“I hear you two are planning to tie the knot.”
“He’s insisting. He’s old school like that,” she grumbled but still appeared rather pleased.
“Better you than me.” He winked. “Speaking of whom, I hear the boss wants to see me.”
“You don’t say? He’s been waiting for you to show for an hour. Close the door behind you so I don’t have to listen to the yelling,” she said before digging into the Danish, ignoring the bellows outside the office as Medusa noticed the missing pastry.
Derrick sauntered into the commander’s office. “You called for me, boss?
“I did, you lackwit. Would it kill you to actually show up when you’re supposed to?” Brody sat behind his desk, a massive affair with a second chair suddenly filled with his girlfriend. Posie had finished the sweet but brought the coffee.
“None for me?” Brody asked as he eyed it.
“Don’t look at me. Your minion was the one bribing me with treats.”
That turned a smoldering glare Derrick’s way. “Are you flirting with my fiancée?”
“Never, Boss. If you want, I’ll get you a coffee and steal you a donut, too.”
“Maybe next time. Right now, we have a job for you.”
“Did we get another runner?” While Derrick acted as a facilitator most days, he was sometimes called upon as a bounty hunter if they had a demon that misbehaved, which could vary from: got too rough on a date, didn’t report in, or tried to start the apocalypse—it had only taken one zombie bite the last time.
“Not exactly. It’s a special kind of case. Here, see for yourself.” Brody slid the folder across the desk, and Derrick snared it, flipped through the pages, and frowned.
“I’m confused. This file is about a human. Since when do we need to collect them to return to Hell?”
“We don’t. Read a bit further, and you’ll see she’s not just a regular ol’ human. She’s a witch. One of Dark Lord’s handmaidens.”
“So, she’s got rank. Not sure why you’re giving this to me. Isn’t this Marella’s casefile?” Her signature was all over it. Page after page of failed matches.
It was Posie who replied. “Marella quit. Claims the witch is impossible to please.”
He thumbed her file. “I see she’s had a series of unsuccessful dates. Maybe she’s just a b—”
The word began to form, and Posie narrowed her gaze.
“—bashful kind of girl, who takes time to get to know.”
“Nice catch, but you can say it. She’s definitely a bitch.” Brody grunted as Posie elbowed him. He exclaimed, “What? Just saying it like it is. The woman is a bit of a nut job.”
“More like a clean freak,” was Posie’s grudging admission. “A prim and proper one at that.”
Derrick took a moment to digest this. “A prim and proper witch?”
Posie nodded.
“And she’s one of Lucifer’s handmaidens? I thought they were all sl—”
Another look had him tempering his initial word choice to, “—slovenly hags.”
“She is definitely unique. And because of that, it’s causing us some issues. It doesn’t help that some of the potentials we could have paired her with had to be canceled because of her work with the OAB.”
Office of Abnormal Beings, a sort of do-it-all office for non-humans. Things from helping them avoid detection, to being arrested and processed for drawing attention. “You’d think her being a secretary or processing agent for the OAB would be appealing.” Bribe the right person, and they could get away with breaking the rules on Earth.
“It’s a good thing you’re cute because your sexism is showing,” Posie declared. A compliment and insult all in one.
“What is she, then?”
“Try their top field bounty hunter.”
“Really?” He whistled. “She must be a strong witch.” Because humans weren’t often a match for an AB.
“Very strong, which is why the Dark Lord is keen on having her paired with someone from Hell rather than a human.”
“So why is she rejecting the choices?” he asked.
“She hasn’t.”
“I don’t understand.” Derrick pointed to her file. “She’s had five meetings.”
“She’s actually been very accommodating. It’s the males we’ve been sending who are cutting dates short or calling us, begging for extraction.”
“Why?”
“That’s what you need to find out. All we’ve managed to get out of them is that it won’t work.”
“So, you want me to do what exactly? It’s not like I can make anyone like her.”
“Follow her. Get a feel for why the matches are failing. How we can improve the selections.”
“In other words, stalk a witch.” He rolled his shoulders. “Okay.” It wouldn’t be the worst thing he’d ever done.
“Be very careful with this one. Lucifer insisted we give her the VIP treatment.”
“Little princess, is she?”
“Hardly. Read the file.”
He did, which was why he was late making it to her dinner appointment. But he had good reason.
Ms. Ashley Dust was actually born Mary Jane Manson to scummy parents who happened to admire a certain serial killer. After a name change, Klyde and Bonnie Manson started a cult in their trailer park. A cult that believed in sacrificing virgins. Male or female. They didn’t gender discriminate. Nor were their own children safe.
The cult leaders only had the one daughter. Mary Jane, a serious girl with big, sad eyes in the only school photo they’d managed to unearth.
She became an orphan not long after her eighteenth birthday. Newspaper reports claimed only the children survived a fire that swept through the trailer park. But that only scratched the surface of what really happened.
The file revealed the ugly truth.
When a ritual sacrifice went awry, Mary Jane’s parents had her locked away, planning vile things as punishment for their daughter. Only MJ wasn’t about to die for a crazy cult. She brokered a deal with the Devil. Became one of his specially-made witches.
The first task she accomplished as his personal handmaiden? A special mission accorded to her by the Devil himself. “Bring me the souls of those who prey on the innocent.” Which was essentially every adult in the trailer park, and a few teens, too.
MJ Manson did the Devil’s bidding that very same night.
Derrick thumbed through the sparse images he had, one of the cult, drunken adults cavorting in front of trailers with awnings. The next image, a crime scene photo of the ashes left behind.
After that, the file went into her career for Satan. It noted the name change to Ashley Dust. For some reason, he found himself saying, “Ashes to Ashley. Dust to Dust.”
He snapped her file shut. No need to read anymore. He understood the life she’d led. He’d carted souls like hers to Hell. People raised in poverty and despair. Abused. Wanting the power to stop it.
Needing revenge.
He understood it even as he’d lived the opposite life. He’d grown up with wealth and privilege, but he liked the bad-boy life. The way it made him feel. It eventually killed him, which was how he’d ended up in the Dark Lord’s service.