I'm 60 when I next see him. I'm having a lazy morning, in my pajamas, with some toast and a book.

Then suddenly I'm not. I'm in a stone room. At a desk. Looking at Crowley as he fills out some paperwork across from me. I blink.

"Good morning Crowley." He ignores me, going over a particularly bloody piece of paper. "Thought you hated paperwork."

"I do. But this. This is interesting. And concerning. This is part of the standard rider we use. Printed. By a human. From a flash drive."

"Oh." He pauses.

"It's a bit more than an 'oh.' People could study it and learn about the loopholes in it! Or be scared off deals forever! This needs to be taken care of or the wording for every future deal will have to change!"

"Well, possess the guy and find out if he uploaded it to the cloud." He glares at me.

"You don't think we're trying! He's in the wind." I sigh. Not my problem. Not until he asked me to help. So I sit, wait, and listen to faint faint screams, moans. Some of which are happy...most are not.

Eventually he looks up and eyes me for a moment before revealing why I'm here.

"Crossroad deals are declining again."

"Even with that new trick online contract that you threw away your integrity for?"

"It doesn't work." I look at him, confused.

"What? You mean people aren't clicking on the link?"

"No. I mean it doesn't work because apparently the one rule that is unchangeable in a demon contract is that both parties must know when they are signing a contract for a soul." I blink.

"So until I actually signed our current contract…"

"You hadn't actually signed a contract." I look at him going over papers again acting as if he hadn't just told me I sold my soul for almost no reason. Although...

"That's what you were testing. Whether or not you could buy a soul from an unaware person, not a new type of sale." He just looks up at me briefly, but it confirms it. "You still would have killed me, wouldn't you? If I hadn't made a deal."

"Probably." He says now not looking up from the papers at all. I shake my head.

"So no sneaky deals?" He shakes his. "Well there go half my ideas." At this he pauses and puts the papers down.

"Really? You'd trick people into giving their souls away? You?" I chuckle.

"Crowley, You wouldn't have liked me as a demon."

"Why, would you have broken your contracts?"

"No. I'm just not as nice as you."

"Really? You're not as nice as the King of Hell?" His gaze is amused and mildly curious as he taps his pen against the desk, the same pen I had signed my life away with. I sigh.

"Crowley, let me rephrase. I don't have your...integrity. People who think they can recharge their phone in a microwave don't deserve a phone. People who are stupid enough to sign their soul away...on a contract, to someone they don't know, or even someone they know that's acting weird… then what ever happens is their own fault. If you sell your soul, you deserve what you get." I can feel the amusement practically oozing out of him as he regards the supposed hypocrite in front of him.

"You sold yours darling."

"Did I fucking stutter? I thought I had a chance, I shoulda known better Crowley. I should have rerereread that contract before I signed it, or let you kill me. I failed. Perhaps I don't 'deserve' this torture on moral grounds, but it's what I get for the folly of my own stupidity. I'm afraid, I'm sick to my stomach, but I made peace with my fuck up long ago. I didn't have a choice." I take a breath and shake my head. My own views and feelings had changed over the years, they would be further twisted, no doubt, in the future by Crowley, but I really had made my peace as best I could.

I hadn't had kids lest they came in contact with Crowley, I had kept a minimal social life and told none of my closest friends, including my husband, about any of this. I had lived two compartmentalized lives the best I could. I was happy most of the time, I even got a certain satisfaction knowing I was actually being called on occasion to fulfill my contract with him and create shit.

I look at my fate sitting across from me, and get back to work.

"Now...I'm curious. The contract doesn't work if the person doesn't know about it...or doesn't believe it's real?" He is interested again.

"You have an idea, please, enlighten me?" I wince. Yeah. I did. It wasn't a nice one.

"You won't like it Crowley."

"And yet, I insist you Try." I sigh.

"If I was a crossroads demon I would have had Halloween parties where the bouncer had people sign their names on contracts to 'sell their soul' in exchange for entering the club. People would know what's going on, but they'd think it's fake." He stares at me. "I told you, you wouldn't like it. It's about as tacky as a brothel that takes soul currency instead of cash. I wouldn't have made a good demon under your purview." He regards me, his face blank, and I remember his comment on my predilection towards the darker side of things. How my mind, in his opinion, was made for this kind of thinking, whether or not I wanted to act on it. I, however, felt I had experienced just enough crap to imagine worse; to want there to be worse out there because if what I experienced wasn't the worst...it means I have it good. At least, that's what I like to think. I've always been ok at introspection, or perhaps I was making shit up. That's what I did best after all.

So I keep imagining worse, so I can pretend that everything is ok. Then I imagine different realities to escape my own personal worst, and when I return, imagine how much worse it could be...and work hard to make sure it doesn't happen.

I had failed in that. But now that I was here, I could still imagine worse. Far worse. He of course could tap into those ideas...but these were things he wouldn't do. Because he wants me around.

I hope.

