 
# The New Devil

## Volume One

by Alex Hansen

Smashwords Edition

©2015 Alex Hansen. All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. The author was unable to safely conduct firsthand research concerning the afterlife and was sadly forced to make everything up. People, places and events that have any connection to reality are merely lucky coincidental guesses. Except that the devil's first name actually is Jason.

## Chapter One

I died.

I didn't want to. But I kind of couldn't avoid it.

I'd love to say that I got hit by a car or finally succumbed after an inspiring and heroic battle with leukemia or burned to death while saving two children and a three-legged dog from a burning building. But the fact is that I was murdered by a bunch of kids from school. Apparently, I was kind of an asshole when I was alive and it pissed some guys off so much that they decided to beat me to death with an assortment of gardening tools.

I can admit to being an asshole... _now_. It's incredible how much death can do to change your perspective on things. I haven't had some dramatic change of heart. I'm still the same guy, pretty much. I'm just a little more acutely aware of my shortcomings than I used to be. So I realize how horrible of a person I'd been. I understand how poorly I treated people and how rude I was to a lot of kids that really didn't deserve it. But none of that changed the fact that I was dead.

I remember the beating in great detail. Mike had the shovel, Quinn had the hoe and Jessie was swinging the rake. There were a lot of unwise, unhelpful words exchanged. There was a lot of violence. There was a lot of blood. And then there was a lot of nothing.

But _then_ I was sitting in what appeared to be some kind of waiting room. It was abnormally large—there must have been hundreds or maybe thousands of identical seats arranged against the walls and around the occasional table. Each table was predictably adorned with a dusty assortment of plastic flowers. The walls were papered with a reddish-beige design that lent the room an ordinary, clinical atmosphere. There were a number of other people in the room with me. Most were older and most looked as confused as I felt. The air was absolutely silent except for Elton John's "Your Song" playing softly from the speakers in the ceiling.

Even though I had no idea where I was, it was such a vividly familiar setting that I felt compelled to sit and wait. If I'd woken up in something more like a jail cell, I probably would have freaked out. But I'd been in waiting rooms many times before, so even if I didn't know where I was or what I was there for, I knew what I was supposed to do. So I waited.

There were magazines laid out on a table a few seats over from mine. I scooted down and grabbed the closest one, which was entitled _Brimstone Weekly_. Featured on the cover was what appeared to be some kind of female demon. She was naked and probably quite attractive, but there were lots of horns and sharp edges and flaming bits and I didn't find the burnt-red skin to be much of a turn-on either.

The caption across her stomach read _Kivra: 10 Secrets to Torturing Success_. I flipped through the magazine briefly, but almost every page seemed to contain drawings and diagrams of various methods of mutilating human flesh. I tossed the magazine back on the table and picked up another. It was _The Crochet Hook_ , February 1973 edition. I immediately grabbed for something else— _Vomiting Journal_. I gave up.

Moments later, a door on the far side of the room opened and a pretty young woman dressed as a nurse appeared. She glanced up from the clipboard she was holding. "Giles, Jason?" she called out.

That was my name. Mostly out of habit—because this is how things work in waiting rooms—I stood up, gave a quick wave, and started walking toward her. She flashed me a sweet smile and said, "The devil will see you now."

I followed her through the door and into a narrow, dimly lit hallway. Now that I was closer to her, I could see that she was dressed as much like a nurse as someone you'd see at a Halloween party. The skirt was short, the blouse was extremely tight, the heels were impractical, and...well...she looked like nursing was not what she did for a living. I could also see that she wasn't exactly a woman, either. There was no hair underneath her nurse's hat and I thought I saw a row of small horns peeking out. Her skin, which I originally thought had been colored by a fake tan, seemed upon closer inspection to be an orange tint of brown in its own right.

The hallway was absurdly long and lined with doors on both sides with only about five feet between them. Each one was marked with the words _Exam Room_ and a number.

I was going to see the devil.

I was not prepared for this. I was seventeen years old. I was now quite aware of the fact that I'd been kind of a dick, but I didn't think that being thrust speedily down to Hell and given a personal meeting with the devil was proportionate to the severity of my crimes. I had been arrogant and mean. I made kids at school who were less wealthy, less intelligent, and less good-looking feel like crap. But that's how teenagers are. High school's a vicious, bloodthirsty place where only the strong survive on the social Serengeti. I was stronger than some but weaker than plenty. I didn't think I needed to apologize for trying to claw my way to the top. And if anything, I owed an explanation to the kids I'd clawed, not to the devil.

Maybe I was simply being arrogant again, justifying my own cruelty by claiming it was merely survival. There were plenty of kids at my school who didn't really play any of those games or acknowledge the so-called high school caste system in any way, and they survived just fine.

At any rate, even if I had been cruel, my sins were common. Plenty of kids had done what I did and I wasn't even close to being the worst offender. I tended to keep a low profile and only lash out at others when I felt cornered or pressured. There were plenty of guys at school who would go out of their way to torture their classmates. It didn't seem like the level of depravity I'd achieved in life merited an audience with Satan. Maybe there'd been some mistake.

"Excuse me," I said meekly to the sexy nurse who was currently leading me past Exam Room 114. "Are you sure—"

In response to the question I hadn't yet finished asking, she swiftly turned and slapped me across the mouth. "I'm sure," she snarled impatiently, pointing her finger at me as some sort of warning. And then she continued walking at the same brisk pace, apparently assuming I would follow her.

"Bitch," I muttered under my breath. But I followed her anyway. If the devil was expecting to meet me, I didn't think that trying to run away would give him a reason not to throw me into the fiery pit.

At long last, after we passed Exam Room 486, the narrow hallway took a ninety-degree turn to the left and abruptly ended. I was staring at a door that looked exactly the same as the last four hundred eighty-six except that the plaque on it said Administrative Office.

The sexy nurse stood off to one side to let me pass. She looked at me expectantly. "Here's his office," she said. "Go in."

I'd never met the devil before. Was he a stickler for formality? "Do I knock first?" I asked.

" _Go in_ ," she repeated, enunciating the words carefully as though I were some kind of an idiot. I decided that, sexy or not, I really didn't like her.

I squeezed past her in the tiny corridor, turned the handle, and pushed the door open. And I found myself alone in a surprisingly elegant office. As the door closed, I heard the nurse chuckling to herself.

The room had that rich maroon-brown color scheme that was reminiscent of New England old money. It was kind of what I imagined the office of Harvard's Dean of Students might look like. A vivid impressionist painting I didn't recognize hung on the wall to my left. Massive bookshelves stretched along the far wall. The desk in front of me was an enormous mahogany structure. Its surface was organized with stacks of papers, a calendar, a desktop computer and a few picture frames facing away from me. There was a motionless Newton's cradle in one corner. The chair behind the desk was large, black, and appeared to be extremely comfortable. In front of the desk was one smaller wooden chair that appeared to be extremely uncomfortable. I was pretty sure I was in Hell, but none of this looked like what I'd have guessed Hell would contain.

A door on the opposite end of the room opened suddenly and a tall man in an expensive-looking black pinstripe suit breezed in.

"Hello," he said in a businesslike tone. "Sorry to keep you waiting." He strode across the room and extended his hand. "I'm Satan."

"Hi," I said dumbly, shaking his bony hand. "Uh...like, the real Satan? Devil and all that?" I was experiencing a bizarre mixture of terror and celebrity-induced awe. This guy was a big deal in the universe and on some level it was truly exciting to meet him. But he was also the embodiment of evil and I wanted nothing to do with him.

He was a handsome guy. Though not bulging with muscles, he was clearly very fit and stood a few inches over six feet. He looked to be about thirty, although I'm sure he was much older than that. He had very dark, very thick facial hair which he'd shaved into a soul patch and a narrow, almost pointy goatee, as well as thin curve along his upper lip to the corners of his mouth. His teeth were white, his eyes were quick and intelligent, and his smile was disarmingly genuine.

He answered my question with a wink. "Yes and no," he said. "Have a seat and I'll be glad to explain a few things to you." His extended arm indicated the uncomfortable chair.

"Okay," I said uncertainly. I sat. He walked behind his desk and settled into his cushy adjustable office chair. I squirmed on the hard wooden seat.

He opened a drawer in the side of his desk and withdrew a file folder, which he laid open in front of him. "So," he began, perusing a page. "Jason Giles. You're dead, huh?" he glanced up to give me a brief look of sympathy.

I shrugged. "I guess," I said.

"Tough break," he replied. "Beaten to death with...gardening equipment?" he read, chuckling. "Well, I gotta tell you, I'm supposed to be the representative of personified evil in the universe and sometimes how fucked up people are impresses even me." He looked up. "Are you thirsty?" he asked.

It was a strange question, although the question seemed far less strange than the experience as a whole. "A little, I guess," I answered cautiously.

"Great," he said, pulling a bottle of wine and two glasses from the bottom drawer in his desk. "I've been saving the good stuff," he said conversationally, pouring. "This is older than you are. What should we drink to?" he asked, standing up to walk my glass over to me.

"I don't know," I said, accepting the glass and feeling more and more intimidated by the second. He gave me this unidentifiable but unmistakable sense of uneasiness, like he had complete control of the situation and was simply enjoying himself while he manipulated some unseen force to ensure my demise. I held the wine in my hand and gazed into it fearfully.

And, in the midst of that dark line of thinking, it suddenly occurred to me how strange it was that the devil had a modern American accent. And that his computer had the Hewlett-Packard logo on it. And that the waiting room outside his office had played Elton John.

This was weird.

I stared at the alcohol. I didn't want to drink it. He was the devil, right? The most untrustworthy being ever to exist? The father of lies? Maybe it was poisoned.

"Come on, Jason, what should we drink to?" he prompted.

"I'm only seventeen," I said.

He smiled broadly. "So?"

"I can't drink."

He just about exploded with laughter. It started out as one of those sudden, obnoxious guffaws, but then he had to set his glass down on the desk so that he could bend over and hold his stomach while he finished laughing. Once he'd regained his composure, he shook his head. "The drinking age is twenty-one in the United States of America," he said. "This is _Hell_. The only rules here are _my_ rules.

Forget the toast. Just drink."

There went my plan to politely decline to drink his poison. I swallowed nervously and slowly brought the glass up to my lips.

He laughed at me again, but this was more of a friendly laugh. "It's not poisoned," he told me. "And even if it was, it wouldn't matter. You're already dead! No worries!" And he quickly drained his glass in one long gulp. He looked me in the eye. "Drink."

I drank. It tasted like ass. I swallowed. I gagged. Then I coughed. The devil laughed at me again. He'd been charming at first, but he was really beginning to annoy me. _Santa Claus_ was supposed to be jolly—the devil wasn't.

"It's an acquired taste," he said, moving my empty glass to the desk and sitting down again. "Like caviar. Or lamb's blood."

"I'll take your word for it," I muttered.

He only smiled in response. "So let's get down to brass tacks, here," he said, tenting his fingers in front of him. "I've been looking forward to this meeting for a long time, and I must confess that I really don't know how to begin."

That sounded slightly ominous.

"There's a lot you need to understand," he continued. "A lot of information you need to take in. And there isn't really an easy way to start, so maybe the best thing for me to do is introduce myself in a little more detail." He leaned forward. "I'm the devil. I'm also your great grandfather."

_That_ I had not been expecting. All I could think of to say was, "What?"

Without consulting his file, he said, "Jason Giles. Born January fifth, nineteen ninety-seven. Father, Edward Giles, born May twenty-eighth, nineteen sixty-six. His mother, Evelyn Reilly, born April second, nineteen thirty-three." He gestured to himself with both hands. "Her father, Conrad Reilly, born November eighteenth, nineteen-oh-eight. Died, June ninth, nineteen sixty-one. Been the reigning king of Hell for the last five decades."

I squinted at him. "You're the devil."

"Yes I am," he said, with an obvious measure of pride.

"But you're not the first devil," I said.

"I am not," he confirmed.

"How many have there been?" I asked.

"Many," he answered simply.

"Okay, but where did they all go?"

He grinned. "Into retirement."

"The devil can just retire?" I asked.

"No, no, not _just_ retire," he replied. "It's not as simple as that. There are lots of arrangements to be made, not the least of which is finding a suitable replacement."

I nodded. "Oh."

"Which brings me to the reason I've set up this meeting," he said smoothly. "I'm retiring soon. Very soon."

My eyes widened. I did not like where this was heading.

"You're going to be my replacement," he said, smiling broadly.

"Why the hell would I do that?" I sputtered scornfully. As scared as I was of the guy, I may have lost my temper a bit simply out of shock.

"You're the best option I have," he said sadly. "It has to be a freshly deceased blood descendant. My daughter Evelyn was my only child, so I only have you, your uncles and your cousins to choose from. And you guys are a disappointingly pleasant brood. You're actually the most evil person in your family, and it's only because you're a small-time bully with some entitlement issues. You've treated some classmates like crap, but you don't do any raping, murdering or stealing. You and your family are an embarrassment to my legacy." He smiled sarcastically. "But I have to work with what I've got. So here you are." He poured himself another glass of wine.

"What makes you think I'll agree to this?" I asked.

Instead of answering, he stood and stepped around the desk again to approach me. I struggled to move as he towered over me, but my hands and feet felt like they'd been tied to the chair, even though I could clearly see there was nothing around my wrists.

