He watched all the cogs reel and click about in her head, waiting for the inevitable reaction. After so many years being rather up front about what he was (one didn't exactly buy souls without also adding 'I am a demon' to the exchange) there were few times he saw a new response to the information. There was the disbelief, the fear, the anger, the rage, the acceptance, the canny 'I'll believe you for now'. There was also the 'huh', which was the one she gave.

Which was nice, he'd rather pegged her as a 'no fucking way' sort.

"I used to be a crossroads demon," he said, "but after a bit of corporate sabotage, I climbed the ladder. I run Hell now." More or less; bucking responsibility, while not usually his bag, certainly had become more of a habit. It was all the human blood; it had tweaked something, he was sure. At the mention of a song, he grinned. "Oh, really?" he asked. "Hm. Though maybe you're thinking of an occultist."