Sorren
“Are you going to sign the contract or what?” Malachi asks, impatiently sliding the papers across the glossy marble conference room table toward me. I stare down at the papers that have been tediously negotiated over the course of the last few months.
“Did Debra from Accounting sign off on this?” I ask, pushing it back.
She was the final step in this arduous process.
It’s been centuries since the last leadership transition, and it’s the first one in modern times.
Back then, it was just a council of demons all vying for control of Hell.
Now, it’s siloed departments, legal opinions, and litigious demons with nothing but time on their hands. Your standard corporate bureaucracy.
“She approved it this morning,” Malachi says, sending them in my direction.
“But I don’t want it.”
“But it’s your birthright.”
“Primogeniture isn’t a thing, and you know it.”
“Then it’s because you’re smarter. Now stop stalling, and sign the damned thing.”
“All I’d have to do is cross out my name and write yours,” I urge, offering my half-brother the keys to the kingdom. Take it. This could all be yours. Save us both.
Malachi considers the stack in front of him, and I can see the wheels turning in his head.
He’s either calculating the time it would take to get a new contract drawn up or considering the all-encompassing responsibility that comes with being CEO of Hell.
It’s something I haven’t stopped thinking about since my name was floated to take over.
“That wouldn’t be fair, big brother. You’ve been working the family business for decades. You know this place inside and out.” He pushes his hair into place between his two curved horns, a lifelong nervous habit.
At first, it felt like an honor to be considered. Then, all I felt was dread. I’m happy in my current position. I like working in the background. Being the face of Hell sounds like… hell.
Signing the contract is the right thing to do. We all agree. But there is still something inside stopping me from putting pen to paper. I take off my glasses, slide them into my chest pocket, and rub the bridge of my nose, my standard delay tactic.
Malachi’s patience is at a boiling point, his thin pointed tail whipping behind him. “It’s what Father would have wanted.”
His perfectly aimed words hit me square in the chest. Kill shot.
I grab the fountain pen, unscrew the top, and rest the metal nib on the thick paper.
My vision goes black, air is ripped from my lungs, and a scream echoes around me. A strange sound pulses in my ears, and I can feel the vibrations in my diaphragm. The next thing I know, my feet are back on the ground and everything has gone quiet.
Wherever I am, the light is painfully bright and it’s cold. My foot slides on the slick floor, and I’m about to eat shit when I catch myself on what appears to be a kitchen counter. Everything is hazy. I reach for my glasses and put them back on.
Much better.
I’m in the human realm, but how the hell did I get here?
It feels different this time—I’ve never been corporeal in my brief visits in the past. The air feels strange when it pushes against my skin rather than flowing through me.
It doesn’t smell like the sterile conference room I just left.
Here, the scent of burnt herbs and melted wax tickles my nose.
A woman lies face down on the floor. The tendril of smoke rising from the tiny cauldron in front of her and the lingering sensation of magick leads to one conclusion: A witch.
I’ve never seen one before. I nudge her carefully with my foot, and she flops over.
I’m relieved she’s not stiff with rigor.
She doesn’t look like the witches I’ve been warned about since I was young.
This can’t be the same kind of witch used to scare little demons.
Witches are supposed to be old and wrinkly.
Their eyes are yellow, and they cook naughty young demons in their giant pots when they wander too far from home.
Where are the long black robes hiding demon-slaying weapons?
This one is young, her skin is smooth, and instead of creepy robes, she’s wearing frayed jean shorts and a white T-shirt. Her hair is brown and golden, laying in waves around her face. She’s pretty. The ripples of magick coming off her while she’s passed out tell me she must be very powerful.
“Show me your secrets, witch,” I mutter, peeking through her cabinets and drawers while she’s knocked out. If she’s holding on to spare demon parts, I’m going to find them. I tuck her biggest kitchen knife into my belt, so when she wakes up, I’ll be ready for her.
Down in the basement, I’m especially relieved to find boxes of junk and not bound demons being tortured to death.
I hug the wall as I climb the stairs where I find two small bedrooms and closets packed tightly with mismatched linens and towels.
Everything feels so aggressively colorful up here.
Hell is a spectrum of beiges and grays, every demon’s fantasy.
There aren’t any weapons to be found. I might have been yanked out of my realm by a powerful magick, but somehow landed in this strange, seemingly harmless witch’s house. None of this makes any sense.
