Page 12 of The Witching Hours

His pitch sounded like a game show. “But wait! There’s more!” Her guest stopped and looked curious. “Um. What I meant to say is, what else could there be?”

Amon sat back, looking very much at home, and raised his glass but didn’t drink. “There’s the matter of your own personal fulfillment. Raising a family is all well and good, so I’m told. But that leaves you far short of self-actualization. Right?”

That is a conundrum that every stay-at-home mom has faced since the onset of the Industrial Revolution. It’s a conflict without satisfactory resolution, the possible exception being the wealthy class who can afford both outside pursuitsandqualitytime with children. She anticipated that’s what the demon might be about to add to the offer already overflowing with goodness.

“Vanity Fairwill have an opening in the editorial office of any department you choose, and they will be looking for someone exactly like you. What will it be? Politics? Business? Entertainment? Fashion?”

“I’d be spending half my life on the train to New York and back. It’s not worth it to have my career dream come true and miss out on the dream of watching my boys grow up.”

“Gratifying to hear that you have your priorities organized in good order. I anticipated you might feel that way. That’s why your job offer will include the option of working remotely when you want. On occasions when you need to make an appearance, you’ll be picked up by private helicopter and land on the roof helipad of the building occupied by the magazine. The clearing behind your house is more than sufficient.”

Brigid felt her solar plexus vibrating and hoped she wasn’t salivating visibly. Was it an offer she couldn’t refuse?

“That’s…” she began, but Amon seemed to have a penchant for finishing her sentences.

“Too good to be true?”

“Yes. That. Also, every detail accounted for. No loose ends.”

“I certainly hope so. I dislike leaving things undone. Not good for my reputation.”

“Your reputation? Are you rated online somewhere?”

“Amusing, Mrs. Carmady. Wit is always a welcome surprise.”

“Nice that you’re enjoying yourself. When will we be getting down to the bottom of the page?”

“Pardon?”

“The price tag.”

“Ah, yes. Well. Everything does have one, doesn’t it?”

With a somber nod, she set her coffee down and twisted in the chair so that she might face Amon fully. “Spell it out. In detail.”

“I will require one of your boys to serve an apprenticeship with me.”

Whatever she’d been expecting, it wasn’t that. Brigid stood so fast she would’ve knocked over the chair if it hadn’t been so heavy. “You cannot have Blake. No. You might as well leave now.”

Amon shook his head. “I don’t want Blake.”

“You don’t?” she asked. “Well, you can’t have my baby either.”

“Just as well. I don’t want Kenneth. It’s Judson who suits my needs perfectly. He has that elusive, indescribable thing. Some call it charisma. People like him. People believe him. Someday he’ll prove to be a very successful negotiator. Or politician.”

Sinking back down into the chair, Brigid said, “What would he be negotiating?”

“The final destination of souls.”

“Oh.” She looked into the fire, suddenly finding the flames mesmerizing.

“Now, before you answer, keep this in mind. I’ll only require three years of his life. From thirty to thirty-three.”

“But he’d spend those three years enticing people to volunteer for Hell?”

“Also, keep this is mind. One of the universal laws we all abide by is free will. He may persuade. He may seduce. He may convince, but he cannot make anyone pledge their soul. That is ultimately the choice and responsibility of each individual.”

“What abouthissoul?”

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