Chapter 14
Chapter
Fourteen
Mal stood in front of the Records Department and tried to summon the motivation to go in. He really hadn’t wanted to be back here so soon, but Ethan was right. They needed to clarify the terms of their deal, and this was the only place where Mal could get the records required to do so.
He just needed to get this over with. Walk in, request the information about virginity definitions in contracts, and walk out. Simple.
Except nothing in Hell was ever simple.
The glass doors slid open with an ominous hiss, releasing a wave of stale air that smelled of old parchment and despair. Inside, rows of cubicles stretched into darkness. The fluorescent lights above flickered, powered by the souls of bureaucrats who'd made everyone's lives miserable in life and now continued their work in death.
Mal approached the front desk where a female demon with three heads was arguing with herself.
"The form clearly states—" the left head started.
"But according to subsection seven—" the middle head interrupted.
"Both of you are wrong," the right head snapped. "It's clearly outlined in the appendix."
All three heads turned to glare at Mal when he cleared his throat.
"What?" they demanded in unison.
"I need to consult the Infernal Guidelines regarding soul contracts." Mal tried to keep his voice steady. "Specifically about... um... the technical definition of certain human activities."
The right head raised an eyebrow. "Which activities?"
Mal felt his face heat up. How was he supposed to discuss this with a demon who had three faces to judge him with?
Before he could come up with an answer, the three-headed demon pulled out a form from somewhere beneath the desk. "Fill this out first," the middle head said while she slapped it down on the counter with enough force to make Mal jump. "In triplicate."
Mal picked up the form. The paper felt warm against his fingers, like it had recently been pulled from a printer. "Request for Access to Infernal Guidelines Regarding Mortal Activities and Their Impact on Soul Collection," he read aloud. "That seems straightforward enough."
The left head snorted. "Just wait until you get to page twelve."
"Twelve?" Mal flipped through the form. The pages seemed to multiply as he touched them, sprouting new sections and subsections like some kind of demonic origami. "But I only need to know one specific thing about?—"
"All requests must be properly documented." The right head's voice could have frozen hellfire. "Unless you'd prefer we file a report about your inability to follow basic procedures?"
"No, no." Mal clutched the form to his chest. "I'll fill it out."
He retreated to one of the waiting area chairs, which must have been carefully designed by Hell's finest torture experts to be just uncomfortable enough to make sitting feel like a punishment. The leather squeaked as he sat down.
The form started innocently enough with his name and department. But by page three, the questions became exceedingly annoying.
What was the exact temperature in Hell's ninth circle at the time of your conception of this query?
List all demonic infractions committed by your third cousin twice removed on your father's side (if applicable).
How many souls have you personally processed in the last fiscal quarter? Please provide their names, dates of collection, and favorite childhood memories in reverse alphabetical order.
Mal's tail curled around his ankle as he tried to think of acceptable answers. He couldn't very well write "zero" for that last one. Maybe if he just...
His pen hesitated over the paper.
A noise made him look up. Another demon had materialized in the chair across from him, somehow managing to look both bored and aggressively efficient as she filled out her own stack of forms without pause.
Mal looked back at his form. He had to do this. For Ethan. Even if it meant spending the next several hours documenting his own inadequacies in triplicate.
The thought of Ethan's question from last night made his cheeks warm. Such an innocent query about the technical definition of virginity, asked while wrapped in that blanket, wearing nothing but boxers underneath.
Mal's pen almost punctured the paper.
No. He wasn't going to think about Ethan. Or about the sounds he'd heard coming from Ethan's bedroom earlier that night...
The form burst into flames.
The demon across from him glanced up from her paperwork, all six of her eyes narrowing. "Some of us are trying to work here."
"Sorry." Mal patted out the flames, leaving scorch marks across what had been pages of meticulous documentation. Curse it. Now he'd have to start over.
He dragged himself back to the front desk. The three heads were now engaged in a heated debate about proper stapling protocols.
"Perpendicular to the corner?—"
"Forty-five degree angle?—"
"You're both wrong, as it states in section 8.3.4?—"
Mal cleared his throat again. This time, all three heads glared at him with such intensity that he would have felt the urge to shrink back if he weren’t a very evil demon himself.
"I, uh, need another form." He held up the charred remains of his first attempt. "There was a small accident."
The right head's nostrils flared. "That was our last Form 666-B."
"But surely more can be printed?"
"New forms won't be generated until the next lunar eclipse." The middle head consulted a calendar that appeared to be written in blood. "Which is in... three weeks."
"Three weeks?" That was ridiculous, even by Hell’s standards. "I need this information today! There's a date tonight and?—"
"A date?" All three heads perked up with identical expressions of malicious interest.
The left head leaned forward. "You mean you're actually working on soul collection?"
"I thought you were permanently assigned to the Dark Archives," the middle head said.
