Page 12 of Just One Little Bargain

Active volcanoes seem oddly specific.

By the time I finish, my hand is cramping, my knee won’t stop bouncing, and I’m pretty sure this entire process is an endurance test disguised as paperwork.

I bring everything back to Thessara, and she accepts the stack without comment, her long fingers pulling the forms toward her with mechanical efficiency. Her milky yellow eyes scan each page, and I swear she’s not reading them so much as absorbing their essence through sheer bureaucratic osmosis.

Stamp. Next page. Stamp. Next page.

The rhythm is relentless.

A smell slips in through the vents. Scorched metal first. Then a sweetness so aggressive it turns hostile. Then a warm copper note underneath both that settles in the back of my throat and refuses to leave.

A few demons in the waiting area adjust in their seats. Nobody says anything. The room collectively upgrades from bored to bored and mildly inconvenienced, which appears to be the maximum emotional response this warrants.

The intercom crackles. “Attention Level Six departments. The Soul Furnace is operating at one hundred and forty-three percent capacity due to the quarterly backlog. Adjacent floors may experience elevated temperatures, odor migration, and minor auditory seepage.”

Minor. Auditory. Seepage.

Three words that should never be arranged in that order.

“The facilities have been notified,” the intercom continues. “Estimated resolution timeline is under review. In the interim, complimentary atmospheric treatment will be distributed to affected areas. Thank you for your continued service.”

A facilities imp arrives with a spray canister labeled MOUNTAIN BRIMSTONE: SPRING BREEZE EDITION and mists the nearest vent with a scent that simulates a meadow within a chemical plant. The floral agent collides with the Furnace stench and produces a third, hybrid smell more offensive than either of its parents.

If I fail this assignment, I won’t be smelling it from up here anymore. I’ll be down there, contributing to the backlog.

Thessara stamps the final page.

“Your reinstatement has been processed.” She doesn’t look up. “You are now eligible for summoning assignments. The system tracks mortal realm ritual activity as it happens and assigns available demons automatically.”

Stamp.

“Average wait for the first summoning is seventy-two hours.”

Seventy-two hours of waiting and dreading and—

The air snaps tight as summoning magic hooks into my chest and pulls.

Thessara’s eyes widen. “Oh. Or immediate assignment. That also happens sometimes.”

The pull tightens and yanks me backward. My shoes scrape across the stone floor.

“Wait, I just registered. I haven’t—”

“Please remember to review your compliance documentation.” She’s back to her script voice. “Have a productive assignment!”

The summoning magic wrenches me out of Hell.

Chapter 5

Evie

The bath is perfect until my fingers turn into prunes somewhere around refill number three.

My hair hangs in wet, dark ropes down my back, and I work leave-in conditioner through it on autopilot, the lavender scent filling the small space. Daisy gave me this bottle last Christmas with a lecture about self-care. My sister genuinely believes wellness comes in packages with minimalist labels and costs forty dollars.

I pull on the orange silk pajama set she also forced on me during one of her intervention shopping trips. The shorts are too short and the color too bright, but they’re comfortable, and no one’s here to see me anyway.

The cottage feels smaller at night. Shadows pool between my mismatched furniture: the mustard yellow armchair I rescued from a yard sale, the teal bookshelf sagging under paperback weight, the constellation of framed pressed flowers covering my eastern wall. The hardwood floors cool my bare feet as I pad into the living room, my toes catching on the uneven board that always creaks beyond the hallway threshold.