Chapter 7 – Pots, pans and petty plans
       
       
       Sunlight poked through the cracked blinds like the universe itself was trying to be nosy. Arturo shifted slightly, one arm draped lazily over the side of the bed, and the other curled around something soft, and warm.
       Emily.
       She was still there, curled against his chest, feathers all over the bed and her face –a couple more around Arturo as well. The faint scent of roses and ash clung to her, an oddly fitting combo given between a hellborn and an angel; clashing natures that somehow fit each other.
       Arturo blinked once. Then twice.
       —Fuck…
       He had done it again.
       Guilt felt like a hangover at this point, and it was closer than ever to give him a headache.
       Then again, feeling her soft skin rub against his was like a drug he could not let go of. Maybe with a little self-indulgence he could get used to it.
       —Good morning. —Emily murmured—.
       Her voice was breaking. Her body was shaky.
       She was clearly in disbelief of what they had just done the previous night. This went against everything the all-mighty stood for, yet here she was.
       —H-Hey there… Emily. —Arturo tried to play it cool—. Sleep well?
       —Uh-huh…
       —Are you sure?
       Arturo couldn’t take her word. She was shaking like an anxious chihuahua about to explode. So, he reassured her:
       —Need a minute, Emily?
       —N-No! It’s fine!
       Emily was in the brink of tears. Not out of sadness, but out of fear and some shame too. Shame that came from feeling satisfied –complete after sharing herself with someone else.
       And fear that any consequence could come from it.
       She hugged Arturo tightly, instead.
       But peace wouldn’t last for that long –as it has been a reoccurring issue in Arturo’s life.
       Meanwhile. Outside of his room. In the kitchen –the sound of a knife hitting a chopping board filled the place with surgical precision.
       Stella. Robe on. Hair immaculate. Face unreadable except for a micro-sneer reserved for lesser royals, betrayers, and –at this point– Emily.
       
       She didn’t say anything to the vegetables. But they were cut like they owed her money.
       A frying pan hissed with butter. The smell of eggs and elitism filled the air.
       Her firm composure hid to perfection a silent fear only available to those who try something for the first time.
       Loona, still wearing one of Arturo’s hoodies he assumed lost, and walking like her spine had just declared mutiny, shuffled into the kitchen. Her fur was a mess, eyes bleary, expression somewhere between “kill me” and “is this my problem?”
       —…You’re cooking?
       —I am. —Stella replied, not looking away from the pan—. And no, it’s not for you.
       —As if I cared.
       —You should, if you want to win. —Stella mocked her—. Not that you could, anyways.
       —Yeah, whose idea was it to have him date me, again? —Loona scratched her ear—.
       Stella paused. The eggs sizzled louder.
       —Mine. —She said flatly, turning the heat down just enough to keep her dignity—. And it changes nothing.
       Shortly thereafter, Arturo had finally untangled himself from Emily, who remained in bed for a while longer –still going through herself as to find peace with her actions.
       Following the noises –Arturo, wearing only his underwear, groaned to himself as he scratched under it. He already knew what was going on.
       Only wondering who was behind it this time.
       —Ok, we need to have a talk about privacy…
       The male hellhound entered the scene as both Stella and Loona seemed to have found an impasse on their banter.
       Loona side-eyed Stella. Stella didn’t even blink.
       Arturo took a deep, tired breath and moved to the coffee pot.
       He looked at his mug and remembered the tea from last night. Stella had clearly also gone through the issue of washing the dishes and more.
       —Morning, darling. Breakfast is almost ready. —Stella replied, ignoring Arturo’s comment—.
       —Morning, dude… Arturo… Babe? —Loona tried to greet him as well—.
       —Don’t push yourself too hard. —Arturo responded—.
       And with a kiss on her forehead, the hellhound girl blushed profusely. Stella almost breaks her chill with fleeting jealousy.
       —And the others? —Arturo continued—.
       He expected the same events to repeat, so it was well rounded to wonder about the others.
       —Beats me. —Loona answered—.
       Maybe to think that all the girls plotted together was a stretch, yet somehow it made it easier to expect them to eventually show up one way or another.
       —Is the seraph joining us? —Stella asked, eager to show herself off—.
       —She’s… in my room. Actually.
       Stella wanted to die. How could a clumsy and useless angel be able to seduce him so effortlessly was beyond her. She started to wonder if the food would truly be enough.
       And with immaculate timing, Emily joined them.
       She looked incredibly normal. So much so that Stella and Loona both thought Arturo had talked in a literal sense and nothing actually occurred.
       At least until Emily couldn’t help but to hide herself and hug her own body in shame the moment she crossed eyes with Arturo.
       Then it became clear and obvious.
       And to make matters worse, both Octavia and Verosika shortly joined the shot. Now everyone was in the know of their little deed.
       —Fuck my life… —Arturo sighed. Facepalming and leaving Emily confused—.
       
