“I have a great lead,” Lucareoth started.
Bel’aliol cleared his throat and Lucareoth’s voice cut off. Morgan was not entirely sure whether that had been voluntary. The hellhound padded around the desk. To her surprise, Bel’aliol did not eviscerate him, but instead reached down to scritch behind Rix’s ears with one hoof. Then again, stroking a cat was an evil mastermind staple, so maybe this counted.
“I see a distinct lack of contract in your claw,” Bel’aliol continued as if Lucareoth had not interrupted. His tone was mild, almost offhand. Like he was ordering an after-lunch cappuccino at a nice restaurant. A cappuccino flavored with blood, perhaps. “And a disconcerting presence of a human. Human, I don’t suppose you have signed a contract recently?”
“N-no, sir,” she managed to get out as his gaze swiveled to her.
“I rather thought not,” he said, dismissing her presence again. She luxuriated in her momentary irrelevancy. “Now. We had talked about this. I do not typically expect to have the same conversation twice.”
Lucareoth opened his mouth and his boss held up a cloven hoof. “No, I suppose it is not the same conversation, but that is not a virtue when it turns out that this one is much, much worse.”
Why wouldn’t he defend himself? If the stakes were so high, surely it would be better say something? But he knew better what worked here. Somehow all the references to eating people had seemed horrifying yet kind of funny on her plane; here, they were just a reason someone had to take on some additional forms.
Bel’aliol steepled his hooves. They formed much sharper an edge than steepled fingers ever could, an alpine slope capable of dumping deadly avalanches on the unwary and possibly splitting unwary pigeons in half. He peered over them at Morgan and Lucareoth. “So. We have, in order of seriousness, several days of unexcused absence. A missed quota. An unauthorized excursion to another plane, in complete defiance of any number of regulations and laws. And the trafficking of not only an un-negotiated soul but one you have untidily left unshucked. Do you have any idea of how many forms Xe’hel’thir is going to have to fill out this afternoon?”
“It wasn’t his fault,” Morgan blurted. “My being here.”
“I suppose on your plane you care about matter of fault,” Bel’aliol countered. “I am concerned, rather, with matters of responsibility. Understand me, human—on this plane, you are a not a person, you are a utility. No one particularly cares what you have to say. So. This is what will happen.”
He placed his hooves on the desk blotter and leaned forward. “Since we will have to fill out the paperwork for a planar crossing anyway, in triplicate, then that is what we shall do. For the first transit only. This little visit home never happened. I’ll speak to your colleagues and they will remember what serves them best. You’ve been over once; there is no shortcut home. Bring us a soul, or do not come back.”
Lucareoth’s scales had turned dull.
As an afterthought, Bel’aliol added, “The time away from the office counts against your vacation time, of course. I believe you’ve already blown through this year’s allotment, so I hope you did not have plans in the next year or two. Or however many.”
He turned to Morgan. “Now, your body cannot possibly stay here. So I will send it back.”
Morgan was not so stunned that she had missed the phrasing. “I have not signed any contracts giving you a claim on my soul.”
“Oh, I have no claim on your soul. I cannot possibly sell it or use it without the title paperwork.” Bel’aliol waved a hoof, unconcerned. “That does not, however, obligate me to transport it between worlds.”
She saw where this was going and wanted to throw up. It wasn’t like it was going to be better once they’d reviewed Lucareoth’s expense report, however that worked. “So you will offer me a Deal to let me go for a while, and then when I die, I end up back here in a glowstick or something.”
He shrugged. “It doesn’t have to beyoursoul. If you wish, we can leave that detail blank and you can fill it in at your leisure. As long as you have legal right to the soul you send back, I don’t have any particular attachment to the identity.”
“Sir—” Lucareoth tried to interject. His voice shook and his tail had wrapped itself around his leg for comfort, but he tried. It was a bigger risk than any she’d taken for him.
Bel’aliol’s eyes slid over to him. “Really? Her? How humane of you. I suppose you can help her, if you must, but another word and I’ll raise your own quota.”
Lucareoth’s jaw closed with a snap.
“And if I don’t sign?” She hated that her voice quavered. Rix padded back over to her and bumped his head against her thigh for comfort. His spines snagged her dress pants.
“Then you can live in a nice little soul jar. What did you call it? A glowstick. In storage. Or in my office, I suppose, if you think you might be lonely. For as long as you’d like.I imagine after a time, you’ll want to be used if only for the change.” He smiled, a small polite smile only slightly distorted by the teeth and the tusks.
She couldn’t doom someone else to this. What kind of person would she be?
He was opening a drawer, sliding out a sheaf of papers. Her breath came faster and faster. None of this was her fault. She hadn’t done anything wrong. She’d even tried to help! How could this possibly be fair? He was flipping through them, taking his time choosing the right one. She didn’t want to live in a jar. She’d barely even begun to live. She was only twenty-three: she was supposed to have her whole life in front of her. Satisfied with his choice, the demon wedged a pen in the cleft of his hoof and began to write. So many people had done things that were so much worse than anything she’d ever done—why was she the one to be punished? The ink glowed sullenly for a moment before sinking into the paper. Her throat tightened and she blinked rapidly, trying not burst into tears. Unless that would make him feel bad? He didn’t seem like the kind to be swayed by tears.
Lucareoth’s tail lashed unhappily.I’m sorry, he mouthed at her.
Like that was going to make a difference, she wanted to scream at him. Why couldn’t Tim have lived long enough to sign his contract? He’d asked for this, not her. Plenty of people deserved this more than her. Criminals. Corrupt politicians. Abusive husbands. Ronaldo and his sexist bullshit, or Hayley and her touchy-feely bullshit, or Brad and his bullshit bullshit.
Any of them would have sold their souls at the drop of a hat for a better reward. At least they would have gotten areward. She hadn’t even gotten a reward out of it, not unless you counted an increase in work with no change in title. Why hadn’ttheybeen the ones to get the Deal?
They still could.
Two souls, that was all they needed. One to pay her debt, one for Lucareoth’s quota. In an industry where people joked about selling their souls all the time. It wasn’t even forever, it was just… How had she put it earlier? Indentured servitude. And they’d get their heart’s desire out of it.