Cautiously, I peer into her bedroom. Dark wood furniture and ceiling beams accent another colorful room. It looks soft in there, not like the den of wickedness I’d been warned about. I swallow down my irrational fear with a gulp and step inside. The floor creaks beneath my feet, and I jump.
I creep toward a window, hoping to get my bearings and get home.
I pass by a floor-length mirror and freeze.
I’m shocked by the human reflection that looks back at me.
I run a hand over my head, checking for my horns, but only feel soft, wavy hair.
My thick beard is gone, and instead of blazing red with the fires of Hell, my eyes are brown.
Where did my fires go? I worked hard for those!
I grab my crotch with sheer panic. A cautious squeeze. Okay. Everything seems accounted for, but I need visual confirmation. I yank my waistband out and peer down into my pants. Still there, human-flesh colored, but structurally, things seem okay.
I tuck it away before the witch catches me with my dick in my hand.
Luckily, my black slacks and stiff, buttoned-up shirt survived the summoning. It would have been awkward to show up in this human body completely naked.
I move closer to the window and peek out from behind the curtain down into the backyard.
It’s dark outside, but a small light on the house illuminates a garden full of plants and flowers.
A sizable stack of broken tools and instruments sends a chill down my spine.
The shiver ends too quickly, and I spin, looking for my tail.
It’s gone too! What the fuck am I supposed to do without my tail?
Outside, movement at the back fence grabs my attention, a small feline familiar slinks through the tall grass against the faded pickets. Finally, I’ll get some answers.
No longer concerned with being quiet, I run down the narrow staircase, leap over the witch—who is still passed out on the floor—and through the back door with a crash, calling out for the creature.
“Hey!”
It tilts its head curiously at me, but doesn’t say a word.
“Hi! I’m Sorren. Is this your witch?” I gesture behind me with a thumb, but it just stares at me with suspicion and doesn’t say a word.
I’m already getting off on the wrong foot, felines can be the most aloof of all.
I change tactics and turn my attention away from the creature, and let it come to me.
From the corner of my eye, pretending to be disinterested, I watch the feline tentatively step one paw toward me and inch forward.
I don’t get any sense of magick from the animal and it dawns on me.
It’s just some cat. It gains confidence and comes all the way up to me.
It rubs its soft face against my hand before winding between my legs, purring loudly.
It is a he, and I lift him up. The cat goes limp in my arms and continues his loud purr.
I scratch his white furry belly, and he bats at my hand with soft paws.
“Hey, little guy.”
A soft groan from inside the house spooks the cat. He jumps out of my arms and darts through the fence.
Back inside, I kneel over the witch as her face comes alive, slowly opening her eyes.
Her eyelids flutter as beautiful green eyes—not yellow—slowly widen into pure terror.
We both scream at the same time. I fall back onto my heels as she scrambles away.
A picture crashes squarely on my head when I bang into the wall behind me.
She climbs under the kitchen table and clings to the wooden leg for dear life.
“Ouch.” I rub the sore spot on my head. Coincidentally, the place my horns would have protected.
“Who. Are. You?” she asks, hyperventilating between each word.
I’m the vulnerable one in this situation, but she looks terrified.
“I’m Sorren. Who are you?” I check my hand for blood from the sharp-edged picture frame, the fear in her eyes makes mine dissipate.
“Ev—Eva,” she says, still out of breath. “How did you get in here?”
“You tell me, one minute I was sitting in a boardroom, the next I’m sucked through the realms and dropped here. Into what, I presume, is your house.”
“Realms?” Her bright eyes are wild as she tries to put together all the pieces.
The magick surrounding her has intensified to an intoxicating level.
It’s a rush of excitement and terror all at once.
It lowers my inhibitions. I should be defending myself, but instead, I want to know all about this mysterious woman who can pull demons from the underworld.
I stand up, brush the broken glass off my shirt, and put my hand out to help her up. “You can come out from under there.”
What am I doing? She could kill me with a simple hex, and here I am helping her up?
“You’re not going to kill me?” she asks, not loosening her grip on the table.
“Are you going to kill me?” I turn the question back on her.
“Of course not!” she snaps with a frown.
The righteous fury in her tone draws a laugh out of me. “Then you have your answer.”
More guarded than her cat, she climbs out from under the table.
The witch doesn’t take her eyes off me for a single second.
Eva briefly stands at her full height before her eyes roll back into her head, and she crumples back down toward the ground.
I catch her mid-fall and carry her to the soft couch in the living room.