       
       ***
       
       A plate hit the table like it was supposed to solve all problems.
       —Here. —Stella said, with a proud smile—. Poached eggs; garnished and drizzled.
       It looked... edible. The plating was elegant, the aroma oddly inviting, and the presentation –at least from Arturo’s perspective– look fancy enough to befit the menu of a fancy restaurant. But the eggs shimmered faintly with a cursed glow –it felt like a warning sign.
       Arturo stared at it like it was a live grenade.
       —T-Thanks… Stella.
       —Nothing to thank, Darling. —Stella threw a piercing glance at Emily—. Just expressing my love to you.
       It wasn’t just Stella glaring at Emily.
       Loona fixed her eyes on Arturo as he approached the plate.
       Octavia and Verosika stared at Stella with disbelief.
       And Emily connected with Stella’s eyes, filling her with insecurities as the odd one out.
       —I’m sure the flavours will awaken your feelings. —Stella continued, posing seductively—.
       Loona snorted into her mug.
       —He’s gonna ‘awaken’ all over the toilet.
       This was probably the first time Loon acted out of jealousy. Unlike Octavia –who knew Stella had never cooked in her life, and Verosika who believed any royal had never lifted a pan in their lives, The hellhound girl was expecting the dish to be captivating and rich.
       With cero cooking skills of her own, Loona felt the knock at heaven’s door.
       Meanwhile –feeling confident– Verosika, sitting on the armrest of the couch with one leg crossed over the other, stretched like a smug cat and yawned dramatically.
       —Merry food poisoning. You two.
       —Jealousy coming from a Succubus sure is something. —Stella replied without turning her head—.
       Emily stood frozen behind Arturo, halfway between walking to him and bolting for the nearest celestial exit. Her wings rustling gently as she too assumed Stella’s cooking to be superb much like Loona moments ago.
       She had caused so much trouble the day before trying to do the same. Yet here was Stella doing it flawlessly.
       Influenced by the other girls, she wanted to protect him. No –she wanted to counterattack. But the battlefield had already been claimed, and she had never gone to war before.
       Octavia, meanwhile, sat at the kitchen counter with a box of cereal in hand, watching everything like a Roman noble at the coliseum.
       —It was nice meeting you, Art. —She deadpanned—.
       Arturo tried uttering words.
       —Nope. —Verosika cut him off—. It’s time to learn the hard way.
       —We’ll miss you. —Octavia added—.
       —Maybe you go to super hell. —Loona grinned—.
       Arturo sighed the sigh of a man who knew exactly how this was going to end and still didn’t have the willpower to stop it.
       “There is no such thing as super hell!” He mentally screams.
       With hesitation, Arturo took a fork. Stabbed one of Stella’s fancy eggs. It let out a faint sizzle. Like it was alive. Or vengeful.
       He took a bite.
       Immediately, his left eye twitched. His face turned pale and his eyes turned opaque.
       The hand holding the fork going down with the ship as his consciousness dissipated.
       After opening his eyes, there he was. Super hell.
       It was real, it all was real. If only he knew. All those claiming its existence were right.
       But at least it was all over now. The curse, the pain, working a 9 to 5 like a wage slave. A mercy kill.
       Never had he been this happy.
       Thanks Stella.


       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
The end.


       
       
       ***
       
       Meanwhile in the real world:
       —Arturo? Arturo! —Loona screamed as she tried to resuscitate him—.
       —Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. —Emily immediately started praying in whispers—.
       —Uh… uh?
       Arturo started to wake up, light headed and confused. He saw everyone and realized that he was back. There was Octavia and Verosika ready to go after Stella, Loona scared shitless and Emily on the brink of tears.
       No… he wanted to go back.
       He had to go back.
       Arturo tried to taste the egg again.
       —NO! ARTURO!
       
       ***
       
       —N…no… Super hell… Come back…
       Arturo was on his knees, whimpering as Octavia threw the eggs away –only for him to make a run for the trash can in hopes to see if there was still a fleeting chance. 
       Verosika has to step in, dragging him through the floor back to his chair.
       —Unholy Satan, Arturo. Are you five?
       Emily was still sobbing uncontrollably.
       —All of you are being overdramatic. —Stella seemed embarrassed with herself—.
       —Arturo! —Emily threw herself at him—. The lord saved you.
       —He shouldn’t have! —Arturo hugged her back, whimpering with her—.
       He meant it.
       
       ***
       
       It took a while, but Stella was now grounded in the corner, Arturo was back to normal, and a new dish stared him in the face.
       It was an omelette. A normal omelette. At least… visually. No ominous glow. No sizzling in Morse code. No divine choir faintly humming from inside the yolk. Just egg, cheese, and maybe a sprinkle of chives.
       Arturo eyed it suspiciously, he was wondering why they chose to make him more eggs. He couldn’t even remember having these many or any at all.
       —I made these. —Octavia claimed—. Now eat.
       And he did.
       The omelette turned out to be perfectly normal, as expected.
       Not much happening as he ate it.
       Surprisingly, Arturo had the most average breakfast experience he’s had in the last few days. And it felt weird –like a weird sensation of being watched by a vengeful lady… silently curled in a corner of the room. Stella.
       —Mine were fine, too. —She pouted—.
       —You almost killed him! —Verosika scolded her—.
       There it was the missing piece. Now it was a real breakfast.
       