And even if he did them...I'll imagine worse. I always do. It's what I do. It's why I was here, to imagine worse for him.

I sit, and wait for his response through the silence that is only punctured by faint screams. He sits, watching the thoughts run through me, observing my slowly creeping sadness. Finally he speaks.

"On the contrary. I would have kept you very close." I roll my eyes. Back to business as usual.

"So at the slightest hint of aspiration you could kill me."

"No, I encourage aspiration." I sigh.

"Of course you do. You need at least some demons who can actually execute orders and adapt if needed. Provide services. Take over the boring stuff when you're fed up."

"Exactly, court will prove to be more interesting once you join me." I pause.

"So. That's what I am. An alleviation to eternal boredom. Not yet though. I have a few more years I think." At this he smiles, and goes back to look at his phone as it rings with Baby Got Back. He picks it up, unhappy.

"This better be important, I'm in a meeti-... In Guadalupe? Good. Possess him and Bring Him Here. I want to find out How he got that copy of the standard rider. Be here in two hours with him and All his electronics. Fail, and- oh. He wants to make a deal?" Crowley straightens and listens for a moment. "He's… written his own contract?" Crowley smiles and looks at me and I feel a chill run down my spine. This human, is going to be in for a Hell of a ride. Literally. Crowley continues on the phone. "How amusing. Bring him. I'll manage this deal myself. Tell him...that the King of Hell is impressed with his initiative and wants to go over the contract in person. Excuse me? I'll be impressed if the contract is actually any good! Right now he's just another problem you fools have left me to deal with so Bring Him Here!" He hangs up and sighs.

"So. What you gonna do to him?" Crowley regards me, his anger slowly dissipating.

"Well perhaps...first, possess him and find where the copies of My contract are! Then… whatever I want." I shudder. That idiot of a man. I was stupid to go into a contract, but he is suicidal if he thought he could steal from the King of Helll.

"And if the contract is any good?"

"Hire him, permanently, for my legal teaml."

"That will take some time." His silence tells me that is not necessarily true. He ignores me and continues.

"I still need a solution for the declining crossroads deals."

"Make an app." He stops and stares.

"Excuse me?"

"An app."

"You're acting like I didn't sign the deal that made the first one."

"Yeah then you know how easy they are to use. Very available. Bone from a black cat or milk from a black cow? Not so much. People are lazy Crowley, even in their desperation they are lazy, they also like animals. Make an app that people can bring to the crossroads instead of a box filled with animal parts. I know I'd be more likely to do it just to see if it worked if it didn't involve a cat bone." He raises his brows at me and chews his tongue a moment before nodding.

"It's a start, and a step sideways from the norm. You'll design the art for it."

"Uhhh. As long as you can make sure the style isn't traced back to me."

"Good point, you're fired. Now, we have another matter to discuss before we return to this subject." He takes out his phone and dials a number. I wait, nervous and confused. Is he calling in someone? To do what?

Then my phone rings.

"Miiister Crowley. What went on in your he-ad? Oh Mister Crowley." I sigh and cancel the call while Crowley stares.

"Really. Do you have to be so cliche and obvious?" I chuckle.

"That's been your ringtone for nigh on twenty years, Crowley." He stares. "You just found out about this?"

"A demon heard me call you. Thought I should know."

"Why, because your meatsuit has to be above cheap gags?"

"No! Because it could lead people to me!" He yells out, angry at my supposed stupidity.

"Crowley. The whole fucking world knows I'm your secondary meatsuit. Hellhound's been out of the cage for a few years now. Also, for anyone who doesn't know about it...I love Ozzy. I listen to his music all the time. Have you seen my playlists? Half of my music is dark or heavy metal. Yeah, yours is the only ringtone I have music set to, but when people ask I just say it's an inside joke between the two of us. Which...it kinda is. It's your fucking theme song. How did you not know about this?" He stares at me, angrily.

"I don't comb every atom of your being every time I see you, I don't really need to know that you went to buy cucumbers and condoms. Nice combination by the way." I sigh. Of course that would be something he'd notice.

"For an art project commenting on the-"

"Don't care. What I do care about is your seemingly careless attitude toward our agreement!" He says as I snort a small laugh as he glares at me.

"Have I terminated our contract in some way?" He pauses. "Let me answer for you." He looks at me curiously. "It doesn't fucking matter."

"Really? Do tell. What makes you think I won't put you on the rack or in the line the moment you violate the contract?"

"Because I have on occasion proved useful in ways a demon just can't. More importantly, because I'm your Chew Toy, not someone else's. Because you've put effort into me making me into your fucking emotional popcicle! I'm worth Less in the line or on the rack, not more. And even if I'm wrong...the rack will be finite compared to what you have in store and the line." I shake my head. "I have no idea if it would be better than this, but I have a feeling that going into the line aware of the rules, makes them easier to break. That type of patience, waiting in line, even less of a virtue of mine than yours. Besides, you'd take me out of it eventually."

"Oh? Why?" I sneer at his question.

