The Devil You Know

Joyce Ferguson sat across from the devil⁠—or more accurately⁠—a devil. She was sort of glad not to be considered important enough to be seen by the big guy himself. She was only meeting with a caseworker of Hell.“Looking over your record, I see you traded your soul in exchange for a car that never needed to go to a mechanic," the man across from her said in a calm voice lacking the wickedness she was expecting from someone in Hell. “Later, you also traded your soul to a different devil for unlimited hex support.”Guilty as charged. Joyce made a noncommittal noise.She had watched enough television shows with lawyers giving advice to know not to admit her guilt. She attempted not to squirm under the caseworker’s gaze.He was a petite, Asian man in a black kimono, the fabric covered with a macabre print of skulls. His aura of calm rivalled any Buddhist monk.She wondered if this was the man’s true form, or if he took on this face and shape to trick her into letting her guard down and…