At the Devil’s Ball

At the Devil’s Ball

Journal of Nathaniel Faust, Curse-breaker and Master of Mystic Science

1 Nov. 20–

I played a role last night that filled me full of fright: I found that I was with the Devil below in his great big fiery hall, where the Devil was giving a ball. I’d turned into a bat, and I was staring at the merry crowd that came to witness the show; and I must confess, I, too, was there to party all night through at the Devil’s ball.

I woke up to be greeted by the unpleasantness of my wife, Rel, using her favorite sacrificial knife (the one with the silver handle set with ruby and onyx that she’d stolen from her former kidnappers) to eviscerate a pumpkin floating two feet above my head. Gleefully.

“I’m awake!” I jerked out of the way a split second before I would’ve gotten a face full of slimy Jack-o’-lantern guts. The SPLAT that followed my movement echoed through the hallway.

“If ye didn’t want me to wake ye up, ye shouldn’t fall asleep in the middle of the hallway,” she huffed, “you know how important tonight is.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I turned to go to the bathroom, but the house spun to make me walk back into her, “look, I was just doing some last checks on the spell, and I didn’t make it back to bed, ok?” Once her eyes started softening from hard emerald to bright grass, I swung past Rel and ran down towards the staircase, calling, “Now if you’ll excuuuuse me, princess, I’ve got some stuff to take care of this morning.”

Even though I only went down one flight of stairs, I found myself in the basement. Her domain. Guess the house was on her side today.

“If that were true, ye shoulda done it when it was morning, sweetie,” she teased. The Chinese moon dial in the corner of the room showed it was around the middle of the hour of the rooster. I’d been asleep until six pm.

“Ah, okay…” I pushed my hair back. I need to get it cut soon. “I didn’t miss anything, though, right? The sign kept people away?”

“That’s the only reason I didn’t just drop the pumpkin on your head,” she smiled so genuinely that I could visualize her doing exactly that, and then using a spell to put me back to sleep so she could do it again. I moved over and kissed her forehead.

“There, now that I’ve offered amends, can we get ready? He doesn’t exactly appreciate tardiness,” Rel rolled her eyes and pulled me into a strangling hug.

“Ye can’t go like that,” she whispered in my ear, before pulling my head down for a much more intense kiss. When we separated, I found she’d cast a metamorphosis spell to change into a brilliant orange gown a few shades redder than her hair. I’d slept in my best party suit, but her spell changed it from blue to gray and swapped my tie and socks for ones that matched her dress. At least my trenchcoat wasn’t affected.

“Now, how is this going to work?” She pulled the invitation out of her clutch and scrunched her brow in confusion at its theban script. We’d gotten the strange parchment scroll a couple of days earlier, when it was pushed through the old-fashioned mail slot on our front door. The mail slot that had rusted shut years, maybe decades, before I’d come to this house. It was clearly from Him, since parchment scrolls made of human skin, with messages written in the language of witchcraft in human blood, are not generally sent by anything or anyone else (as far as I’m aware, and I really am quite the expert). While the appearance of the scroll was as macabre as its sender, it turned out to be a rather benign message, so far as messages from hell tend to go:

Dear Sir/Madam,

You are cordially invited to attend the Devil’s ball

this All-Hallows Eve/Samhain/Hallowe’en @ dusk

For all your service to His Majesty’s grand cause.

Location: Devil’s Hall, Hell

Catering will be provided by Beelzebub’s Legions

Entertainment will be provided by:

Ozmodius’ Orchestra and Ballet

Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus

Marianne Kirchgessner

Elvis Presley

And Kurt Cobain

RSVP not required

Attendance mandatory

Formalwear Required

Addressed to: Nathaniel Faust + 1

I had not been invited (threatened?) like this before, so Rel and I decided to do our best to be prepared for anything. We’d spent the week making a complex hell-gate with an array of protection spells woven into its barrier, brewed several potions, and carefully selected what charms, relics, and ingredients we would bring in order to gain whatever advantage we could when we crossed over. Since He usually communicated by vision trip, summoning me directly to hell, I wasn’t quite sure how we were meant to get there; I use my key almost exclusively for traveling to other dimensions through hell. I shudder to think of the day I finally end up there as my final destination.

