Pyriel, doubled over, could not stop laughing.

‘Oh goodness. That was the funniest thing ever,’ she eventually said, staring at the closed door. ‘Do you think he’s going to say anything?’

Asmodeus shrugged. ‘Doubt it. You know what happened to the last guy who mentioned hearing voices when we were playing Marco — Polo in here?’

‘Yes, I do.’ Pyriel chuckled. ‘I heard they sent him for mandatory counselling and he’s still the laughingstock of the hospital. They’re such a bunch of numbskulls.’

‘C’mon, stop babbling, check which meat suit you want and let’s get out of here,’ he said before adding: ‘You’re wasting good drinking time.’ Stomping about, Asmodeus continued to peruse the offerings.

Without warning Asmodeus’s body dropped lifelessly to the floor. Moments later he re-appeared in his native smoky form. Seeming undecided, he hung about before undulating toward another gurney and disappearing under the sheet. Moments later, a heavy-set man with shaved head sat up.

‘Hey, what about this one?’ he shouted in a gruff voice.

Looking over, Pyriel gave the heavily tattooed, manly male body a critical ogle.

‘Wow, nice ink’, she remarked before taking a closer look. ‘Some of them look like prison or gang tats. He may attract unwanted attention. Remember Hong Kong?’ She chuckled as Asmodeus pulled a grimace.

Pyriel knew that tattoos, along with many other body modification methods, had changed vastly over the millennia. The ancient Greeks had used tattoos as covert communication between spies while the Romans branded their slaves or prisoners using tattoos. These days, she knew tattoos to be mostly decorative, but she was also aware that many criminal syndicates use them as means of identifying rank or affiliation as Asmodeus had found out the hard way several years ago. He had chosen a lavishly and intricately tattooed male body for a night out in Hong Kong. Blissfully unaware that that type of design was reserved for only high-ranking members in the Hong Kong Triad. The fact that the same body had only hour ago been publicly assassinated by a rival gang, had also been unknown to him. Later, when Asmodeus was seen wearing the same meat suit while murdering a country western song in a popular karaoke bar, a small-scale gang war broke out much to his and Pyriel’s surprise.

‘Oh crap. Yes, good point,’ Asmodeus agreed before relinquishing control and letting the body drop like a hot potato. Moments later he reappeared in his native, smoky form and continued his search while Pyriel too began to peruse the offerings.

Other negative experiences had also taught Pyriel that attitudes like “it’s just a body” in small cities can lead to major uproar when bodies, which had belonged to prominent people like the mayor, whose deaths had been highly publicised, are seen frequenting bars or driving around recklessly. In some cases, this had escalated to include criminal or political enquiries or the beginnings of conspiracy theories. Fortunately Chicago, being a large city, her issues were often more the lack of quality bodies than quantity.

‘Damn.’ Letting out a frustrated huff, she bent down to get a better look at the body or in this case, the parts. ‘I know that Death doesn’t choose who, when or how people die, but hoping for a few good-looking, natural deaths from time to time, I don’t think is asking for too much.’ She continued to stare in disbelief at what lay before her. ‘I mean, this one’s in pieces. No way I could use her to walk around in.’ Wondering if humans could even walk without legs, she recovered the gurney. On the far side of the room another man had just risen.

‘I tell you; I blame TV and the movies. They’ve made such a big deal about Zombies and the Apocalypse,’ she said shaking her head. ‘Everybody knows that Zombies aren't real. I mean, c'mon, walking dead, craving brains, or eating living humans? What a crock of shit.’ Continuing to shake her head, she thought about her struggles to understand human psychology. People actively seeking out activities or situations with elevated risk of severe injury or even death made no sense to her.

‘Hurry up. Stop procrastinating and pick a meat suit already. We’re not getting any younger you know.’ Asmodeus’s icy tone made her wonder what had twisted his feathers into a knot.

‘Oh, you are miserable sometimes, even for a demon.’ Mumbling to herself, she continued browsing.

‘Ah, this one looks good,’ she exclaimed joyously. Having let her current body drop unceremoniously to the floor, she rose moments later in another. Having checked for obvious issues like gaping flesh wounds, autopsy stitches and missing limbs, she decided that her new body not only looked presentable, but also made her feel good.

‘Hey, Asmodeus, what do you think about this one?’ she shouted.

Tilting his head to one side, eyebrows pulled together and rubbing his chin, Asmodeus looked thoughtful as he studied her new body. Approvingly, he nodded.

