Lucifer was no stranger to the good ol’ walk of shame.

  There was that time in Valhalla, back when he moonlighted as a waterboy for the Valkyries on mead-making day, when he dropped his water bucket in the well, trying to make it flip on its way down.

  And Lucifer wasn’t worried at first.

  Because the ladies were a surprisingly kind bunch—dismissing him early, sneaking him a sip or two from the tap after the day's work was finished. They even went so far as to strong-arm the Norse Branch of Eternal Affairs into rounding up when they converted his rewards to Heavenly Points.

  But little did Lucifer know, by the time he’d settled on a cover story about his case of 'rapid onset butterfingers,’ the truth of the matter had already spread through the trees surrounding Odin’s hall.

  The kitchen, once a nook of warm meals and warmer smiles, lay under the shadows of an unkindness* of Valkyrie bodyguards—the ravens, as the uninitiated called them. Their heavy wings beat the air like it owed them money as they hissed and gurgled, making it hard for the nervous man to rehearse his lines.

  Suffice it to say, the ravens weren’t as understanding as the Valkyries. And his near-death-by-pecking wasn’t pretty.

  There was also the time he’d schmoozed his way into the easiest rehabilitation task in the entire Greater Eternal Circuit: polishing the Wheel of Sa?sāra.

  There was a slight bump in the road—Lucifer found himself in a vicious debate with a hungry ghost about the difference between food and inorganic matter. And long story short, it ended with his polyester polishing rag and wooden hall pass sitting pretty in the bottomless pit of the thing’s stomach.

  He missed the entire Industrial Revolution and then some waiting on it to… eject its experiment from its hind side.

  Up until that point, Lucifer was convinced that there was no walk of shame worse than his first hike through the lava-soaked cave that was the Hellish Branch of Eternal Affairs. That changed the day he had to do it holding his rag and hall pass, both coated in hungry ghost excrement which grew more and more… fragrant as the heat intensified.

  And as awful as those experiences were, there was just something about that walk out of the courtroom and into his consequences that set it apart from the rest.

  It could have been the raspy, eerie songs the birds croaked as they slunk past Lucifer’s head. It also could have been the lingering pain in his throat, from whatever had happened back there.

  But more likely, it was the fact that his destination, ‘The Big House,’ wasn’t big in the slightest. Frankly, it wasn’t much of a house, either. Not in the traditional sense, at least.

  He’d taken a left then a right, just as 60th had told him to. He army crawled through the shrubs lining the back of the mansion, walked alongside the booby-trapped hopscotch game, and catapulted himself across the thinly-veiled bed of quicksand.

  And finally, he found it. The Big House was stationed in the center of a clearing deep in The Bugaboo Bay’s wilderness, free of anything you’d expect to find in a clearing in The Bugaboo Bay’s wilderness, but home to a little gingerbread house.

  As Lucifer kneeled down to inspect it, he saw that it wasn’t just any old gingerbread house; the single-story arts and crafts project had all the works. Granulated sugar lining each window sill, impressively mocking snowfall, a caramel-frosted roof, a candy cane fence… Lucifer couldn’t help but whistle appreciatively.

  But while he admired the candy floss neatly fashioned into grass, he replayed 60th’s dry instructions, filling out his mental checklist.

  (“When you get past all of the tricks and traps, walk straight until you see a building,” she said, thrusting a paper cup of water at Lucifer and pausing to take a long sip from her own. “That’s not The Big House, but if you’ve gotta poop or piss or something, do it there. I’m pretty sure it’s where 1st goes to hide during service hours.”

  Court had been dismissed. The Hams had filed out, leaving him alone with the security detail, who’d seemed to have hemorrhaged what little professionalism they had overnight. Ignoring the one-mic rule, they jabbed their fat fingers across the crumpled map one had fished from his pocket, bickering over which route to The Big House was best.

  All in all, Lucifer hadn’t gathered much.

  But as he was walking down the hall, flipping the map this way and that, a sharp clearing of a throat halted him in his tracks. And there 60th was, hanging around the corner, back in her pajamas, bonnet and all. She yawned, waving a handful of crackers at him as a peace offering.

  “Keep straight,” she continued. “When you think,‘This is The Big House? 60th’s lost her marbles…’ That’s it.” 60th crushed her cup up and grabbed Lucifer’s out of his slack hands before peeling herself from the wall. “See you around, newbie.”)

  Lucifer traced his pinky along the tiled walkway, shaking his head to himself. “Seems this is it,” he muttered, letting out a sad little laugh. His fingernail was packed with chalky candy residue. Eternal confinement in a gingerbread house. As fitting an end for Satan as any, I suppose.

  Curious, Lucifer lifted it to his nose and let out a pleasantly surprised hum at the scent. Some kind of citrus flavor.

  I suppose I deserve a sweet treat, he reasoned with himself. He pulled at his tunic, grimacing at his ribs bulging through the fabric. Can’t hurt my figure. He brought the candy up to his lips and—

  “Woah, woah, woah. Slow down there, Alice,” an alarmingly familiar, but very tiny voice called out.