       ***
       
       It took a while, but finally the kitchen had mostly quieted down, though the faint scent of burnt pride still lingered in the air.
       Octavia was now going at it to some cereal. Verosika was scrolling through her phone. Emily was rinsing the dishes, trying to be helpful. Stella remained at her corner, curled like a cat plotting revenge.
       Arturo stood up, stretching until his back cracked.
       —I’m gonna… go check the mail or something. —He muttered—.
       Nobody really acknowledged him other than Emily, which was fine. The truth was he just needed to breathe without feeling like the centrepiece in a zoo exhibit.
       He stepped into the hallway of the apartment complex, enjoying the brief silence.
       Suddenly the sound of claws on tile followed him.
       Loona, she leaned against the wall, arms crossed, a soda can dangling in her paw.
       —So. —She sipped—. Glad to be back in the world of the dead?
       —I guess. —Arturo replied, looking at the horizon—.
       —You truly didn’t believe you could just run away from it, did you?
       —Run away from what?
       —From the ‘five women trying to one-up each other in your kitchen’ thing.
       —I would have never guessed if you didn’t say it. If anything, I’m surprised you didn’t try something yourself.
       Loona gave a small laugh, short but genuine.
       —Well, unlike Stella, I know what I can and can’t do.
       —Come on Loona, it couldn’t be any worse.
       —Most I’ve done is coffee at work.
       —And it hasn’t killed me, yet.
       —Better not break my record, then.
       Loona sipped her soda, the can sweating in her paw, her white eyes flicking toward Arturo.
       She felt her body warm up as her mind reminded her of the hoodie she was wearing –stolen from Arturo weeks ago–, the hem brushing her thighs.
       She slouched, one hip cocked, exuding the kind of effortless cool that creamed, I don’t care, but I know you’re looking.
       But Arturo wasn’t, still reeling from the kitchen chaos.
       —Anyways. —Arturo rubbed the back of his neck, his grey and black fur bristling slightly—. I still think you should try.
       Loona snorted, tossing her hair, but inside she was blushing –surprised to hear that.
       —Cheap coming from someone who didn’t want us breaking into his home days ago.
       —You’re going to do it anyways. Might as well get used to it.
       Loona’s ears twitched, her blush was now visible.
       —Tch, whatever, dude.
       —I guess that means it’s just four now, then.
       —Uh?
       —Trying to one-up each other. —Arturo joked—.
       Loona’s ears twitched, and she shot him a look –half glare, half smirk. Then she hugged herself gently, feeling the hoodie’s fabric.
       —Maybe I just don’t need to.
        She paused, her grin faltering just enough to hint at something real.
       —Plus, wasn’t I supposed to just be a token anyway?
       Arturo knew she wasn’t wrong.
       The only reason she got involved was because Stella wanted her to act as proxy for Arturo’s “needs” after all. Regardless of how things developed after that, that much remained true.
       Silence reigned after that. He glanced at the mailbox at the end of the hall, thinking of what to say next.
       Then, he felt her embrace take over him as she hugged him.
       —You’ve never been a token to me. —He said, still distant—.
       —I know. That’s why I haven’t left. —Loona assured him—. Maybe you shouldn’t either.
       —What made you think I was?
       —Oh, maybe the suicide attempt followed by sobbing after Octavia got rid of those eggs. Or maybe the solitary walk outside after that. —Loona continued—. Most guys would kill to be in your shoes, yet here you are.
       Arturo’s ears flattened. He sighed, running a hand through his fur.
       —Let’s analyse the situation then. A nobody-hellhound, incapable of having a stable job –let alone a stable relationship– now has a Goetia princess, a royal ex-wife, a succubus pop star, a seraph, and you. All acting like I’m the main character in some shitty rom-com.
       Loona’s smirk softened into something almost sympathetic.
       —You’re not wrong. —She said, her voice quieter now—. It’s a lot. But you’re not exactly a nobody, Art. You’re just… you. And apparently, that’s enough to make Hell’s finest lose their damn minds.
       —Sure, lets ignore the fact I had to get cursed to begin with for any of this to happen.
       —Fuck off. —She snapped, but there was no heat in it—.
       She tugged him lightly, her claws grazing his fur before continuing.
       —I’m just saying, maybe the curse isn’t the only reason we’re all here. Maybe you’re not as boring as you think.
       He raised an eyebrow, a small grin tugging at his lips.
       —Careful, Loona. That almost sounded like a compliment.
       She rolled her eyes, but her tail wagged slightly, betraying her.
       —Whatever. Just don’t let it go to your head. If I see a sixth girl come out of your room, you’re not having breakfast tomorrow.
       She drained the last of her soda, crushing the can in her paw with a satisfying crunch.
       —Come on. Let’s get out of here before the rest realize you’re gone.
       Arturo hesitated, glancing back toward his apartment door.
       —And leave them alone in there? That’s a recipe for disaster.
       Loona grinned, all teeth and mischief.
       —Exactly. Let ‘em fight it out. Maybe they’ll tire themselves out before we get back. Worst case you can just crash at my place.
       She grabbed his wrist, tugging him toward the stairwell.
       —Besides, I know a place. You need a break, and I need… well, not to be in there.
       He let her pull him along, her grip firm but not forceful.
       —Where are we going?
       You’ll see.
       
