Not metaphorically. Not figuratively. Actual reality, in the form of a seven-foot-tall demon in full ceremonial regalia, standing in the hallway outside apartment 4C at nine o’clock on a Saturday morning.
Felix opened the door. He yelped and dropped his phone.
Ramona heard this from the kitchen. So did everyone else. Kashvi appeared from her room, eyes wide. Posey emerged from the bathroom, toothbrush still in her mouth. Zara — who’d been sitting at the dining table — went completely still, her eyes flashing black.
“Delivery for Zara of the Temptation and Minor Inconveniences Department,” the demon announced. Their voice sounded like rocks grinding together. Like the earth opening up. Like every nightmare about monsters under the bed made audible.
They were wearing what looked like formal Hell dress uniform — deep crimson robes edged in silver, covered in symbols that hurt to look at directly. Their skin was the colorof volcanic glass, and their eyes glowed with inner fire. Massive curved horns emerged from their temples, and when they moved, the air around them shimmered with heat.
Gerald, perched on the back of the couch, took one look and hid behind a cushion.
“Here,” Zara said, standing. Her voice was perfectly level. Corporate. Like seven-foot demons showed up at the apartment every day. “That’s me.”
The delivery demon consulted a tablet — because of course Hell had tablets — made of what looked like obsidian. “Zara. Topside assignment. Accidental summoning. Binding severance in progress.”
“Correct.”
“I have official documentation requiring your signature.” The demon reached into their robes and pulled out a scroll. It was massive, easily three feet long, and sealed with wax that was still smoking.
They unrolled it. The parchment crackled with an energy that made Ramona’s teeth ache.
The coffee maker burbled behind her, stupidly cheerful, while a seven-foot emissary of Hell stood in her hallway issuing paperwork. She wiped her hands on a dish towel that suddenly felt absurdly human. Cotton. Soap. Saturday morning.
“This is your formal extension notification,” the demon continued. “Four weeks to complete binding severance, submit weekly progress reports, maintain productivity standards. Failure to comply results in immediate forcible extraction and tribunal review.”
“Understood,” Zara said.
“Sign here, here, and initial in blood here.” The demon produced a pen — or what looked like a pen, except it was made of bone and the tip glowed red.
Felix made a small squeaking sound.
Zara took the pen. Pricked her finger without hesitation — the blood that welled up was darker than it should be, almost black — and signed three places on the parchment. When she pressed her thumb to the final section, the blood sank into the page, the symbols around it flaring bright and then fading.
Ramona resisted the urge to lean closer for a better look.
“Acceptable.” The demon rolled up the scroll. It vanished back into their robes. “You’ll receive a copy to your inbox. Is there anything else you need to report at this time?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll leave you to your work.” The demon turned to go, then paused. Looked at Ramona. Looked back at Zara. “The witch who summoned you. I assume she understands the terms?”
Ramona understood. She understood that if she failed, Hell wouldn’t just take Zara back. They would drag her in front of a tribunal. Who knew what else that might entail?
“She does,” Zara said.
“Good. Four weeks. Don’t waste them.” The demon stepped into the hallway. The door swung shut behind them.
For a moment, there was total silence.
Then Kashvi said, “What. The fuck. Was that.”
Ramona and Zara looked at each other.
“A demon? Why was there a demon?” Felix asked.
“So,” Ramona said slowly. “We need to tell you something.”
“You think?” Felix’s voice pitched higher.