“I imagine there’ll be some sign,” I pulled back the heavy curtain that drowned the basement window in velvet. The sun was starting to near the horizon, turning the clouds a cotton candy-ish pink, “Is ‘dusk’ when the sun starts setting, or is it when it touches the horizon?” I asked. Alchemists generally knew these things.

“I suppose it could be either,” her answer was not very helpful. She joined me at the window, plopping her chin on my shoulder to see through the narrow opening, “It still looks a bit early yet.”

“Yeah… but you never know. He loves ruining pretty things,” as soon as the thought came out, Rel dropped away, looking down at her left arm the way one might look at their rabid puppy before having to put it out of its misery, “I didn’t mean it like tha—”

“I know,” she interrupted, “how you meant it,” she wove a sleeve into her dress with a wave of her fingers. I was tempted to reach out to her when a sharp Knock! boomed from the front door.

“If that’s trick-or-treaters, should I go ghost, or zombie?” I joked, letting the curtain fall back and starting upstairs.

“Oh, definitely ghost,” Rel perked up at the thought of playing another practical joke.

“You got it,” I rubbed my hands together, licked my forefingers, and whispered Erleichtern. As I climbed the stairs, I could feel my body get lighter, see myself turning transparent. By the time I made it to the door, my feet were barely touching the ground. It took a bit of effort to manipulate the handle (though, in my opinion, that adds to the ghostliness), but when I finally managed it, and the grand oak door creaked inward, the light from the setting made me look like the barest trace of a person.

“Hello?” The twelve-year-old dressed like a pirate took a half step forward, “Trick-or-treat?” she said hesitantly. The one dressed like a rapper, who I assumed was her older brother, egged her on.

“Come on, Lacey, I heard this guy can put actual curses on people,” he said, “maybe if you’re lucky, he’ll do something cool, like turn your hair all white.” Lacey was visibly shaking at the thought of what the scary man who lived alone in the big house with signs threatening bodily harm to trick-or-treaters might be like. I moved past her to stand behind her brother.

“Yeah, I hear this guy kills people who bother him,” I made my voice quiver to sound more ghostly, “I’m sure I’ll be fine if I just apologize for the fireworks last night.” I’m not sure why I pretended to be a New Year’s partygoer. The boy whipped around. When he saw my silhouette with the sun shining through it, he stumbled back a ways, bumping into the door.

“W-W-Who-who are you?” he stuttered.

“A ghost,” I bowed, making sure to pass my head through his hat brim. The boy screamed and ran right across the street. I resolidified and offered Lacey a candy bar. She was understandably too scared to accept it, so I used the hypno-fold to make her forget the experience and sent her on her way.

Rel was in stitches when I got back inside. She hasn’t laughed that hard since the time we went ice fishing with Snegurochka. I was about to suggest we go get something to eat before the party, when a Knock! echoed through the hall.

“More kids?” I had done more magic that evening already than I’d planned to, so I resolved to just shoo this group away as a mean old man. When I turned the handle, however, the door swung outwards, and my right hand felt like it burst into flames. The hissed gasp I heard behind me told me Rel also felt it: This was Hell.

“I guess it’s dusk,” I stumbled over to where my wife was doubled over in pain, and began massaging her left shoulder to help acclimate her hellmark to the abundance of hellfire. Doing so also helped work my hand in the same way, but she needed the reassurance of a friendly touch more than anything, “I haven’t been back here with someone else since…” I trailed off, my attempt at comforting words turning into a recollection of my lonely trips across the horrible realm.

“B-Be-Benton?” I wasn’t sure if her slight murmur was a question or an answer.