       ***
       
       The two were now walking through the streets of Imp City.
       Imps hustled past, shouting profanities or haggling over knockoff products. A street vendor hawked “authentic” angel feathers, which looked suspiciously like plucked pigeon quills from earth.
       Arturo kept pace with Loona, her long strides eating up the pavement as she weaved through the crowd like water through a river.
       —So. —Arturo said, dodging a drunk imp who nearly vomited on his shoes—. We there yet?
       Loona shot him a sidelong glance sharp enough to cut glass.
       —Really, dude?
       He snorted, shoving his hands into his pockets.
        —Just breaking the silence.
       They turned a corner into a quieter alley, the neon glow fading to a dull crimson haze. At the end stood a dingy diner, its sign flickering with the words Hell’s Bells Burgers.
       The windows were grimy, the door chipped, but the smell of greasy fries and charred meat wafted out, promising comfort in the most demonic way possible.
       Loona pushed the door open, the bell above jingling like it was mocking them.
       —I think you misheard me back home. You’re supposed to be the one cooking. —Arturo said, raising an eyebrow as he followed her inside—.
       The diner was a time capsule of Hell’s retro aesthetic –red vinyl booths, checkered floors, and a jukebox blaring a demonic cover of some human pop song from the eighties.
       A bored succubus waitress chewed gum behind the counter, barely glancing up from her phone. Hopefully, ironic roleplay.
       Loona slid into a booth near the back, kicking her feet up on the opposite seat.
       —Best burgers in Imp City. —She said, tossing him a laminated menu that looked like it’d survived a few apocalypses—. Order something. My treat.
       Arturo blinked, sitting across from her.
       —Just figured you could use a meal that doesn’t try to kill you… and I’m starving.
       He chuckled, scanning the menu.
       —Could’ve said that from the start, why the secrecy?
       Loona leaned forward, resting her chin on her paw, her eyes glinting with mischief.
       —If I didn’t you would have said to go on my own, that you needed some time to breathe or other bullshit.
       —Fair. —Arturo shrugged—. And what about the long walk instead of using a portal?
       —To give you that time to breathe.
       Arturo was left speechless. Thinking back to it, her plan worked flawlessly.
       At no point did he hung on to the morning situation –instead, getting distracted by the outside world, and the mystery behind Loona’s actions.
       In some way, he had his chance to breathe, and she had her chance to eat. Clever.
       Loona winked, then waved the waitress over.
       —Two Hellfire Burgers, extra brimstone sauce. And fries. 
       The waitress scribbled it down, popping her gum.
       —You got it, hon. Anything for the cute couple.
       Arturo choked on air. Loona cackled, kicking him under the table.
       —Relax, dude. She’s just fishing for tips.
       —Yeah, well, maybe she’s not wrong. —Arturo muttered, his ears burning—.
       Loona blushed gently. She tried to play it cool but her pounding heart betrayed her.
       —That would be a first…
       —A first?
       —You’re my first boyfriend. Sort-of. I guess. Never dated before.
       —Well, very smooth for a first timer what you pulled off.
       Arturo cleared his throat, trying to steer the conversation away from dangerous territory, feeling Loona’s embarrassment.
       —So, why here? You don’t strike me as the diner type.
       Loona shrugged, her gaze drifting to the jukebox.
       —Used to come here with Blitz sometimes. It’s quiet, kinda. Nobody gives a shit who you are.
       Arturo studied her, surprised by this side of Loona he didn’t know. He felt that warmth in his chest again, the one that kept sneaking up on him around her, and he wasn’t sure if it was just… Loona.
       —It is. —He said quietly, meeting her eyes—.
       She waved him off, but her tail wagged slightly under the table.
       —Speaking of Blitz. Has he come to terms with me?
       —Blitz never comes to terms with anything; he just keeps quiet about it… —Loona took a deep breath—. He did complain to Stolas after we told him we’re dating.
       —So now they know as much as we do, uh?
       —My best guess is they only know about four of us. I’m sure shit would hit the fan if they learned about the angel girl.
       The burgers arrived and the conversation came to a halt.
       Massive and dripping with sauce that smelled like it could melt steel. Arturo took a bite, the heat hitting him like a punch to the face, but the flavour was worth it –smoky, rich, with just enough spice to remind him to eat at a pace. Loona tore into hers with the enthusiasm of a starved kid, sauce smearing her muzzle. She caught him staring and grinned, unapologetic.
       —What? Never seen a girl eat before?
       Not like she’s declaring war on a burger. —He shot back, smirking—.
       Loona laughed, leaning back, clearly enjoying herself. The banter felt easy, natural, like they’d done this a hundred times. For a moment, it was just him and Loona, two hellhounds in a shitty diner, eating burgers and trading barbs.
       But the moment couldn’t last. A faint shimmer in the air caught Arturo’s eye, like heat rising off asphalt. He frowned, glancing at the window. For a split second, he thought he saw a pair of obsidian eyes staring back. His stomach twisted, the burger suddenly heavy in his gut.
       Loona noticed his shift in mood, her ears perking.
       —Yo, you good?
       —Yeah, just… thought I saw something.
       She raised an eyebrow but didn’t press. Instead, she stole a fry from his plate, popping it into her mouth.
       —Whatever, weirdo. Eat your burger before I do.
       Arturo managed a smile, but the unease lingered.
       As they ate, Loona’s phone buzzed. She glanced at it, her expression darkening.
       —Ugh, Blitz. Wants me back at I.M.P. Something about a ‘client emergency.’ Pure bullshit.
       Arturo nodded, wiping his hands on a napkin.
       —Duty calls, huh?
       —Yeah, sure. Duty. —She sighed, but her eyes lingered on him—.  Sorry, dude.
       It’s fine. Better to say on his good side, right? —He said, his grin genuine this time—.
       —You were never there, but sure. —Loona smirked, standing and tossing her empty soda can into a nearby trash bin with pinpoint accuracy—.
       And so, each headed on their own direction. With Arturo returning home to a mess of confused and jealous women, and an innocent seraph trying her best to act the part.
       
