There's more of the cat at play, and clouds cross over Xellos's usually serene face, ripples of cruel laughter somewhere. For some reason, he can't fathom why, Cesare has to think of the Wheel, and of the torments visited upon Saint Catherine.
With a nonchalant shrug, "I do not know about Messer Crowley's rank among the denizens of Hell, but he very definitely is an imp of the perverse."