The right head's eyes narrowed. "Does Beelzebrock know about this?"
Mal tugged at his collar. "It's all properly authorized. Mostly. Sort of." He took a deep breath. "Look, I just need to know how Hell officially defines the loss of virginity. For contract purposes."
The three heads exchanged glances.
"Well," the left head said slowly, "that would fall under the jurisdiction of the Department of Carnal Knowledge..."
"Third floor," the middle head added.
"Take the stairs," the right head said with a smirk. "The elevator's been possessed by the soul of a particularly vengeful IT professional."
Mal had just reached the stairwell when a memo materialized in front of his face, the paper smoking at the edges. It hung in the air, refusing to let him pass.
REPORT TO BEELZEbrOCK'S OFFICE IMMEDIATELY
THIS MEANS NOW, MALPHAS
AND DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT FINISHING WHATEVER YOU'RE DOING FIRST
The memo burst into flames and disappeared.
Mal's shoulders slumped. Looked like the Department of Carnal Knowledge would have to wait. He turned away from the stairs and headed for the covered walkway that connected this building with the office building he’d been summoned to. There, the hallways were lined with motivational posters featuring phrases like " ETERNAL SUFFERING STARTS WITH YOU " and "THERE'S NO 'I' IN TEAM BUT THERE IS ONE IN 'INFINITE TORMENT '."
Beelzebrock's office door stood open, which was never a good sign. Through the doorway, Mal could see his boss's massive form silhouetted against the window that looked out over Hell's perpetually burning landscape.
"Come in, Malphas." Beelzebrock didn't turn around. "And close the door."
Mal stepped inside. The door swung shut behind him with the kind of finality usually reserved for tomb entrances.
"Can you explain," Beelzebrock's six eyes fixed on Mal with predatory focus, "what exactly you were thinking, abandoning your post in the Dark Archives?"
"I was summoned."
"Oh, you were summoned." One of Beelzebrock’s massive hands waved him off. "And of course you had to answer personally instead of alerting a proper soul collection specialist."
"There wasn’t any time for that."
"Do you have any idea," all six eyes narrowed to slits, "how valuable that soul is?"
Mal's tail went rigid. Of course he knew. He'd seen the way Ethan's soul gleamed, pure and bright enough to illuminate the darkness inside him. The way Ethan always had a kind word and defended Kyle even after being hurt and actually cared whether Mal was happy in his job...
"Of course you don’t know," Beelzebrock continued. "You’ve been stuck in the Dark Archives so long you probably think Hell runs on desperation alone."
"Sir, I?—"
"Any competent demon would have sealed that deal instantly." Beelzebrock drummed his fingers on his desk. "Instead, you're up there getting coffee with the human and giving him time to reconsider."
That wasn’t fair. "He had a coffee date with our target that day. I was helping him prepare."
"That’s not how it looked from here."
What had it looked like, then?
Like Mal had enjoyed his time with Ethan a little too much?
He swallowed.
His boss couldn’t get that idea.
"I’ve got things under control," Mal insisted, trying to sound more confident than he felt. "I just need to clarify one small detail about the contract terms."
"One small detail?" Three of Beelzebrock's eyes rolled while the other three remained fixed on Mal. "You mean to tell me you made a binding contract without understanding all the terms?"
"No! I mean, yes, but…" Mal tugged at his tie. "It's just a technical question."
"Malphas." Beelzebrock rose from his chair, unfolding to his full height until his horns nearly scraped the ceiling. "Do you understand what will happen if you fail to collect this soul?"
Mal hesitantly looked up at his boss. "More filing?"
"More filing?" Beelzebrock's laugh could have curdled blood. "Oh no. You'll wish for filing. Do you know where demons who fail at collecting pure souls end up?"
"The... customer service department?"
"Lower."
"Tech support?"
"Lower."
Mal licked his lips. "There's something lower than tech support?"
"The Committee for Committees." All six of Beelzebrock's eyes gleamed with unholy light. "Where you'll spend eternity participating in team-building exercises with demons who take corporate culture seriously and attending meetings to plan meetings about future meetings that all could have been emails."
A cold shiver ran down Mal's spine. "Sir, please, I just need to know how Hell officially defines virginity in terms of soul contracts. The human asked."
"The human asked?" Beelzebrock's expression shifted. "And what did you say?"
"Well, it's complicated. There are different interpretations."
"Sweet Satan below." Beelzebrock sank back into his chair. "You really are the worst demon we’ve ever produced."
Mal wasn’t sure what he’d done wrong now. But he wasn’t sure he should voice his lack of understanding, either.
Eventually, Beelzebrock clarified for him. "Any demon worth their sulfur would choose the interpretation that best serves Hell's interests."
"Am I not bound by the wording of the contract?"