       ***
       
       Finally, after many hurdles evening arrived.
       Everything seemed to be back to normal and nothing too extreme occurred –if one was to jinx it, you could say things had gotten quiet.
       At least until Verosika sauntered into the kitchen, her hourglass figure accentuated by a skintight leather skirt and a crop top that left little to the imagination. Her pink hair was swept into a messy bun, a single strand curling provocatively over one eye. She carried a reusable tote bag –branded with her own logo, naturally– stuffed with ingredients that seemed to make no sense together.
       Meanwhile, Arturo seemed to be browsing the internet., looking for a new job once more –causing him to be blissfully unaware of the upcoming scenario about to unfold, temporally.
       —Alright, fuckers. —Verosika declared loudly—. Time to show you how a real woman does things.
       Arturo blinked, his ears twitching. Ready to jump off the window –getting rescued by a suddenly appearing Emily.
       
       ***
       
       Verosika laughed.
       —You forget Succubae must know all ways to please a man. One bite, and you’ll forget all about Stella’s sad little breakfast.
       From the corner, Stella, still sulking like a disgraced aristocrat, let out a scoff. It seemed that although Arturo was already past it; the girls would not let the joke die for a while.
       —As if you know how to cook, pop star. Your idea of a meal is probably a shot of tequila and a selfie.
       Verosika didn’t even glance her way, but her tail flicked with smug confidence.
       —Jealousy’s a bad look on you, Your Majesty. Stick to your fancy cooks and leave the real housewife work to me.
       She winked at Arturo, leaning forward just enough to make his coffee mug feel like a lifeline.
       —Watch and learn, puppy. This is how a succubus does dinner.
       Arturo rubbed his temples, already regretting his decision to stay in the apartment. But it was short lived as nostalgia hit him tenderly –reminding him of Amelia’s homemade cooking.
       Maybe it was a faint way of his mind telling him that he wanted to try Verosika’s dish out.
       Gracefully, she ignored him, tying a pink apron around her waist with a flourish. The apron, emblazoned with “Kiss the Cook (Or Else),” clung to her curves like it was auditioning for a music video –capturing Arturo’s lustful glance momentarily as he was reminded that despite everything, he was still just a man.
       She started chopping peppers with a precision that was both impressive and mildly terrifying, her hips swaying to an imaginary beat –further capturing Arturo’s eyes like an animal trap.
       —Relax, Artie. —She said, tossing a pepper slice into her mouth and chewing with exaggerated delight—. The appreciation for the chef comes after, not during.
       Arturo choked on his coffee, his fur bristling.
       —I-I don’t know what you are talking about, Verosika.
       He glanced at the other girls, who had migrated to the living room but were clearly eavesdropping. Octavia was sprawled on the futon, scrolling her phone with a bored expression, while Emily, still washing dishes, kept sneaking nervous glances, her wings twitching like she was debating whether to flee or join the fray.
       Verosika grinned, undeterred.
       —Oh, come on, puppy. —She drizzled the hellfire honey over the meat, the syrup hissing as it hit the pan—. You forget you’re talking to an expert.
       —Actually, I still can’t understand something… —Emily shily raised her voice to everyone—. If you are clearly interested, why do you feign pureness?
       Verosika almost cut her finger as she tried not to laugh at the obvious callout.
       —She did try you out, Wolfie.
       Arturo became too embarrassed to answer, but seeing as all looks were on him –he had to come up with an answer, or an excuse.
       —W-Well, Verosika is the expert in men, she should tell you! —He picked the excuse—.
       —Fine. —Verosika turned to Emily—. Our puppy knows he wants us –he just won’t say it. Saying it would mean he’s actually having fun, and admit that? That would mean he’s fine with his curse.