Satan calmly reached into his pocket, withdrew a butterfly knife, swung it open, and slashed at my forearm with surprising speed. He'd opened up a four-inch gash that was starting to bleed profusely.

"What was that for?" I shouted angrily. Without answering, he retrieved his glass from the desk, knelt beside me, and held the glass under my arm to allow blood to drip into the wine. "What are you doing?" I grunted in frustration.

He continued to ignore me and put the glass to his lips, pouring its contents down his throat, blood and all. Then he smiled at me again. "Well," he said finally, "Now that the details have been taken care of, I'm off to enjoy my retirement."

"Don't you need a replacement first?" I said angrily, fearing his answer.

"I already have one," he said tauntingly. "You."

"I don't think I'm going to do that," I said defiantly, but with less bravado than I'd hoped. He clearly had some kind of trick up his sleeve and I was getting the sense that there was no getting out of taking over his job.

"Doesn't matter," the devil replied.

"I didn't agree to anything," I said uselessly.

"Well," Satan replied, crouching next to me and feigning sympathy, "I know it's not what you'd call fair, but strictly speaking, I don't actually need your permission." He stood and picked up my empty glass from the desk. "All I need you to do is drink a little of my blood."

So the wine _was_ poisoned. Not poison that could kill me, just poison that could turn me into the devil, apparently. I growled, raging against my invisible restraints, bucking uselessly in my hard wooden chair.

"Then I just had to drink a little of yours," he continued, "And then wait for the exchange of power. It shouldn't take long. And I do have some last-minute packing to get to, so...if you'll excuse me." He headed toward the door through which he'd entered and paused to look back at me. "Have a nice eternity," he said in a low, brutally sarcastic voice. Then he flashed me that evil, winsome smile and left with a flourish.

"Hey!" I shouted after him. "Where are you going? You can't just leave me here!" It occurred to me after speaking that he could probably do whatever he pleased and I couldn't appeal to his sense of morality to get him to do what I wanted. He was the devil, and appealing to the devil's sense of morality made about as much sense as trying to taste something with your ear.

I was still bound to the chair by invisible restraints. I squirmed, trying to loosen a hand, but the chair tipped crazily, and I decided I was probably better off tied to a chair that was standing than to a chair that was on its side. Not that it was likely to make much difference, considering I might be stuck here until the end of time either way.

Instead, I focused my energies on trying to wriggle a foot free. There didn't seem to be much slack in whatever was holding my ankles together. No matter how I tried to shift my feet, angle my legs or twist my ankles, nothing I did gave any hope of loosening the firm pressure that kept my limbs immobilized.

I began to feel uneasy. First it was just a bout of dizziness, like I'd stood up too fast and needed a second to adjust. But then, instead of dissipating, the feeling grew steadily worse. Soon it was accompanied by a headache, which similarly developed in intensity. Then came the nausea. The cottonmouth. Constipation. Sharp pains in my inner ear. Then I noticed droplets of red swimming in front of my vision and in the midst of my agony I realized my eyes were bleeding.

Then unconsciousness.

## Chapter Two

When I woke up, only the headache remained, and each painful throb seemed less powerful than the last. As the discomfort waned enough for my brain to bother doing anything other than focusing on how much my head hurt, I took a cautious look around.

I was on the floor, mostly. My body seemed to be strewn across the splintered wreckage of the chair in which I'd been sitting earlier. I sat up slowly.

"Jesus," said a chubby, dark-haired man sitting behind the desk. "You look like hell."

I placed an open palm to my temple in a fruitless effort to dull the pounding of my head. "Is that supposed to be funny?" I snapped weakly. "Who are you?"

"Gus," he said. "Your right hand man. Unless, of course, you're left-handed," he added with a trace of concern. He motioned to a pile of clothing folded neatly on the desk. "You may want to make yourself decent."

I glanced down at myself and realized that my clothing was in shreds. My boxers and my socks had managed to hang on, but other than that I was dressed in tatters. I self-consciously scurried over to the desk and began donning the khakis and the pale blue polo shirt. I looked and felt taller and bulkier than I remembered, and it was weird to take a body that was more muscular than before and cram it into an outfit that was preppier than before.

"Okay, Gus," I said as I zipped up the khakis. "Do you know what's going on? What happened here?"

"In a nutshell," he replied helpfully. "The devil's blood took effect, you suddenly became endowed with a tremendous amount of power, your body hulked out in response, and you slipped into unconsciousness."

That explained why my body felt unfamiliar and oversized. "And the chair...?" I asked, slipping on a pair of black shoes that were halfway between business casual and sneakers. It was impressive how well everything fit me and I was creeped out by the possibility that this Gus character may have been taking my measurements while I was passed out on the floor.

"Like I said," he explained, raising his hands over his head to indicate my growth. "You hulked out."

I got to my feet. "So what are you doing here?" I asked.

"Consider this your orientation," he said. "The last boss-man skipped town like a bat out of hell and that leaves it to me to give you whatever background info he neglected to mention."

"Like what?" I asked.

Gus chuckled. He looked about thirty, but his laughter had a grandfatherly charm to it. "Like how to be the devil," he said.

"I don't want to be the devil," I told him. "So you can skip that stuff."

Gus shrugged. "Doesn't matter what you want, man," he said with a hint of sympathy. "You're the devil. You're stuck here for a while."

I stared at him. It seemed like he was about to crack a smile at any second and burst into laughter. But he didn't. "You're serious," I said. "Just like that, I'm the devil?"

He snapped his fingers. "Just like that. Hell of a thing, isn't it?"

I shook my head. "Don't you ever get tired of making corny hell puns?"

"I used to be a comedian," he explained. "I wasn't very good. So I sold my soul to the devil in exchange for the ability to come up with some kickass material. I got very, very good very, very quickly. Two months later, I overdosed on cocaine and wound up here, where I've had to remain in servitude as the devil's personal aide."

"But he just quit," I said. "Doesn't that mean you're free?"

"Nope," he dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. "I sold my soul to the devil, not a devil. I'm a servant of the office, not the person. As long as there's a big man in charge down here, I'm his bitch. So...here I am, Gus Pitts, at your service, Boss-Man." He pretended to bow.

"You don't sound angry about any of this," I said.

He shrugged again. "Hey, it's what I signed up for. Should've expected to get duped so badly, considering who I'd done business with. I made my bed, and now I'm lying in it. It's the way of the universe."

I was actually kind of impressed by his attitude. He had clearly made peace with his fate and I was still struggling to come to grips with mine. "Okay," I said. "So you're my personal aide?"

"Your chief of staff, as it were," he reiterated with mock theatricality.

"So...how do I get out of this?" I asked.

"You can't get out of this," Gus said, his eyes showing slight alarm. Then, thinking better of it, he amended, "Well, that's not true. You can get out of this, but you shouldn't."

I laughed. "Why shouldn't I? I don't want to be the devil for the rest of my afterlife!"

"Look," he replied calmly, "The usual way is to do what the last guy did to you: turn one of your freshly deceased descendants into your successor."

"I can't do that," I said. "I don't have any descendants."

"No kids?" Gus asked.

"Dude, I'm seventeen," I said. "Of course I don't have any kids."

"Sorry, I had no idea how old you were when you died. The devil's blood kind of...equalized your age. You don't exactly look seventeen anymore."

That took me by surprise. "Equalized?" I echoed. "What is that supposed to mean?" Gus opened the top drawer in the desk, produced a handheld mirror, and offered it to me. I looked into it and saw my own thirty-ish reflection. I couldn't stop looking.

I was a pretty okay-looking young man to begin with, but it seemed that, had I lived, I would have made the transition into adulthood very well. I looked handsome, fit, clean and well-groomed. "Wow," I said. "I look great."

Gus snatched the mirror back. "That's very good, Dorian, but if you don't have any descendants it might be a little more difficult for you to find a successor."

"Does that mean I have to be the devil forever?" I yelped, failing to avoid panic.

"No, it doesn't," Gus said. "There are options. From what I've heard, in the past, some devils have raped mortal women during their travels to the Living Realm."

I winced. "So I either have to be Satan for eternity, or I have to rape some woman, wait for her kid to die, and then trick him into taking my place?"

"You could also have sex with a demon," Gus added.

"Great, let's do that," I said sarcastically. "Instead of having sex with one, why can't I just pick a demon and give it a promotion?"

"I can't tell you what to do," Gus said, speaking slowly and choosing his words carefully, "But _do not fucking do that_."

"Why not?" I asked, exasperated. "Why can't I promote a demon to devil? Seems like it would come naturally to them."

"It's kind of complicated," Gus said, apparently hoping I'd take him on his word that it was a bad idea.

"So explain it to me," I pressed.

"There should be someone with human blood in charge," he said. "Even the most brutal devils have held some kind of fondness for the Living Realm. They've kept it from being overrun or destroyed by the demons down here in the pit."

"Hell can actually take over the planet?" I asked.

"Theoretically, yes," he replied. "Bits and pieces of the underworld slip into the old world from time to time, but a full-scale invasion is possible. It's even been attempted several times. One was particularly close, but it's never been successful. And it's usually the devil himself who stops it."

"I don't get it," I said. "Isn't the devil in charge down here? Doesn't he run everything?"

Gus smiled condescendingly. "You're American, right?"

"Yeah, but what does that—"

"So you've got the President, right? And let's say he's a Democrat, so he's got the support of the Democrats, but not all of them, because they may disagree on the finer points of policy even if their approach to them is similar. And most of the Republicans don't support him. The Libertarian Party and the Socialist Party and all the other independent parties don't support him. And then there are the masses of voters who haven't declared a political party whose affiliations may be spread anywhere. The President is in charge. But that doesn't mean he has control of everyone. His constituency's allegiances are diverse."

"So the demons have political parties?" I summarized blandly.

"I'd call them _factions_ more than _parties_ ," Gus said. "Some proclaim overt allegiance to the devil, some only to the one who just retired. Some want change or reform of some kind. Some want rebellion or mutiny. There's lots of different groups with lots of different motivations. You're in charge, and with the powers our recently departed friend has left to you, you could be the strongest thing down here, but only just. It's a tough gig keeping law and order in the underworld and protecting the land of the living from the threat of invasion. Put a demon in charge and you may have law and order down here, but you might also have demons burning civilization as you knew it to the ground."

I heaved a weary sigh. I did not want this responsibility but it was sounding more and more like a bad idea to give it up. "So what do I do?" I asked. "Do you actually expect me to be the devil? Like it's my job?"

"No, not your job," Gus corrected. "It's your life." He paused, frowned, and waved a hand to wipe away the last thing he said. "Well, no, technically it's not your life because you're dead, but being the devil sure as hell consumes your current form of existence."

"Okay," I said, walking around behind the desk. "So I sit in this chair. And I'm the boss. What do I do?"

"I don't suppose," Gus mused hopefully, "Being a seventeen-year-old kid and all, that you have much experience in personnel management, politics, hand-to-hand combat or telekinesis?"

I sat down in the chair. It was the greatest chair I'd ever sat in. The level of comfort was like nothing I'd ever felt before. It seemed wrong that the devil's chair would be so damn comfy. It was like memory foam on happy pills or something. "No, of course not," I responded distractedly. "Why would I?"

"Because those are probably the most important skills you'll need to use during your reign as devil," Gus said. "Though not necessarily in that order."

Somehow, if only because of the soothing feel of the chair supporting my weight with such luxurious gentleness, I was beginning to accept that I might have to rule Hell for a while. "Well, I guess I'll just have to make some of that stuff up as I go," I replied confidently. I looked up at Gus. He was smiling at me with what appeared to be a mixture of amusement and pity.

I furrowed my brow. "Wait," I said. "Did you say _telekinesis_?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but that was when a thunderous voice outside shouted, "Downsize my department, will you? _Where the fuck are you_?"

I shot Gus a worried look. "Who is that?"

He didn't get the chance to answer. The door through which I'd entered was abruptly blown off its hinges and sent flying across the room in shards the size of matches.

I threw my hands over my face and the pieces of the door showered harmlessly around me. When I felt safe enough to look up, I witnessed what could only have been a demon standing in the smoldering doorway. It was Kivra, the one I'd seen on the magazine cover in the waiting room. And she looked pissed.

She was naked, and it was clear that the magazine hadn't done her justice. Her body appeared to be human, but every inch of her skin was a dark, scorched-looking red color. Instead of hair, she had a series of inch-long black horns protruding in a dense, chaotic arrangement from her skull. Her eyes were large, angled sharply up at the outside corners, and of a fiery orange color. Her front teeth were pointed and set between two larger pairs of sharpened ones that could only be described as fangs. When she gnashed her teeth and growled, I glimpsed some rather boring-looking molars further back in her mouth.

Her body was toned and slender, and her movements held both an elegant grace and an unbridled aggression. Her breasts were large, round, and firm, her legs were powerfully muscled, and her feet had what appeared to be a thick layer of blackened skin on the soles that nullified the need for shoes. Instead of fingernails and toenails, she sported two-inch claws. She had no belly button. She was simultaneously terrifying and arousing. I wasn't sure if I would piss my pants or cream my pants.

"You," she barked at Gus with a voice that was throaty, intimidating, and somehow still feminine. "Where is he?"

"Who?" Gus answered. He was totally unaffected by her entrance or appearance, but it seemed to come from indifference instead of bravery.