"But the wording is imprecise!" Beelzebrock's fist crashed down onto his desk, sending a stack of performance reviews flying. "That created a perfect opportunity for you."
"An opportunity for what?"
"For claiming the soul faster, you absolute imp!" A vein pulsed on Beelzebrock's forehead. "Why do I have to explain this? This is demon basics. Contract Manipulation 101."
Mal shifted uncomfortably. "I just want to be fair to Ethan."
All six eyes fixed on him with annoyance. "Fair?"
"I mean?—"
"Fair?" Beelzebrock's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "Did you just say you want to be fair to the human whose soul you're collecting?"
Mal knew when it was time to shut up and shake his head.
Beelzebrock sank back into his chair. "I knew something was wrong with you from the time you were assigned to me. Everything about you was too soft. You needed more time to cook, but somewhere along the way, someone fucked up and now I’m saddled with a half-baked demon. That’s hell for you—and for me, I suppose."
Mal had no idea what to say, so he continued to say nothing.
"I can’t believe you’re the demon on this job," Beelzebrock said. "For Satan's sake, stop worrying about fairness. The human made a deal. Whatever happens now is on his soul, not yours. Now go. And don’t fuck this up."
Mal turned to leave, but something made him pause at the door. "Sir? What exactly happens to souls in the Inner Sanctum?"
"Above your pay grade, Malphas." All six eyes fixed on the papers on his desk, clearly done with the conversation. "Focus on collection. Let the higher-ups worry about processing."
But Mal couldn't stop thinking about Ethan's question from last night: Will it hurt?
"Remember what you are," Beelzebrock growled, not looking up. "A demon. Not the human’s friend."
The words followed Mal into the hallway, echoing in his head. A demon. Not Ethan's friend.
But when he thought about Ethan, about his genuine concern for Kyle, his late-night questions, the way he'd wrapped that blanket around himself and still tried to make Mal feel better about being terrible at being terrible… friendship felt like the least complicated part of what was developing between them.
Mal leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. He needed to find out what happened to pure souls in the Inner Sanctum. Even if Beelzebrock was right about the contract terms being flexible, even if it really was Mal’s job to rush Ethan into fulfilling them... didn't he owe Ethan the truth about his fate?
The question was: how to get that information without ending up in front of another three-headed clerk?
Mal stood at the edge of Hell's Ninth Circle, staring at the obsidian spires of the Inner Sanctum that rose into the perpetual darkness above. Lightning crackled between the towers, illuminating shapes that moved in the shadows… things even demons preferred not to look at directly.
The closer he got to the Sanctum, the more Mal’s courage wavered. Low-ranking demons weren’t welcome around here. The guards would probably drag him straight to Beelzebrock's office, and then it would be team-building exercises for all eternity.
But for Ethan, he had to try to get a glimpse.
"My, my. What brings Hell's least competent demon to this neck of the woods?"
Mal's spine stiffened at that familiar voice. He turned to find Raviel adjusting his perfectly-pressed suit cuffs, red tail swishing with amusement.
"Just taking a walk," Mal said.
"All the way to the Inner Sanctum?"
Mal’s gaze narrowed at Raviel. He didn’t want to ask, but what good would it do him to hang on to his pride now? "You don’t know what happens in there, do you?"
"In the Inner Sanctum?" Raviel raised an eyebrow. "Now why would you want to know about that?"
"Professional curiosity."
"Professional?" Raviel laughed. "Oh, Malphas. There's nothing professional about your interest in Ethan’s soul, is there?"
Heat crept up Mal's neck. "I just want to know what I'm getting him into."
Raviel studied him for a long moment. "You truly don’t know?" he asked, as if every proper demon should know.
"I bet you don’t know either," Mal goaded him.
"Preposterous. Of course I know."
"Then enlighten me." Mal crossed his arms. "Unless you're just pretending to know."
Raviel's tail twitched. "I've personally witnessed what happens to pure souls in there."
"Sure you have."
"Are you calling me a liar?" Raviel raised one elegant eyebrow. "I'll have you know that breaking points are my specialty. The way they shatter, piece by precious piece..." His voice took on an unsettling relish. "The pure ones last the longest, you know. Something about their inherent light makes them... resistant."
Mal's stomach churned. "Resistant to what?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?" Raviel's smile grew cruel. "Tell me, Malphas, have you ever heard a pure soul scream? Not the regular kind of screaming. I mean, the sound they make when that last thread of hope finally snaps."
"You're making this up."
"Am I?" Raviel leaned closer. "Why do you think they built the Sanctum's walls so thick? Even the highest-ranking demons prefer not to listen." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Your Ethan seems like he'd be particularly resilient. All that genuine goodness. It could take months before he finally goes dark."
Mal stared at Raviel. "Goes dark?"
"Oh." Raviel straightened his tie with a satisfied smirk. "Did I say too much?"