"You've grown accustomed to me, you like the way my soul tastes too much." He smirks and nods. He snaps his fingers again and I lurch in my seat, a ripping feeling in my chest. I feel queasy as a small spark of light flies out of my mouth to Crowley, where it circles his head. This wasn't like draining energy, or emotions. He had ripped off a single piece of my soul like a chunk of bread. The demon smiles, flicks his finger and the piece of my soul flies into the red smoke wisping out slightly to grab it. I shudder and twitch, tired and feeling unclean.

"Call me." I tense, stare for a moment, but take out my phone and dial his number. It rings on my end for a second or two, and then a familiar tone starts up.

"Three hits on the six is the number that you dial…" I look at him with the look he gave me not a moment before.

"Really?" He holds the phone, shaking it, letting it ring in the background.

"Really. I thought it suited our relationship." The song continues.

"I do what the good girls... should never ever never ever do."

"You...got that song from my Pandora station...didn't you."

"It's a good station. Just the right amount of darkness to make people concerned but not enough to call the cops." The song still echoes in the background.

"Hey hey hey, since I'm gonna go to Hell anyway, I'll go out with a bang bang bang, crash and burn it all away. Hey he-" Crowley cancels the call and sets the phone down. I swallow, there was a lot of twisted subtext in those lyrics when it came to my situation.

"While I feel I'm justified in being a pot here, I'm honored that the kettle changed his ringtone just for me. It's not gonna be very useful once my body is gone though...I won't really be able to call you."

"I'll milk it a bit longer anyway. Now. Any other tidbits you'd care to share with me?"

"You mean ideas. No, I think the app would be the best thing, unless you need those ingredients to summon the demon from Hell."

"Why do you think I'm asking?" I pause, file that information away, and then think for a second.

"Well if the demon is on earth and local they could just get an alert as the closest demon. If no one is close you'd need to set up a dummy company, with demons working it so that they can sell summoning kits in tandem with the app. I still say the biggest problem is that people aren't gonna want to get those ingredients. I'd make the kit that actually works like...$300. So you don't get flooded with requests. Send regular demons or whatnot for any kit worth less to put on a show. I'd also put a jammer in the bottom of the box so people aren't recording it, and have your demons carry one. You'd be selling 'experiences' after all, people like to record those."

"Pardon?" Crowley looks confused, even mildly concerned.

"It's a thing. Companies sell experiences. Like a murder mystery one sends letters and photos and you have to figure out what's going on. You'd sell that. 'Go to the crossroads, summon the demon. Sell your soul in this fun experience.' Blah blah. If someone actually shows up to do the deal one of your demons can judge the situation and either do a real deal or put on an obviously over the top fake show. If word gets out and you become popular, raise the price for the real kit and hire humans to show up as demons at the fake deals. Or have a fucking recording in the box that activates when they say the words, that should be simple enough magic." He looks at me, incredulous.

"That's a very dangerous game, if angels or hunters use the system we could be found out."

"Put those pretty symbols on the box that won't let angels open them. It'll add to the flavor of the "experience." Sure it'll tip off the hunters and you might lose some demons, but they should know how to defend themselves, and it's a company. Hunters can't stop people from using the app, they can't spread word about the truth to the normies; so unless they can smear the company name… which; one, I doubt there are many hunters with that level of social media following, and two if it works then you just lean into it. 'Yes. We are bad, we are demons. Come make a deal.' The biggest threat would be if it was exposed you were using real cat bones. You would need to find a reputable way to obtain them, and donate to animal shelters. You'd hide in plain sight. You already did, you know how it works. Also, you can put a camera feed or a spell in the box that when buried creates like a wind or cracks the earth to get rid of traps, and again it'll only add to the 'experience.' You're not selling just deals here, you're selling a reprieve from boredom. Which I believe you understand the value of. That isn't just a problem you have. I just guess it's more acute the longer you live and the smarter you are. So whether a deal actually goes down would only be half of what the company does, it would be half legitimate. You'd be doing business in the human world, with humans, with no strings. You could get your smokey claws further into the business world if you do it right, could be fun."

"Fun?" I smile at his confusion.

"New world to conquer Crowley, and going about it the hard way without deals, could be interesting. Do you think you can do it? Take over a few corporations Without using contracts or magic?"

"Of course. Without breaking a sweat."

"I'm not so sure. But if you do manage, it'd definitely expand your personal army. The Crowley Loyalists."

"How?"

"By taking over the right companies."

"We already own Disney." I laugh, out loud, at the claim, ignoring the displeasure rolling off him in waves.

"No you don't. I"m sorry Crowley. But that is one lie I won't believe."

"Why? It ruins your childhood?" I laugh again.

"No. Because it'd take too many resources. Disney is huge Crowley. You may have contracts with people there, maybe even with people at the top, same with Amazon, or Netflix, but all of Disney? It covers too many things, you don't have enough demons."

"Yet. I don't have enough demons, yet."

