Jabber scratched irritably at his bottom. The coat and tails he was wearing for Fokso's housewarming party were suffocating him and the black haired angel server walking around with seraph wings on her hors d'oeuvre tray kept sweeping past without stopping. Everyone else was enjoying a literal heavenly cocktail party as they chomped down on their wings, but Jabber was stuck with his earthly senses, panting with the summer heat and the smell of sweat and burning candles in the crowded foyer.

"He called me a stingy little devil," he was saying to Fokso and another magician friend, Charlesly Landcaster. They were standing by the grand stairway. Dark wood paneled walls adorned with gilded mirrors and small paintings of flying angels surrounded them. Here and there were placed busts of famous demons, and above the entrance, a gargantuan picture of Fokso's wife Eridian glared down at them.

"A what?" Fokso ejaculated.

"A goddamn devil . . yes." Jabber drank his pomegranate martini. "I swear on Our Missing Lord."

Charlesly was going bald and his voice was feeble with old age, but his tone filled with deep emotion as he said, "You know, by God, I swear I love Joseph's bloody wings. He's got the best in town." As if to emphasize this, Charlesly finished the seraph wing he was holding and placed it on an empty tray of another passing server. "But you and me, we're bosom brothers! You're my oldest colleague in magic . . . I mean we were in the same college at Arkendale, and I'm not going to let that son of an angel whore treat you like that . . . I'm shunning him!"

"Shunning?!" Master Jabber said in pleased surprise.

"Shunning! I'm done with that holy cuckold's spawn."

"Huzzah!" Fokso said with a grin as broad as his girth.

"Never eating there again!" Charlesly held both his bony arms up for emphasis.

"Wow!" Master Jabber smiled at him.

"Now I'm going to get something to drink," Charlesly said, turning to find a waiter.

"God return to bless you!" Fokso raised his glass to Charlesly's back as the skinny magician wandered into the crowd. Turning back to Jabber, he said, "Now that's a true friend."

"True indeed!"

"Giving up Joseph's seraph wings! Impressive."

"Who in God's Absence invited you?" A she-demon in a gray dress suddenly growled at Fokso, her eyes turning smoky and dark in anger. "You angel chauvinist pig!"

"Uh Nunny," her companion, another she-demon, said. "That's not Andreas Tatius." She turned to Fokso. "I'm so sorry Fokso, my sister's just arrived from the Nether Regions."

"Oh, well welcome!" Fokso raised a glass to her. "I'm the master of this house."

The first she-demon looked abashed. The whites of her eyes returned. "I'm so sorry, I had no idea."

"Yeah, I'm not that demon slayer. Don't even have wings!" He turned his rotund body to show his empty back.

"My apologies!" she said as they both left, and then whispered loudly into her sister's ear, "But he looks just like Andreas! That jowl, the beady eyes . . . his belly . . ."

"What in the hell was that?" Master Jabber asked.

"I know," Fokso said, draining his glass. "It keeps happening. Devils, angels, men, women, even kids . . . they see the belly and something about my eyes and they think I'm Tatius."

"Except with Tatius, his belly is all muscle, well as yours–"

"What can I say? Heavenly food is amazing."

"I wouldn't know," Master Jabber said, his eyes filling with lusty hunger as he gazed at the tray full of steaming seraph wings the black haired server was carrying on the other side of the room. Their glances met, and she gave him a queer uncomfortable look, before ducking out of the doorway to another chamber. He was about to give chase when, Fokso's wife, Eridian sauntered up.

"Can't you control yourself even a little bit? Why are you badgering my friends?" she said, a flute of golden champagne in her hand. Her hair was a mass of braids woven so tight that they curled up like hundreds of little snakes hovering around her head.

Jabber laughed out loud, and pretended he needed to look away. "Oh no! Behold! . . . I mean . . . Don't behold, turn away, it's Medusa!"

"Oh such divine wit," Eridian said, looking in a nearby gilded mirror and touching the bounce of her braids.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Jabber pretended to speak to everyone else in the room. "No seriously, careful everyone, her beauty will turn you to stone."

"This type of braid is all the rage these days, you know that?"

"I know you look like you just escaped from your lair."

"You don't know a damn thing about hairstyling . . ."

"No in all seriousness, I'm impressed, I really am. Did you have to put a spell on the ends to make them spit and hiss like that?"

"At least I don't spit and hiss at pregnant women."

"What do you mean?"

