black leather furniture. A stunning sepia-toned photograph of a thunderstorm rolling across an African savannah took up one wall. Another had a window overlooking a cityscape. If you believed the illusion Delilah had created, we were several dozen stories up in a downtown skyscraper.
Delilah finally laughed. It was a tired, unhappy laugh, but it was better than her typical glare. “Decorating your office in Hell is like painting a gallows pink.”
“Maybe you should get a computer,” I said.
“How would that help?” She went back to cranky. “What software am I going to use? I’m pretty sure Microsoft doesn’t make a program for finding the best way to make people sin.”
“I only wanted to help,” I told her.
“If you want to help, explain to the boss lady about what happened. I can’t deal with her right now.” We both glanced at the door leading to Miss Spry’s study. Since taking on Delilah as her assistant, Helen had also changed the layout of her office. She and her former assistant used to work next door to each other, but now Delilah also played the part of receptionist.
No one liked to deal with Miss Spry, but I decided to give the overwhelmed assistant a break. “Okay. I’ll go.”
Delilah picked up her phone and pushed a button. “Lilith Straight to see you,” she said. “Go right in,” she told me, hanging up the phone.
Taking a deep breath, I went to face the woman whom I feared more than anyone else on Earth or in Hell.
“Lilith!” Miss Spry greeted me like her oldest and dearest friend, but I wasn’t fooled. The old she-demon hated me as much as I hated her.
“Hello.” 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