       Arturo flinches, a hot, embarrassed laugh almost escapes; looks for an exit while the kitchen fills with a sweet, spicy aroma that makes Arturo’s stomach growl despite his better judgment.
       —See? Even your gut knows I’m right.
       —Tacky succubus nonsense. —Stella muttered—.
       Emily turned to Stella almost out of reflex. The swan continued:
       —It’s called restraint. Humble and subtle –virtues most men lack. He enjoys us, clearly, but he keeps it in out of principle. He’s against his curse.
       Arturo blushes deeply with a half-grin that dies in his throat; happy to be praised but feeling underserved of it.
       —You can say what you like, but he’s been gentle with us so far. That’s not something you fake. —Octavia jumped in, backing Stella’s support—. Curse or not he tries to do what’s best for all of us.
       —Arturo? —Emily asked—.
       —I don’t really want to talk about this anymore.
       Feeling the vibe dying, Verosika just cranked up the jukebox she’d brought –because of course she’d brought her own soundtrack for the showdown. A sultry pop beat filled the apartment, her latest single about breaking hearts and burning beds. She danced as she cooked, her movements fluid and deliberate, each sway designed to keep Arturo’s eyes glued to her. He tried to look away, but wanting to return to the mood from earlier –he decided to indulge himself with her. Still, the beat thumped in his chest, but all he could hear was the echo of what he’d promised not to think about.
       Octavia just rolled her eyes –and Stella remained entitled.
       Eventually, Verosika plated her roast with a dramatic flourish, garnishing it with a sprinkle of charred herbs that glowed faintly –probably not a good sign. She slid the plate in front of Arturo, her fingers lingering on his as she handed him a fork.
       —Bon appétit, puppy. —She purred, her eyes locking onto his—. One bite, and you’ll be begging for seconds.
       Arturo stared at the dish, which looked like it belonged on a magazine cover. The meat glistened, the honey glaze catching the light, but a faint shimmer in the sauce made him pause. He glanced at her, then at the others, who were now watching with varying degrees of anticipation and dread.
       —If I die again, I’m haunting you first. —He muttered, cutting a small piece—.
       He hesitated, then popped it into his mouth. The flavour hit like a succubus’s kiss –sweet, spicy, and dangerously addictive. His eyes widened, and for a moment, he forgot the chaos around him.
       —Holy shit…
       She smirked, leaning on the counter, her chest just close enough to make him sweat.
       —Told you. I don’t just break hearts; I melt them. —She licked a drop of honey from her finger, her eyes never leaving his—. So, what’s the verdict? Am I your favourite chef yet?
       But, before Arturo could answer, a faint flicker caught his eye –a shadow in the corner of the window behind her, gone in an instant. A familiar silhouette, but one he couldn’t name in time. His stomach twisted, the roast suddenly heavy. He tried to make nothing of it.
       —Uh, yeah, it’s great. —He said, his voice strained. He forced a smile, trying to shake off the unease—.
       Verosika’s grin widened, but her eyes narrowed slightly, catching his shift in mood.
       —That’s not what I asked. —She leaned closer, her voice low—. This question you can’t avoid.
       Arturo shook his head, shoving another bite in his mouth to avoid answering.
       —I’m just… savouring the moment before I answer.
       Surprisingly, from the living room, Emily’s voice piped up, timid but determined.
       —Um, I was thinking… maybe I could make dinner later? You know, to… contribute? —Her wings rustled nervously, and Verosika’s smirk faltered, a flash of jealousy crossing her face—.
       —A seraph cooking in Hell? —Verosika said, her tone teasing but sharp—. Didn’t we already have this episode?
       Arturo sighed, caught between Verosika’s seduction and the looming promise of Emily’s dinner that reminded him of days prior. The kitchen was a battlefield, and he was the unwilling prize. As Verosika sauntered back to the stove, humming her own song, he couldn’t shake the feeling that things would soon spill out of control.
       
