When I named this place Purgatorio, it was because I was in kind of a mood. Very emo. My attempt at an internet startup had flunked before the VCs had bit, and I knew that the work to bring it back to normal operation would cost more than I had.

Such was life, and I'd only hired people who knew what they were getting into. Anyway. Doesn't matter.

I'd ranted that I'd missed out on "angel investor" heaven, and would be stuck in "worker purgatory" for the rest of my days. So when I'd sold my house to buy a coffee shop with the attached apartment upstairs, I'd named it Purgatorio, considering it my own personal purgatory in which to... I dunno, earn my way back into Capitalism's good graces?

I'd run into an old friend called Enzo, who'd heard of my plan as I was renovating the place, and supplied a design that he insisted, with a mad look in his eye, be used on the signage outside and the decor inside.

He'd cringed at himself when he said I had to paint it myself, and use a little of my own blood in the paint.

Honestly, I'd forgotten about that stipulation, but opening paint cans is a goddamn pain. I somehow always cut a finger, or my palm, or... something. Lucky shot, really.

Because it turned out I'd stumbled on something unusual.

The sign outside, I'd written in both English and some norse runes. Figured it was cute, given how cold it could get up here. The Italian alps were a little cold; a small town halfway up the mountain, got very cold indeed.

I'd also written "neutral territory" on the base of the sign, on a whim.

And the design Enzo had given me - a thornlike bramble of Celtic knots, with old runes and bits of what looked like the Voynich Manuscript's text? - had gone all the way around the skirting board and around the coving at the ceiling.

On a whim, fuelled by insomnia and far too much of my own product (coffee and muffins at 1am is a bad plan, even if you already can't sleep!), I'd painted the same design around the door frames, all the window frames, even the garbage chute.

If it scared Enzo enough to be straight with me like that, then it was either the best prank he'd pulled since school, or... he was serious. But, I didn't have a clue how he could be.

But, with Neutral Territory on the sign, the design painted in both paint and blood around the place, and the design on the sign... something happened.

Something snapped into place, and it felt like home to me. More real.

I'd painted the same design around all my rooms upstairs, the roastery out in my storage shed, the basement... literally everywhere. Even the mirrors.

Turns out? Great idea.

---

I'd gotten basically every spare part and service manual I could for the coffee machine when I got it, and - unsurprisingly - I'd really gotten into tinkering with it in my off time. Usually between midnight and 2, which for me was solidly insomnia-time.

Sleeping 7-12 and 2-7 was a routine, now, and I just kinda dealt with it. I'd posted on the door a sign that said "sorry, irregular hours, please ring doorbell" and gotten used to laying out a clean pair of trousers and workshirt to throw on by the end of the bed.

It was approaching 3:30 when I'd gotten the machine back together and working as I wanted. I made myself a celebratory decaff, when as I finished it, the lights flickered. Including the battery-powered alarm clock I had on top of the counter.

There was a knocking sound behind me. "May I come in?" as though asked through a door.

Next to my reflection, in the mirror I had behind the coffee machine - like it was a bar or something - was a lady in a smart shirt, black trousers, a waistcoat, and - the only item of clothing not in the black and white colourscheme - blood red high heels. Matching the colour of her eyes.

She tapped mirror me on the shoulder, and I felt it. "May I come in? This is the first coffee bar I've found that we might be able to regularly use..."

Dumbly, I nodded, reaching a hand towards her. "Neutral territory," I squeaked, on a whim.

She nodded, and reached through the mirror, grasping my hand and climbing over both sets of counters - mirror and 'real' - to join me behind the bar.

"Hi?" I said, wondering if this was real.
"Hey," she answered, rounding the counter and being back on 'client-side'. "That board is easier to read right-way-round. Do you have caramel syrup?"
"Salted or unsalted, I've got both."
"Good. The boss might've invented salted caramel, but they don't torture themself with that stuff."

I blinked, laughing without even thinking about it. "I had a girlfriend once who hated salted caramel. I couldn't understand it."
"It really is a matter of taste, but the boss reckons they invented it to torture people who just wanted caramel. Personally, I love it."
"Your eyes. Is that your natural colour?" "Flatterer." She stopped staring at the board, looking me in the eyes instead. "Yes, and I put on the 'sunday best' to come here. Figured you wouldn't be okay with my normal."

My brain made a wild 3am leap. "Are you a demon?"
"Got it in one."
"Oh. Well, if that'd failed, I had a nice lead in for a pickup line..."
"In your own coffee shop? Classy," she answered, but the grin made it clear she appreciated it. "I mean, you're prepped for safety from the clientele, with all these runes and designs up."

Thank you, Enzo, I thought. "Oh?"
"What, did you paint it without knowing? ... you DID. Oh, that's just... frustrating. But yes, perfectly done. You have a neutrality sealing array painted around here, floor, ceiling, corners, windows and all. Even the dang mirrors, how did you know they were crossover points...? God Themself could come in here and would have to step outside to smite you."

Thank you, Enzo, I repeated internally, feeling numb.

"I think I'm ready with my order."
"Okay, what'll it be?"

Half an hour and fifty coffees made later, I was handing them through to her to the other side of the mirror.

"See you soon. Get some sleep, Barista boy, and if this is any good, I'll be seeing you in a few days."

On a whim, I wrote a note to myself to get a doorbell fitted behind the bar, that rung in my bedroom... and a wide, full length mirror.

---

Amazon could get anything and deliver anywhere, but here was far enough out that next-day service was an impossibility.

So, not having hooked up a doorbell - yet - I tried to shift my insomnia hours to 2-4.

It just about was working. Two days later, demon-lady knocked on the mirror again, rousing me from my half-asleep stupor at one of the customer tables.

I reached out again, stating "Neutral Territory." She nodded, reached through, took my hand, and climbed over.

"Sunday best again? It's a Tuesday, though." I grinned.
"Actually... would you mind if I relaxed a bit? I came here early, so I'd have a little time to chill. Wouldn't be so rushed."
"Of course. Sit down at one of the tables. I'll make you a chai latte whilst you think?"
"I... sure. I like those."

She sounded unsure, but sat down, pulled a hairband out of her hair, and I heard her high heels clack on the table. Figured she'd take them off, they don't look comfortable for her.

I made a pair of chai lattes - because hell, I like 'em too - and set them down on a tray, rounding the counter.

Her mousy brown hair had ravelled itself into two great horns coming from her temples and wrapping backwards. And she'd stretched out her long legs, resting her calves on the opposing seat, showing off her hooves.

"Too much? Sorry, I can go back to how I was in a minute. It's nice to just breathe up here and relax. Keeping the disguise up gives me a headache."
"Not the way my mind was going. I've spent too long on the internet," I clarified.
"Finding me attractive?"
"Yes."

She seemed shocked, but only a little. "You really are a flatterer."

I put the latte down in front of her, and sat down at the next table. "Is the clipboard all the coffee orders?"
"Yup. I wrote down your menu last time I was here." She handed me a sheet of paper. "I'll need to be off with it by 4am."
"There's forty coffee orders on this spreadsheet. How're you paying, anyway?"
"Oh, right. Mundane cash, including for last time," she slid an envelope towards me, "and if the boss remains impressed, we can look at a bonus every so often. They appreciate a bit of luxury."

I blinked, sipping my latte. "Really?"
"Really. Any fool can make instant coffee. Proper coffee? With mundane milk, not the hot-pepper-tasting stuff we get in Hell? It's a luxury. It's why we want to come here."

I shrugged, and skölled the rest of the latte. "Time to mix drinks and change lives," I said, quoting a videogame I loved.

And got to work making forty coffees in forty minutes.

---