He found the others milling around in the main square that wasn't square-shaped, looking lost and confused and rather cross. The Directors of Hell were a curious bunch, it was a requirement of the position, really; most of them were ancient evils that had long forgotten what the mortal realm above even looked like. They came in all shapes and sizes, their identical robes flapping around them as they poked at their handheld communication devices and barked orders at various underlings.

Robbed of tomorrow's all-day breakfasts, air-conditioned offices, filter coffee and afternoon naps, they muttered bitterly amongst themselves, some in the Old Infernal Tongue, darting filthy glances at the tall glass monolith that was the Hell Afterlife Services skyscraper which had so rudely caught fire and was now burning up centuries of painstaking work and lucrative business contracts.

"And look what the Sphynx dragged in…"

Heads and horns turned at Crowley's sour words.

Peregrin Warlock had descended among them from his comfortable home in southern England.

The aardvark gave Crowley a cool, low-lidded gaze; he'd had his long grey ears bent over the unfortunate mishap that was the humiliation and banishment of the uppity human demon at the hands of his son many years ago. Anar had took old man Crowley down a peg and no mistake. Peregrin didn't quite know how, as Crowley wasn't about to tell him, and Anar was nowhere to be seen, so for now the details of Crowley’s embarrassing ordeal remained a mystery.

"Unlike some demons here, I know how to answer a simple phone-call," Peregrin quipped back smartly.

"Do you know how to put out a fire?" Amaimon asked, swishing his tufted tail hopefully. "Always thought it rather inconvenient we couldn't use our magic down here."

"Yes! Where are the security team? Why isn't anyone dealing with this?  Demons these days are so lazy," burbled Azratheth who had never worked a day in his afterlife.

This complaint brought out more grumbling from the ancient evils as they reluctantly waited further instruction from the devil himself.

"Of course, it has to be arson," Crowley sneered with a deliberate nod to the aardvark. "An inside job... an unhappy employee..."

Peregrin’s expression was unchanged, refusing to bite at this brazen accusation, just because he suspected his son of wrong doing didn’t give anyone else the right to. "Could be, could be, and talking of unhappy employees - how's your Alexis these days? Still struggling to manage a handful of senior administrators?"

Aleister Crowley's pale pink forehead creased and foam appeared at the corner of his ugly bloated lips. "You know damned well who I'm talking about!"

"I'd stop talking if I were you, Aleister. There's hundreds of miserable demons in that building who could be responsible for this, and I don't take the insinuation that it was my son lightly."

His words were bold but his gut was still twisted. As much of a disappointment and failure that Anarchy was, he did have an unmistakable knack for chaos and destruction, didn’t he? It had to be him who had done this. Peregrin was determined to find a suitable scapegoat for his wayward child, if for nothing but to save his own reputation as a loyal member of the board.

Azratheth crept over on his knobbly clawed feet, wanting to chat, clearly not following the current conversation, "I hear your son is friends with the Huttgarts these days, Peregrin. Could be a sign of the young grey lad going places. We reinstated Jez Huttgart back onto the board, you know. He should be here with us any moment..." his many eyes on spindly stalks swivelled to scan the square.

"Yes, I heard. Rumours of a Millennium Bug virus, a floppy disk that could bring about the destruction of modern society in the mortal realm." Peregrin's gaze was drawn in by the towering flames once more. "Targeting technology. Bringing down the internet. Causing... power outages..." dots were being connected to paint a picture of utter carnage and wreckage akin to what they were witnessing this very moment.

But it wasn't enough to escape Hell; burning down the Hell Afterlife Services building was simply an inconvenience - a big one, true - if Anar had done this; why? All it had done was make grumpy demons even grumpier, and upset Lucifer himself enough to summon the entire board here in search of answers. Not that the Big Guy had shown up in person. He wouldn't concern himself with such things. That was why you had minions - especially high-status ones.

The sharp tap-tap of expensive shoes on flagstone made his long ears twitch and sure enough, Jez Huttgart, former disgraced Board member and now Employee of the Month entered their little throng, accompanied by his son, Crispin. The young human man had a baby-blue coloured cashmere sweater slung around his shoulders and very bright teeth. Unlike the other demons he had a very muted demonic appearance, with tiny horns and subtle wings, almost like being an Underling was a hobby, a past time, not a permanent career. Shameful.

Jez's son was even smiling. Until he saw Peregrin, that was.

With a muttered expletive Crispin ducked down, hiding, sidling away, trying to sneakily disappear.

So, this was Anar's 'friend', was it? He had a few questions of his own he'd like to ask him.

The other directors watched, bemused, as Peregrin Warlock launched himself full-pelt after the young human demon in hot pursuit, the crowd of gawking onlookers rudely being pushed aside as they continued to watch the big neon Hell Afterlife Services sign at the top of the office building creak and groan. Flames licked hungrily up its surface, the sharp tinkle of exploding glass accompanying the roar of the fire.

"I don't know anything! I don't know anything! Help! Security!" Crispin gasped and puffed as he ran.

"Where is my son?!" Peregrin roared, catching up. "Where is he?!"

"I don't... I don't know... aaaaaa stitch, stitch, owowowow..." Crispin finally stopped and crumpled, clutching at his sides in discomfort, still kicking out with his legs to get away as the shadow of the aardvark Director fell upon his now prone form. "No... no... he told me… you... were... a bastard... horrible... he... he hated you!!" Crispin flung shards of gravel at Peregrin as he stood over him. They did nothing to help his predicament, but Crispin obviously had things to get off his chest.

Minutes passed.

"Are you quite done?" Peregrin asked, finally, brushing bits of stone off his robes. "I just want to talk."

Crispin's chest rose and fell. "Talk?" he asked, weakly.

The senior demon nodded.

"I'll never talk." But there was a wobble in his voice. His words didn't sound convincing. Peregrin just needed a tool to prise this silly human open with. Crispin was clearly a coward and talking meant he wouldn't get thumped. "I'll save the violence for those who deserve it, like that idiot Alexis Crowley," he smiled, craftily.

Crispin's bright blue eyes twitched and he slowly gathered his limbs up, regarding the powerful Director above him very carefully, choosing his next move. "You'd thump a Director's son?" he asked, doubtfully.

"It's what Anar would do," he replied, holding out a grey hand, “or so I’ve been told.”

With a huff Crispin grasped Peregrin’s offered palm and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. "Damned right."