“Ah, right,” I continued, still hoping the words were helping her transition, “he and I came here a bit before he left, right? I think we met—”

She collapsed on the floor and started retching, her pale skin turning an ashy hue. I had to think of something fast. I ran through all the spells for acclimation to other realms, but none of them were quick enough, except—yes. Animae conversio.

I held my hands in front of me, left hand upright with the palm facing out, thumb, forefinger, and middle finger extended, and right hand face down with the palm facing me, same fingers extended. Slowly, so as to maintain constant transference, I flipped them. The world blurred as my body began inverting to its spectral form, feeling as though I had flipped underwater and was now ascending feet first out of it. When the buzz ebbed, I found myself crouching over a beautiful otter-doe-butterfly-woman hybrid who was, finally, relaxing in the miasma.

“I didn’t think,” she started after she caught her breath, “that another realm could be so hostile. To sidhe,” she was still gasping a bit after the inversion process.

“Well,” I plopped myself down next to her, “I did try to warn you about the smog.”

At that, she let out a laugh that was half squeak and flicked me with her tail, “Oh, go hang upside down on a dead tree,” she looked deep into my eyes. Or maybe the animal pupils just made it look that way.

“I happen to think I look rather distinguished this way,” I twitched my bat ears and puffed out my raven feathers, “at least I’m not peacocking.”

“You know it’s a—”

“Ahem,” an exceedingly British-sounding throat clearing came from the doorway, “I do hope you are quite ready for the festivities,” it huffed when we rolled apart and started getting up. When I managed to pull myself up enough to look towards the door, I couldn’t believe my eyes.

“Norbert!” It was a pretty big shock to see the imp, but not as great as seeing what he was wearing, “You own pants?”

“Dear sir!” he sniffed as though I’d just asked if he wanted a box of pig dung, “I’ll have you know that I, Otis, as an Earl of Hell, shall not stand for slights to my good name!” He tried to draw a cavalry sword from his belt, but he was so pudgy that he couldn’t fully remove it from the sheath.

Ohhhh,” I realized why he looked like my friend, “you’re Norbert’s lord,” I guessed, helping Rel to her feet.

“If you so much as mention that pathetic mongrel again, so help me I shall—” The Earl vanished behind a curtain of dark flames to be replaced with another, truly familiar visage, draped in a grayish-green serpentine robe.

“Now, now,” the handsome, though in a way that was completely forgettable, man chided me, “even if you are His favorite pet for now, that’s no reason to taunt the old meat. Especially,” he glared at me with his brilliant emerald eyes, which looked as though Rel’s were lit by a nuclear glow, “since you’re late. His Majesty actually sent me personally to escort…” he paused, “are you seriously wearing a trenchcoat to a ball?” Leviathan didn’t wait for an answer, “No. Take it off.”

“I—” I started, but his eyes flashed, and my coat was ripped away from me and thrown across the hall into the grand fireplace.

“Better, though I still hate that hair, now,” he smiled threateningly, “get MOVING!” He opened his mouth wide as he yelled to show how easily he could swallow us if he wanted to. We got moving.

Upon passing through the doorway, I felt the telltale pulling sensation that meant the door (and house) were now closed off from the realm. A glance back confirmed it: nothing but a comparatively smooth section of cave wall to suggest there’d been a door there. Leviathan glided across the desolate waste. We trailed behind him as silently and as close as we could, though I don’t know if he really cared. I’m also unsure if we were silent because of the horrid landscape, or if we were compelled by some force to remain quiet. It doesn’t matter.

The scenery was made even more hostile by the fact that it was mostly empty; all the demons had emptied out to various Earths or other realms, reveling in the freedom of Halloween’s open borders policy. Rel mostly kept her doe eyes focused on the ground in front of her, compulsively rubbing her left arm. I reached over to give it a gentle squeeze, since I remembered what the bone-shaped crack in the distance meant was about to happen. We both needed as much warmth as possible for the next part. She glanced up appreciatively and murmured something under her breath. An orange cape as dark as my feathers came into being around my shoulders.

