Devilish Deals

He found her sobbing in the stairwell at work. Her dark brown hair crumbled around a red face smudged by tears. His heart thudded; this was the perfect prey. The perfect soul to catch was always a desperate one. He cleared his throat, distracting the woman from her sniffles.

When she saw him, her eyes widened, revealing every red vein, bright from crying. He often had this startled response—maybe it was the wings. Or the horns. Or, he thought, as his tail twitched involuntarily behind him, it was that.

"What-what are you?" She stuttered, the sadness in her voice turned to fear. That often happened, too. But no matter. Those who were afraid were still desperate.

He raised a black eyebrow. "You summoned me, remember?"

The woman scowled, her eyes darting left to right as she undoubtedly was scanning for memories of something she said or how she might know him. He sighed and waved a hand, letting the right memory surface to her mind—the memory of exactly forty-two minutes ago, 12:23. He watched it play out with her.

The woman was at her work desk, hovering over the files she had to make, but also on the phone screen that lay open before her. She was ruminating over the distressing break-up text she got that morning. Her long-term boyfriend of three years was moving out of their cozy apartment, and he couldn't bring himself to tell her to her face. In another tab on her laptop, was the email she received from her boss rejecting her suggestion of vacation time. And there it was—he grinned as he watched—the icing on the cake. A typically harmless coworker had gotten into office pranks, and she was to be the next unsuspecting victim. When she opened her next file folder to discover they had been replaced with photos from her Facebook—specifically a lot of pictures of her with her now ex—she stood up on her chair and announced to the office, "I would sell my soul for an ounce of respect!"

And she ended up here, crying over heartbreak and ridicule, for the last half hour. He could feel her wondering if her bargain was worth something. Which was why he was here. To collect.

As if just realizing this, the woman raised her own dark eyebrows. "You're—you're the devil?" She asked this in disbelief.

He opened his arms to his sides. "The devil, Satan, Lucifer, Luci, call me what you like, Delaney."

"You know my name?" She seemed to back even more into the corner.

"I may not be the big guy, but I do know things." Luci grinned. "I know you want respect. From your silly coworkers, your boss who underestimates you, and most of all, that boy who broke your heart."

Delaney narrowed her eyes. Her tears had seemed to dry instantly. "And all I have to do is sell my soul," she retorted sarcastically.

Luci wrinkled his nose. Finding new clients wasn't typically hard—they were vulnerable and eager for all the finer things in life: riches, beauty, popularity. He sent glimpses of achievements her way, but she seemed to wave them away effortlessly.

"I don't care about that stuff," Delaney scoffed.

He only grinned. "Maybe you don't actually care about popularity and respect but think how amazing it would be to feel it. And most of all, to get revenge on that silly boy."

Delaney's eyes widened, just for a second, but it was enough for Luci to know he tempted her. And that temptation always tasted delicious. Still, Delaney crossed her arms. "I'm not stupid, you know. You're going to screw me over. I might have a day of happiness in return for my firstborn or whatever." She paused, chewing on her lower lip. "Plus, you're probably not even real. I'm casually going crazy in the stairwell." She laughed bitterly.