       ***
       
       The evening in Arturo’s apartment had stretched into a bizarre culinary gauntlet, the kitchen air thick with lingering spices from Verosika’s roast and the faint, acrid memory of Stella’s earlier disaster. 
       The crimson dusk outside had deepened to a full-blooded night, Hell’s eternal glow casting flickering shadows through the window where Arturo had glimpsed that unnamed silhouette earlier. 
       He sat at the counter, poking at the remnants of Verosika’s dish, his stomach full but his mind swirling with the group’s earlier dissection of his feigned pureness. 
       The girls’ words echoed –Stella’s praise of his restraint, Octavia’s nod to his efforts, Verosika’s teasing push for him to admit his enjoyment. It all circled back to the curse, that invisible chain he just wanted to leave behind. 
       He wasn’t sure if he was holding back out of principle or fear, but the warmth in his chest when he looked at them suggested the lines were blurring. 
       Emily hovered near the stove; her seraphic wings folded tightly against her back as if trying to make herself smaller in the cramped space. Her usual radiant glow seemed dimmed, her cheeks flushed with a mix of determination and nerves. 
       She’d gathered a mismatched array of ingredients –all from Arturo’s sparse pantry, while others came from the scraps others had left behind.
       It all made Arturo’s heart skip a beat as he glared at her gentle figure.
       —Okay, everyone. —She said, her voice bright but wavering—. T-This is how you do it in heaven.
       Verosika, lounging against the counter with her arms crossed, let out a snort followed by a smirk at Stella, who was perched on a stool in the corner, her beak curled in mild disdain.
       Octavia scrolled her phone on the futon, occasionally glancing up with dry amusement, while Loona –back from her I.M.P. errand– sprawled nearby, picking at her nails with a bored grin as she realized the skit wasn’t over yet.
       Arturo rubbed his neck, his red eyes softening as he watched Emily fumble with a knife. Feeling like he had to help her.
       —You don’t have to do this. We’ve had enough food drama for one day. I’m stuffed from Verosika’s roast anyway.
       He meant it kindly, but a part of him was already feeling guilty. Emily wanted to be a part of things, and he was already cutting her off.
       Emily’s eagerness to contribute tugged at that growing warmth he was trying not to name.
       Emily shook her head, her wings rustling with resolve.
       —No, no! I want to! You all did something special, and I… I need to show I belong here too. —She chopped the herbs with careful, if clumsy, strokes, the blade slipping slightly and sending a spark of celestial energy zipping across the counter—.
       Stella clucked her tongue.
       —Belong? Darling, you’re an angel in Hell. That’s like a swan in a pigsty –charming but utterly misplaced.
       Her words were sharp, but there was a flicker of reluctant curiosity in her eyes, as if Emily’s unyielding optimism was wearing down even her royal snobbery.
       Emily beamed, undaunted, as she tossed the herbs into a pot with some dubious-looking vegetables from Arturo’s fridge.
       —God made us all different and its those differences what unite us. —Emily seemed positive—. Even swans and pigs can be friends.
       —A-Are we the pigs in this allegory? —Loona sounded worried—.
       —If the muzzle fits the snout… —Stella mocked her—.
       The pot began to bubble with an otherworldly hum, a soft glow emanating from the mixture. The aroma was strangely comforting, like fresh rain mixed with brimstone –a bizarre fusion of realms that made Arturo’s nose twitch.
       He leaned forward, his tail wagging slightly despite himself. Emily’s eyes lit up, her wings unfurling a bit. 
       She stirred the pot vigorously, sending sparks flying as she got excited by Arturo’s reaction as he eyed the pot with interest.
       When the stew simmered, Emily added a dash of what looked like starlight –actual twinkling particles that made the mixture swirl in hypnotic patterns. The kitchen filled with a warm, inviting scent, but then the pot began to rattle, the heavenly herbs reacting wildly with the Hell peppers. Bubbles erupted like mini geysers, splattering glowing goop on the ceiling.
       Emily had to cover the pot quickly before things spurred out of control. 
       Verosika burst out laughing, clutching her sides, but Arturo jumped up, grabbing the lid to contain the chaos, afraid Emily couldn’t do it alone.
        —Em, maybe dial it back? —Arturo complained—. Verosika?
       As he got close to Emily, their hands brushed, and she looked at him with those wide, hopeful eyes. In that moment, amidst the splatters and sparks, he felt a surge of protectiveness –and something more. Her innocence wasn’t just endearing; it was healing.
       The moment turned to silence as the fragrance coming from the food penetrated Arturo’s nose.
       —Actually… it smells kinda good. Chaotic, but good.
       Emily blushed, her wings fluttering.
       —Really? You think so?
       She ladled the now-calmed stew into a bowl, the mixture settling into a golden broth with floating, ethereal bits. She pushed it toward him, her fingers trembling slightly.
       —Here. For you first. I… I made it with love.
       Arturo took a spoonful, bracing himself. The flavour was a revelation –sweet serenity mixed with fiery kick, like peace wrapped in passion. It warmed him from the inside, easing the knot of unease from earlier.
       —Em… this is amazing. Weird, but amazing. —He grinned, genuine this time—.
       The room seemed to soften, the girls exchanging glances that mixed rivalry with reluctant camaraderie.
       But as he savoured it, a faint shimmer caught his eye again –this time in the stew’s glow. For a split second, he saw obsidian eyes reflecting back, mocking him from the depths. His spoon paused, the warmth turning cold.
       He shook it off, focusing on Emily’s beaming face.
       Verosika smirked.
       —Not bad, girl. You might have a shot after all.
       Stella nodded grudgingly, Octavia gave a thumb-up, and Loona muttered.
       Emily clapped her hands, her glow returning.
       As the group finally shared the stew, the kitchen filled with laughter and bickering, Arturo felt the shift: from frustration to something like enjoyment. And as Emily’s hand squeezed his under the counter, he wondered if unity wasn’t so impossible after all.
       