  Lucifer looked up, down, and all around before tracing the noise to the gingerbread house’s front window, slightly cracked open. Lucifer could barely see the makings of a face through the frosted window panes, and he, for the life of him, couldn’t place the voice.

  “There’s no ‘Eat Me’ sign on that candy,” it continued.

  Lucifer blinked. “…Pardon?”

  A sigh came from the window before it closed entirely. A few seconds later, the door cracked open, revealing none other than the young woman who’d found him that morning, sporting a cheeky grin. “Get it?” she quipped, looking up to Lucifer expectantly.

  But as his eyebrows knit together slowly and dangerously, her smile dropped. “…You don’t get it, do you?”

  A red-hot rage boiled in Lucifer’s gut as she came out and leaned against the frame, talking nonsense about this ‘Alice’ person and some hellscape she was referring to as ‘Wonderland’.

  “You!” he wanted to hiss. He wanted to abandon every bit of couth his parents had instilled in him. His fingers twitched with how badly he wanted to pluck her up by her shoulders and shake her. “You! You no good, goody-two-shoes! Of all the people at the Bayou last night you chose to turn me in—!”

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  But then it hit him. There was no party at the Bayou.

  There was no glitter, no creepy kid, no party house. No tent, no partiers, no Dale.

  And there certainly was no miniature version of the tattletale he’d ‘met’ that morning. And she was not smiling up into the sunlight, rambling about inebriated caterpillars and grinning cats. That cup of water and the handful of crackers were not doing their job, but moreover, Lucifer concluded, there was no reason to be upset.

  Pull it together, Lucifer. You’re cracking up again.

  While Lucifer was taking deep, centering breaths, the young woman realized that the man wasn’t listening. With a sigh, she stepped out into the sunshine and approached him, nudging politely at the sole of his foot.

  “Hey. I know it sucks that I had to turn you in earlier, but I was just doing my job. No reason to be rude, y’know.”

  Lucifer watched in disbelief as the little lady climbed as far up his ankle as she could without losing her balance and extended her hand. “Let’s call it a truce.”

  He scrubbed his eyes, waiting for reality to kick back in, but it never did.

  “You’re the grudge-holding type, huh?” she asked, finally returning her hand to her side. “That’s alright. We’ll call you… Grudgy, then. Snow White’s eighth dwarf.”

  Then she switched gears. She went over to the side of the house and unwound a candy rope rigged up like a hose. “C’mon, then, Grudgy. Can’t be late to your first day of probation.”

  Splat!

  Lucifer watched in disbelief as the rope’s gooey grip slapped onto his bare ankle and wound around it. The young lady let out a grunt as she reared back and used the rope to drag Lucifer into the garden.

  He dug his nails into the ground and kicked to no avail; before he knew it, the tacky spikes of the candy cane fence got caught in his leg hairs.

  Before Lucifer had time to yelp, he felt the breath be yanked from his lungs and the thoughts from his brain. There was a bright white flash and in the next moment, Lucifer was flat on his back and the young woman, just as she had that morning, towered over him with hands on hips.

  “What in the world was that?” Lucifer gasped. He was shaking as he pushed himself to his elbows, stammering, “There was a—and I lost my vision and it seemed that—”

  The young woman grabbed his hand and helped him up.

  “Yeah, yeah, and you saw a little white rabbit, too, huh?”

  Still gathering his bearings, Lucifer had no choice but to succumb to her insistent pull as she led him into the house.

  Lucifer reached back to close the door behind himself, but faltered, stuck at the sight of the interior.

  The walls, which looked wooden at first glance, were actually thick stripes of dehydrated meat. The ceilings were far higher than they had any right to be, exceeding the one-story capacity Lucifer could have sworn he’d seen outside.

  The front room was dimly lit and nothing more than a few paces long of chocolate arranged like slabs of wood, containing an overflowing coat rack on one side and a shoe-rack on the other one. The strip extended both to the left and the right, leading to something Lucifer couldn’t quite see.

  Straight ahead was a bright, quaint kitchen that reeked of bleach and the great outdoors.

  Standing in the center, hunched over the island, was a man engrossed in his meal preparation. He donned a pristine apron, a smart white button-up, and those baby blue slacks Lucifer could not seem to escape.

  “Hey, 2nd?” the young lady said.

  “25th,” the man grunted, not bothering to face them.

  “I’d like you to meet 61st. He’ll be living here until his trial.”

  2nd’s eyebrows knit together as he slowed his hand, slicing up a well-seasoned bundle of tree branches at a glacial pace. “61st…?” he mumbled to himself.

  The young woman, 25th, looked at Lucifer. And Lucifer looked at 25th. But 2nd looked off into the distance, eyes squinted in confusion.

  So, Lucifer spoke up. “Hello, 2nd. I’m 61st. Though the circumstances are unfavorable, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  There was no reply.

  “Alright, well, thanks, 2nd. Lunch smells great, by the way... Is that tree branch casserole?” 25th tried, but the man didn’t seem to hear her. His face was all sharp angles as he stared at the wall, mumbling to himself, as if he was this close to putting his finger on the very thing Lucifer would have given anything to keep him from touching.

