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using the wrong approach all along.
    This thought lingered in the back of my head as I changed into my pajamas and painted my toenails “Mermaid Mint.” It stuck with me as I debated the merits of General Tsao’s Chicken versus Crispy Orange Beef in the take-out order and Eros lit the Duralog.
    My mind wandered back again as we waited for the food to arrive, as Sybil talked about more home renovation plans and Desi tried to clear her reputation by not talking about Steve. When the log was blazing nicely, Eros laid out the supplies for s’mores on the table and pulled out the rotating, extendable marshmallow toasting sticks in brushed steel with a ball-bearing turning mechanism. Eros doesn’t cook, but she’s got every food-prep toy ever made that will fit into her oversized kitchen. She has the KitchenAid mixer and fancy blender, she has a whole set of All-Clad pots, and every gadget Cuisinart makes. And rotating, length-adjustable marshmallow sticks.
    “So, Eros, did you hear anything from Beliel?” Desi asked as she judged the perfect golden color of the marshmallow.
    “What’s Eros doing with Beliel?” I asked. Beliel is one of the Big Five in Hell. He’s the Head of Security, which is one of the most efficient, organized, and covert groups in the Underworld. Satan has been very pleased with their progress lately, but we don’t hear much.
    Eros just shrugged. “I’m not doing anything with him,” she said. “Just like you and Mephistopheles. We chat sometimes.”
    “Beliel is a foodie?” I asked. Because most of my relationship with Mephistopheles centers on restaurant reviews in MagicMirror. Really. He and I don’t actually get together, we just read each other’s food porn. And that’s about all.
    Eros shook her head. Her long chandelier earrings swung around her otherwise bare neck. “No, but he’s interested in real estate and this building is going condo. I’m buying five apartments and he was interested in investing. At the inside price.”
    “Of course,” Sybil said sagely. “You’re buying five? Do you think I could get in? That’s going to turn an excellent profit in a few years.”
    “I’m not just buying them for the investment,” Eros said. I could understand that. Only Sybil is really savvy about money. The rest of us hand over our portfolios to her and she manages everything. And makes us very tidy returns. But…then why was she buying so many?
    “First of all, if any one of you wanted to live here, we could arrange it. The apartments are all beautiful, and I would so love to have all of you in the building. Think of it, all of us living under one roof. It would be wonderful.”
    Sybil sighed. “I just bought all this new wallpaper.”
    Eros was buying five apartments. In this superbeautiful luxury building. And she was willing to rent them to her friends, to us, at a reasonable rate.
    “It’s not like I really need the money,” she said, and we knew that was the truth. The fact is, none of us need the money. Live long enough with the support of Hell and you can put away quite a nice nest egg. Acquiring property like Eros was about to do was one of the most reasonable ways to keep the cash flow large enough to support a full-blown Manolo Blahnik habit.
    But, much as I like the building and much as I love my friends, I didn’t quite see us all living together like college girls in a dorm. We’re a little too old and too independent, for one thing. And for another, well, I love Eros’s building but I really like my apartment. It suits me. And I hate moving, even when the packers do the worst of the job.
    Even with chocolate and graham crackers set out elegantly on the table and high-tech roasting sticks in our hands, we were all stunned into immobility and shocked to silence. An eighteenth-century German clock ticked loudly on the mantelpiece for minutes as we all tried to find words and thoughts to put together.
    “Oh, come on, it’s not as if none of you have ever