The Devil's Assistant

Compatible?!

So. We meet again. Now that you've gotten the gist, here's when the real story kicks in. Comments. anyone? You know you want to. Enjoy... enjoy... enjoy... my attempt at an ominous echo.

C.H.A.P.T.E.R. 2

      When I look back on that day, I can't say why I went with the Devil without a fight. Was it the chance to be immortal? Was it because of the spark of interest in those green eyes? Because I was so sick and tired of my life at home anyway? Or simply because I thought it was all a dream? Whatever it was, I'm here now. In Hell. As weird as it sounds, it's true. I'm laying on bed, reading a magazine, in Hell. I used to think it sounded strange, but I've gotten used to it. Just like everything around here.

      Bzzzzzzt!  

      Especially that. The intercom on the wall near my bed seems to never stop buzzing, calling me to Sheldon's assistance. I sigh and tumble off my bed, taking my time in finding a clean shirt and shrugging it over me. The buzzing sounds again. I go over to the intercom, and press the silver button.

     "I'M COMING," I shout into the speaker. "Yeesh."

      As I walk through the hall to the elevator, I glance at the walls as I always do. Despite seeing them all the time, my breath always catches when I see the carved flora and fauna in the polished wood. Everything in the Devil's home is of the utmost elegance and class, naturally.

      I step out of the elevator into another seemingly endless corridor and walk until I reach Sheldon's office. Without bothering to knock I push open the heavy door and step inside. The Devil, Sheldon, sits at his desk with his feet propped up, smoking a cigar. Most people think he was horns, red skin, a tail and pitchfork-- the whole shebang-- but he doesn't. He just looks a normal twenty-something guy, despite his supernatural good looks. But despite this, I could never find Sheldon "hot." He's more of an uncle of sorts, and the annoying kind at that.

      "You rang?" I address Sheldon. I make my annoyance clear by leaning heavily on the door, acting bored. He only grins, like he's a got a secret he's not going to tell me just yet. He has this look quite often.

      "I did." He looks at me expectantly. "Have you forgotten what today is?"

      I run my hand through my long black hair, admiring it. "Yep," I say, popping my lips on the "p." 

      Sheldon leans forward on his desk, sliding his feet off. He gives me a big, shiny smile, flashing his pearly whites.  "It's hair washing day."

      I groan. Every two weeks I have to wash the Devil's hair for him. Believe me, I used to think it was nasty that he only washed his hair every two weeks, but it really isn't. Somehow it stays perfectly clean that whole time, not to mention in place and looking what he likes to call, "fabulouso." Mainly to annoy me.

      "Why don't you make Will do it since he hasn't got the pleasure to yet?" I ask dryly as we walk out of the office and towards Sheldon's room. Will's Sheldon's most recent employee, who bugs the poo out of me. Sheldon's excuse for hiring him? "We need some extra help, Tiffany. Won't it be nice to have another pair of hands?" In a cheerful tone. My answer? Something involving at least three curse words, in less than cheerful tone.

      "Because Will is new to us. You wouldn't want him to be scared away, now would you?"

      "Yes, I would," I retort. Not that Will has a choice whether he stays or goes, now that he's willingly signed a contract.

      "Why don't you like him, Tiffany?" Sheldon asks as we walk into his bedroom, and then the massive bathroom. "Don't get me wrong, I love hate." Pause. "And anger, and envy. Especially when I get to watch it up close." He unbuttons his black shirt and shrugs it off, revealing his pale washboard abs, that any Abercrombie model would sell his soul for. That would be the price, of course. Don't think I'm shocked or attracted. I've seen his body too many times, and not in the perverted sense you're probably thinking about.