  Lucifer kept a tight pace behind 25th as she backed out of the kitchen and hooked a sharp right turn into the dark corridor. But as he approached the corner, something told Lucifer to peek back at the man.

  He sucked in a sharp breath as he locked eyes with him, his hands frozen around his knife as he stared back at Lucifer, eyes wild and lips parted in confusion. Lucifer floundered for a moment before turning away and hurrying after 25th.

  25th led Lucifer through the darkness, hitting sharp turns that she announced with laser-sharp precision (e.g., “Left turn in 4 paces.” and “Spell ‘Mississippi’ twice then take a right.”), until they came to a poorly lit stairwell.

  “Sorry about that,” she muttered finally, making quick work of the first flight of rickety wooden stairs. Dull lights flickered in and out of service as Lucifer trailed behind her, blanching as he peered down at the never-ending ring of stairs beneath them. “2nd isn’t the friendliest guy around. You won’t be seeing too much of him, though.”

  That’s three… six… Dear God. Cara's voice was drowned out by the sound of his joints crying in protest. “Isn’t there an elevator?”

  25th shot him a look over her shoulder as she jumped over the next flight of stairs and onto the next platform. “You think there’s an elevator in a one-story home?”

  Lucifer paused.

  Because. Wait.

  “Well then, why are there stairs in a one-story home?” Lucifer demanded, fighting against the pain to hurry after 25th. “And how is this building so tiny? And how on earth did we become so tiny that we can fit in said tiny building?! There’s no good explanation for any of this!”

  “You sure there’s no good explanation?” She teased, poking her head up at him from between the platforms.

  “I’m positive!” Lucifer declared. “I’ve been around the Greater Eternal Circuit longer than your eldest ancestor, young lady, and I’ve never seen anything of the sort.”

  25th gave a quiet ‘mm’ that echoed throughout the stairwell. The squeak of a door being opened below punctuated it.

  Lucifer hurried after her, running through his mental Rolodex of odds and ends. But he couldn’t put the pieces together.

  …

  Behind the door was a blindingly bright, industrial-style kitchen. It was a blight of shining silver appliances and counters, sprawling for as far as Lucifer could see. He even wiped his eyes to make sure that its ridiculous breadth wasn’t a trick of the light.

  The counters were stacked high with crates of exotic foods, none of which looked native to Heaven, if Lucifer’s memory served him well. Running between the stations were dozens of pantsuiters, working hard but moping harder. Half the hands in the room were nursing headaches while the other half sprinkled garnishes over dinner plates.

  “Everyone!” 25th called out once the two made their way to the from of the room, voice booming against the walls. The clanking and chopping slowly petered to a stop. A sea of curious eyes sized Lucifer up. “Let’s give a warm, felonious welcome to our new cellmate, Johnn.”

  “Welcome…” she led, eyebrow arched in a silent warning.

  Lucifer stood awkwardly as the room groaned, clutching at temples and grimacing.

  “C’mon, Cara,” someone pleaded. “It’s too early for this.”

  But 25th, or Cara, was nonplussed. “Welcome…” She repeated, then simply stood there until they conceded, giving a flaccid, “…to probation, Johnn.”

  Lucifer gave a curt nod. “Thank you all.” At Cara’s nudging, he continued, “It’s nice to meet you all, my fellow… sinners.” There was one lonely chuckle. “Though you have a lovely home, I can’t say that I anticipate staying long. It turns out that I am actually not on probation. I'll have my trial soon enough and then I'll—”

  Lucifer cut himself off, as eyebrows shot up and knowing looks were exchanged. Whispers erupted, with the word 'trial' rising above all others, over and over again. Before the awkward moment got any worse, Cara clasped her hands together and finished Lucifer’s introduction for him. “Alright, everyone, Johnny thanks you for the kind welcome. Now let’s get back to tonight's dinner.”

  She urged a confused Lucifer along, making small talk to distract him from the pitying eyes and murmurs about a 'poor guy' chasing him through the room. She came to a stop at an empty station, pulled out an apron and cutting board for Lucifer, and proceeded to quickly and methodically gut a glowing purple fish. Proud of her expert display, Cara finished up and passed the knife and a fresh fish to Lucifer, asking, “Get it?”

  Lucifer, for the third time that day, absolutely did not get it, but he leaned down and started in on the fish’s eyeballs with a firm, “Yes.” But at the same time, a damningly familiar voice called out, “No. Sorry I’m late, Cara. You're gonna have to demo it again.”

  Cara’s expression soured as she glared at the person approaching from over Lucifer’s shoulder. “Elio, how kind of you to join us,” she sighed, cutting a glance at Lucifer. “Here comes your partner, Grudgy.”

  Lucifer turned with a stiff smile, bracing himself for yet another round of introductions. And lo and behold, yet another ghost from Lucifer’s maybe-maybe-not nightmare was there in all of his dead-eyed glory, jogging over with what was left of Lucifer's bindle in his hand.