"You know who," she snarled. "I want to talk to the devil."

Gus smiled wanly and made a lazy gesture in my direction. "He's right here," he said.

Kivra made direct eye contact with me for the first time. I swallowed nervously as she looked me over. It felt like she was _sensing_ me...mentally sniffing me for the right scent. She glanced back at Gus. "Damn it, I was hoping you were lying," she said, sounding annoyed.

Her demeanor was changing from one of anger to one of mere frustration, and I liked how that looked as far as the odds of her destroying me were concerned.

"Sorry, Kivra," Gus said with a shrug.

She folded her arms across her chest, shook her head and began pacing. "So the little bastard flew the coop, did he?" she asked. "It figures he threw one last dig at me before he ran off. What a fucking coward."

She turned and gave me an appraising look. "So...you're the new devil? That means you're in a position to help me."

I blinked. I swallowed. I breathed. I swallowed again. "What...what do you mean?"

She stood in front of the desk and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the surface and propping her head in her hands. It was a bizarre, girlish gesture for someone who'd come blazing in a few moments ago, blasting things to pieces. It also had the distracting quality of putting her hanging breasts in my direct line of sight. I'd never seen breasts in person before. These were hypnotizing despite their strikingly inhuman pigment.

"The last guy in your spot decided to dick me over before he left," she explained. "He gave one last order to have three hundred demons transferred out of my department just so he could get the last word in. All I need you to do is give the order to have those three hundred demons transferred _back_ so I can resume my work uninhibited."

I tore my eyes away from Kivra's body and looked over at Gus. He shrugged. "Hey, Boss-Man, you own my soul. That means you tell me what to do, not the other way around."

I turned back to Kivra and timidly asked, "What work is it that you do?" Based on her magazine feature and the fact that she was a demon with anger issues, I had an idea that it wasn't something good.

She stood, smiled charmingly, and slipped into a seated position on the desk, so that now I could observe her body in profile and admire her buttcheek, thigh, and calf, which she'd stretched toward the corner of the wood. "I'm the head of your most important department, the focal point of existence down here," she said proudly, licking her lips.

"What is that?" I prompted, squirming in my seat. She was making me more and more uncomfortable by the second. Gus, I noticed, was observing her with great interest from a safe distance.

"The Department of Torture," she replied.

## Chapter Three

"So you want me to give you three hundred more demons to torture people with?" I clarified, trying to ignore her performance as she ran a slender, clawed hand along her smooth legs.

"That's the basic idea, yes," she said. She swung her other leg up on the desk. She was still facing off to the side so I could see her in profile, but she was hot, naked, and sitting about three feet in front of my face and disrupting my ability to focus on my situation—I mean, my predicament.

"Um...who would get tortured?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

"All new arrivals. Every soul down here deserves torture," she answered, swiveling to face me and bringing one leg over, spreading her legs in front of me. I'd definitely never seen that in person.

"Okay," I yelped, pushing my chair back from the desk and spinning it to the side. "That's enough. I don't know what's going on here, but this is crazy."

Kivra's answer was a long, low chuckle. I wanted to see the expression on her face to understand why she was laughing, but I was scared to look back and fall for her charms again.

"I knew it," she said contemptuously. "I had you pegged the moment I looked at you. You're a pussy. A coward. You're not even a man. What are you, fifteen?"

I turned to glare at her, taking care to aim above the bare breasts. "Seventeen," I snapped, like claiming to be two years further into adolescence would do anything to improve my cred with a demon who was probably thousands of years old.

She laughed again, this time more freely and more gleefully. "You're just a kid. A virgin, even. And you're going to command the hordes of Hell?" She shook her head. "They just don't make devils like they used to. This is going to be fun."

I was thoroughly embarrassed. I'd been emasculated and patronized. I struggled to think of something useful, noble, or at least relevant to say.

She leaned toward me again and thrust the claw from her index finger toward me threateningly. "Here's what you're going to do. You're going to order my three hundred demons returned to my department. And then the two of us will be able to get along just fine. If you don't do that, we will have problems."

She got out of my face and headed toward the doorway. She paused in front of it. "And I am not a problem you want to have," she reiterated. Then she cupped her breasts in her hands and gave them a little bounce, apparently just to see my reaction. Then she turned and left, her cackle echoing as she disappeared down the narrow corridor.

I realized I was panting. Embarrassed, I glanced shyly up at Gus. He gave me a piteous smile. "That's Kivra," he shared as a simple explanation. "She can be a little overwhelming."

"So...do I need to give her back those demons?" I asked.

"Hey, you're the boss, Boss," he evaded.

Of the people I'd met down here so far, Gus was the only one I actually liked. The sexy nurse had been rude. My predecessor was a piece of work. And Kivra was...well, she was kind of intense. Gus just seemed like a chill dude who didn't have much reason to manipulate me. That assessment was the closest thing I could get to a sliver of trust. It seemed better to rely on him than to rely on Kivra.

"From purely an advisory standpoint," I rephrased, "If you were in my position, and you were worried about keeping law and order and making sure that Hell doesn't overrun the planet and all...what would you do?"

Gus shrugged. "I wouldn't worry about it just yet," he said. "She's pissed, but her department isn't exactly hurting. It'll take her a while before she actually decides to do something more than bitch about it. Hopefully, when the time comes, you'll be able to make an informed decision and stand up to her if you need to. And in the meantime, you should familiarize yourself with how things work around here."

That sounded like intelligent, reliable advice. "Okay, let's do that," I said. "Where do I start?"

"We could start with the Department of Assignment, if that meets with your approval," he suggested gently. "Its offices are adjacent to yours so it won't take us long to get there."

"Assignment," I repeated, like it meant something to me. "Okay. Lead the way."

"Before we go," Gus said, "Check the top right-hand drawer of your desk. The little one."

I opened the drawer. Inside was only one thing: a sleek black mobile flip-phone. "A cell phone?" I said.

"You'll want to take that with you," he explained. "If an important call comes into your office while you're out, it will forward to the cell."

"You've got to be kidding," I said. "Hell uses phones?"

"You didn't see the phone sitting on the desk?" he asked.

"Yeah, but...cell phones?" For some reason, cellular technology seemed like a stretch for the underworld.

"Hey, it can't give you cancer if you're already dead," Gus replied with a smile.

"I guess I was expecting something a little more...I don't know..."

"A little less cellular and a little more Hellular?" he chuckled, clearly proud of his own joke. "We used to use a system of messengers and couriers, but phones have made things run a lot more smoothly around here. Plus, the demons we used to use as messengers have been reallocated to other departments. Boosts efficiency."

I frowned, turning the smooth device over in my hand to inspect it. Gus seemed to read my mind. "I know, I know," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "You're in Hell, there's supposed to be fire and brimstone, caverns of blood and pain, yadda yadda yadda. But there's limits, bro, even in the afterlife. There's always room for improvement. And that little baby improved a lot."

I shook my head. "Weird. Okay, uh, where do we go then?"

Gus opened the door through which I'd entered much earlier. "It's just down the hall," he said.

It was a ways down the hall, but it was definitely the same hall. We passed the exam rooms I'd seen earlier, but we stopped at one I didn't remember seeing before. Instead of having an exam room number, the plaque read _Assignment Office_. Gus stood by the door and looked at me expectantly.

"What?" I said. "Is this where we're going?"

"Yup," he replied, still giving me that look. "Uh, but this guy is my superior. I can't just barge in. You're the boss around here. You do the barging."

I shrugged. "Okay," I said, opening the door and entering. Gus followed.

The room I'd walked into was an office less than half the size of mine. It was an austere space that seemed suffocated by the faded baby blue paint that colored the walls and ceiling. The thin, flat carpet was of the exact same shade. There were no shelves, paintings, bookcases, lamps, or anything distinguishing on any of the walls. The dim lighting came from what appeared to be a pair of dusty fluorescent lights encased in the ceiling. The desk seemed to be the only feature in the room, and it sat precisely in the center. At the desk, behind an aging, whining computer and several impressively arranged stacks of papers and file folders, sat a slightly overweight balding man with a truly terrible blonde comb-over. He was staring down at his desk sullenly and seemed to have been dictating a message to a male demon standing beside him. I winced as I saw the demon.

"Do demons ever wear clothes?" I whispered to Gus in annoyance.

The man at the table looked up. "Oh," he said with surprise. He exchanged a quick glance with Gus and added mournfully, "Hello, sir. I see old what's-his-name decided to jump ship."

I tried to speak like I knew what I was doing. "Uh, yes, Gus here is giving me a little tour of my new...um...kingdom so I can get acquainted with my, um...domain."

The man smiled wanly. "You're not fooling anyone, sir," he told me. "You don't need to act like the big man in charge until you get your bearings."

My eyes flicked to Gus. He gave me a look that seemed to be the ocular equivalent of a shrug. I looked back at the man at the desk. "Uh, right," I said awkwardly. "Well, then help me get my bearings. Who are you?"

"Winston Phelps," he introduced himself blandly. "Former criminal defense attorney in Dallas, current Director of Assignment in Hell." He spread his arms wide, palms facing me and added a sarcastic, "It's a wonderful life."

Gus nudged me. "Most of your department directors are demons, but Winston here is an exception. He was a master at manipulating the justice system and when he died an opening in this position had just become available, so your predecessor decided that his eternal torment would be to choose people's fates within a very restrictive set of rules. He'd have to be the system instead of manipulating it. It's proven to be quite an effective punishment, too, hasn't it, Winston?"

Winston scowled.

"Winnie here has become far more acquainted with anxiety and guilt during his tenure in the pit," Gus said with a gleeful smile. "You should've seen him when he got here. Sharp as a whip, stubborn as a mule, and as dangerous as a rabid wolverine. Now he's tired, weary and depressed. He's the only guy I've actually seen go bald in Hell." He pretended to think for a moment. "Well, other than the guys who get their hair pulled out on a daily basis as part of their torment."

"I wish I could have seen you do stand-up when we were alive," Winston murmured sourly. "So I could have thrown a goddamn watermelon at your face while you were onstage."

"Love you too, Winnie," Gus beamed.

The silence was kind of awkward. I moved my gaze to the male demon. "And who is our wardrobe-challenged friend here?" I asked.

The demon was short. Like, short-short. He appeared to be a full-grown male, but he probably fell just shy of five feet. His skin was red but it was a much lighter shade than Kivra's, almost to the point of being pink. He was stocky but not quite muscular. He was also glaring at both of us with his lips pulled back slightly to bare the edges of his sharp teeth. I got the feeling that he liked us even less than Winston did.

"The name's Dramien," he snarled.

I was a little intimidated. But as threatening as he was being, it couldn't be avoided that he was short, and that made some of his snarling seem more comical than menacing.

"Dramien's Winston's aide," Gus offered.

The demon appeared to take offense to that comment and took a sharp step forward, but Winston cut him off with a wave. "Forget it, Dramien," he advised. "Let's just get this intro over with so he can leave us alone for a while." He cast a weary gaze in my direction. "Okay, sir, what would you like to know?"

"How this works, for starters," I said. "Who makes the decisions, how are they made, and how do you make sure they're fair?"

Dramien chuckled and shook his head with contempt. "Fair?" he echoed under his breath, "This is _Hell_ , for fuck's sake."

Ignoring his aide's comment, Winston blandly explained his department's process to me. He commanded a staff of demons who were given strict instructions on how to determine the appropriate punishment for each soul. Their rulings were reviewed by an immediate superior, who passed along reports on these decisions to Winston, who perused them at random to check procedure and occasionally sat in on a ruling, blah blah blah.

It started out pretty interestingly, but Winston kept getting more and more detailed and his already boring voice took on an even more monotonous tone until I told him that I'd heard enough.

"You don't want me to continue?" Winston said, feigning disappointment. "Oh, okay then, if you insist." And he stopped, staring at me expectantly. Dramien did the same, only with a little more poison in his gaze.

"Well, that all sounds good," I said awkwardly. "Thanks for your time." And I turned around abruptly and walked out. Gus followed, closing the door behind us. He gave me a frank stare of amused disapproval.

"What?" I said defensively.

"You're the _devil_ , Boss-Man," he reminded me. "The devil doesn't say 'thanks for your time.' You're a fearsome figure, a powerful player in the eternal world, a force to be reckoned with. You don't do common courtesy because it's not important enough to matter to you." He shrugged. "But I can't tell you what to do. It's just a suggestion. I'm just your aide."

"Right," I said, moving on to put my embarrassing actions in the past. "I'll keep that in mind. Where do we head next?"

"You're the boss, Boss," Gus said. I wondered briefly whether he had died before or after _Back to the Future_ came out. "There are plenty of options. Hell's a big place. Lots to see."

I shrugged. "Well," I suggested, "Maybe you could run through a shortlist of where you think we should head next and I'll pick one."

"Okay," Gus agreed.

I felt a brief sensation of movement behind me and a hand on my shoulder and then I was gone. I found myself standing in an entirely different location. I had no idea where I was. It appeared to be some kind of cramped cave made of rough stone the rusty color of dried blood. The stone appeared to be illuminated dimly from the inside, giving the cave a dull, unsettling glow. The hand was still on my shoulder. It gave a slow, firm squeeze. I winced as I felt jagged claws dig into my collarbone.

