Chapter One #2
Under Mammon’s influence, Preacher swapped his tent and stage for a morning slot on Channel 6. Tied himself to a few young politicians, including some actor from California who was making waves at the time. Man started raking in the dough—and got closer and closer to Mammon in the process.
But it wasn’t until Phil got involved that Mammon’s preacher project became Satanic Panic, Inc.
When Phil overheard Mammon bragging about the conquest to Lucifer, he suggested to the boss that there might be a way to use the human’s congregation for Hell’s greater cause. Spread a little of our own literature, make a little of our own currency.
After all, the preacher had made so much money on Earth, he was tripping over himself to do anything Mammon suggested—especially since he’d already sold his soul. He was out for as much money and power as he could get.
We still don’t know how this guy got his hands on the Book of Solomon.
He wasn’t exactly eager to share that story with the underworld.
But at Phil’s suggestion, Mammon convinced him that planting a page or two from Solomon’s book in a church pamphlet about the horrors plaguing today’s youth could actually help the preacher gain more power.
One little mention of the occult on that guy’s sermon broadcast, and now a human can’t turn on the evening news without seeing some graphic of a summoning circle plastered beside the anchor’s face.
A summoning circle that’s been copied again and again, spreading like wildfire to folks across the world.
I gotta admit, it was a good idea on Phil’s part. Especially when the circle in question happens to connect to one right under my desk. Business has never been better.
We’ve got so many departments in this building, I can’t even keep track.
Everything from talent deals and favors to revenge plots and summons.
Very few specialize in possessions, and fewer still are as niche as our office.
Even so, Possess-An-Ex has exceeded all expectations, in part due to Phil’s influence.
A pool of slobber soaks into the carpet as Bubby gnaws at his toy. Yeah, he’s a smart demon. Doesn’t mean I don’t like to mess with him on occasion.
Phil hates pets. But he needs me. Our contract is binding now—he’s stuck with me for the next ten years, whether he wants to be or not. And if I have to suffer through working for him? Then he’s gotta deal with my baby.
No sooner do I get settled in my cubicle than the Ouija board begins to ring. Eve sighs, checking the memo from the call center before placing her hands on the planchette. As her fingers connect, she begins to glow, and her essence mirrors itself to the other side.
Maybe I’ll get lucky, and this’ll be another witchy bachelorette party.
I feel a familiar tug behind my navel, and I barely have a second to put my coffee down before the summoning is underway.
“Human woman in Los Angeles, California. Wants you to possess her ex-boyfriend so she can get him in trouble with his parents.” Eve shouts the details across the office. “You know the deal. Payment first.”
“Any idea how–” I don’t get the chance to finish asking for more details before it happens.
Suddenly grateful I skipped breakfast, I endure the swirling vortex of trans-dimensional travel for the few seconds it takes to make the trip. My essence squeezes, my atoms scramble, all amounting to one Hell of a migraine and upset stomach. It’s torture, but it’s short.
Before I know it, I’m on Earth, blinking away my nausea and standing on what appears to be a spray-painted summoning circle on a white, plastic mat covered in large, primary-colored dots.
Kneeling before me, dressed in some pink-and-white cheerleading outfit and covered in green face paint and scars, is a twenty-something blonde. She’s clutching a wrinkled piece of paper in her hands, and has a determined look on her face deliciously framed by her side bangs and pigtails.
Pigtails.
Fuck me. I scan the rest of my surroundings.
A rather dark room, lit only by candlelight and what appears to be the magenta glow of a garish lava lamp in the corner.
We’re squeezed into the only free floor space, with the plastic mat covering hard tile.
There are laminate counters surrounding three of the four walls, and dozens of photos hanging from a line of string crisscrossing the ceiling.
“Are you the demon that possesses exes for revenge?” Blondie says. My eyes dart back to her, taking in the heavily shadowed eyes and the barest peek of reddish-brown at her roots that betray she isn’t a natural blonde.
I straighten, planting my hooves and taking up every bit of my 5’7” height. My horns brush a photograph. I answer in a deep, growly voice that exudes power.
“Only if you’re willing to pay the price.”
I pause, soaking in the moment. Letting a human see my true form, holding their soul as collateral. I can see why crossroads demons get off on this kind of thing. The rush of the deal. It’s heady.
