“Three counts of public indecency.”

  Lucifer could all but hear the pearl-clutching from the pews. Hell, he was clutching his pearls, too.

  Because he knew beyond a reasonable doubt that he was a lot of things, a lot of unsavory things at that, but he would never, and I mean never—

  “That is, two counts of public barefootedness. Left and right, if you’ll believe it.”

  Lucifer deflated, blowing all of that undue tension from his nose. “How creative…” he muttered under his breath. He looked up at the pews, expecting similar reactions, but was met with faces even more pinched in disgust than before.

  “And one count of desecration of the Head Assistant Manager’s Acting Administrator-In-Training-By-Proxy’s blazer and crest.”

  1st nodded to the guards. The two of them stepped in front of Lucifer, using the very tips of their fingers like tweezers to display the glittery Bayou t-shirt, coated in dirt and grass stains, to the room. “This is the offending item.”

  Someone retched.

  Before he could get offended, 1st looked up from the scroll and spoke again.

  “Last but surely not least, 61st is charged… with one count of murder.”

  Gasps.

  Eyes darted around the room, counting faces, scouring for empty spaces in the pews. Lucifer was too busy trying to convince himself he’d misheard to react.

  No, no, no, surely, she said… ‘herder,’ or… Lucifer tested the sound out on his lips, crossing his arms. Does nothing else rhyme with ‘murder?’

  “The cold-blooded murder of an innocent resident of the Bugaboo Bay. 14th, 38th, if you’ll please.” The guards stepped from behind Lucifer, each holding one side of his bubble-wrap tote open. Realization sunk in as they slowly made their rounds, revealing the plump, stinking angelfish corpse to the wide-eyed onlookers.

  “Yes. Unfortunately, 61st was caught red-handed, in possession of the corpse of one of our sweet, harmless neighbors. May its poor soul rest in peace.”

  Head shakes and murmured condolences ensued as Lucifer looked on in disbelief. The guards returned to their posts, sending judgmental heat rays through the back of Lucifer’s skull.

  “61st.” 1st paced slowly, menacingly in front of Lucifer’s lone chair. “Do you understand the nature of these charges?”

  No. “Yes.”

  “Very well. And how will you plead?”

  …Insanity? Can I plead insanity here? Lucifer swallowed roughly, feeling the burn of his throat for the umpteenth time that day. Because this has to be another hallucination. “May I plead no contest?”

  A pin could have dropped.

  Then, from the back pew, 60th’s dry voice called out, “You do know what that means, right?” And when Lucifer didn’t answer immediately, she followed up with a deep, deep sigh. “1st, you know you have to explain the trial to him. Nobody’s read the handbook since you wrote it.”

  1st’s distressed fa?ade cracked. Her face hardened. Proverbial fire met literal ice as 1st glared at 60th and 60th stared back.

  The moment was a split second long, seen by all but acknowledged by none other than Lucifer, who, feeling slightly slighted, spoke up. “While I appreciate the concern, young lady, I actually am aware of what a trial entails. Back in my day—” he started.

  “Not a trial, 61st,” 60th cut in. “A Ham trial.” 1st gave 60th a warning look.

  “Sorry, a Head Assistant Manager’s Acting Administrator-In-Training-By-Proxy trial. One to determine whether you will or won’t be… manually smited* down to Hell for breaking 1st’s made-up rules, basically.”

  Lucifer shot up straight in his chair, ready to protest. Dina’s words replayed in his head, clear as day—no more smiting, no matter how badly he screwed up this time around. These pantsuiters can't play God!

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  “I know what you’re thinking,” 60th said, her tone a little lighter, more understanding. “How can I get ejected while God’s sleeping, isn’t that against the rules? Who has that authority but Him? And, well, great questions, but no one’ll give you straight answers. Because apparently, 1st here—”

  “That’s enough.”

  1st’s voice cut through the room like a dagger, sharp and controlled, pinning everyone’s breath to the back of their throats. Even 60th’s.

  Gone was the little grandma Lucifer met the day before, who had sweetness folded into her wrinkles and honey coating her vocal cords; she’d been replaced with a war general, faced with public enemy number one.

  “61st, please pardon my oversight. Allow me to fill you in.” She relaxed a bit, finally turning her back to 60th and giving a kind smile to the pews.

  “While it is true that Heavenly citizens, generally, are no longer being reassigned to Hell, the office of the Head Assistant Manager’s Acting Administrator-In-Training-By-Proxy is held to a higher standard.”