"Oh so you admit to the lie, that's new. I suppose this means you undid the changes you made to Hell?" He takes a breath and relaxes in his chair. It's odd, this relationship between us. I was his confidant, unwilling or otherwise. I knew a bit about him, probably more than most demons, but was more under his control than any of them. He answered my questions, unburdened himself to me; to see me squirm at what he says, perhaps to watch me try to figure out what was true, perhaps even to just get the relief of telling someone. But he told me things.

"With the right type of souls coming in ready to be turned, or trained depending on the contract, I needed the facilities to be in full working order again. So yes. Hell is in full gear."

"Bully for you. Can I go back to bed now please?" I wave at my pajamas.

"No."

"No?"

"No. I want you to meet this man who thinks he can do better than you did." I stare. I know for a fact Crowley thought I did well with my contract...for a human. Which means nothing, I think.

"So, what you really mean is you want to show off what will happen to this man if he fucks up?" Crowley nods slightly at me, and I sigh. "Can I be in something other than pajamas? That isn't rags! Not Rags!" I add quickly. Crowley snorts but snaps his fingers and my old suit from our first soul meeting appears; still bloody, still ripped. I smile, I have to, it is perfect and makes a point. "I didn't take you for the sentimental type Crowley." I say as I head behind a useless pillar to change. I find it interesting that he didn't just change my clothes for me. It's not like he hadn't seen my body, it's not like he hadn't used and abused it in ways that should make me far more embarrassed than my nudity, but hey, I was being polite. I hear a laugh and I slide out from behind the pillar. Ok, so no politeness. I shake my head at his paranoia, or the perverted pleasure that he got from my supposed embarrassment. "Crowley, I have a phone and some toast, I have nothing I could even hope to use to muck up anything here and that's if I wanted to. Or...do you just want a show?" At this he looks up from his papers. He gives me a once over and then goes back to work.

"Darling, if I wanted a show, I'd call someone who could actually entertain correctly, one with a nice body."

"Ouch Crowley, I'm almost hurt." It's odd, how comfortable I have grown to this abuse, this light exchange of banter, when so much worse has happened. Of course, that was what compartmentalization was for. If I let those memories out, my anxiety over them will send me into full blown breakdowns. I do my best to push them away, these 'light' instances of torture. I know he could have done far worse, I had thought it before, that he was going easy on me. I was just lucky none of my actions had warranted worse...or that he hadn't gotten bored. He had other people for that type of abuse right now. Right now...I am for something else. Besides, he didn't have to do anything to torture me anymore. As I've told myself before, at least hoping for its validity, he knew leaving me to imagine things he could do, was far worse than doing them. I hope. I mean, he had yet to make me bathe in bugs, but that seemed too… literal for him. He enjoyed irony and poetry too much. If he was going to do something to someone, it would be one of two things...Pain that is often followed by death, or some series of events that would break a person. If he broke me, I wouldn't be half as much fun. I was a 'safe' toy that could needle and poke and retaliate, but not do any real damage… Theoretically.

I button up the front of the outfit and sigh, surprised I still fit in it. Of course my appetite went between stuffing my face and not eating until I got nauseous depending on what Crowley had decided to subject me to recently, so I wasn't surprised. I look down at the hole that had caused my first death. I am thinking in circles, hopeful circles, but circles that are scary nonetheless.

"Penny for your thoughts."

"I'm going to miss our banter when you decide to finally break me or bring me home." The shuffling of papers and scratching of a pen stops and I can feel him looking at me.

"What makes you think that the banter will stop? It's one of the few things you are occasionally good at." I sigh and turn my gaze from the white tinted windows to my doom.

"Crowley, unless you take good care of me, which isn't something you're going to do, I will eventually go mad." At this Crowley smiles.

"That's what's so amazing about souls, without a body to hold the trauma, they just go on forever, or until they turn into a demon." I chuckle at the veiled hint of terror in his statement.

"Or go numb and fall apart. You forgot numb."

"You're not capable of that, not my darling Chew Toy."

"You'd be surprised, Crowley. I also promise that I will most likely be the first soul to ever go insane. I've said it before, if anyone can do that, it's me." Crowley chuckles this time.

"I look forward to it. The moment you do, your value drastically decreases."

"I won't care, I'll be insane."

"Yes, but it's a reason to try to hold on."

"Nooot really. Again, I'll be insane. Kinda the point, it's literally my only out of this situation." I lean against the pole and look at him going through the papers, looking for any changes that might have been made to his standard rider by this insolent human. The light from the windows barely reaches the desk and its outline creates an ironic cross on the desk. I chuckle. "I've wondered what it would be like, to be insane. I guess it depends on the type of insanity, there are so many." He ignores me, takes a scroll out of a drawer and compares a section on it to the piece of paper he is holding. "When do you think this doomed soul will arrive? He was in Guadalupe? Where are we now?"

Crowley pauses and glares at me.

"We are at the end of my patience. Shut up or I will sew your mouth shut." I shrug.