“So we match,” she mouthed at me. I was about to reply when we crossed the threshold into His true domain, and my mouth just about froze shut from the cold. We followed Leviathan through the mouth of a cave, descending its steep slope to come out on the shore of a frozen lake covered in hellfire. I was so distracted that I walked straight into our grumpy chaperone.

“Well,” he didn’t turn or acknowledge the slight, “you’d better know the rules of the dance.”

“I took cotillion in—” I started, but he was gone.

“Where did he—? It looked like he just stepped out on the—”

“Lake,” I finished, “yeah. Welcome to” I pulled her along with me as I stepped into the roiling flames of the lake, “the Devil’s Hall.”

It was a spectacle unlike anything I’d ever seen; the entire lake-sized hall was filled with demons, other cursed humans, and otherbeings of every form milling about near the tormented souls of the worst in Hell, who stood frozen in the position in which they died as their souls burned with hellfire for eternity. I scanned the crowd for friendly faces (or at least, not hostile ones). My fellow Hellmarked FLARES teammate, Repentance, was speaking with a demon covered in teeth over by the screaming visage of Hitler. Lilith was across from the orchestra, serving her “special wine” from a punch bowl the size of an average koi pond. Most surprisingly of the guests I knew, my old teacher, Sanie Al’Zili, was enjoying a belly laugh with what looked like Prince Belial over in the corner.

All of a sudden, it got quiet; I could almost hear the record scratch as all eyes turned towards us.

“You finally made it,” a cold, aristocratic voice laughed, somehow managing to both whisper in my ear and boom throughout the chamber. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming,” our host materialized from the flickering light in front of the crowd. He was just as I remembered in my nightmares: an ethereally handsome man who was covered in horrible blisters and wearing a set of kingly blood-red robes.

“I hope you weren’t waiting too long,” I bowed formally as Rel curtsied.

“Not at all! Welcome,” our host threw his hands out, gesturing to the splendor of the scene, “to the Devil’s Ball!”

Long tables appeared around the space with loud popping sounds, shoving guests aside to make room. Cloches, chairs, and a variety of drinking vessels appeared at set intervals, each setting flashing a guest’s name brightly. The crowd turned into something of an ordered mob trying to find their seats before the first course. After some looking around, I noticed a somewhat brighter setting four seats to the right of the seat of honor, up at the head table. Rel’s eyes were also focusing on the same area, so I sort of motioned to it. The crowd was too chaotic to tell, but it seemed like she nodded. We made our way through the throng, pushing and shoving demons and who-knows-what’s aside. For a while, I lost track of her, but then her butterfly wings broke through the crowd off to my right.

We finally made it just as Belphegor was sitting down to the immediate left of the glowing seats (the other six fallen angels had each already sat down in the order of their rank) and found our names shimmering in the same handwriting as on the invitation. I tried to pull out the exceedingly fancy-looking chair, but it stayed rooted to its place.

“You might be a special guest here, but you still have to follow protocol,” Belphegor yawned at me. He waved his hand, and my name was replaced by the words 45 guests of higher rank. As time went on, it counted down. Helpful.

“Thanks,” I tried to say, but he didn’t seem to hear me. Rel and I waited awkwardly for the number to reach zero. It was so quiet on the platform, the din of the crowd fading somewhat, as though the noise itself were scared of the royal’s power.

Once the counter reached 1, Rel’s chair slid back from the table on its own, allowing her to sit. Mine followed suit, and then so did the demon’s sitting on her right. It was the most comfortable upholstery I’d ever sat on; really, “sinful” most appropriately captures the feeling of luxury. Rel let out an audible sigh of comfort as she sank into the cushion.

“This seat is so—” she was cut off by a green-eyed glare from Leviathan, who was seated on the other side of Belphegor. Apparently, the conversation was to be held until all were seated. Once the last chair at the high table was filled, the Master of the hall clapped a single time, causing his cloche to dissolve in fire, revealing the soup course. As soon as He began to eat, the cloches of each guest (in descending order) began dissolving as well. At the arrival of the food, it was as though a spell broke, and the guests began to speak with each other.