  She began pacing, winding up the scroll of Lucifer's charges so harshly that she left dents in the parchment. “And as such, when one of our own is accused of such egregious violations and denies the allegations, we have no option but to take the matter to trial.”

  Lucifer stole a glance at 60th, whose blasé expression, strangely enough, gave him a bit of comfort.

  1st, like a hawk, must have caught a micro change in his expression and raised an eyebrow at him. “What differentiates this trial from the sort you’re familiar with is that the jury will be comprised of your peers. Your real peers, the members of our office, former and present, from 1st to 62nd.”

  Lucifer squinted in response because... 62nd? Then it hit him—that bored little face he'd encountered at The Check-In Point, that golden rainbow button on her blazer cuffs, that name tag that very much did not read ‘62nd Head Assistant Manager’s Acting Administrator-In-Training-By-Proxy.’

  “Should the office unanimously find you guilty of violating our code of conduct, you unfortunately will be escorted out of Lower Heaven. Not necessarily to Hell, as 60th seems to believe, but to a… fitting final destination, determined by the closest thing to a second-in-command that Heaven has at the moment, which is 62nd.”

  A ringing set in between Lucifer’s ears, drowning out 1st’s words as she continued pacing, praising the office’s name and honor. Never in all of the time he’d spent in the afterlife had he heard of such a thing.

  Final? A final destination.

  Not even the Atheists’ Silent Night was so horrifying. Sure, it was pitch black, and yes, it was littered with corpses. But at least they immediately lost consciousness upon arrival.

  And to make matters worse, if that little girl, the real 61st, wanted him thrown back to Hell before he’d broken any major rules (because if you asked Lucifer, bypassing an easily bypassed sign hardly counts), he could only imagine what she’d do with him now.

  As 1st continued pacing, eyes to the ceiling as she uttered a mouthful of legal mumbo-jumbo about specificities, exemptions, and best-case scenarios, Lucifer continued to spiral. Memories, fears, and aborted hopes for his future played out right before his eyes, displacing the courtroom piece by piece.

  Until—

  “Look, you’ll have to forgive me for interrupting, 1st, but in case you haven’t noticed, 61st just about fainted with his eyes open after you said ‘final destination.’” All eyes turned to Lucifer, indeed looking as if the lights were on and no one was home.

  “Y'know, there always is a guilty plea.”

  The man instantly bristled; with all the mud that had been slathered on his name over the years, every evil mankind could think of and then some, there was no way that Lucifer would ever—

  “You’d just get probation.”

  Huh.

  Lucifer’s eyebrows relaxed. He was listening.

  1st looked like she was one second away from exploding, but nonetheless, 60th pushed her luck. “Nothing too too bad. You’d get your own room in The Big House. You’d do chores, hang out.” She mumbled the next part, “Might even be better than living here, if you ask me.”

  “Well, he didn’t ask you, and neither did I,” 1st snapped. “Besides, you’ve left out the most important part of the probation deal.”

  1st let out a shaky sigh and calmed her voice before continuing. “Which is that should you plead guilty, you would agree to forfeit all future Heavenly Points earned in the Bugaboo Bay. Meaning that, effectively, you would pledge your allegiance to the greater good of our community, ensuring that you—”

  “What she means to say is that some shady dude from Eternal Affairs is gonna come visit in the middle of the night. He's gonna give you a pen to sign some bullshit written on a napkin stating that you agree to sign away all of your future HP gains for ‘restitution,'” 60th rolled her eyes, throwing up air quotes. “Thing is, if you can’t earn HP, you can’t get back to Level 7. And if you can’t get back to Level 7, you can’t leave Lower Heaven.”

  60th paused for a moment, shifting her arms to rest over the pews. “But honestly, no one’s ever even made it out of the Bay, let alone Lower Heaven. So. Is it really that bad?”

  Her question hung heavy in the room, causing even the silent onlookers to gaze at each other uncertainly. 1st took her glasses off and scrubbed her hand over her weary eyes as she struggled to regain her composure.

  One of the guards nudged Lucifer’s shoulder. He looked back and was met with insistent eyes, urging him to speak up. Lucifer looked out to the rest of the seated pantsuiters, the Hams, all looking just as lost as he felt. He cleared his throat one more time, getting everyone’s attention.

  And to this day, Lucifer couldn’t tell you, me, or even himself, what—or who—reached down into the pit of his stomach, again, and yanked that terrible, stupid, awful, ridiculous string of sounds from his body.

  But his mouth was open and words were coming out.

  “Not guilty! I’m not guilty!”