"Sure, can I have a pencil first?" He stares at me, eyes wide with disbelief. Was I really asking for something when he had just threatened me? "Please? And a single piece of paper."

"Why?"

"So I can capture your handsome visage Crowley. To draw." He blinks, then picks up his phone. It rings a moment before he talks. I stand still, suddenly nervous.

"Anthony, bring me an easel and the usual paints and brushes. No, not soon, Now. Or you'll be My canvas, and I don't use brushes. YES bring canvas too. Do I have to clarify what should be obvious! I'm asking for paints, therefore I need a canvas!" He hangs up the phone and sighs. I'm completely confused. I had taken a risk and assumed I'd get minimal returns, a stub of a pencil and some bloody scrap. Of course, the king likes the finer things, perhaps that's what he wanted me to produce? That type of perfection doesn't happen quickly, and not often under stress. I try to pass the moment with banter, an attempt to draw out some tidbit of information.

"A king's work is never done, is it? No one is ever quite as smart as they should be either." The only response is a half glare accompanied by a half tired sigh.

Soon enough a demon rushes in with an easel made of very red wood. Another follows behind carrying at least 4 types of canvas and paper, along with a set of red paints and brushes.

"I was going to save this for a special occasion, but this seems as good a time as any. Have fun, I expect Glorious results and complete silence." I take a look at the paints to determine what type of canvas I'll need and sigh.

"Crowley… are these paints made of blood?" He doesn't answer at all, it is obvious they are. I quickly call out after the retreating demon. "Hey. HEY! What's the base for these paints? Water, or oil?" The demon pauses, and looks back at the king for permission to answer. Crowley doesn't look up. "Look, I can't paint if I don't know, and he wants me to paint."

"O-oil."

"Thanks. Get me linseed oil, turpentine, a palette knife, paint paper, and a rag." The demon looks at Crowley again, who just waves his hand. The demon leaves in a rush. I sigh and grab a gessoed white canvas. I hadn't painted in this style since college. With only one color, using linseed oil to lighten it, and the white of the canvas for the highlights. I look at Crowley, and get an idea. It's what he's hired me for after all. I had no idea if he will like it, but it'd be fun.

"Hey, I'm taking a photo of you for reference."

"If you don't delete it afterward…and be quiet."

"Yeah eternal pain." I take the photo and use the phone to superimpose a grid, and then start to paint the only way one who is super nervous should paint. I grid it out, and make each section abstract. Next I take the pencil and shade in every area that is a wall or floor with small blocks of stone then add pillars. I sketch the desk, make the pile of papers, and draw in the very ironic bright light with the cross shadow. By the time I'm finished the demon has gotten me the materials I probably won't need much of. I look at Crowley, hunched over the desk reading quickly. Shifting back and forth, picking up and putting down papers. Completely engrossed. I begin to sketch him, including each movement, not worrying about the lines overlapping, not making sense. The only thing crisp is the outline of his head.

I take photos of him as he moves across the room to take a call, and then sketch each of them. I go full Duchamp 'Nude Descending a Staircase No. 2' except with less cubism. I finally dip a paintbrush in the red paint. I had honestly wanted to try this for a while. Blood is one of the Weirdest unpredictable substances when it comes to how it dries. It can stay red, or turn brown, it can become completely opaque, or have a weird shiny crust. It can become super bright, or really dark. I have no idea what turning it into an oil based paint will do, and I sure as Hell am not going to ask where he got the blood.

I take the medium brush and paint in the main figure; crisp dark red suit, sitting at the desk, using the darkest pigment...maybe from an artery. I grab the next lightest color, I'm gonna call it nosebleed red, and begin to use it to fill in the head, but stop after the first stroke. If I wanted to do the single color technique I needed to stick with a single paint. If the shade was even a little different, it wouldn't work. Also, I was a bit out of practice. I think I'll forgo shading altogether. I go back to artery red and fill in a very loose depiction of the head. THEN I go to nosebleed red and fill in another one of the Crowleys' silhouettes and motion filled with suggestion. Just a faint reminiscence of a man, a ghost, a moment in time. I do this for each image I have until they are all filled in. I pause, I wanted to paint smoke between the figures, but I had used all the colors. I sigh, I had an idea. It was a good idea, but it was dangerous.

But hey, art. You suffer for your art, or it's not good. I was just gonna take it to the next level. The deadly level.

"Crowley."

"Mmm?"

"You have any vials of my blood left?" At this the sound of pen on paper stops.

"What."

"Do you have an-"

"I heard. Why?"

"To paint with."

"You have paint. A myriad of arterial spray in front of you."

"I need one more color, and in a different medium." I hear a sigh.

"Artists." There is a snap and a vial appears on the palate.

"Thanks."

"Interrupt me again and you'll have more blood to work with." I ignore him and uncork the vial and dip my last clean brush in it; too thin. I add some linseed oil and shake it. Doesn't work. I sigh. It'll have to do.