"So," said a rich, deep, dangerous voice. "You're the new devil, are you?" A tall, muscular (and, of course, naked) male demon released his grip on my clavicle and walked around to stand in front of me. He gazed at me appraisingly. "Let's have a look at you."

He made a show out of imitating deep, ponderous thought, but it was clear he'd known exactly what he was going to do to me as soon as he'd zapped me over here to...wherever I was now. "Hmm," he mused, still eyeing me up.

Then he pretended to have been struck with an ingenious idea. "Ah! I know! I think I'll kill you."

## Chapter Four

I frantically dug into my pocket for my phone. I flipped it open, hoping to find Gus's number. The demon quickly swatted my hand, but he did it with an air of laziness, like knocking the device from my grasp was an action less exerting than breathing. The phone landed noisily on the other side of the small cave.

He laughed, his threatening baritone echoing eerily off the stone walls. "Relax," he said. "I haven't figured out how to kill you. I will, though," he added fervently. "But before I get to any of that, there's still the matter of stealing your throne. In the mood for drinking a little blood?" He leaned in and flashed me a gruesome, sharp-toothed grin.

I gulped. I didn't want to be the devil, but I was getting the impression that I was in way over my head, and that if I was going to get out of this I had to be very careful about how I did it. Giving the title over to someone bent on killing me even though I was already dead seemed like handing the fate of the world over to a psychopath.

"Not really," I answered. I'm sure it was obvious that I didn't really feel up to the task of holding my ground.

He laughed again. "It doesn't matter. I wasn't really asking permission anyway." He raised a finger menacingly, letting me see the long, curved claw that he was probably about to use to cut open my flesh.

He approached and I backed away. I didn't have much space. He grabbed me by the shoulder and pushed me firmly against the stone wall. I knew without struggling that I wouldn't be able to get free.

"Azraal," a stern female voice barked. "Back the fuck off."

The demon's pressure on my shoulder decreased, but he did not release me. He turned to face the source of the voice. Standing behind him, looking extremely hot and extremely bitchy, was Kivra.

"What are _you_ doing here?" he said, sounding annoyed.

"I'm telling you to let him go," she snarled.

Azraal released me and stepped toward her, towering over her by a good twelve inches. "Why?" he challenged her.

She glared up at him, nostrils flaring, eyes blazing. "Doesn't matter why. Just fucking let him go," she repeated.

"Or what?" Azraal growled.

She narrowed her eyes but said nothing. The two of them just stood there for a while, staring each other down in intense silence. I was scared of both Kivra and this Azraal character, and I decided that, while they were distracted with each other, I should probably try to get the hell out. There was a narrow tunnel a few feet off to my left. I began inching toward it, hoping neither of these disputing demons would notice.

Azraal noticed. He wasn't even looking at me, but he noticed. Still glowering at Kivra, he put his arm out, palm facing me. I immediately slammed against the wall. I struggled against whatever bound me, but I couldn't break free. I could move my limbs but I was pinned through the middle by some unseen force.

"You don't have the strength," Azraal told Kivra. "You can't take me and expect to win."

"You don't have the balls," she returned. "You think you can take me, but you're not confident enough to pick a fight."

"Maybe I don't have to," he replied coolly. "You can't protect him forever." And then he was gone.

As soon as he disappeared, I pushed away from the wall, free to move again. I stared at Kivra uncertainly, trying desperately to resist the urge to look at her chest.

"You need to learn some tricks," she said sharply, stepping toward me. She nodded toward my phone and it came flying toward me. I caught it clumsily and dropped it back into my pocket.

"Better study up," Kivra continued. "I don't want this saving-your-ass bullshit to become a regular thing." She reached out to me. I flinched, but she clamped her fingers firmly on my shoulder.

She rolled her eyes. "You're welcome, you useless pussy," she said disdainfully. And then I was standing in the hallway outside Winston's office, a few feet behind Gus. Kivra disappeared an instant later without another word.

Gus's eyes widened when he turned around and saw me. "Whoa, that was fast," he said, sounding genuinely relieved. "You weren't gone long, but I was freaking out. What happened?"

"A demon named Azraal took me," I said. "What were you doing, standing here until I came back?"

He shrugged. "Pretty much, yeah. There wasn't a hell of a lot else I could do."

"You could have called me, tried to figure out where I was," I pointed out. I don't know why I was so angry at him when it didn't appear that he had anything to do with my traumatizing, if brief, kidnapping. Maybe I was just that rattled.

"I don't have a phone," he said sheepishly. "Your predecessor didn't give me one."

"He didn't give his chief of staff a phone?"

"Well...to be honest, he did give me one, but then he revoked my phone privileges because I kept sexting this cute little blue demon who worked in the Department of Development," Gus admitted.

"Sexting," I said incredulously. "In...Hell?"

He shrugged. "I've been dead a long time," he said simply. "I don't get laid much."

I blinked. "Okay. Your phone privileges are, uh, reinstated. I need to be able to call my sidekick if I get into more trouble."

Gus grinned appreciatively. "You didn't tell me how you got away," he said.

"Kivra showed up," I said. "She made some kind of a threat against this Azraal guy and they had a little staring contest before he gave up and left."

"Kivra saved you?"

"Yeah. I was pretty surprised," I admitted. "Didn't see that coming."

Gus shook his head. "This," he said gravely, "is not a good thing."

"Why is this not a good thing?" I asked. "She totally saved my neck back there!"

"That part is a good thing, sure," he said. "But owing Kivra a favor is definitely a bad thing."

"Why is that—" I began.

"With your permission, Boss-Man," he interrupted urgently, gripping me tightly by the forearm, "you need to learn some moves _fast_. We should go back to your office."

"Uh...okay," I said. I had barely finished timidly voicing my assent when he began dragging me down the hallway.

The door that Kivra had broken had apparently been replaced in the time that I'd been gone. Upon entering the office, I realized the chair that I'd broken had also been switched out for a new one. The office looked completely normal and free of any supernatural dramatics. I wanted to ask Gus if we had any demonic elves scurrying around in our absence fixing stuff, but he seemed to have more pressing matters to discuss.

He closed the door behind us. "Do you remember that little blood spell your predecessor worked on you?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said, surprised by his sudden take-charge demeanor.

With an earnest expression, he explained. "That spell gave you access to all the abilities he had. Telekinesis, pyrokinesis, some level of telepathy, strength, regeneration...basically you have the resources to be the biggest badass in Hell. And Hell is already full of badasses, so that's saying something."

"Pyrokinesis? So I can set this chair on fire with my mind?" I asked.

"Yes. And you can take on any number of powerful demons with similar abilities. Because you're the devil, you're hombre numero uno. But until you learn to use all that crap that your predecessor dumped on you, you're extremely vulnerable. And your position as King of Hell is a very desirable one. Do you follow?"

"I'm in charge, but I'm weak," I summarized, "So anybody who wants power has a window of opportunity to take over by getting rid of me before I become too strong for them to take on?"

"Exactly," Gus whispered fearfully. "I can think of plenty of demons who'd love to take your job, maybe a bunch with the balls to try a coup, and too many with the skills to pull it off." He gripped me tightly by the shoulders. "Demonkind is gunning for you _right now_. You gotta prepare."

I could prepare. I'd just learn to use the Force in a matter of minutes. Like _that_ wouldn't be challenging.

"So what," I asked sarcastically. "I'm just supposed to think about what I want and make it a reality with my mind—holy shit." I'd just set the wooden chair on fire. I hadn't even touched it. I turned to Gus. "Is it supposed to be that easy?"

He shrugged. "As far as I know, making that stuff happen isn't the hard part. It's the control that's more difficult. Try moving something instead of just setting it on fire," he suggested.

I focused my mind on lifting the burning chair off the ground and the flaming mess rose from the floor. It wobbled sloppily and seemed to be rotating.

"Case in point," Gus commented. "You can set that chair on fire easily, and you can even move it around in the air. But if you run into Azraal again, he can break that chair down into a thousand razor-sharp splinters and set each of those pieces on fire with a snap of his fingers." He paused. "Well...technically, he doesn't need to snap his fingers, but you get my point."

That sounded bad. "How am I supposed to defend against that?!" I asked. I couldn't help but feel a little panicky.

He shrugged again. "The good news is that it's really, really difficult to kill you," he said. "As far as I know, there are only some rumors on how to kill a devil. Nobody actually knows how to do it. But the spell to usurp your throne, on the other hand, isn't exactly Hell's best-kept secret. If somebody pulls it off, you'll be left powerless. And just plain old damned."

I tried to move the flaming chair in a figure-eight pattern as I held it hovering a few inches above the carpet. "So I don't have to fear death, I have to fear being stripped of my throne? I don't even want my throne!"

"Would you rather be some normal person getting his entrails ripped out eighteen times an hour every day?" Gus asked. "Unless you're into that sort of thing, in which case I'm sure they'd make arrangements for something else you'd hate."

I was going to answer him, but just then a fist burst through the door. After a short pause, it pulled back, leaving a jagged opening. A mustard-brown demon's face peeked through it.

"Is it too predictable if I say 'Here's Johnny?'" he asked languidly. Then he reached in through the opening, unlocked the door from the inside, and swung it open. With so many powerful and destructive demons hanging around, I had to wonder why Hell even bothered putting locks on its doors.

Gus and I stood next to each other, cautiously watching his casual approach. "Um...we're not friends with this guy, right?" I stage whispered from the corner of my mouth.

"With Vilnius?" Gus whispered back. "Definitely not."

"Should I set him on fire or something?" I asked.

"You can try," Gus said. "But if you're gonna try anything, you sure as hell better try it fast."

I hurriedly employed the newfound powers of my mind and the air around the demon erupted with flames. He stopped. The fire dissipated quickly, leaving him glaring at me with his head hung, as though he were simply disappointed in me.

"A fireball for a greeting?" he said. "How childish. What if I were only here for friendly introductions?"

I shrugged guiltily. "I figure it's probably a safe bet around here to assume you're not interested in being friendly," I said.

"Smart man," he replied, pretending to brush himself off. "But the good news is that there's no harm done. I'm from Hell, sweetheart, you'll need to do a little more than play with matches to piss me off." He smiled, and for a moment he looked every bit as crazy as the Jack Nicholson character he'd referenced earlier. "The bad news is that I'm definitely not interested in being friendly."

## Chapter Five

Vilnius rushed me with supernatural speed and forced me down across the top of the desk, his hand at my throat. "I heard we had some new _clown_ running the show down here when someone a little more _deserving_ should be at the helm," he growled.

"So," I grunted, struggling to breathe through a pinched windpipe. "You want to take over too? Big surprise."

He released me suddenly, pulled me to my feet, smoothed the fabric of my shirt briefly, and looked me solemnly in the eye. "I am prepared to offer you a deal," he said.

"A deal?" I echoed, rubbing my throat. "A second ago you were choking me to death."

"Yes, well, that's all rather ugly," he said dismissively. "There are other ways I prefer to do business."

"So what's this deal?" I asked carefully.

"Don't—make—a deal!" Gus hissed quietly from a few feet behind Vilnius. He was repeatedly making a throat-slitting gesture just to make sure I couldn't misunderstand his position on the subject.

"I know a way out of here," Vilnius said. "And I don't mean a door to the world of the living, I mean a door...upstairs." He pointed upward with one finger as though a visual aid were necessary for me to properly understand.

"Upstairs?" I repeated.

"A door to Heaven," he clarified. "If you willingly submit to the blood spell and allow me to assume control of Hell, I will provide you with one of my aides to personally escort you to that door." He spread his arms wide. "Consider it—you'd be free of the headaches and constant fighting that all comes with being in charge of the toughest prison in the universe, free of the tortures and agonies of being a prisoner yourself, and reunited with your grandparents and all that maudlin bullshit that comes with eternal happiness in Heaven."

"That does sound pretty good," I admitted. Gus had sidled around next to me and was urgently tugging on my arm. "Uh, can I have a moment to...uh, confer...with...my aide?"

"You have one hour," Vilnius said sternly. "After that, you either accept my offer, or I destroy you on a molecular level, you repugnant piece of uppity human shit." He smiled wanly. "Choose carefully. I'll see you in an hour." He disappeared.

I turned to Gus, who was still tugging at my sleeve like an attention-starved toddler. "What?!" I snapped.

"You gotta fight him off, Boss-Man," he said. "You can't take that deal, no matter how good it sounds." He was practically begging.

I sighed. "Okay...why?"

"First of all," he explained, "he's probably lying. A door connecting Heaven and Hell is like the Holy Grail."

"Yeah," I agreed. "It sounds pretty great."

"No, no, that's not what I meant," he said impatiently. "I mean it's a legend that's been around forever but nobody's ever found it. It probably doesn't exist. If you're trying to get to Heaven, you'd have to go through the real world first, I'm almost sure of it."

I frowned. "Oh. Okay."

Gus continued. "Second, you can't just sneak into Heaven. I mean, I only know God by reputation, but the general consensus is that he's not an idiot. There's bound to be a lot of security and a proper process for getting into it. If you were supposed to be in Hell, Heaven probably knows about it. They're not stupid enough to just assume that since you made it to the pearly gates you must belong there."

"So even if Vilnius is telling the truth, I could get into Heaven and either get booted back down here or spend the rest of my life in Heaven's drunk tank or something?"