This is normally the moment where the summoner realizes the full extent of who they’re dealing with. The gravity of the fact that they just summoned a capital-D Demon, and it’s time to pay up.
This bitch, however, doesn’t seem too quick on the uptake. She shifts her shoulders, and her white sneakers brush a set of pom-poms by her feet. “How does that work? Do you accept AMEX?”
I hide my snort with a soft chuckle. Then I let a low snarl color my voice. “It doesn’t work like that, Blondie. This is a demon you’re talking to. We only deal in souls.”
“Fuck.” A pink-lit hand with long, black-painted nails scrubs down her face. “I’m fresh out.”
I blink. My voice falters.
“I beg your pardon?”
“This ain’t my first rodeo. You want my soul, you’re gonna need to take it from the last demon I bartered with.”
“You’ve done this before?”
The cool demeanor I wear whenever dealing with humans drops. This has never happened before. How corrupt has humanity become that they’re literally running out of souls to trade to Hell?
I take in the young woman with fresh eyes, suddenly apprehensive. She’s not slow on the uptake. She’s… “Who exactly did you sell your soul to?”
She crosses her arms. “What’s it to you?”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Okay, new tactic. What would Phil do in this situation?
This completely unprecedented situation.
Stall?
“If we need to track them down to collect payment, we’ll need to take that into account. If it was a deal with Lucifer–”
“Oh please.” She stands then, cocking her hip with an attitude worthy of Lilith herself. “If I had a direct line to the King, you think I’d be bothering with some random demon summoning hotline?”
Music pumps in the background as we stare at each other. And voices. It sounds like a party is happening beyond the door.
I don’t even know what to say in response, so I just stare at her.
Her eyes dart to the door, before she deflates with a sigh. “My soul’s spoken for, okay? You gotta take something else.”
The fingers of her left hand tap absentmindedly against the creamy skin of her thigh while she clenches her right fist tight by her side. Almost like she’s resisting the urge to bite her nails.
The music outside the room stops abruptly, followed by some shouting, and her gaze shoots to the door again. I cross my arms.
“Unless you have an account of blood diamonds hidden behind your lava lamp, toots, I hardly believe…” I trail off as she bends down and picks up a worn leather bag, filled to the brim with… “Are those danakai?”
Even in the low, magenta light of the lava lamp, I can make out the iridescent sparkle of Charon’s signature mythical currency. No fucking way.
I thought they were a myth.
“Where did you get those?”
“Do you take ‘em or not? I got a whole grimoire full of you fuckers I can call.”
For about two seconds, I weigh my options.
There are few official currencies of Hell.
Souls, obviously, are the most common, and the most valuable.
Humans make a contract with a demon while still alive to sell their afterlife to the lienholder in Hell.
Most of the damned are bound to one of the Princes, including demons who’ve been in hell so long they can’t even remember who owns them.
Every human who sells their soul ends up in the service of Lucifer or one of his brothers once they die.
And it’s those contracts that make the underworld go ‘round.
Blood diamonds are more for show than anything.
They’re like poker chips, almost, and the roads of the Greed district are paved with them.
Demons love shiny things, and are as prone to hoarding them as they are collecting souls—although it’s easier to rummage up a collection of blood diamonds from betting on the fighting pits than through a soul contract.
Demons like me who can’t hold soul contracts sometimes pretend that they’re the real currency of Hell, but we all know that’s bullshit.
But danakai… Those are a whole other ballgame.
Long ago, if a human had any rich surviving family that mourned their passing, they’d bury them with coins on their eyes to pay the ferryman’s fare to cross the River Styx.
Styx leads to the other side of the afterlife, the non-Hell side.
Rumor has it, if someone dies with a coin on their person, they can carve their name—their real name—into the coin and use it to buy their non-transferable ticket to Asphodel.
Of course, you have to know your name to carve it into the coin. And if you’ve sold your soul?
Good luck with that.
Most of those who die with danakai who have their souls give the coins to Charon. Why wouldn’t they? It’s either that or literal Hellfire. But the ones who’ve made a demon deal take their blank coins with them to the underworld.
They usually get cheated out of them in the first week.
The thing is, when you get a coin, you use it. Because of that, the currency is rare.