pair of worried eyes the shade of a glorious and golden autumn afternoon. A pretty pair of lips are pressed into a pout, puckered by whatever sour source had sent her seeking and summoning a demon.

“Demon?” A question on her lips, though worry remained welded to her miraculous mug.

“Hm?”

“You were whispering ‘hummena-hummena-hummena’ under your breath.”

“Ah. No, I just said ‘Hm’.”

“Before that, though. Is. Was it a warding incantation? To protect yourself?”

“Nah.” I scratched my chin, yawned and made a show of my hunkier stretches and flexes. Surreptitiously, of course. “Just a song stuck in my head, friend. Also, protect myself? From what?”

“I...I could smite you with His holy light, Demon.”

“Sure you could, kitten.”

The sky was blue and cloudless, but that didn’t make the lightning bolt that had blasted me hurt any less. I was flat on my back and she hadn’t moved. Pain throbbed from my every atom and my suit smoked.

“Point taken.” Inspired by my charcoaled clothing, I pulled a packet of cigarettes out of my smouldering smoking jacket, shook a stick into my lips and then lit it with a snap of my fingers. “So,” I took a drag and exhaled: “what’s the job, Kit—”

Thunder rolled in the distant empty sky. I like a bit of a frisky slap as much as the next guy, but I’ll take the hint.

“What’s the job...Angel?”

“You may call me Saliestra, Demon.”

“Kilbern, Sally.”

“Saliestra, Demon.” She leaned over and I saw her wonderful face had not changed its worried woeful expression. Zapping me had been as simple and natural as brushing away a pesky horse fly. She’d been taught not to give us demons an inch...

Rather rightly, I must admit.

But, she’d probably been told not to summon us...and yet...

“The job is this. I need you to get me into and then back out of Hell.”

“Sightseeing?” I said, still on the ground, with a smouldering smirk as my suit jacket continued to smoulder from the smiting I had received.

She was still looking down at me, but rarely met my eyes. “Not sightseeing. A...a Rescue.”

“Unseen?”

“I hope so.”

“How deep?”

“...” The Angel stood upright and looked away as a manicured hand lifted and began to tug at her bottom lip. “Mmfph mphl.”

“Pardon?” I sat up. She had started to pace and was even more beautiful when worked up. If she ever smiles I’m going to be smitten and smotten.

Saliestra showed me her wingless back, clenched her fists and lowered her head. I heard a softly muttered mantra of self assurance and then wham!

She turned, chin up and eyes wide, a creature of confidence...one that was also scared as hell: “Ninth level.”

“Fuck off.”

“What?”

“Smite me. Send me back. Don’t care. You get a pot of gold, ‘cause I will not make that deal. Fuck. Off.”

“But-but-but-but-”

“Getting an Angel down there and then back out! Unseen? Clandestine styles? No chance in my home town, Saliestra. Way-way-way outside my paygrade. Peace.” I stood brushed my knees off and subtly showed her my fine-toned arse as I brushed away any stuck grass. I turned back to her, no longer singed and back to full handsome. Jaw a little bigger. “Look. I’m sorry. Level three, maybe —maybe— four...I could possibly do that. But, nine? Nine! You’ll need someone higher up the food chain or lower down the shithead shaft.”

“If I go for a more powerful demon, this will leak and become a much bigger problem—”

“Look, you seem like a nice enough entity. I won’t sugar coat it. Hell is hell. Would not recommend. This coming from a guy who works there and has benefits. This...rescue mission...we would both end up up to our necks in an eternity of damnation the likes of which—”

“I’ll sign any contract you offer.”

“Cool, you got a pen?”