He nodded grimly. "Pretty much."

I sensed he had another reason. "And third?"

"Third," he said hesitantly, "Vilnius is the Director of the Department of Development and because of my duties under your predecessor, he and I have had words in the past. If he becomes devil, the first thing he's going to do is free me of my subservience, and the second thing he's going to do is throw me into the deepest pit and give me the worst torture Kivra can dream up. And he'll leave me there literally forever. There are plenty of demons I would not like to work for, but Vilnius has a grudge against me and he easily makes the top of that list." He heaved a huge sigh. It must have taken a lot of breath to get all that out.

"Okay," I said, shrugging. "So when he comes back, I tell him to shove it, I pin him against the wall with a desk or something, and we run for it. That sounds like fun." I was getting kind of sick of being helpless all the time. I'd been helpless against Kivra's wiles, I'd been helpless against Azraal's threats, and now I was helpless against Vilnius's ultimatum.

"I don't know if, as the ruler of Hell, you want your battle strategy on your home turf to involve retreat," Gus said. "It sends a pretty strong message that you're weak."

"But I _am_ weak," I insisted sourly.

"Right, but we're trying to keep that a secret," Gus reminded me with a grin. "At least until we can fix it."

"Okay, so we _don't_ pin him against the wall with a desk and make a run for it," I said exasperatedly. "Do we kill him? How do we kill him?"

Gus shrugged apologetically. "Killing a demon is a pretty impressive feat, too, and it's not easy. You'll probably need some telekinetic chops before you manage it. But I have another idea. And it involves a trick I have a feeling you'll get a kick out of."

"So what's the trick?" I asked.

"Well," Gus explained. "Vilnius craves control. He's a micromanaging, macro-managing, everything-managing pscyho Nazi nutjob. It would make a pretty bold, public statement if you took control of the one that's most obsessed with control."

I narrowed my eyes. "Sure, that'd be cool, but how do we do that?"

"I know a spell," Gus said, a smirk sliding across his face. He was proud of his plan and he couldn't hide it. "I got a look at something your predecessor used once to keep one of his underlings in line. It's a spell that forces the demon under it to obey your orders."

"Whoa," I replied, impressed. "That could be pretty useful. So he just...cast this spell and the demon did his bitch work for the rest of forever?"

Gus's eyes shifted hesitantly. "Well, for a little while. Until, of course, the demon found a way to break the spell. And then he got a few friends together and ambushed your predecessor. And ultimately, your predecessor wound up killing the demon and throwing his posse in a fetid pit somewhere. But it worked for about fifteen years, so this could _definitely_ buy you some time."

That was not a story that inspired confidence, but what other option did I have? Try to take on Vilnius in a one-on-one superpower fight? That seemed to promise a much lower likelihood of success.

"Well, no plan is ever perfect," I sighed. "What do we do?"

"I'll show you," he replied, miming rolling up his sleeves. "Come on, let's get to work."

Gus turned out to be a patient teacher with an eye for detail. It took us almost the full hour to carefully complete our preparations for the spell. During the hour, I discovered a long hallway behind the back door to my office. He explained that the countless rooms branching off of it were filled with the devil's various physical resources. Most of what we needed, however, was behind the nearest door, which was marked simply, _Supply_. It was behind the second door that we found a new phone for Gus.

Shortly after we finished our spellwork and took our places, the battered office door slammed open. "Lucy," Vilnius called in a surprisingly spot-on Desi Arnaz voice, "I'm home!"

Gus, seated behind my desk, stood up abruptly. "He's not here," he informed the demon.

Vilnius' eyes smoldered. "What?"

"He's visiting another demon," Gus said. "He wanted me to let you know that he's decided to decline your offer."

"That was a mistake," Vilnius growled. In a flash, he'd crossed the room, bodily hauled Gus from his feet and pinned him against the wall. "Where the fuck did that little prick run off to? Who is he seeing? Is it Kivra? That conniving, power-hungry bitch, I bet she already has her skanky claws all over him. Who is it?"

I'd been hiding under the desk with a knife and a small bowl containing all of the components of the spell except one—the blood of my target. I crept out, drew the knife, and slashed deep into the flesh of Vilnius's neck. Blood spurted from the wound, and I managed to catch some of it in the bowl.

Vilnius shouted in pain and rage. He dropped Gus and clapped a clawed hand to his bleeding neck. He whirled, his other hand shooting out to catch his attacker. I ducked, dodged around the desk, and quickly drank the revolting ingredients of the spell. I wondered if one of my new devil superpowers was the ability not to immediately vomit when imbibing fluids that tasted like rusty earwax.

Vilnius charged me. I tossed the bowl aside and said, "Stop!"

He halted immediately. His chest heaving with exertion and an unhealthy amount of anger, he glanced down at his immobile feet and glared up at me. "You devious little bastard," he muttered.

"Touch your toes," I said. I trusted Gus, but I was still a little astonished to see how well his plan had worked.

Breathing heavily through flared nostrils, Vilnius obediently bent over and pressed his hands to the talons on his feet. I was impressed at his flexibility. Perhaps they had yoga in Hell.

"It appears that I may have underestimated you," he growled. " _Slightly_."

"But you won't be making that mistake again, will you?" I taunted. "Now that you're my bitch."

He curtsied sarcastically. "Of course not, my Lord."

"Great," I said. "Now, before you go back to the Department of Development, I have a few orders for you to keep in mind. First and foremost, your work in your department will only be for what is in my best interest. If you hear any rumors about any challenges to my authority, you will inform me of them immediately. You will also speak highly of my power to discourage any demons who might want to plan another takeover. And you will immediately answer your phone whenever I call you. Understood?"

Vilnius nodded sullenly. I sent him away, back to his duties as a department director. He was clearly not happy to go, but he didn't have a choice.

I looked over at Gus as soon as Vilnius teleported away. "That," I said proudly, "Is the first time I've gone up against a demon and won." He smiled back and slowly lifted his fist for a bump. I obliged.

"So what next?" I asked.

"I think it's time to visit the Department of Enforcement," Gus said. "With your permission, of course, as always," he added.

"Enforcement? What do they do?" I asked.

"Part National Guard, part Secret Police," he explained. "Usually they deal with rogue demons. Sometimes they hunt down humans trying to escape—which you can imagine happens a lot. Despite all the warm weather down here, everybody's itching to leave."

"What about when they're not stopping escapees?" I asked.

"In the past, they've been used against demons as the devil's private army, but they aren't always effective against demons."

"Why not?" I asked.

"Because they're demons, and they're only a small percentage of all the demons down here. Using them to attack hellspawn is like using the 101st Airborne to declare war on the entire US Army. Sure, they're badasses, but they'd be going up against a huge number of their brothers who aren't exactly pushovers."

I laughed, still high on the rush of victory. "It still sounds like they could be useful. Will their director be sympathetic to a new devil?"

He smiled. "I don't think I'd use the word _sympathetic_ to describe General Gavsot. But if you just keep giving him heads to bust he'll be as loyal to you as you need him to be."

I motioned toward the door. "Then let's go," I said.

## Chapter Six

Gus led me down the hall, back through the waiting room in which I'd arrived and into a confusing labyrinth of narrow, featureless corridors. I caught myself thinking that this was the office building from Hell before I realized that it actually _was_ an office building from Hell.

We wandered through hallways, down staircases, and all over the complicated structure. Gus seemed to know the way, though, and he kept us moving at a brisk pace.

"So once I start working with Gavsot," I asked him, my breath short, "I'll be able to start taking control of things around here?"

"With a little luck," he said. "With Vilnius under your control and Gavsot watching your back, you've got a snowball's chance of accomplishing something."

"That's a relief," I puffed. "Because it seems like all I've been doing since I got here is defending my right to rule instead of doing any actual ruling."

"Fighting to maintain your authority is kind of half the job," Gus admitted. "It's a pretty tenuous system we have down here, prone to mutinies, rebellions and usurpations of all kinds and from all sources."

"I guess I assumed that the devil was the supreme ruler and by virtue of being the devil he has power over everyone down here," I said. If I hadn't already felt overwhelmed, I definitely felt so now.

Gus turned back to flash me a brief smile. "Welcome to Hell," he said. "Where everything's made up and the points don't matter."

I chuckled. "It's interesting how, when you're alive, you focus on the basics of the afterlife—where's good, where's bad, and where you want to end up when you die. But there's a lot more detail and complexity to this than I'd ever considered."

"That's how most things are," Gus replied sagely. "The theory is clean and polished, but the execution is usually an ugly, complicated mess. I've heard a few rumors that Heaven isn't a whole lot better organized."

He led me down one last flight of stairs. At the bottom was a rusty metal door that looked heavy enough to withstand a nuclear blast.

"We're here," he announced.

I stared. "That," I said solemnly, "is one big-ass door."

Gus poked me gently in the ribs. "Are you gonna knock on it or just stand here zoning the hell out?"

I raised my fist to rap on the door. As I knocked, the flakes of rust scraped my knuckles. Almost immediately, a section of the wall next to the door shifted, revealing a small window at about eye level.

"Who are you?" a grouchy, goblin-like voice croaked.

I peered through the window and discovered that it was simply a squared-off gap in the wall. But the wall was so thick that the far end of the tunnel appeared tiny and distant.

"I'm the new devil," I answered. "Open the door."

Gus smiled approvingly. "I like the new tone," he murmured.

I shrugged. "I think I'm starting to get used to this being-in-charge thing," I admitted.

The enormous door creaked suddenly and swung open with a slow, agonizing shriek. The opening was only a few feet wide, and it gave me the impression that there would probably never be an emergency big enough to require the effort of opening the door all the way.

"Come in," the voice said.

Gus and I slipped through the opening. Gus had hardly stepped inside when the door began creaking shut behind us. In a hallway stretching out away from us stood what I assumed was the guard who'd granted us entry. He'd sounded like a goblin before, but it appeared now that he actually was a goblin. He was maybe three feet tall, with green skin, grotesque features, bad teeth and a tiny pot belly. His ears were long, pointy, and drooped as if attempting to balance out his ugliness with a splash of cuteness. He also held a wooden spear, which he was pointing at me suspiciously.

"Take me to General Gavsot," I said.

"That's not how this works," he spat contemptuously. "He's coming to you. You don't go nowhere."

Thinking back to my recent success in subjugating a dangerous demon, I decided to throw my weight around and let him know I wasn't going to be a pushover. "No, it works how I say it works," I contradicted him firmly. "Take me to General Gavsot." The goblin thing narrowed its yellow eyes at me. "Now," I added for good measure.

"You shut up," the thing said shrilly. "You don't give orders here. You don't go nowhere." It set its jaw like the matter was concluded.

Well, now I _had_ to do something. I couldn't let this little goblin thing defy me, especially after I'd pushed him to obey. So I swept my hand out, grabbed his spear from his claws, yanked it free, flipped it around, and brought the butt of the weapon down on his ugly little face.

"Did you see that?!" I whispered to Gus, who appeared frozen in shock. "That's some Keanu Reeves Matrix shit I just did!"

Then the goblin thing got up and shrieked at me. It was the loudest noise I've ever heard. His muscles tensed and it looked like whatever he was about to do, he meant business. I began to consider that perhaps I had underestimated him.

The goblin pounced, hurtling upward at my face, his claws slashing. I was lucky enough to get the shaft of the spear between us, and his face collided with it. He fell, swiping his claws within an inch of my face as he went down. But then he was climbing up my left leg, digging his sharp fingers deeply into my flesh as he scurried up to my torso.

I'd never before had some supernatural hellspawn climbing up my body and punching holes in my skin like it was notebook paper, so I panicked and did the only thing I could think of—I spun. I swung my body around as quickly as I could. It made me slightly dizzy, but it pulled the goblin loose. He was surprisingly light for a rabid hobbit, and he went flying against the wall, landing with a thud in the corner by the huge metal door.

He started to get up—freakishly fast—and I jammed the end of the spear into his face. He fell back and snarled, so I hit him again. It took four more shots to the face before he collapsed into a state of apparent unconsciousness.

My left side was bleeding profusely. I looked up at Gus. "What the _fuck_ kind of animal did I just beat into a coma?" I asked raggedly, wincing.

Gus ignored me, instead staring down the long hallway ahead of us with what could only have been a look of horror. "Pit guards," he finally said.

I heard a low rumbling noise coming from the unseen end of the corridor. "What's that noise?" I asked worriedly.

Gus sighed. "Pit guards," he repeated. "Most of them are grunts working under the demons. They're almost entirely ugly, cranky, and short-tempered. But I will say one good thing about them—they're loyal to each other." He turned to shoot me a quick, ironic smile. "You mess with one of them, you mess with all of them."

He nodded down the hall toward the sound of a stampede. "You just made a few hundred enemies," he said.

"But how do they even know what happened?" I asked frantically as the rumbling sound grew steadily in volume.

"General Gavsot is a little more progressive than some of his demon peers," Gus explained. "Most departments utilize some technology from the Realm of the Living, but Gavsot takes it one step further." He pointed toward a small security camera mounted in a cobwebbed corner.

"Fuck," I muttered. "What do we do? Run for it?"

Gus shook his head. "You're the one who was so hellbent on asserting your authority. It would look pretty bad if you didn't reassert it here."

