(Miss Primm Blog) The bell on the rocky outcropping that held the ancient sacrificial table rang.
Really? Was it that time again?
I sighed and set aside the ledger I’d been reviewing. Humans. Always demanding attention. If they weren’t praying for favors, they were making offerings, and if they weren’t making offerings, they were sacrificing perfectly good people for reasons that escaped me.
I had never requested human sacrifices. Not once in six thousand years. Yet every generation of villagers seemed determined to deliver another unfortunate soul to my doorstep.
I’d tried discouraging the practice. Thunderstorms, ominous proclamations, the occasional plague of locusts. I even posted a notice on the temple gates.
NO HUMAN SACRIFICES. BY ORDER OF MANAGEMENT.
They interpreted it as a test of faith.
And the whole business severely cut into my duties as the gatekeeper to the unseen realms. Do you have any idea how much work is involved in maintaining the boundaries between the living and the dead? Spirits wandering where they shouldn’t, necromancers opening unauthorized portals, minor deities demanding expedited passage without the appropriate credentials.
I barely had time to drink my tea, which is why I sat examining the latest notice from the Infernal Revenue Service and their latest threat of an audit.
Audit? Really?
In fact, I rarely had time for anything, which was why my tax filings had piled up.
Four hundred and fifty years of them.
The Infernal Revenue Service had become decidedly unpleasant about the matter.
The bell rang again.
“All right! All right! I’m coming!”
I rose from my chair, adjusted my spectacles, and made my way to the sacrificial chamber.
Another young man lay bound to the altar. Brown hair, rather ordinary features, and an expression of understandable apprehension. The villagers had dressed him in a ceremonial tunic and adorned his head with a wreath of flowers.
At least they hadn’t set him on fire this time.
“Good afternoon,” I said.
He screamed.
“Oh, do stop that. You’ll wake the bats.”
He stopped screaming.
“Thank you. Name?”
“G-Greg.”
“Greg. Very well. I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding.”
“A misunderstanding, Your Holy Evilness?”
I closed my eyes.
Your Holy Evilness.
Honestly, where did they get these titles?
“Yes, Greg. I don’t eat humans.”
“You don’t?”
“No. Terrible for the digestion. Besides, I’m rather fond of a nice roast lamb.”
He stared at me.
“Now, if you’ll allow me to untie you, I’ll arrange for your return to the village.”
His expression changed.
“No!”
I paused.
“No?”
“Please, Your Holy Evilness. I can’t go back!”
I resisted the urge to grind my teeth.
“Well, we can discuss that inside.”
I loosened the ropes binding him to the altar. He trembled so violently that I had some difficulty untying the knots.
“Stop that. You’re annoying me.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Follow me.”
I returned to my inner chamber, where I motioned toward a boulder for him to sit on. Greg perched on its edge, his hands clasped tightly between his knees.
I settled onto my throne and picked up my tea.
“Care for a cup?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, then.” I took a sip. “Perhaps you can explain why you can’t return to your village.”
“Because of the paperwork I signed.”
I had a sick feeling about this.
“What paperwork?”
“The agreement, sir. Before they sacrificed me.”
“Agreement?”
“Yes, sir. In exchange for volunteering to be sacrificed, the village agreed to give me a feast every night and a new virgin every week.”
I stared at him.
“For how long?”
“A year, sir.”
“A year?”
“Yes, Your Holy Evilness.”
“And your village had that many virgins to give you?”
“Well, they rotated, sir.”
“Excuse me?”
“They took turns.”
I stared at him for a very long moment.
“Then how would they still be virgins?”
“Technically virgins, sir.”
“Technically?”
“And orally gifted.”
I removed my spectacles.
Cleaned them.
Put them back on.
“Greg.”
“Yes, Your Holy Evilness?”
“Please stop calling me that.”
“Yes, sir.”
I considered the young man before me.
For six thousand years, I had presided over the passage of souls, witnessed the rise and fall of empires, and endured the complaints of the damned. Yet somehow, humanity continued to find new ways to astonish me.
“That still doesn’t explain why you can’t go back.”
Greg’s face fell.
“Because I gave up everything, sir. My cottage, my government pension, my job. Everything. For the deal.”
“Everything?”
“Yes, sir. I thought, well, after a year of living like a king, I’d be sacrificed, and that would be that. No more worries.”
“But now?”
“If I go back, I’ll have nothing to live on.”
I tapped my claws against my teacup.
“So because I won’t eat you—”
“Yes, sir. I’m fucked.”
I regarded him over the rim of my cup.
There was a certain logic to his predicament, although I was reluctant to admit it.
I could hardly send him back to starve. Whatever the villagers believed, I was not entirely without compassion.
Besides, the paperwork involved in returning an improperly sacrificed human was appalling.
“Well, then, you’ll have to stay.”
Greg blinked.
“Really?”
“Yes. But you’ll have to earn your keep.”
His eyes widened.
“You don’t mean—?”
“Oh, for Hades’ sake! No! I have a perfectly lovely demoness I visit when it comes to that.”
“Oh.”
He looked relieved.
Then puzzled.
“Then what, sir?”
I pointed toward the far wall of the chamber, where a towering stack of parchment rose from floor to ceiling. Several smaller stacks leaned against it, threatening to collapse beneath their own weight.
“You’ll have to do my taxes.”
Greg stared.
“Taxes?”
“Yes. You can start with the back filings at the bottom.”
He approached the mountain of parchment cautiously.
“How many years, sir?”
“Only about four hundred and fifty.”
Greg swallowed hard.
“Then I am fucked, aren’t I, sir?”
I smiled, revealing all my teeth.
“That’s what happens when you sign a deal to deliver you to the devil.”