Turtle soup, huh?” Rel’s neighbor struck up a conversation with her, leaving me alone. It was clear that Belphegor would rather be sleeping somewhere, from the fact that he kept nodding forward.

Why do we always end up in the middle of these things? I asked myself. The soup was incredible, nothing like the snapping turtle-based one I’d had in NaLo before with Dr. Drumm. Unfortunately, as I was bringing the third spoonful to my lips, the soup was replaced by the fish course.

“Stewed eels, how wonderful!” I heard from the chatter to my right.

“—right, Nathaniel?” I’d receded into myself so much that I hadn’t noticed the king of Sloth’s question.

“Sorry?” I turned.

“I said there are too many people here,” he was basically mumbling, no wonder I hadn’t heard, “it’d be nice if we could go somewhere private, right?” I shrugged.

“I guess,” I tried to take a bite of eel, but it turned to roast pheasant, and I almost choked from the sudden texture change. Belphegor turned back in on himself, as though disappointed by my answer. The rest of the meal (venison, Sacher torte, and peaches) was delicious, but it was so uncomfortable that I could barely enjoy it. I never even registered whatever it was that filled my glass.

The Host stood after the remaining peaches disappeared from the plates, and clapped His hands again, causing the tables to vanish as well. Many of us quickly stood up, so as not to be dumped on the floor (like those who did not react quite as fast ended up doing).

“Now,” a flourish towards the stage on the right side of the hall, “the dance!”

A card listing the first song appeared in front of my eyes. Strauss’ The Blue Danube. I turned to my wife.

“May I have this dance?” I said at the same time as the chatty demon.

“Yes,” she smiled at me, allowing me to lead her to the dance floor. I winked back at mister chatty, who seemed like he was ready to jump at my throat. Fortunately, we lost him in the crowd.

“I gotta warn you,” I whispered, “I don’t know this one.”

“Neither do I,” she replied, “that’s why I made that rhythm tonic. At least I’ll have decent rhythm out there.”

“Great,” I rolled my eyes, hoping it was just a simple waltz. We reached a good spot on the floor and stood there making small talk about the dinner (and how neither one of us managed to eat even half of any of the dishes), when the orchestra began tuning. As the conductor assumed the classic “conductor pose,” I followed what all the other couples were doing and placed my right arm on her back, a little bit under her wing. At the touch, her wings shivered a bit, and glittery scales dusted her dress. She followed my lead, and the (appropriately) sprite-like first notes of the song began to fill the air.

Even with the basic waltz square, we sucked. She might try to deny it, but Rel was just as bad as I was. At least we had a good time of it, smiling in our place between all the other colorful couples, like poetry in motion. When it ended, she was approached by a two-headed demon, who asked for the next dance (which the card said would be The Twist). I decided not to fight the hims on it, and went off to the side to talk with Repentance about current events. He was a lot less talkative than normal, but we talked for a few songs. Apparently, the spirit of Dylan Reed was less often being suppressed for infernal reasons. His sister was also more than capable of continuing the mantle of Storm Archer, which left him and Jess free to enjoy life. We said bye shortly after Nero fiddled off against the Devil for his soul (he lost again), and I rejoined the dance floor.

Most of the dancing was a little weird. I partnered with demons that had no hands, a few succubi, another cursed mortal, who called herself “Banshee,” and even with Lord Mammon in lady form during a stirring rendition of Dancing Queen on the glass armonica. At one point, I swear I caught a glimpse of my (former) mother-in-law dancing with the Devil.

After a while, I got worn out and went over to one of the drinks tables. I ordered some champagne from the little imp bartender. He poured about three cups of it into a stein and gave it to me. I ended up chatting with some of the other guests taking a break, and even bought a couple rounds of ice (the best of the hellliquors) for everybody. We were all starting to get that good level of tipsy where everything is just a little more fun, when the modern rock legends started their performances, and the dancing turned into more of a mosh pit.