I waved my hand, which was covered in blood from my thigh. "I barely made it out of a fight with one of these things! How am I going to 'assert my authority' against five hundred?!"

Gus smiled broadly. "Remember, you're not just a pissed off kid with an attitude anymore," he reminded me. "You're the devil now. Attack as the devil, not as a human."

A terrible shrieking began echoing from down the hall. Apparently that noise the first pit guard made was some kind of battle-cry, and hundreds of those things were making it now. I looked down the long, featureless hallway and saw a swarm of greenish, three-foot-tall pit guards rushing toward us. The place was about to be _flooded_ with those hideous little green fuckers.

"Here goes nothing," I murmured, waiting.

Gus elbowed me nervously. "You do have some kind of plan, here, right?" he shouted over the earsplitting sound of the shrieking pit guards.

"I have a kickass plan," I exulted, starting to brim with confidence. "This is probably even going to be fun."

Gus shouted something in response, but I didn't hear all of it. I think he said, "It better be one hell of a plan."

I waited until the first row of charging pit guards were about twenty yards away, and then I flexed my telekinetic muscles.

With a thought and a lot of concentration, I ripped into both sides of the wall pulled chunks of stone and mortar out. The first few rows of attackers were buried in an avalanche of dusty, filthy stone, collapsing under the weight of the walls that had just exploded inward on them. As the leading ranks went down, I extended my telekinetic reach further back, letting the walls tear open in a kind of rippling wave that I pushed back to as far as my powers would let me. Hundreds of pit guards were crushed under my onslaught. Once I couldn't push any further out, I stopped.

I stood staring down the hallway, heaving, sweating, and feeling like a complete badass. A thick dust hung in the air, but nothing moved other than a few loose stones. I was ninety percent sure that I'd just taken out every single little goblin thing in the entire hallway.

Gus let out a low whistle. "I'll tell you one thing," he said reverently. "Even at the peak of his power, your predecessor never would have even _thought_ of doing what you just did."

I was still looking down through the destruction, admiring my handiwork, when I heard an unexpected voice at my elbow.

"You wanted to see me?" the voice said gruffly.

I whirled, my heart pounding. Another demon stood behind me. He was a little shorter than I was, but muscular beyond what you'd think was even possible. His skin was a blotchy mess of deep shades of red, and he was—I glanced down—dammit...he was naked too.

"General Gavsot, I presume?" I said tremulously. Gus had made him sound like a pretty powerful guy, and he appeared just as I finished taking out a whole bunch of his minions. It didn't strike me as the best way to begin a mutually beneficial relationship.

He simply nodded, showing no signs of anger.

I extended my hand. "I'm Jason. The new devil. Sorry about your guards, they kind of picked a fight with me."

He shook his head and looked down at my hand. "No matter."

"So, uh," I continued uncomfortably, still waiting for him to shake, "we should talk, or something, right?"

"Yes," he said. "We should talk." He reached out to me and suddenly we were somewhere else.

He'd transported me to what must have been his office, as austere and simple as it seemed. I looked around at the small, silver-toned room. The entire thing seemed to be constructed from stainless steel and kept in good repair, unlike the entrance to his lair. The room featured only a stainless steel desk, which sported a neat arrangement of sleek electronics, and two stainless steel chairs. The General sat behind his desk, and I seated myself across from him.

"Somebody has got to teach me how to do that teleporting thing," I muttered.

He leaned forward and interlocked his fingers in front of him. "Let us talk," he said.

## Chapter Seven

I kind of liked General Gavsot so far. He seemed straightforward. I wasn't nearly as worried about him manipulating me as I was about Kivra or Vilnius or Azraal or anybody else I'd met down here. Except for maybe Gus. Gus seemed pretty safe too, but then he wasn't a demon.

"Let's talk business," I said. "I've been told that you like your position as Director of Enforcement."

"I do," he answered.

"And I've also been told that you value your job above all else, is that true?"

"It is," he said.

"So it's my understanding," I continued, "That so long as I keep you as Director of Enforcement and give you things for you to do while you're in this post, I can count you as an ally, is that correct?"

"It is," he said.

"Great," I replied. "In that case, I have an assignment for you." I waited for him to respond, but he didn't seem to have any upcoming plans to communicate vocally. So I continued. "I need to make a show of force."

"I can do that," General Gavsot said.

"I had something specific in mind," I began, "but I'd like to have my advisor here to help me assess the risk of this particular course of action."

"I will permit it," the General said.

"Thank you," I replied. The General briefly disappeared, and then reappeared with a terrified-looking Gus standing next to him.

Gus heaved a huge sigh. "Man, I didn't know what I was going to do if I was still there by myself when all those pit guards woke up."

I laughed. "First of all," I said, turning to the general, "I'd like to apologize for the mess I made in your entrance hall."

"Not necessary," he said dismissively. "Repairing the wall will give the pit guards something to do once they wake up."

"So no hard feelings about their injuries, I hope?" I said.

He shook his head. "My soldiers are demons. These were merely some of my guards. Their well-being is ultimately not as essential to my operation."

"Okay," I said, a bit off-put by his indifference toward his own staff. "Um, good. In that case, let's discuss the show of force."

"Show of force?" Gus echoed inquisitively.

"Yes," I said. "Gus, I wanted you here to chime in just in case the plan I'm about to suggest turns out to be crazy or suicidal or something."

He smiled wanly. "Hell of a job I have," he murmured.

"What is your plan?" the General asked me.

"General, as Director of Enforcement, do you have any prisons?" I asked.

"Prisons," he said with a curt nod. "Dungeons, catacombs."

"Good," I replied. "In that case, I need you and your men to capture and imprison the demon Azraal."

General Gavsot appeared unfazed. "Azraal," he said, as if to confirm he'd heard correctly.

"Yes," I said.

"The Director of Transportation," he said, with the same tone as before.

"So I'm told," I replied. I glanced over at Gus, who was clenching his teeth and looking pained. "Is this a horrible idea?" I asked.

Gus shrugged. "Absolutely. Unless it works, in which case it's a great idea."

"This will take some doing," the General intoned thoughtfully.

"But you can do it, right?" I asked anxiously.

"Of course," he replied. I thought he sounded just a little offended, but I couldn't be sure.

"Great. I'd like to help you do it," I said.

For the first time since I'd met him, General Gavsot smiled. It was a thin, stiff, uncomfortable looking expression that only slightly managed to alter his grim demeanor. "I have the perfect job for you," he said.

"Great," I enthused. "What is it?"

"Bait."

"Whoa," I said, "Slow down. I was thinking maybe I could lend my pit-guard-ass-kicking expertise or something. What do you need bait for?"

"You cannot set a trap without it," Gavsot said simply.

"Maybe you don't need my help," I backpedaled. "Can't you just teleport to him, teleport him back here, and slap some handcuffs on him or something?"

The General glared at me in response. Then he nodded toward Gus, who said, "Azraal could easily teleport himself back in an instant. And I think you've been down here long enough to realize that handcuffs are a human method of restraint. They are useless on demons."

"Fine," I said. "What do I need to do?"

"There exists a certain spell," Gavsot began, "that can be used to limit demonic power. It can keep Azraal from using any of his abilities. We use it in our dungeons to keep powerful demons from teleporting to freedom."

"Okay," I said. "Another spell. Sounds good. What exactly do you need me to do?"

"We have the spell prepared in each of our prison cells," the General explained. "But we will need to incapacitate our target so that he cannot escape while we attempt to administer the spell."

"So how do we do that?" I asked, still not understand what my role was going to be.

"Stab him with a knife dipped in human blood," Gavsot said with vigor. "This is paralytic to a demon, but temporary. The effect will long enough for the spell to be completed."

I blanched. "So you want me to stab Azraal?" I asked incredulously.

"Azraal will tear him to bits before he gets close enough," Gus pointed out.

Gavsot smiled serenely at Gus. "That is exactly what I am counting on."

"So let me quick run through this to make sure I have it right," I said, beginning to get annoyed, but worrying that if I got too uppity the demon in front of me would start ripping my limbs off. "I go into the Department of Transportation carrying a knife dipped in human blood, which I'm going to attempt to stab Azraal with. My attempt will fail, Azraal will kick my ass, and this is all according to plan?"

"You only need to succeed enough to convince Azraal that your plan was to bring him down on your own," Gavsot corrected me calmly. "If you come close enough to succeeding to be a threat, he will consider your effort to be legitimate and without guile. Once you fail, you must flee the department on foot. He will follow you with the hope of capturing you in his own territory and making it easier for him to strip you of your title and assume control of Hell."

I was starting to understand. "So while he's chasing me," I finished, "You and your men jump out and stab him for real?"

"Precisely," the General said. He seemed pleased. "You are both bait and misdirection."

"If this backfires," Gus reminded me warily, "Azraal becomes the new devil and you're stuck in Hell as a powerless human just like any of the other tortured souls down here."

Gavsot shrugged both to acknowledge Gus's remark and to dismiss it. I thought for a moment and then said, "General, where will your ambush be set up? I take it storming the Department of Transportation in full force would require too much manpower?"

"Demonpower," Gus mumbled to himself.

Gavsot looked grave. "I could attack in full force," he said sternly. "I do not wish to. It is unwise to consolidate all military power in the same place for such a small matter." His tone of voice made it seem like if I asked for too much backup, he would withdraw his support and leave me out in the cold.

"Okay," I said nervously. "Surgical strike it is. So where will the ambush be set up?"

"Directly outside the gates of the Department of Transportation," Gavsot said. "You must survive long enough to escape the building."

I realized on some level that I was risking a lot. I hadn't exactly been having a fun time since my arrival in Hell and I was hoping that if I handled Azraal decisively things would calm down and I wouldn't have to feel like I was one step away from being removed from my regency to be tortured for the rest of forever like all those other poor souls. Of course, that was exactly what was going to happen anyway if this backfired, which seemed like a reasonably likely outcome. It was basically a Hail Mary in the first quarter of the game.

I mentally stepped up to the line of scrimmage. "Okay. Let's do it."

Gus sighed. "I guess we're gonna need two knives dipped in human blood, then," he said. General Gavsot reached into his desk and handed him two short daggers.

"Cool," Gus said. "I guess we're gonna need to head back to the waiting room so we can find some humans, then."

Gavsot reached out to touch us and we were instantly surrounded by hundreds of chairs and a few dusty tables stacked with magazines. An REO Speedwagon song was playing in the background.

"Here I am," I muttered. "Right back where I started."

"I will select a squad and make preparations on my end," Gavsot said formally. "Call me when you are ready to proceed." He disappeared.

"I really think I need to learn this teleportation stuff," I said wearily. "Using Gavsot for transportation feels like getting my mom to drop me off at the mall or something."

Gus shrugged. "You can try teleporting if you want, of course," he said. "But it's not like your telekinesis. I'm told telepathic manipulation is much easier with things you can see. Ripping open the wall and setting the air on fire is relatively simple. Altering the contents of a room by adding yourself to it from a mile away is much more difficult."

"Well, I won't know until I try," I reasoned. "Here goes nothing." I concentrated and attempted to will myself back to my office. I squeezed my eyes shut.

I opened them. Gus smiled at me and waved. "Hi," he said. "You didn't go anywhere. Your body looked a little transparent for a second like it _meant_ to go somewhere, though. Some might say that's half the battle."

"That took a lot out of me," I panted. "I feel like I just ran a couple of miles."

"I wouldn't know what that feels like," Gus replied, rubbing his belly.

"Well, down to business, then," I said dejectedly. "Give me those knives."

"Okay," Gus said, handing them over. "Stab a couple of these poor schmucks and let's get the hell out of here."

I walked over to an elderly man leafing through a copy of _Brimstone Weekly_. "Name," I said authoritatively.

He looked up in surprise. "Frank," he said. "Delaney."

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my cell phone. "What are you doing?" Gus asked.

"I'm calling Winston to see what this guy did before I stab him," I replied.

Gus's eyes bulged. "Dude! He's in _Hell_! He did bad stuff to get here, bro! Everybody in this room is gonna get tortured way worse than a little stab in the gut, so you might as well not worry about who did what right now!"

"I'm sorry," Mr. Delaney interrupted. "Did you say _stab_?"

I ignored him. "I'm not a stabby kind of guy," I told my aide. "I'd at least like to know I'm punishing a murderer instead of a guy who didn't pay his taxes."

The phone rang. "Yes, sir?" came the melancholy answer.

"Winston," I said smoothly. "I need to know the worst offense committed by a recently deceased man named Frank Delaney."

"Hang on," Winston said with glum cooperation. I heard the clicking of a few keys. Then, "It appears that Mr. Delaney cheated on his wife with four other women over a twenty-two year period."

"That's the worst he did?" I asked.

"Yes," he replied. "But he didn't feel guilty about it."

"Is there any chance you can assign this guy to be tortured by only male demons?" I asked. "It might do him some good to have to stare at some dicks for a while."

"Consider it done, sir," my Director of Assignment agreed miserably.

"Thank you, Winston," I said. As I snapped the phone shut, I looked down at Mr. Delaney, who was staring up at me in wide-eyed fear. "Well, Frank," I sighed. "You're not exactly a mass murderer, but you are kind of a scumbag, aren't you?" He opened his mouth to answer, but before he could speak I whipped out the daggers and drove them deep into his flesh, one through each thigh.

