Second Level
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About this ebook
The path to true love is never easy, especially when you are on opposite sides of the world’s greatest theological debate.
It’s Halloween, and the Demon of Masturbation—Dom, for short—has come to Earth to collect sins and souls for his boss. But a representative from the Interfering Angel Network—Ian—has been sent to put a crimp in his plans. Frankly, though, the two seem less interested in sins and souls than in the three bottles of tequila they down during the night. Alcohol can lower the inhibitions, but it also impacts judgment, and Dom and Ian soon find themselves in the world’s most awkward threesome with a young mortal virgin.
Forget battling for his soul—their real passion seems to be for each other. But Halloween night is waning fast, and the veil between the worlds is only lifted for one night. How can two beings from opposite sides come together when they know they are destined to forever be apart?
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Second Level - Drew Marvin Frayne
A NineStar Press Publication
Published by NineStar Press
P.O. Box 91792,
Albuquerque, New Mexico, 871099 USA.
www.ninestarpress.com
Second Level
Copyright © 2017 by Drew Marvin Frayne
Cover Art by Natasha Snow Copyright © 2017
Edited by: Jason Bradley
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact NineStar Press at the physical or web addresses above or at Contact@ninestarpress.com
ISBN: 978-1-947904-10-1
Printed in the USA
First Edition
October, 2017
Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content, which may only be suitable for mature readers.
Second Level
Drew Marvin Frayne
Table of Contents
Second Level
About the Author
EVERYBODY…EVERYBODY, PLEASE, quiet down,
Mr. Stopheles intoned, clapping his hands together to try to generate order. Let’s get the meeting started. We’re already five minutes behind. Everyone, please,
he repeated as the assembled throng began to shuffle into their seats. Mr. Stopheles sighed. He hated these meetings. For that matter, so did everyone else. Even though the conference room was impossibly long, it still took too much effort to get everyone inside, and the end result was always cramped, stuffy, and stiflingly close. Bodies were piled on top of one another, which made keeping the attention of the group difficult in the best of circumstances.
Over the years, Mr. Stopheles had tried to improve these meetings. When he was first promoted, he bought lavish breakfast buffets—pastries, doughnuts, crullers, even fresh bagels and lox—but too much went uneaten, and all of it went unappreciated. He used to try friendly icebreakers as a way for the team to bond, but most of the staff halfheartedly participated at best, and some outright refused. He had tried meeting in smaller groups, sacrificing his own time for the sake of everyone else. But the results were always the same—bored faces, distant gazes, jaded attitudes. And so, he figured, if they had given up caring, he could too. These days, he stuffed as many bodies into the conference room as he could. He discouraged participation and questions. And he was pretty sure the half-dozen stale bagels and half-eaten log of cream cheese sitting in the center of the table were leftover from last month’s meeting. Not even the office gluttons were going to touch them.
The din in the conference room finally lowered to a hush, and Mr. Stopheles cleared his throat before speaking again. Okay, thank you, thank you. We don’t have a long agenda today, but I want to get started, so let’s begin by—
He was interrupted by the hurried arrival of a late straggler, who flung open the conference room door noisily and then immediately cringed when he saw that his fellow coworkers had already assembled.
Sorry,
he said, first to Mr. Stopheles, and then, to everyone else, sorry,
and then, finally, to no one in particular, he said it one last time: sorry.
He moved to take his seat, but at the last minute, a fellow worker pulled the chair back, and the latecomer fell to the ground with a great whoosh! The room erupted into a tittering snicker as the straggler struggled to get to his feet.
Real mature, Aglettith,
he said snidely, side-eying the laughing employee behind him before removing a ceremonial athame from a sheath on his belt and stabbing his coworker in the neck. Black blood spurted from the wound, dousing the plate of stale bagels and cream cheese that sat at the center of the conference table. Many in the assembled crowd laughed and hooted in approval, though a few older workers just rolled their eyes or tittered their wings in annoyance.
Mr. Stopheles held up his hands, but it was clear even to him he had lost the crowd. Everybody, please, please,
he spoke wanly, but few paid him any heed. Many were congratulating the athame-wielding laggard, while a few were consoling the poor schmuck with the knife sticking out of his neck. Mr. Stopheles waited for the commotion to subside, but it was evident that without some intervention, this meeting would never get underway.
At that moment, though, a large fist slammed against the conference table, causing a lengthy crack to appear in one side. Will you all shut the heaven up!
a thunderous voice bellowed. The words had the desired impact, as most of the group quieted immediately, some out of guilt, others out of fear.
Thank you, thank you,
Mr. Stopheles sputtered, as startled by