I take the brush and paint one large block of a wave connecting all the figures into a cohesive timeline.

Finally I take the lightest shade of red and add a dollop of it to a rather large bit of linseed oil. Thin it out as much as possible, then paint that light on the desk, that odd little cross in the center. I go over the cross in pencil again before going over the desk with pencil once more as well. I stand back. It's not the greatest painting, but it is very interesting.

A voice behind me echoes my thoughts.

"Interesting." I jump a foot and turn to frown at Crowley, who has been there for who knows how long.

"Crowley descending into boredom."

"Aptly named."

"Yeah, I figured. Is the idiot gonna be here soon?"

"No clue, time moves differently here." I sigh.

"Do you like this?"

"Not really."

"Good." I take the pencil and use it to start writing in the wet paint, completely skewing the silhouettes. I mimic a series of paintings I had done ages and ages ago. In my twenties I think. I just start to write down every word that I can connect with Crowley, my situation, Hell. Any words that come to mind I put down. I'm barely four words in when my arm freezes. I can't move. The pencil vanishes from my grip and is replaced with a familiar fountain pen.

"If you're going to write about me, use the right ink." I sigh, and continue writing. It stings a bit, but he's right, this is the medium I should be using. It is a blood painting after all. I start writing smaller, there are so many words, so many. I write them all, whether or not they will get me in trouble. I really need to pass the time. I have no idea how long I would be here. So I write. Crowley. King. Demon. Devil. Dark. Ruler. Cruel. Neat. Witty. Suits. Crown. Red. Tools. Torture. Manipulative. Smart. Addiction. Supernatural. Needles. Contracts. Signatures. Misleading. Secrets. Party of the first part. Complicated. Integrity. Daringest Devil.

I keep going, and I'm halfway down the 8th line when Crowley's phone rings. Right behind me. I jump again. I don't really pay attention to the outside world when I am doing such small detail work.

"Yes? Make him wait. I'll call when he can come in." He hangs up and continues watching over my shoulder. I pause.

"Uh, he's here?"

"Yes. Continue. You forgot my devilishly handsome face."

"Crowley, that's your vessel."

"And?" I sigh.

Handsome. Ginger. Beard. Mark Sheppard. Meat suit. Family. Father. Owner. Creatively cruel. Sexual deviant. Sadomasochist. Salt. Sigils. Breaking. Broken."

"What is that supposed to mean?" I sigh and stiffen.

"At least 10 different things, it would depend on who you ask as well. For me, it refers to myself, the people you've broken, as well as the times you've felt broken."

"I've never-"

"Let me write the next word Crowley. The words before and after are just as important, they change the meaning, give it more. I can't believe I'm asking this, but...patience. The painting can be taken in parts and as a whole." I keep going as I talk, before he can decide to be angry or not.

Almost. Undaunted. Defiant. Survivor. Achiever. Killer. Murderer. Thief. Sureshot. Perfect aim. Swordsman. Counterintuitive. Contradictive. Powerful. Rising. Risin. Falling. Fell. Recovered. Continuous. King of the Crossroads. King of Hell. Fergus. Scotland. Athletic calves. Kilt. England. Accent. Adaptive. Disturbing. Finer things. False. True. Loopholes. Tricked. Tickster. Traveler. Snap. Whiskey. Scotch. Craig scotch aged 30 years. Sober. Drunk. Politician. Mastermind. Happenstance. Doomed. Coincidence maker. Warper of reality. Ageless. Time. 10 years. Healing. Hurting. Cyclical. Chew Toy. Anxiety. Fear. Fearful. Brave. Actor.

I keep going until I reach the end of the canvas, where I don't sign my name but instead write 'party of the second part.' I stand and stretch, my muscles a bit stiff. The painting in the back is barely visible, a memory. I nod. Yeah, this is what I wanted.

"Title is now 'Perspective of a subject on their king." Crowley tilts his head, and regards it. He snaps his fingers and it bursts into flames.

"No!" I quickly back away from the flames as they eat at the canvas slowly, not quite able to catch the wet paint yet.

"Really, you're going to try to protest?"

"Turpentine! Crowley, I don't care that you're burning it, I Love it, it'll look awesome. It has meaning that you're burning it, what is left will mean even more than it does now, but I'm human, and that art piece has chemicals! And there's really flammable turpentine right there! Let me back the Hell away before you do that!" Crowley looks at me, actually a bit surprised. "Seriously, move the fucking turpentine away from the flames! It won't just ruin your suit, it'll fucking ruin the air I'm breathing." Crowley sighs and with a wave the everything but the painting and the easel is gone. I breathe a sigh of relief and relax. I lean over, hands on my knees and just breathe a moment. I was a bit high from the fumes, there weren't really open windows in here, and I had no idea how long I'd been standing here painting. It was a biggish room, but no bigger than my college art studio.

"Jesus fucking christ."

