Dark Hope (The Devil's Assistant)
Champagne Books Presents
Dark Hope
The Devil’s Assistant
By
H.D. Smith
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Champagne Books
Copyright 2014 by HD Smith
ISBN 978-1-77155-070-3
March 2014
Cover Art by Christy Carlyle
Produced in Canada
Champagne Book Group
19-3 Avenue SE
High River, AB T1V 1G3
Canada
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One
I’d like to say it could be worse. I’m sure lots of people hated their job, or their boss, or the people they worked with. I just couldn’t relate to them. They had options. They could quit their job, move out of town, or drop off the grid. The only option I had was a guaranteed one-way ticket to Hell when I died, and that didn’t include dental.
I picked up the latest issue of
The Daily Grind
, our office paper, before stepping into the waiting elevator. I groaned when I saw the caption: ‘Maintenance to Strike!’ I was sure I’d have to handle it. The Boss doesn’t deal with the little things. His lowly administrative assistant got those jobs.
I made my way to the back of the full elevator. Jenny, one of the other executive admins, leaned over and whispered something to a dark-haired girl beside her. The girl snickered then glanced at me before mouthing “no way.” I rolled my eyes and ignored them. I refused to let the plebes bother me today.
Only five percent of the human population on Earth knows the truth about the otherworldly among us. At Tucker Bosh—the New York City company I work for that doesn’t really sell insurance—the stats are only slightly higher. I grouped my fellow employees into three categories: the plebes, the damned, and the demons.
The demons call The Boss their king—HRH Demon King on official documents—and the plebes are normal humans without a clue. Lucky me, I’m one of the damned—a human who knows the truth.
It wasn’t always easy to tell the plebes from the damned, so I didn’t have work friends. One wrong word from me about The Boss or my job and I’d get a co-worker killed.
The elevator bell dinged, pulling my attention away from the paper. I was surprised to see a gray-haired man blocking the door. His head was down, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. He wore a dark blue tailored suit that should have fitted him perfectly, but it was wrinkled and creased as if he’d been wearing it for days.
His head shot up when I cleared my throat. His creased forehead relaxed, and he smiled and caught the door as it started to close. With a nod and another friendly smile, he spun and opened the glass door to The Boss’s office suite.
“Thanks,” I said.
“That’s no trouble at all, miss,” the man said in a pleasant Texas drawl.
“Do you have an appointment?” I checked my watch. It was seven thirty. The Boss didn’t make appointments at seven thirty a.m.
“Not exactly,” he said.
The office phone rang as I opened my mouth to speak. “Excuse me.”
I hurried to my desk, reaching over the top ledge to grab my phone. I stopped mid-reach. My gaze fixed on the vase of white roses taking up half my desk.
Surprise number two
?
Surprise number one had been two front row tickets to the hottest sold-out play in town. Jack had left them with a note for me in my gym bag this morning.
I completely ignored the phone—which was no longer ringing—and the man standing behind me. My thoughts were on Jack—my beautiful blue-eyed, dark-haired boyfriend I’d left in our warm bed two hours ago.
Scooting around my desk, I plucked the card from the flowers. It read, ‘I love you, -J’.
The man cleared his throat. I’d see Jack at lunch, but now I had to work.
I lifted my head to speak to the man and noticed the red file folder in my in-box. Red meaning from HR. It explained why the visitor was here so early, in such a disheveled manner. He’d been summoned. He was being condemned. His one-way ticket to Hell was being processed.
The HR Department, which was staffed with only demons, referred to the process as “retirement”. Their little inside joke I guess.
In the past five years, I’d handled hundreds of these. HR had a knack for knowing which unhappy soul would show up at the office to see The Boss. Those were the ones I got to handle personally. It averaged around one
a
week. For some reason today, this retirement felt wrong to me.
The man sauntered up to the desk. He leaned in, smiling.
When he opened his mouth, I spoke first. “I’ll be right with you.” My words were rushed. I had to pull myself together before I did something really stupid like letting him see The Boss. That wouldn’t work out well for anyone.