I was about to order one last drink before going back to see if I couldn’t find Rel when He came up to the bar.

“Hellfire, make it a double,” He ordered, then turned His attention toward me, using my title, “Dealer… what do you think about my little celebration? The satisfaction of my guests is my utmost concern.”

“It’s alright. Wonder why you’ve never invited us before.”

“Ha! Imagine! No, you’re only here because you and I have business to discuss,” He sipped his flaming cocktail through a cinnamon stick and ordered another one, “and you only answer me willingly when I have something you want.”

“Like the rest of that chocolate cake? I’m not really into parties so much, if you think this is enough to get me to follow your orders like a little puppy.”

“I never thought as much,” another hellfire slurped and reordered, “though it certainly looked like you had a rather lovely time on the dance floor.” I swallowed the last of my champagne mug.

“Well, if all you wanted was my happiness, I’ll be—” He grabbed my hand, causing me to almost black out at the searing pain of His touch.

“No, you mustn’t leave before the final dance,” He clapped, and the chatty demon emerged from the crown and deposited an unmoving Rel onto the ground, “she’s still alive, of course. Have you made the acquaintance of Prince Vassago? Lovely fellow. Quite good at finding,” the rest of the hall had been going dead quiet, and the crowd melted away until we were in another room, His throne room, “lost things,” He picked up a piece of silvery rock. I recognized it immediately.

“I can assure you, it’s gone—he’s dead!” I backed away until I found myself hitting the wall.

“Perhaps… or perhaps you helped him escape. Now,” He pulled me to his side with a gesture, “you like deals, I like deals; let’s make a deal, shall we?”

What kind of—”

“Simple,” He smiled, “prove he is dead. Dagonite crystals should be quite malleable without his influence.”

Trial by combat,” I realized, “what—”

“Stakes? Is her life not enough? Perhaps if you win, you’d also like the remainder of the Sacher torte from dinner? Or,” He lifted Rel up by her left arm and burned away the sleeve, showing off the wavy hellmark that stretched from her wedding band to her shoulder, “perhaps you’d like this removed?” I accepted. Since Vassago had brought the challenge (technically), it would be me against him, my only tool being the chunk of Dagonite.

I silently prayed that Dagon had not left the alternate realm that he’d agreed to relocate to, and rolled the stone between my hands. Vassago stared at my motions, waiting for me to make the first move. I feigned throwing the stone at him, but he didn’t react at all.

“I can see what moves you’ll make,” his voice was friendly and cheerful.

Ok, I thought in that case…

“Eh?” he gasped, “no!” he tried to throw himself at me, but he was too late. I swallowed it, letting its latent energy add to my weakened soul.

“Akumu duhsvapn!”I made a star with my fingers and put it over my right eye, then closed it. He collapsed unconscious, whimpering and twitching in his sleep.

“Interesting choice,” we were back in the great hall, where some famous rock band from the seventies was playing, “I would have shoved it down his throat, but they say to do what you can. Enjoy the rest of the night,” He got up and made his way towards the dance floor, “oh, and by the way,” he whispered in my mind, “the only way your lovely bride will ever be cured of her unfortunate condition is if she were to become fully separated from you. Ta tah, I’ll be sure to send you your torte.”

The pit in my stomach that had been gnawing away at me since the day of my wedding made me dizzy with anxiety (and I’m sure the drinks did not help things). I had to get home. I needed to get back to work (maybe Benton, or master Al’Zili could help…). I needed to get back in my own body. I needed rest. I needed—

“Mmh?” Rel woke up from whatever they’d done to her, “Is the party over?” She seemed to still be pretty much out of it.

“Yeah,” I responded, “it’s over. Let’s go home and get to bed.”

“Promise to stay in bed all night?” she murmured as I picked her up, like a small child who’d just woken up from a nightmare. Fitting, I suppose.

“Sure. All night,” I flexed my right hand and went through the gateway home, my ears ringing with the sounds of the Devil’s Ball and the cold laughter of its cruel host.

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