       ***

       With Emily’s stew polished off and the kitchen resembling a battlefield after a particularly enthusiastic angelic intervention –glowing splatters on the ceiling, a faint shimmer on the counters, and the lingering scent of balanced chaos –the group had migrated to the living room. Arturo’s tiny apartment felt even smaller now, crammed with five women from wildly different corners all lounging in various states of post-dinner contentment.
       Stella perched regally on the arm of the futon; her feathers still slightly ruffled from a stray glob of stew that had dared to land on her.
       Octavia sprawled across the cushions, her phone in hand but her eyes flicking around the room with that signature mix of boredom and sharp observation.
       Loona leaned against the wall, arms crossed, a hoodie zipped up like armour against the estrogenic overload.
       Verosika lounged on the floor, legs stretched out dramatically, her apron discarded but her smug aura intact.
       Emily sat cross-legged beside Arturo on the threadbare rug, her wings tucked neatly, still beaming from the reluctant compliments her dish had earned.
       Arturo rubbed his full belly, the warmth from Emily’s stew lingering like a gentle hug –chaotic as it had been to prepare, it had somehow pulled the evening together without sending him to super hell again.
       He glanced around, marvelling at how the day’s petty culinary wars had devolved into this: a bizarre family gathering in his shoebox home.
       The girls’ laughter drowning the scene for a moment.
       Still, as the conversation lulled, he braced for whatever fresh hell was next.
       Verosika broke the silence first, propping herself up on her elbows with a wicked grin.
       —So, who’s in the lead? —She asked, her voice dripping with playful challenge. She scanned the room, tail flicking like a metronome—. Come on, puppy, rank us. Who’s at the top?
       The room erupted in a mix of groans and chuckles. Stella huffed, crossing her arms.
       Loona facepalmed, smirking.
       Octavia rolled her eyes.
       Emily fidgeted, her cheeks flushing.
       Arturo pinched the bridge of his nose, his ears flattening.
       —Girls, seriously? You’re treating this like a game show or some shit.
       The laughter died down, the room shifting to a tense quiet. Verosika sat up fully, her expression turning from teasing to something sharper, more genuine.
       —Oh, come on, Artie. We’ve been over this so many times its tiring. Curse or no curse, we’re here. And yeah, maybe it started that way, but look around –no one is faking the fun but you. Are you saying you didn’t enjoy my roast? Or Em’s glow soup?
       Stella nodded, her regal poise cracking into a rare moment of vulnerability.
       —Precisely. You’ve been holding back, darling, out of some misguided principle. But we’ve all seen it –you care. But you care too much.
       Loona pushed off the wall, her crimson eyes locking onto Arturo’s.
       —Yeah, dude. You think we’re blind? Shit’s fucked, yes. But staying after you came forward should’ve been enough of a hint. Just take it already.
       Octavia set her phone aside, her violet gaze steady.
       —Dad always says curses are just excuses for bad decisions. Maybe this one’s forcing you to face what you want.
       Emily reached out, squeezing Arturo’s paw gently, her touch warm and reassuring.
       —And I... I feel it too. Not because of any spell. Because you're kind, Arturo. You make Hell feel less scary. 
       Arturo’s tail thrashed, his mind racing. The curse had been his crutch, his excuse for the chaos. But hearing them lay it out like this, the warmth in his chest expanded, pushing back the shadows.
       Amelia’s words echoed faintly “You'll never understand love” maybe she was right, and they were trying to explain it to him.
       He sighed, running a hand through his fur.
       —Fine. You win. But if we’re doing this, no more curse talk. We pretend it doesn’t exist. No references, no blaming it for shit. This becomes... real.
       The girls exchanged glances, a collective nod rippling through the room. Verosika grinned widest.
       —Babe, you are the only one who keeps bring it up, but sure. Deal. Welcome to the fun side.
       Loona punched his arm lightly.
       —You better keep your word; it was getting repetitive.
       Stella smirked.
       —Finally, some sense.
       Octavia gave a thumb-up.
       —Cool. No take-backs.
       Emily beamed, her wings fluttering.
       —Yay! Unity!
       The tension broke into relieved laughter, the apartment feeling a little less cramped, a little more like home. Arturo leaned back, the weight lifting slightly. But as the high faded, his practical side kicked in.
       —Just one last question… 
       Verosika facepalmed as Arturo immediately broke his own rule.
       —Verosika, whatever happened with Stolas and Blitz? 
       —Well. —Verosika replied first—. After we saw Asmodeus… I kinda told them everything..
       Arturo, Loona and Octavia were all in shock at the revelation.
       —What did you do? —Arturo almost shuttered—.
       —Ok, I told Stolas, who then explained things to Blitz and kept him from killing you. They also know the “cure” to it to which they hope Loona and Octavia lose to either me or Stella. It lines up with our efforts to win you over, so it felt unnecessary to tell.
       Octavia nodded, thinking of her dad.
       —Why am I not surprised dad wouldn’t support me on this one?
       Stella decided to remain silent. A part of self-awareness from herself knew Stolas would have wanted to have her become someone else’s problem.
       —Oh! But what about my mission? —Emily jumped in—.
       —You appeared after that. —Verosika added—.
       —No! I mean what about my mission if Arturo doesn’t fall in love with me?
       —Well, what you want is proof heaven and hell can coexist. Making this work out is your mission. —Octavia added—. Welcome to the games I guess.
       —Again, I don’t think any of you are understanding me… Um… You don’t know her, but there is also Sera, she might send someone to look for me if I don’t check in. 
       —Sera? —Arturo was confused—.
       —Can’t you just… go back to heaven periodically? —Loona wondered—.
       —I’ve already been missing since the extermination… I’ll be questioned regardless.
       Arturo absorbed it all, trying to map things out.
       —Alright, then. That will definitely not bite us in the ass sometime in the future.
       —A match made in hell we turned out to be, uh? —Loona joked—. 
       The group murmured agreement, and as the night deepened, Arturo felt the shift solidify. Still, he felt it –something off in all of it.
       For now, though, the harem settled into a rare peace until Stella opened her mouth one last time.
       —I will miss some of this after I win.
       —Real fucking subtle… —Loona groaned—.
       —I-I mean… he just needs to find out who he likes most, no?
       —Yeah… You know… maybe there’s an easier way to find out who. —Verosika approached Arturo seductively—. A more hands-on approach if you will.
       Everyone agreed but Emily, who instead coiled up blushing as everyone else jumped him –ultimately getting dragged in by the other girls.
       —O-Ok girls.. one step at a ti-
       Before Arturo could fight back, Octavia shut him up with a kiss. It wasn’t his turn to act.
2