The man pressed his lips together, nodded, and pushed back from the desk. Disappointment shone in his eyes. I actually felt sorry for him, which was ridiculous. This wasn’t my first day on the job. He was no different from the other damned souls I’d processed.
I glanced at the flowers then shook my head. Was I feeling something for this man because Jack made me see a glimmer of hope and a future I hadn’t dreamed of in years?
I opened the folder and scanned the first page.
The man had a name—David Janus. Fifty years of service. He was married with three kids and seven grandkids. He was the son of a preacher, which wasn’t as surprising or as rare as one might think, and he worked in sales.
It was this man’s life in a paragraph of text. I imagined my own paragraph: Claire Cooper. Five years of service. No relations.
“I was hoping—”
“Sir, please,” I interrupted. “Give me a moment.”
I kept my gaze on the file. I didn’t want to meet his eyes. Would it have been business as usual if he had a mistress or two? Would that have made him less of a human in my eyes? I took a deep breath. This wasn’t personal. It was just another retirement. Ignoring it wouldn’t make it go away. HR would know—The Boss would know—David Janus would be retired.
I extracted the three pages he needed to sign. I lined them up on the ledge of my reception desk and plucked a blood pen from the pen cup.
Blood pens resembled any other pen, except they drew a small amount of blood from the finger as the holder clicked the plunger open.
I was about to ask him to sign the pages when I saw Junior outside the glass doors of the office. He held his right hand to his ear gesturing for me to call and mouthed, “Later.” He winked, then disappeared.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Janus shift his weight. “Miss.”
Disregarding him, I gaped blankly at the empty corridor. Why would Junior, The Boss’s oldest hellspawn, want me to contact him? I remembered the phone call I’d ignored and pressed the log button on my desk phone. My heart sank. The number was Junior’s extension.
What the hell was going on? First I have the best morning ever, then I get emotional over a retirement, and now The Boss’s oldest hellspawn wanted to chat.
“Miss,” Janus barked.
I stared at the man whose life was over. “I have three documents for you to sign, Mr. Janus. Please use my pen.” I held out
the pen
, but he didn’t take it.
“I was hoping to see The Boss. I think there’s been a mistake.” He wiped his forehead with his handkerchief.
“No one sees The Boss.”
“So, this is it,” he said, slapping his hand on the desk and making me jump. “After fifty friggin’ years. All I get is a snot-nosed redhead sayin’ ‘sign here.’”
For a minute I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t change his fate. Once the deal was struck there was no choice. No matter who struck the deal. My
mother
made
the
deal with the Devil, not me, yet I’d inherited the debt, making me just as screwed as Janus.
I couldn’t stop any of this from happening. Seeing The Boss wouldn’t help him. If Janus continued down this path he’d lose more than his life.
“I can assure you, sir, I’m fully qualified to handle your retirement. I don’t have fifty years of experience, as you do, but I am capable of reading you the fine print necessary to complete the process. If you choose not to cooperate, then you will
not
get the severance package, which includes an
indisputable
natural death and the seventy-two hour grace period that will
allow
you to say goodbye to your loved ones.”
I read this so often I had the passage memorized, which was the only reason I was able to
get
through the spiel today.
“Any refusal on your part to sign the documents will mean immediate forfeiture of all remaining benefits, which includes the aforementioned severance package. As I’m sure you know, they always suspect a family member when foul play is involved, and your life insurance doesn’t pay out for suicide. Do you have any questions?”
The pain in his eyes and the strain in his voice were heart breaking. His shoulders drooped as he said, “This is the worst day of my life, and you couldn’t give a rat’s ass if you tried.”
I swallowed. There were no words for him. I couldn’t help him. “I’m sorry,” I said.
He snatched the pen from my hand and clicked it open, drawing a small amount of blood into the chamber, and signed the documents. As if on autopilot, I verified the signatures, collected his company-issued credit card, and handed him a red box with a white bow on top. He opened the box, snorted, and chucked it back at me.