"Language." I roll my eyes and look at the painting, the flames licking at the areas without paint. It wasn't burning in the way I would like, it needed more fire at the bottom left. I frown, and look for something flammable to move the flames.

"What are you doing?"

"Looking for something flammable so I can move the flames around a bit, burn the canvas so it looks better." Crowley watches me looking around for anything to use, but all I see are his desk and his papers, and I'm not fucking stupid enough to use that. I sigh and I pull my arm up the sleeve of my already ruined suit and light the end on fire.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck." I quickly use the flame to light the bottom corner and then the coat ignites more.

"Shit shit shit." I throw the coat to the ground and stomp it out. Crowley is looking at me like I'm insane. I laugh as I put the coat back on.

"Told you I was already close to insane."

"What you are is close to stupid."

"You have to be a little idiotic sometimes for your art. Yeah I coulda taken the coat off, but I didn't think of that at the time did I? Besides, it would have taken up time. Can I put the canvas out now?" Crowley is just shaking his head, incredulous that I am still working with this piece of burnt canvas, but waves his hand indicating I can. I think for a moment, then take my coat off again and put it on the ground. I throw the painting on top of it and then close the coat and use the sleeves to smother the flames, careful to not get oil paint on the floor, making sure I get some of the red on the front of the jacket.

Oil paint doesn't come out or off of Anything easily. Blood is the same. Blood based oil paint would probably stain something for eternity. It also now looked like I had fresh blood on me. I take a big breath and grab the canvas with the jacket, quickly putting it back on the easel so the hot cloth wouldn't burn me. It does anyway.

"Ow ow ow fuck." I hear a sigh from nearby.

"Hurry this along." I take the jacket off the canvas and regard the burned art piece as I don the smoldering jacket. It is a mess, but the main damage is to the upper left corner, and some on the bottom left, and a tiny scorch on the right. The paint is blackened like old blood, and the words are burned through and still red hot and smoking. I smile, and look at the King of Hell.

"What?"

"You don't realize what we just did, do you?"

"Please tell me. I'm so excited to know." The sarcasm hurts it's so sharp.

"We just collaborated on a piece of art." Crowley rolls his eyes and snaps, and everything crumbles to ashes. I chuckle. It was even more of a Duchamp piece now. I quickly take out my phone and delete all the pictures I took and then look at the king.

"Where do you want me to stand?" Crowley sighs and walks to his desk, and I'm suddenly standing to the left of him. As soon as he's situated he takes out his phone.

"Bring him."

It takes a minute or two but soon the front doors open and a tall thin man with glasses and sandy brown hair walks in. Crowley looks at the man as the demon's close the doors behind him and stand guard on either side. The young man of no more than 30 looks at the king, then around the room as if expecting someone else. He blinks, then swallows. He apparently recognizes the king's current meatsuit. How much he recognized him could help him walk out of here alive.

The king temples his fingers and regards the man, silently, for a few minutes. Eventually the man coughs and begins to talk.

"Sir I-"

"Silence. Do you know who I am?"

"The ruler of Hell?" Nope. Kid didn't know a damn thing, didn't even know the correct title. He recognizes the face as 'a guy he had seen on tv a bunch,' and that is not enough to help him here. Or perhaps his lack of knowledge would be better.

"No. Not just that. I'm the owner and writer of the contract you stole. Where did you get it?"

"I-I.."

"I-I." Crowley mocks. "You're in front of a KING. Act Like It! Where Did You Get The Contract?"

"A-" The man swallows. "A demon, I went to make a deal and said I wanted time to review the contract. They said I could look at it there, so-so I did, and played this uh, this recording I found online." Crowley's face tightens in anger as he hears of the ineptitude.

"What recording." The young man gulps.

"Uhm, an exorcism." Crowley sighs and looks at one of the guards.

"Find the demon who was fool enough to let a mortal look at the contract without the normal precautions. Then alert the clean up crew that an exorcism was found online again, I'll send the specifics shortly." I look at Crowley. I couldn't remember any precautions taken when we had done my contract...of course he had eventually taken my phone...and he is the fucking king. The demon nods and leaves, and another one from outside replaces him. Crowley looks at the young man. "And what do you hope to gain from this?"

"K-knowledge. Demon contracts are foolproof, and binding, and full of loopholes. I want to to be able to do that." The young man is shaking, but holding his suitcase to his chest.

"And so, instead of making a deal to obtain that...you ran off with the contract? In hopes of what?"

"Of… uhm, being better prepared for if you came after me."

"Oh? And do you think you're prepared?" The young man nods. I sigh and he looks at me. I raise my brows and smile, shaking my head at his stupidity. He looks at my clothes, stained with old blood, and some paint that definitely makes it look like I've been freshly tortured. He sees my jacket, still slightly smoldering around one sleeve. He ignores me, probably assuming I am a bodyguard. A completely unneeded one unbeknownst to him. Crowley notices the young man's gaze.

"Ah, I see you've noticed my...human friend here." I swallow, chew my tongue in an attempt to not laugh. I am not his friend.