‘Yes, that one looks good,’ he said factually. ‘She’s not been autopsied, seems complete and is not bad looking either. Are you taking that one?’

‘Yes, I like her.’ Pyriel said smiling whilst inspecting his body critically. ’Yours reminds me of an accountant. Hair all nicely cut, well-groomed with only one minor flaw, not that it’ll affect you in any way.’ She giggled as he stared back at her, looking confused.

‘What are you on about?’

Grinning devilishly, she pointed at his crotch while making wiggling pinkie finger gestures with her other hand. Glancing down at his nether region, Asmodeus sighed deeply as he looked back up with an expression of dismay.

‘Only you would notice something like that,’ he said shaking his head. ‘Can we go now?’

Pyriel, still chuckling to herself, began walking toward him. As she passed, she playfully struck his naked buttocks with an open, flat hand. The cracking, whip-like noise, echoed and reverberated off the cold steel walls.

‘Hmm, nice and firm.’ She squealed with laughter. ‘Come, let’s go and see what we can find to wear.’ Continuing in a dance-like walk, she headed toward the door while ignoring his death stares. ‘Keep an eye out for a nice pair of shoes,’ she added before pulling the chromed lever to open the heavy steel door.

‘Whatever. And by the way, you’re not exactly angelic for an angel either,' Asmodeus grumbled as he closed the door behind them.

***

With her cold feet leaving condensation marks and making splodging noises, Pyriel walked down the brightly lit corridor. She could only hear the hum of the commercial florescent lights embed in the ceiling. The clinical smell of bleach and disinfectant hung in the air.

Several bodies, covered by white sheets, on gurneys, littered the passageway. Pyriel, purely out of habit, picked up one of the sheets.

Pulling a grimace, she exclaimed: ‘Oooh, that looks nasty. ‘Half the head is missing.’

‘Hmm, yes, that one would work well for Halloween.’ Asmodeus grinned before giving her an encouraging push.

Plodding along, Pyriel’s thoughts drifted to her favourite day of the year, Halloween. In their early days, after Asmodeus discovered that using their powers they could re-animate deceased human bodies and mingle among the living, they had used any available body. “Meat is meat” had been her motto, without discretion or discrimination. The subsequent reactions from living humans had varied from wide eyed shocked stares to blood curdling screams. Her and Asmodeus walking about in bodies which had missing limbs or severe, obvious, injuries had brought the most violent reactions. She also discovered, the hard way, that walking around naked is frowned upon in most human civilisations. However, Halloween, being accepted as the night when all types of creatures, including the dead, roam among the living, was different. One year, after an accident involving a motorbike and a wire fence, she had been decapitated again. Previous times, walking about with her head under her arm, had caused moderate to severe chaos. That night, just because it was Halloween, people cheered and smiled. Complimenting her on the outstanding special effects, with several even taking photos. She remembered the people calling them selfies.

After several minutes of walking along the deserted corridors, Pyriel, Asmodeus in tow, approached a door. Lost Property was written on the embossed chrome plaque.

As they entered, Asmodeus tripped.

‘What the hell?’

The floor was littered with cardboard boxes, filled with articles ranging from clothes to children's toys. Pyriel knew that all things left behind by patients or removed from the deceased would eventually end up here or the hospitals incinerator. She had often wondered if the room, in its chaotic state, resembled Asmodeus’s mind on any given day.

She sighed. ‘Right, here we are again; let's find some clothes.’

Asmodeus kicked the box deeper into the room. He stepped up to a moderate sized box and began to rummage around inside it.

‘Huh, what’s this?’ he asked, holding up a bunch of clothes.

‘Oh, man. That stinks.’ Pyriel stepped back, gasping for clean air.

Holding up a T-shirt covered in mahogany brown stains, Asmodeus inspected the three holes in the material by poking his fingers through them.

‘What the hell is this? Oh, blood stains. With bullet holes. Charming.’ He dropped the blood-stained shirt and bent down to pick up another. He gave it a good sniff. His face contorted. ‘Oh man, that one smells like vomit,’ he shouted and threw the garment deep into the room. Pyriel smiled.

He will and does sniff anything. She thought, chuckling while he continued to dig through the box.

‘Oh, hang on— this one should fit you,’ he exclaimed jubilantly. He held up a red dress.