## Chapter Eight

I stood facing a four-story office building facade that jutted somewhat lopsidedly out of the blood-red stone wall in front of me. The wall extended left, right, and upward beyond the limits of my sight. I stared numbly, both awed by the expanse of Hell and terrified by the prospect of trying to bring its denizens under my control.

I was holding the two knives that were stained with Frank Delaney's blood. General Gavsot roughly pried one from my grip. "Azraal's office is on the fourth floor," he informed me. "It is the last door at the end of the hall to the right." He handed the knife to one of the four Enforcement demons behind him. "This is Lokir, Yelvin, Onslaw and Nubakor."

The tan one referred to as Lokir gave me a quick nod. "We'll be covering you as soon as you exit the building sir," he promised.

"Great, thanks," I said hoarsely.

I glanced at Gus. He shrugged. "I guess you could still back out," he suggested weakly.

"I feel like I should be wearing body armor or something," I said.

"Your death is unlikely," Gavsot said. "It is being stripped of your powers and made to endure endless torture that you should fear. Armor will do little to prevent that."

I shot him a frown. "That's...not reassuring. But thanks for trying," I added sarcastically.

"Go in fast," Gus advised hurriedly. "Don't stop moving. Use your telekinesis to keep the LODs away from you. Confront Azraal, make sure he's after you, and then haul ass out of there."

"Wait," I said, waving my hand in an attempt to interrupt him. "What the hell is an LOD?"

"Low order demon," Gavsot said.

"What the fuck is that?!" I rounded on him hysterically. I felt like something really important was being sprung on me at the last moment.

"Demons of a lower order," Gus explained unhelpfully. Then he flashed me a roguish smirk and continued, "They're usually not very powerful as far as psychic ability goes, and sometimes not quite as physically, uh, imposing as your basic demons. A lot of them are rank-and-file torturers, but some of the lazier ones find desk work in some departments. Paper-pushers."

"So I'm heading into a building full of demonic bureaucrats?" I summarized.

"Pretty much," Gus nodded. "I mean, there's bound to be security, too, but mostly bureaucrats."

"Gus," I sighed, "Are they naked?"

"Naturally," he replied.

"Okay," I announced with a deep breath. "Here goes." I nodded toward the four beastly-looking Enforcement demons standing around Gavsot. "Be ready, guys," I advised.

I calmly walked toward the front door, pulled it open, and stepped inside onto a recently-buffed off-white tile floor. In front of me was a wide reception desk with a large faux-wood mounting on the wall behind it that featured the words "Department of Transportation" in a stylized font.

The demon behind the desk glanced up. Her skin was an ugly puke-green color, but her features were actually quite pleasant. As I walked closer and could see over the desk, I realized that, of course, she was naked. She was also somewhat overweight. And her breasts were enormous.

Considering that I was still a seventeen-year-old virgin high schooler despite my badass demon body, I couldn't help but stop and stare. I'd never seen a pair of boobs that huge in person, and they required my undivided attention.

Unfortunately, the demon whose bosom I was ogling recognized me or my devil aura or something. Her eyes went wide (probably not as wide as mine, though) and her arm disappeared beneath the desk. Apparently there was some kind of silent alarm there.

I'd only really been staring for a few seconds, but it was enough time for her to alert security. And when I finally snapped out of my titty-trance, I realized that five big, muscular demons were hurrying toward me.

The receptionist might have been a low order demon, but these guys looked like any one of them could kick Jason Bourne's ass.

"That didn't take long," I muttered. I glanced around, picked a direction that didn't have a huge demon in the way, and started running. I sprinted toward a hallway that appeared empty. Two of the security demons on opposite sides of the hallway adjusted their angles to cut me off before I could reach it.

The body I'd had since becoming the devil was big and fast and strong—much more powerful than the adolescent body I was used to. I felt my adrenaline surging and my confidence building as I rushed on a collision course with the two bulky demons.

The one approaching from my left reached me first. He threw an arm out to clothesline me, with his other arm swinging wide, apparently to grab me from behind. I ducked under the arm in front of me, pivoted, pressed my hand against his face, and, with a simple thought, shot a burst of fire from my palm. The demon fell off to one side, screaming. I glanced back briefly and saw his entire head engulfed in flames.

The demon from the right beat me to the hallway and blocked its entrance with his body. He thrust his hands forward and sent a huge fireball rolling toward me. I tried to push it back toward him, but he was strong and I only managed to deflect it to one side. It continued past me, and I gathered from the noise that it took out one of my other pursuers.

The demon blocking the hallway stood firm as I charged him. Then he caused the floor to erupt in front of him, sending heavy chunks of tile flying upward. He held them suspended, giving him a protective wall of sharp broken tile. The intent, I think, was to slow me down. Instead, I ducked, powered through the floating debris with my shoulder, plucked a hefty chunk from the air with a free hand, whirled, and let the tile fly from my fingers. I sent it spinning and hurtling at his head from only a few feet away. It would have been a fantastic display of athleticism had my aim not sucked. He didn't even bother ducking as the piece of tile thrown from five feet away sailed harmlessly over his head.

Unfortunately, I had way too much momentum and I couldn't stop. I collided with him, breaking his concentration and causing the rubble suspended in the air behind us to clatter back to the ground. As the two of us went down, I reached frantically for a heavy chunk. I found one and tried to beat his head in with it as I held him trapped beneath me. He moved his head to dodge three times before I realized that if I bludgeoned him from the side instead of from above it would be a lot harder for him to get his skull out of the way. After that, it didn't take long to render him unconscious.

I stood up, stepped over him, and was immediately tackled from behind. The demon who'd caught me had grabbed me around the ribs to take me down. When we hit the ground, my lower body was pinned under him, much in the way my last adversary had been pinned, except that my arms and torso were free. I squirmed and writhed frantically to get loose.

"Hey," the demon cooed mockingly. He sounded like he was talking to a child. Or maybe a kitten. "Hey, where you going, little guy?" He roughly turned me over, sat on my legs, and held me down by the shoulders.

He was big. Easily the biggest of the five. His arms looked like they had armor plating instead of muscles. His flesh was dark, steely gray. He was dense, bulky, and—I learned as I tried to wriggle free—deceptively fast. Gavsot was a beast. Azraal was a badass. This guy dwarfed them both and I'm pretty sure he considered himself a big fish in a huge hellish pond. But maybe, in the context of something as lame-sounding as the Department of Transportation, he was more like a great white shark in a kiddie pool.

He smiled down at me, baring small, angular teeth. "We haven't met," he hissed tauntingly. "But I know all about you. Granddaddy ran off and left you in charge and since then this whole place has been spiraling out of control. So let's go see Azraal," he suggested. "Establish some stability under new leadership. What do you say?"

The whole time he was speaking, I was struggling uselessly against him, searching for any kind of weakness. I couldn't slide out from under his arms. His body kept my legs pinned. He even shrugged off the blast of fire I shot directly at his face. I punched at his stomach, kicked in futility, and brought a chunk of the ceiling down across his shoulders to no avail.

Then it occurred to me—no matter how big a guy is, there's one great spot to hit him that's especially vulnerable when he's unclothed. So for the first time, I decided I was going to touch somebody else's penis.

"What's the matter?" my hulking captor teased. "Giving up so soon?"

"Just taking a little break," I grunted. I swiftly reached out, gripped his penis and his testicles with both hands, and squeezed. Hard. And for good measure, I also lit his crotch on fire. I had to give the guy some credit. For the first few seconds, he only gritted his teeth and glowered down at me. But, eventually, even he couldn't withstand the pain.

He screamed. It was probably the worst sound I'd ever heard, other than the screeching of the pit guards. It was low, throaty and raw, growing into a terrible crescendo that added elements of hoarse shrieking and animalistic roaring that didn't all sound like they were capable of being made by the same creature simultaneously. The volume became almost as unbearable as the pain in his loins surely must have been.

He finally released his hold on my shoulders to grip my arms and tear them from his crotch. So I dug my fingers in deeper. Rather than have me tear his genitalia into flaming, bloody chunks, he began trying to pry each of my fingers loose, one at a time. I slipped one hand out and let him focus on the other. With my free hand, I waved toward the front desk, and—taking care not to glance at the receptionist's impressive rack—I brought the entire, massive thing hurtling across the room toward us.

The demon was so distracted by prying my index finger from between his testicles that he didn't see it coming. The desk collided solidly with his huge frame and sent him crashing into the wall. Suddenly, I was free. I brushed the bits of scrotum skin out from under my fingernails and got to my feet.

I raced down the hallway with a couple of the other security guards on my tail. Near the end of the tiled hallway was a pair of double doors labeled with the familiar logo for stairs. As I burst into the stairwell, I was struck by how familiar the dull echoing of my movements was in the empty space. It was just like every stairwell I'd ever used in a school except that it was located in Hell. It was bizarre. Or maybe meaningful. I wasn't sure. I also didn't have a whole lot of time to reflect on the possible significance of this part of hell feeling exactly like my high school.

I hurried up toward Azraal's office with a growing number of demons chasing me. As I crashed through the doors into the blandly carpeted hallway on the fourth floor, I wondered if it would be safe to assume that Azraal now knew I was coming.

I sensed the noise die down behind me and turned. The dozen-or-so demons that had been chasing me seconds earlier were now gathering in the hallway, blocking any effort I could make to return to the stairs. The big gray one I'd nearly castrated strode to the front of the group, crossed his massive arms, and smirked.

I turned the opposite direction and stared at the last door at the end of the hall. On the translucent glass was etched _Azraal - Director of Transportation_.

I was pretty sure that he was expecting me. Especially when I heard him say, "Come on in!" from behind the door. Hesitantly, I stepped inside his office, holding the knife at the ready, prepared to strike as soon as he moved toward me.

He was standing in one corner of the room, looking very calm. His arms were at his sides in a pose of cool relaxation that was completed by the lit cigarette held loosely in his left hand. "I see you've come armed," he said, nodding toward my knife. "Do you plan to kill me with that thing?" he teased.

I stepped forward hesitantly. "This isn't just an ordinary knife," I said, trying to keep my voice firm. It trembled a little bit. I think my hand did too. My attempt at bravado was pretty transparent.

He strolled casually over to his desk, widening his eyes and raising his eyebrows in a calculatedly absurd caricature of fear. "Ooh," he taunted. "So you plan to kill me with an extraordinary knife. How terrifying." He leaned forward, rested his palms on the desk and gave me a sarcastic glare. "I'm at your mercy. You have my undivided attention."

I stepped forward a little more. I was maybe eight feet away from him, still holding the knife in front of me and wondering how close I should get before I tried to stab him. The fleeing in terror phase of the plan was sounding really good right about now and I wanted to hurry up and get there.

"This is no ordinary knife," I explained, "because—"

With an efficient swiftness that contrasted sharply with his earlier body language, Azraal plucked a small dagger from his desk and threw it expertly. His accuracy across such a short distance made it impossible for me to dodge, and the blade buried itself two inches deep in my chest, just below my collar bone. It was so surprising that I didn't even make a sound when it split open my flesh.

"Because it's dipped in human blood?" Azraal finished dryly. "I'm betting you didn't know this cute little spell could be used against you, did you?"

My vision started to go a little blurry and I began to have trouble determining which direction was down. Azraal stepped around the desk and grinned at me. "You're part demon now," he told me, almost laughing. "Ever since you drank your great-granddaddy's blood, you've been some weird human-demon hybrid mutant thing." He spoke the last word with such disdain that, even though he was not someone whose opinions I trusted or valued, I was somehow still offended.

I crumpled clumsily to the floor. Azraal stood over me, chuckling to himself. "I love it when you try to plan things out so carefully," he mused, "And then some idiot comes along and just makes everything so much easier."

And then I passed out.

## Chapter Nine

I was hanging upside down.

This was the first thing I noticed when I groggily opened my eyes. I was still in Azraal's office, but I seemed to be hanging from the ceiling in the approximate center of the room.

The second thing I noticed was that my feet were in extreme, excruciating, blinding, _unbelievably crippling_ pain. I realized that I was suspended from some kind of meat hook that Azraal had mounted on the ceiling, and he'd impaled both my feet on it. A thin trickle of blood was running down my face, up my cheek, and into my eye. I blinked, but it didn't help much.

I initially tried to make any kind of movement to free myself, but I quickly realized that my arms were bound uselessly at my sides and even the tiniest squirm sent fresh jolts of pain from my feet all the way down the length of my body. I tried to summon my psychic strength to break my bonds, but I could almost feel the effects of the spell resisting my abilities.

I heard movement from the corner of the room. Azraal approached slowly, drinking a thick red liquid from a shot glass. I was pretty sure it was my blood.

"Oh, good, you're awake," he said tiredly, stopping to stand a few feet in front of me. I was hung low enough that I had a good view of his ribs. Straining to see his face was both difficult and painful. "I've just been finishing off this glass of authentic devil blood. One hundred percent natural. No additives, no preservatives, no coloring or artificial flavoring. Now it's your turn to drink."

He picked up another shot glass from his desk. It contained a small amount of what I assumed was his blood. Once I drank it, he would assume my title and my powers and I'd be just another hopeless human in some deep, merciless cavity of Hell.

Now what? My mind scrambled to find an escape plan as Azraal brought the glass of his blood over from the desk.