"Hu-human?" The young man says as he pales, my assumptions about his assumptions confirmed.

"Yes." Crowley smiles and tilts his head. "She is the last person who tried to write their own contract with me. Now, she's my pet. Isn't that right darling?" I manage to keep a straight face.

"No sir." Crowley turns to look at me.

"What?" His voice is filled with venom and promise, but I'm going to risk it for a higher prize. I am being asked to play a part, and I am going to play it as well as I can.

"That is far too high a designation for me." I look the young man dead in his eyes and I can see him pale even more. Crowley pauses, raises a brow and nods in mild approval. He then looks back at the young man.

"See what a good Chew Toy she is, and she's only been with me for three decades." The young man swallows and clutches his suitcase tighter. "What can you offer that she can't?" There is silence. It stretches. Crowley breaks it. "Show me the contract you've written."

Minutes pass as he reads. The young man stands, shifting back and forth, silent unless Crowley asks questions. I stand stock still, occasionally glancing at the king.

"Chew Toy."

"Yes sir?"

"What do you think of this clause?" I blink confused, but lean down to read. "There." He points to the small fine print under a footnote.

'Party of the first part shall own the party of the second part's soul ad infinitum if and only if the party of the second part dies of natural causes.'

I nod my head. It is small fine print, but apparently the young man knew most anyone who made a deal was killed and then collected by a Hellhound. If that happened, it would void his contract.

"What does he want sir?"

"To be under the tutelage of someone named 'the King of the Crossroads.'"

"That isn't a very good request."

"Oh? What should he be asking for?"

"He shouldn't be asking for some lesser king, he should be asking to study under you, the King of Hell." Crowley takes the joke in stride, especially since he decided to keep both titles, and doesn't react besides a small glance up at me. "He obviously needs the best help he can get if this is the contract he is trying to use. I mean, does he even define 'natural death' or 'natural life'? Crowley flips to the front of the document.

"No. No, I believe he's relying on the definition used in courts."

"I believe that is quite different than the definition listed by the court of Hell?" I had no clue if I was right or not, but it is making the kid shake which was the point. It's showing him how careful he would have to be dealing with rules down here. "It's a good first attempt sir. Maybe in 5 years or so?"

"I don't know…"

"Sir, is this the only loophole?" At this the kid swallows.

"There's at least one more."

"Sir, if I remember correctly, my contract had at least six." I see him look at me out of the corner of his eyes for but a second, realizing quickly I'm trying to take advantage of the situation to find out about my own contract.

"Actually yours only had three or so if I remember correctly, but one happened immediately, and the other two you were easily manipulated into. However, Chew Toy. You're trying to get information out of me. What did we say about that?" We hadn't, but I'm not a writer for nothing.

"...If I get caught, I've failed."

"Correct." There's a sound of wind and I buckle as red smoke pours into me. I fall to my knees as it roughly pulls me out and as I fly I can hear the faint thud of my body hitting the ground. A moment later and I'm seeing out of Crowley's eyes as he watches the young man shake.

"It looks like I might have a position open." The young man before us both is trembling as Crowley takes a scroll out of a drawer and holds it out to him. "This is the new standard rider. Find every loophole in it and we may just write up a contract for you together." So that's what he'd been working on for the past however many hours while I painted.

"And if...if I don't?"

"Then you sign a contract I've written up especially for you, with no changes."

"You-you can't force me to-"

"You're in HELL! MY Kingdom! I'm being NICE. I could have you put on the racks as is, but I'm giving you ONE chance to impress me. So, you Better impress me." The kid nods and takes the contract, but Crowley holds onto it. "You have 4 hours." He let's go and the kid stumbles back, nodding. Crowley looks at the two demons at the door. "Take him to antechamber 2. Remove the entrails first."

Crowley waves to the demon on the left who nods and grabs the kid by the arm. As soon as they leave Crowley looks at the remaining demon. "Make sure that the copies of the original standard rider are with him and obtain the name of that website. If he's given false information, possess him...No. Possess him after he gives you the information, if he's lied, kill him and bring his soul to the racks." The demon nods and leaves, closing the door behind him.

Crowley sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose.

"Idiots." The demons or the human? Crowley straightens up and looks around the room. "Everyone." I dunno, I thought I played my part well.

At this thought Crowley pauses, and looks at my crumpled body.

"It wasn't what I'd call a 5 star performance, but it got the job done. I didn't think you'd lean into it that much." Really. You didn't expect the person who Writes Horror stories for Fun to lean into a part that Scared someone. Possibly enough to make him realize how dire the situation was, to encourage him to try to make a deal that didn't involve his soul?

"You're lying darling, you did that for fun." Ok, yeah, I'm a horrible person, but if my performance had those effects I'd call it a win. Crowley gives a mental acknowledgement, already looking to the next item on his agenda. He exhales and I fly back to my body.

"Call me sometime darling, that's an order."

And I'm back in bed just as my husband comes in with tea.

.