‘No way. I’m not wearing that,’ Pyriel exclaimed with finality. Fashion had changed vastly over the centuries but only since their global travels and nightly excursions had she begun taking more notice. She had also developed an appreciation about the vastness of different attire based on culture, season, and location. Japanese Kimonos had become one of her favourites. A timeless style only influenced by the vast ranges of materials which were often individualised by print or elaborate embroidered motives. Asmodeus never seemed to care.

‘Why?’

‘Look at it. It’s like an old rag. I do have some standards you know.’ She crossed her arms defiantly.

‘What? Too red for you. Not stylish enough for her prissiness. Oh shit. So sorry.’ He turned the garment about in his hands. ‘I just looked for the label and guess what? It has none. Tough! Reality check. You’re a celestial being inside a human corpse. Nobody cares whether you’re wearing Veera Wonky or Calvin Tinywieny. As much as I’d love to walk around naked, you know what happened last time.’ Glaring at her, he held out the dress. ‘Here, take the damn thing. If it fits, wear it. And for goodness’ sake, please wear some underwear this time. It may have worked for Marilyn Monroe, but nobody wants to see you without underwear on an updraft.’

Pyriel, despondent, asked: ‘Since when have you become so sensible? You used to be fun. Adventurous. Now you’re just bossy and boring.’ In a more formal tone she added: ‘AND, for the record, it's Vera Wang and Calvin Klein.’

‘Whatever, get over it.’

‘Oh look, shoes.’ She reached into the box. ‘A lovely pair of platforms, just for me.’ With glee she slipped into the dress. It felt a little snug but fitted. ‘Shall we check if the shoe fits?’ She slipped her foot into the shoe and did up the clasp. Smiling broadly, she exclaimed jubilantly, ‘Yes! Yes! I’m a princess.’ She twirled around, letting her shoulder-length hair fly.

‘Stop prancing around like Cinderella and remember the underwear.’

‘Stop being so touchy. See, I’ve found some. I just need to figure out which side is front.’

‘OK, you ready?’ Asmodeus asked, giving her a critical glance.

‘Oh yes baby, I am.’ She smiled as she rubbed her hands together excitedly.

‘I hope you’re not going to do anything stupid tonight. I really don’t feel like hassles with the police again’, he said with a raised eyebrow. ‘I just want a nice quiet night, a few drinks, some music. You know, peaceful and relaxing.’

‘You have left your sense of adventure in hell, haven’t you?’ she said in a patronising tone. She knew she was poking a touchy subject but felt it justified. ‘Since the cease-fire you demons have become so…so…soft, almost timid. You sound like an old human: “I just want a quiet night; I’m not looking for problems. Just want to drink my beer and go home.” Are you sure you’re still a demon?’ In her mind she could hear a distant bell ringing. Announcing the commencement of round one.

With a dagger wielding stare Asmodeus shouted: ‘Of course I’m still a demon. It’s in my DNA.’ His fiery gaze continued as she replied.

‘Well, it’s definitely not in your pants.’ Pyriel burst out laughing as she pointed at his crotch. She had never found a true replacement purpose since Heaven and Hell had declared a ceasefire. But she had found some solace by winding up Asmodeus whenever and wherever possible. Her justification was simple. It was easy and made her feel good on countless levels.

He growled: ‘Shut up! Let’s go then.’ He turned to leave. ‘What’s your name tonight?’ He asked as if it were an afterthought.

‘Hmm, I feel like a Jane. Jane Doe. Get it?’ Without replying he gave her a patronising glance. Yes, he’s grumpier than usual, she decided knowing that he spent most of the daylight hours lurking in video rental stores watching movies. Westerns and Star Wars were his favourite. She preferred roaming the hospital, mostly people watching. Grief seemed to bring out the best and worst in humans. Seeing people at their most vulnerable, as death’s finality sinks in, often made her wish she could comfort them. Help them in their time of need. But the rules were clear, no human interference of any kin was allowed. This rule, punishable by death, had made some of her early excursions so experimental and had caused many unforeseen predicaments.

‘Sourpuss. And you? Who are you tonight?’ she asked.

‘Hmm, seeing that you are being so original, Jane, I’ll be John.’

Bursting out laughing, Pyriel punched Asmodeus playfully in the arm. ‘Really? Does that mean you’ve found a sense of humour? A funny demon? Now hell will definitely freeze over.’ Still laughing, she skipped down the passage. ‘We can go ice skating— yippee.’

‘Oh, shut up,’ he snarled. ‘Don’t start with me.’