General Gavsot had politely but firmly refused to mount a full assault on Azraal's Department. He would only wait for me at the entrance. Gus, however loyal to me he might be, was pretty powerless. And I had no other friends down here, unless I counted Kivra as an ally. And even though she'd shown up to miraculously save me from Azraal once before, it seemed that her victory had been due to a tense one-on-one standoff. Now we were in Azraal's territory, surrounded by his goons, and his confidence had grown. Even if I could expect Kivra to swoop in to help—which seemed unlikely—the strategy she'd used last time would no longer fly.

I was on my own. I was also out of time. Azraal was bringing the glass to my lips with one hand and pinching my nostrils closed with the other.

So I just did whatever. I closed my eyes, focused on my desperation, and released its energy. I could feel the effects of the spell wearing off and I managed to send out a little pulse of _something_. The glass shattered in Azraal's hand and the ropes around my arms burst. It wasn't much, but at least it bought me a little time.

A brief look of alarm flashed across Azraal's face, but he recovered swiftly, lunging for his desk. The knife he'd used to subdue me sat by his computer keyboard.

I needed to act just as quickly. I still hung painfully from the meat hook, but at least now my hands were free—not that I knew what to do with them other than punch Azraal in the face when he tried to stab me again. And then I was suddenly struck with inspiration—I'd do it like _The Italian Job_.

Azraal turned to throw the knife at me and I focused again, mentally ripping a hole in every floor of the building and in the ceiling above me, and then forcing it all to become reality.

As Azraal hurled the dagger, a chunk of the ceiling above me came loose in a jagged little circle around where the meat hook was mounted. Simultaneously, the floor beneath my head crumbled, leaving just enough of a hole for my body to fall through. I'd done it just in time, too, because as I fell, I felt the knife clang off of the meat hook just before I disappeared beneath the floor. It sent agonizing vibrations along the hook and into my bloody feet, but it was a small price to pay for avoiding its poison.

I plummeted down three floors and collapsed painfully on the ground level. I was aware, in the back of my mind, that this would probably have killed me if I'd still been completely human. Instead, due to my demonized physical state, I was simply in an intense amount of pain.

"He's on the ground floor!" I heard Azraal bellow from above me. "Get him, you dumb fucks!"

I sat up, hurriedly but gingerly pulled the hook out of my feet, and tossed it aside. I stood, wincing at the pain, and, realizing that my fate depended heavily on my ability to quit worrying about the pain and _just fucking move_ , I limped forward as fast as I could.

Azraal erupted through the ceiling behind me, and a few of his security goons arrived only seconds behind him. He still had the knife and an unwounded pair of feet and he was coming fast.

"Somebody cover that fucking door!" he shouted volcanically as he rushed toward me. Apparently he'd gathered his forces on the fourth floor to guard against my escape and I'd circumvented them completely. The only person I could see between me and the front door was the attractive receptionist, who still sat in her chair as though she were patiently waiting for the desk to be returned to its proper place in front of her.

With a wave of my hand, I sent pieces of the floor, the walls and the ceiling hurtling chaotically across the paths of my charging adversaries. It took a few of them down, but Azraal was a little stronger and a lot more determined than his cohorts, so he extricated himself from the commotion with relative ease.

I was starting to think that I was going to get away with it. I had headed into enemy territory, gotten myself captured, and now I was about to escape. I felt awesome. Even though these guys were chasing me, I was giving them hell for it, and I would easily reach the door before they could overtake me. I suddenly felt like the ultimate personification of badassery. As I cut across the reception area and came within twenty feet of the door, I even felt courageous enough to flash a quick wink at the exceptionally well-endowed demon who had been so distracting when I first entered. She smiled at me and that fed my ego a little more. I grinned back as charmingly as I could before refocusing my attention on my escape. I was ten feet away from freedom when Azraal materialized in front of the door.

Shit. I forgot he could do that teleportation thing.

I tried to stop, but my momentum kept me barreling forward. His hand went up and I glimpsed a flash of the dagger. When his arm snapped forward, I managed to redirect some of my momentum to one side and the knife whistled harmlessly past my shoulder. I smoothly transitioned into a sideways dive and perfectly executed an extremely illegal slide tackle, bringing a very disappointed Azraal down on top of me. I shoved his tumbling body to the side, threw a quick elbow in his face, and lunged for the front door. A moment later, I positively _erupted_ out of the Department of Transportation.

Still moving as quickly as I could, but stumbling from my last leap to freedom, I careened clumsily out into the stifling, stagnant, open air of Hell. I started to speak to inform my allies that the enemy was hot on my heels, but before I could get out a single word, the enemy was on my heels. He'd dived after me and quite literally grabbed at my ankles. Though he failed to get a substantial hold, it was enough to trip me up and send me plowing face first into the ground.

Instantly, I was on the bottom of a pileup. Azraal had thrown himself on top of me and two of General Gavsot's elite soldiers had dutifully attempted to pull him off. The general had then leaped into the fray himself, wielding the blood-dipped knife. Gus was wisely standing clear and anxiously awaiting an outcome.

Luckily, Azraal regarded the demons in the pile on top of him as more of a threat than the demonized human in the pile beneath him, so rather than stabbing me with his own blood-dipped knife, he took a moment to hack and slash at Gavsot's men. He got in some pretty good hits. He cut two of the demons deeply enough for the spell to work. Gavsot's other two soldiers came to help, rolling the unconscious bodies of their comrades out of the way. But I was still being squashed by four big guys who were all trying to kill something. It was not comfortable.

It seemed as though the showdown taking place directly above my fragile rib cage was boiling down to Azraal versus Gavsot. They seemed to be the heaviest hitters, and they were the only two who had yet to take any kind of wound. Each had a blood-dipped knife that could render the other temporarily incapacitated, each was expending as much force as possible to drive that knife into the other's flesh while keeping the other's efforts from success, and each was grunting and straining at the most extreme reaches of their available strength and endurance.

I figured, since I was just lying there uselessly and getting smushed, I might as well do something to tip the scales. I reached up, grabbed Gavsot's knife-wielding wrist, and yanked down as hard as I could, which turned out to be much more useful than I'd expected. Gavsot's dagger went through Azraal's eyeball. Azraal let out a very understandable scream of pain but it faded as the bloodstained knife took effect.

General Gavsot stood and extended a hand towards me. I gripped his wrist and he fluidly slid me out from under Azraal's body and lifted me to my feet. "Good work," he said.

"Thanks," I replied. Then it occurred to me that I was supposed to be the supreme ruler around here. "Uh, you too," I added.

"We need to move him to a cell and work the spell before he wakes up." He nodded to Lokir, who was his only remaining conscious soldier. He had a long but shallow gash running diagonally across his upper body and he appeared to be in a great deal of discomfort from other unseen injuries.

Gus sidled up next to me as we watched the soldiers scoop up Azraal's inert form. "So...you were in there a bit longer than we expected."

"Yeah," I said. "The perfect plan hit a snag or two."

"A snag?"

I shrugged. "Or two," I answered vaguely. "Um...we should go before Azraal's goons decide to stage a rescue operation."

Gavsot and Lokir teleported Azraal's body back to the Department of Enforcement and quickly returned for the bodies of their unconscious comrades. When they reappeared moments later, I stopped Gavsot as he put his hand on my shoulder.

"Wait!" I said. "I want to try teleporting."

He gave a slight shrug, which I interpreted to mean, "Okay, but hurry up."

I closed my eyes, pictured the front door of the Department of Enforcement, and tried to access whatever part of my brain that my psychic abilities came from. I focused as hard as I possibly could on making myself appear in the spot I was envisioning. I had my eyes squeezed so tightly in concentration that I'm a little surprised I didn't pop a blood vessel.

"Boss-Man," came Gus's strained stage whisper. "Maybe we should leave the experimentation for another time. Azraal's guys should be coming after us any second now."

It was true. I could hear them organizing themselves just behind the door. "I can get this," I murmured, trying to refocus my efforts and block out all distractions. "I feel like I'm so close...."

With a startling bang, the doors to the Department of burst open so violently that it nearly came off their hinges. My concentration broken, I glanced back toward the noise and saw at least twenty of Azraal's guard squad charging toward us.

I nodded abashedly toward Gavsot. "Fuck it, just take me," I said, and we were gone.

## Chapter Ten

Gavsot and Lokir had teleported me and Gus to a room I was not familiar with, but I assumed it must be somewhere deep in the Department of Enforcement. It was small and seemed to have been crudely assembled with mortar and large, oddly shaped slabs of gray stone. The room was featureless and bare.

In the center, a team of pit guards was busily tangling the still-unconscious Azraal in a complicated set of shackles. When they'd finished, their prisoner would have had the freedom to move in a circle about two feet in diameter—had he been awake. Instead, he lay limply crumpled in a loose bundle of chains.

"So...you just chain him up in here and he'll stay put?" I said. I felt stupid saying it, but I wanted to understand how my enemy was going to remain powerless and safely confined to this small room.

Gavsot nodded. "Yes. Provided we dose him with the spell periodically."

"And when will he—." The rest of my question was drowned out by Azraal's waking scream of rage. He was writhing against his restraints and the thick chains—unbelievably—were already beginning to bend.

General Gavsot reacted quickly. He grabbed a long spear that was standing by the door, dipped it in a bucket of a frothy reddish liquid, and swiftly drove the spear into Azraal's belly. Azraal's scream of rage became a cry of anguish, and he slowly relaxed, hanging his head in dejection. "Limiting spell," he muttered bitterly. "You fuckers."

I couldn't believe Azraal's body language. The cocksure demon who'd gloated over his victory a few minutes earlier had seemingly accepted his defeat as he sat pitifully in this hellish jail cell, looking weak and humbled.

"He will be essentially human for the next few hours," Gavsot's soldier said, sensing my curiosity. "He will have limited strength and no psychokinetic abilities whatsoever. Every five hours a guard will stab him again with that same cocktail, effectively rendering him powerless until we choose to release him."

"What's in the cocktail?" I asked.

"Human blood," he said, "among other things that you would likely find unpleasant." He motioned for us to leave the cell. When I stepped into the dark, winding hallway and the cell door closed behind me, I suddenly realized that our crazy little plan had actually been a success.

"General Gavsot," I said authoritatively. "I want to thank you for your assistance. One of the greatest threats to my reign has been captured, and I couldn't have done it without you."

Gavsot gave a stiff, formal bow. "Of course." I thought I detected a slight tone of respect in his curt response.

"If you'd like some more heads to bust," I added, "perhaps you'd like to keep the Department of Transportation in line for a while. You know, make sure they don't try to mount a rescue?"

"With pleasure," he replied, and turned as though he was about to get started on his new assignment immediately. Then he stopped. "If I might make a suggestion, my Lord," he said hesitantly, speaking with what sounded like my formal title.

It took me a moment to realize he was asking a question. "Uh, yeah, of course," I said. "What's your suggestion?"

"You may want to consider installing a new director for the leaderless Department of Transportation," General Gavsot said. "It may help bring stability to a department that has just suffered an upheaval."

"Oh," I said. "Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. Thanks."

"Although," he continued, "if I may suggest further, you should take care to install one of your supporters as the director to help solidify your control."

"Yeah, definitely," I agreed. "That makes a lot of sense."

Gavsot gave another quick bow and teleported away. I glanced at Gus. "So should I find a new Director?" I asked.

Gus shrugged. "Gavsot's right," he admitted. "But you kind of have a problem." I raised my eyebrows to prompt him to speak further.

"You don't have any supporters to install as a Director," he said candidly.

I chuckled. "Yeah. Well, I guess I'll have to find one."

"How are you going to do that?"

"Well, I can't trust most demons," I reasoned. "And Winston shows that humans can be decent department directors. Maybe I'll pick a recently deceased human who can be my loyal follower in return for being spared the tortures of Hell."

Gus grinned at me. "Hell," he said reverently. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were starting to get good at this devilry business."

I shrugged modestly but failed to hide my smile of pride. "Maybe I'm growing into it," I said.

"Well," he summarized, "You've captured a demon, got a demon under your thumb and befriended another. You're doing okay, I'd say."

"Don't forget I still owe Kivra that favor," I said glumly.

"It's smart not to get complacent," he agreed. "There are still any number of threats out there, Kivra included. But you're making progress, bro. Not bad for a high school kid."

It actually meant a lot to hear that kind of affirmation from Gus. We'd only met recently, but considering I was in the land of the dead, cut off from everyone I knew and surrounded by treacherous demons, he was far and away the best friend I had. As long as Gus was around to crack jokes and provide me with a compass in this turbulent ocean of hellish madness, maybe I'd be able to handle being the devil.

"Okay," I said excitedly. "What's next?"

Gus shrugged. "You tell me, Boss-Man."

"Let's go home and pick a new director," I said.

He smiled at me. "Not to contradict what I just said about you making progress and everything, but...we're in the middle of the Department of Enforcement."

It took me a minute to catch his meaning. Then I rolled my eyes, pulled my phone from my pocket, and dialed quickly.

"Hello, General?" I said in embarrassment. "Yeah...I kind of need a ride."

Thanks for reading!

If you enjoyed _The New Devil_ , I hope you'll consider leaving a quick review on Smashwords or Goodreads. Reviews and ratings go a long way toward encouraging others to read.

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I hope to see you in some of my other books! And please be sure to check out the next few volumes of _The New Devil._

Alex