"My friend Ronda told me how you were harassing her in a chapel the other day."

"Well somebody had to protect that imp."

"And you're an imp expert, is that correct?"

"It doesn't take an expert to know that holy water isn't good for an imp. Do you think rubbing that all over her belly is going to help her little demon?"

"Listen, just stop accosting Ronda. You're not her midwife and it's none of your business. You understand?"

Jabber grunted non-committedly.

Eridian turned to Fokso. "Come on, the Erebuses are here, let's go say hi to them."

"Good, good," Jabber said as she led Fokso away. "Go back to your own kind foul demon."

"Excuse me?" A thick-necked demon in a tight fitting black coat and bow tie growled at him. His eyes began to go black as his brow furrowed.

"Oh not you, I beg your pardon," Jabber said, backing away. "A thousand pardons," he sputtered and slipped out into another chamber.

This room was less crowded than the foyer and was filled with tall tables with white tablecloths that groups of people in frilly dresses and coats were standing around. Like the rest of the house, the walls were wood paneled. Charlesly was standing alone at a table nearby, munching on another angel's wing. As Jabber crossed over to him, a man in a white jacket on the other side of the room greeted him. "Blessed Sabbatical Master Jabber!"

"What's blessed about it?" Jabber called back as he joined Charlesly.

"These people," Charlesly said, with a knowing shake of his head.

"I know," Jabber said. "How is God forsaking us, blessed?"

"It's not blessed . . . it's sad, and frankly, I have to say it, rather irresponsible."

Jabber scanned the room looking for a server with angel wings but didn't see any and sighed. "What can you do? They're sheep. They've been abandoned by their creator and the only thing they can think to do is celebrate it."

"After three hundred years of this though?" Charlesly shrugged and finished gobbling up his angel wing, ending by licking each of his fingers and then belching contentedly.

"Yes, I know, I know . . ." Jabber said, eyeing his friend's enjoyment with envy.

A short man standing in the hall outside the room waved a hand to Master Jabber. "Evening Jabber! Good to see you!"

Jabber waved back, giving him a fake smile. "Evening! How are things?"

The man raised his glass in response and turned to the skinny she-demon in a black cocktail dress he was speaking with.

"I can't stand that gentlemen," Jabber said to Charlesly.

"Roseman? Ugh, me neither, all he can talk about is how many demons have possessed him that week."

"I mean, what kind of profession is that? A gigolo for demons?"

Charlesly nodded in agreement. "Very odd, I'll give you that. But they seem to love possessing him and he's making tons of money off it. I mean it's rather a strong urge they have, no? It's got to get out somehow."

"Oh believe me," Jabber laughed, "I know plenty about demon possession."

"You would wouldn't you?" Charlesly chuckled.

At that moment, the black haired server entered with a nearly empty tray of angel wings. Jabber raised his hand to get her attention, but she took one look at him and hurried out of the room.

"Will you excuse me for a moment? I've got to get some of those wings."

"Good luck!" Charlesly called after him. "They go fast."

The server had hurried into a smaller corridor along the staircase that led to the kitchen and then disappeared into the butler's pantry.

Master Jabber entered after her with a huge smile of relief as he saw angel wings neatly placed around a new tray she was about to carry away. "Ah, I'm glad I finally caught you!" he said.

The server's wings fluttered in agitation as she glared at him. "Sir, I'm going to need you to stay away, or I will have to smite you."

"How do you mean? I just came to get some wings."

"Oh indeed?! Of course, you want wings. That's what they all want."

"I'm sorry?" Master Jabber was flummoxed. He had no idea what she was talking about.

"You've been ogling me all night. Just came in here to grab my wings, is it?"

"No," Jabber sputtered. "Not your wings . . . those wings." He pointed to the tray she had now picked up.

"Sir! I need you to step aside, so I can leave," the angel said, and then, not waiting for a response, pushed roughly past him, taking the tray of angel wings with her.

"What?!" Jabber said. "No! No, I want those wings!" He reached towards the tray, but she was shoving past so fast, he ended up grabbing a fistful of her own angel feathers instead.

The server stopped and turned towards him in righteous indignation.

Jabber looked at the handful of feathers in his hands in shock and alarm, and then up at the server, his eyes wide with fear.

The she-angel's eyes glowed with an increasingly intense bluish white light as she set the tray of angel wings down on the counter.

"Oh God return to help me!" Jabber squealed, right before she blasted him with heavenly fire.