LITMIR.BIZ

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As I took one of the chairs in front of her desk, I glanced at her couch, searching for the bloodstains I’d tracked in a few weeks before. Luckily, they’d been cleaned up. Once again, the place was quiet and elegant. Miss Spry looked glamorous as well. Her herringbone trousers, white shirt, and cardigan gave her a Katharine Hepburn style that was both mannish yet very feminine. She even pulled off the short, overly permed hairstyle.

      A tea tray sat on Miss Spry’s desk, and when she offered me some, I accepted. Ordinarily, I’m a coffee drinker, but I could never resist her tea. “Can you tell me where you get this?” I asked. My dad, the tea expert, had a birthday in a few days, and the tea would make a perfect gift.

      “I’ll be happy to send you some,” she said.

      I regarded her warily. “In exchange for what?”

      She lifted her eyebrows in surprise. “In exchange for nothing. I like to keep my employees happy.”

      Yeah, right. We both knew nothing in Hell was free, and that Helen loved it when her employees were miserable, not happy.

      “Never mind,” I told her.

      Her smile was sly. “Tea doesn’t require a contract with the Devil.”

      I didn’t believe her for a second.

      Helen made a notation in her day planner. “I’ll send Delilah out for some later on today. And speaking of Delilah…” she leaned back in her chair “…let me guess. You’re here because my new assistant once again ruined your assignment?”

      I shrugged. “Not on purpose.”

      I’d expected my boss to go into a demon-powered rage, but she didn’t. “Delilah is taking longer than I hoped to get up to speed on the job. I may have to reassign her.” Miss Spry tugged thoughtfully on her pearls. “Perhaps she’d do better in maintenance. They’re always recruiting help. After all, those torture chambers can get very messy.”

      I blanched. Delilah was a prickly person, but cleaning bodily fluids from the insides of iron maidens was a harsh punishment. “All she needs is a little training. Maybe you could bring Patrick back to help,” I suggested. A few weeks ago, I’d been furious at Mr. Clerk because I’d discovered some of the dirty things he’d done to me, but now I missed him. I hated watching Real Housewives by myself. Plus, I’d bought a new dress that I was dying to ask his opinion about. For the past seven months, Patrick Clerk had been the closest thing I’d had to a girlfriend. Which was pathetic since, during that time, he’d tried to kill me. Twice.

      Miss Spry’s lips twitched. “I doubt Patrick will be returning.”

      That sounded ominous. Since learning of his disappearance, I’d feared the worst. I’d been making discreet inquiries about his whereabouts, but to no avail. The only thing I knew for sure was that he hadn’t been lost in the wager Miss Spry had made with God earlier in the summer. I, personally, had made sure she’d won.

      Which reminded me. “What did you win in your bet against God, anyway?”

      Her eyes sparkled, and she pointed to a side table next to her couch. Sitting under a glass dome was a brown lump. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

      It looked like a woodchip that had been stolen from someone’s flower garden. “Sure, I guess. What is it?”

      “It’s a piece of the true cross. A holy icon here in Hell!” She smiled at it lovingly. “The irony is so delicious. It reminds me of the best three days of my life.”

      I didn’t remember a lot from Catholic school, but I knew that story well enough. “Weren’t those the days when all hope on Earth died?”

      “Exactly.” Her smile widened, making me shudder.

      She turned her attention back to me. “Now, as far as your assignments go, do the best you can. Delilah is still on probation, but if she errs again, let me know.”

      I nodded but decided I would not rat out Helen’s assistant. The visual of poor Delilah cleaning up after the torturers was too much to stomach.

      Figuring our meeting was over, I drained the rest of my tea and stood. Helen stopped me. “I’m glad you showed up today because I have something we need to discuss. Girl to girl.”

      I tensed. There was nothing remotely girlish about Helen Spry. “What is it?”

      She pushed several pamphlets across the desk. “I want you to read these, choose one, and make an appointment. I’ll cover all of the costs, of course.”

      I sat down and hesitantly picked up the first brochure, which displayed a full-color photograph of a sleeping baby and the caption, “Your Family. Your Choice.” I frowned and opened it. The first paragraph to catch my eye began, “Now that you’ve decided to experience intrauterine insemination…”

      Intrauterine insemination? What the hell? The next paragraph answered my question. My jaw dropped, and I met Miss Spry’s cruel smile. “You want me to get pregnant?”

      “It’s written in your contract, my dear. One generation must follow another in service.”

      “You say that about everything!” I argued. Helen loved to quote my contract, but I’d never read it myself. Half the time, I felt that she was making up the rules as she went along.

      She gave me a wicked smile and waved her hand. An immense book dropped from the ceiling and fell on her desk with a bang and a cloud of dust. She flipped through several pages. “It’s right here in black and white. See for yourself.”

      I took the magnifying glass she handed me and bent over the massive tome. Sure enough, I read: “If, at any time, a descendent of Sarah Goodswain fails to produce progeny, or if a descendent is unable to serve for any reason (e.g. death), the Devil shall use any means necessary to reinstate the line.”

      “Since you won freedom for your sweet, little Grace, you are obligated to have another daughter. After all, someone must follow you into the family business.” She spoke casually, as if we were back to discussing tea.

      My mouth was paper dry. “No.”

      Her lips twitched. “What?”

      I would not bring a child into the world for the sole purpose of being Helen Spry’s slave. My voice grew firmer. “No.” I shoved the brochure across her desk. “I will not do it.”

      “Do you think you’re the first woman in Sarah Goodswain’s line who has tried to thwart me like this?” There was not a speck of mercy in her eyes. “I will give you the same choice I gave your mother when she refused to get pregnant. You either find a way to get yourself with child, or I will see that you do. I am happy to provide a civilized solution, but I will take harsher measures if necessary. And believe me, my way will not be pleasant.”

      I knew my mother had been ordered to become pregnant with me, but I’d thought she’d done it willingly. But what if she hadn’t? Dark thoughts crept into my mind. If Helen wanted me pregnant, she would know men who were willing to do the deed. With or without my consent.

      She leaned back in her chair, her fingers steepled under her chin. “Why must you fight your destiny so hard?”

      I stared woodenly at the picture of the baby on the brochure. “Leading innocent souls into Hell makes me sick.” This was the literal truth. Since becoming a succubus, I’d suffered more sleepless nights and upset stomachs than I had at any other time in my life, including the months I’d been embroiled in my divorce.

      Helen laughed. “Innocent souls? Did I just hear you say innocent souls? What makes you think any of those are innocent?”

      “Okay, so maybe they’re not innocent,” I amended, “but they’re not monsters, either. They don’t deserve Hell.”

      A mocking smile tugged at her lips. “So those men who kidnapped you at gunpoint a few weeks ago…they don’t deserve to be

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