Midnight Problems

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I laid in bed that night replaying the kiss over and over in my head. I still couldn't wrap my head around the fact that I had kissed one of the most notorious demons in all of Hell. Rolling over onto my side, I tried to fall asleep. I had an early shift in the morning and really needed to get at least a couple hours of sleep. 

Just as I was about to drift off, my cell phone began to chime. Groaning, I hit the snooze button and resisted the urge to throw my phone across the room. I had closed my eyes again when it began to chime again. Sighing dramatically, I looked at my messages. 

It was the Sargent. Some thug had broken into the bookstore and had trashed the place and now he needed help cleaning up the mess. Rolling my eyes, I threw back the covers and threw on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. I guess my day was going to start in the middle of the night. 

Muttering to myself about what assholes people were, I grabbed some coffee as I headed over to the bookstore. The Sargent had been right, the store was an absolute mess. Some dick had tore antique books from their cases and shredded them to bits. The nonfiction shelves had racist slurs spray-painted across the books' spines. The fiction shelves just had crude penises drawn across their spines in lew of the slurs. It looked like the inside of a ten-year-old middle school textbook. 

"Who did this?" I said, gazing around in disbelief at the wreckage. I know we were in Hell, but come on. Being a dick was not a mandatory trait to have here. 

"I don't know," The Sargent growled, picking up part of an original publication of The Wizard of Oz, looked at it sourly for a moment, then threw it across the room in a fit of rage. 

At a loss, I took out the phone and dialed a number. I hoped to whatever omnipotent being was out there listening he would pick up.

"Hello?" A sleepy static voice said on the other end of the line.

"Alastor," I said, relieved, "Can you come down to the bookstore? We have a problem."


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