"Where's the victuals?"

  Craig had yet again managed to get right next to me without my noticing. As I nearly jumped out of my desk chair, he leaned in to look at my laptop. He was somehow still naked.

  "You can order food from this, yeah? You might want to hurry up. Fast like. Stomach is emptier than a spinster’s womb.” Craig rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

  “There’s food in the fridge,” I said, irritatedly.

  “There was food in the fridge,” Craig corrected. “Had a fierce hunger. Your soul slave eats too. Lots. Perhaps make him lose the fat. The lady threw out everything spoilt. Complain I did. Now the icebox lies empty."

  "So your stomach isn't actually empty."

  Craig groaned. Loudly. "I am famished. Skin and bones. You cannot deny me bread. It is the law of hospitality. Gotta feed even a lemure. "

  "Well the laws of economics state that I can’t get any more food. You do realize I'm not made of money, right?" I gave Craig my sternest glare I could muster.

  He shrugged it off in its entirety and continued on. "You think it's hard for Craig Baird to come across some lucre?”

  “Yes, you were homeless and hadn’t had a bath in God knows how long. I assumed money was a little bit of a scarce commodity with you.”

  Craig rolled his eyes and left the room. He returned, holding a disgusting wad of dollar bills. He plopped the odious currency in my lap. "Fruits of my labor. Now make with obtaining."

  I stared at the cash. "You can buy your own with this!" I goggled at the bills. At first I assumed it was predominantly singles with a few fives thrown in. As I unwound the notes however, it was apparent that there was some serious cash here. A lot of twenties, a few fifties, and even a couple of hundreds. This would feed someone for a very long time, even overpriced fast food and gas station fare.

  "Don't like talking to them much." That I struggled to believe. "They start asking old Craig Baird questions. 'From whence came that lucre?' Hurtful aspersions." Language aside, that sounded more believable. I'm sure a pungent homeless guy with wads of cash likely could make a stir.

  "Well it's cheaper to actually go and get the food. I could drive you to a place or we could go get groceries. You cook at all?"

  "I'm as much a chef as I am a fair lass. No cooking. Takes time to cook. Takes time to season. Takes time to clean. Eat dirty, mostly. Eat lots. Eat fast. Not particular, Craig Baird isn't."

  "Fuck, fine, I'll just order some pizza." Resigned, I went to Domino's website to see if I could rustle up something edible.

  While doing so, Craig continued to mumble and gripe. Suddenly interrupting his own diatribe about Carl eating all the pizza, he queried "What is my first target?"

  I paused. "What?"

  "Point and shoot, lad. I need a job."

  "I thought you were just going to keep me from getting spied on by angels or something." I frowned slightly.

  "Gotta get told where they are. Can't just know where they are. I listen. Don't know things. Let others know. Knowledge to keep them antsy. My ears await." Craig stared at me pointedly.

  "Uh, so a person or place?"

  Craig guffawed. "A place is better. Even old Craig Baird gets noticed talking long enough. Distinctive flair. Draws eyes. Need to be where I'm expected to be. People are not."

  I shrugged. "Coworker of mine was acting a little weirder than usual and asked me to go to this church." I handed Craig the flier from Central United Methodist. "Go see if it's a normal church? Or whatever it is you do."

  "No normal churches. But that's my bailiwick. I'll put on the act first thing tomorrow. Now finish with the food procurement. Make haste." As if on cue, Craig's stomach growled loudly.

  ***

  Jesus, yesterday had been too full. Fortunately, today was my day off, and I reveled in the extra time to sleep. I realized quite quickly that I didn’t actually feel the normal lethargy. The fog that would permeate even my most rested mornings was absent. I felt clear-headed, light on my feet, and ready to go. It was disorienting to feel like this. Fuck, Wayward Souls had just suddenly shifted my insecurities about backing it. I hopped out of bed and absolutely crushed my morning situps and pushups, hitting my numbers easily and more quickly than before. I did half as many again and felt a good burn. I was pumped.

  I was pulled out of my thoughts by a knocking on my bedroom door. "Yeah?" I called.

  "Dude, I need to leave." Carl's voice held a sense of urgency on the other side of the door.

  “What?”

  “Dude, my pops is here. Can you come out here?” Carl’s voice sounded strained.

  I emerged from my bedroom, almost feeling more rejuvenated than I had before the workout. Carl was holding his tablet, drawing while looking at me with pleading eyes. “Dude. Dude. Dude. I can’t stop.” Carl’s tone was fearful. “The drawing, dude. I did it until I slept. I passed the fuck out. Woke up and started again. I gotta go home with my folks, man. Tell me I can leave. Please, dude.”

  I tried to not take this in with smug satisfaction. I actually, really tried. I failed completely. “Oh my God, you’re doing it? You’re actually working for me?” Fuck, today was phenomenal! “Keep it up Carl, you’re doing great.”

  “Dude, I need to go. Please? I’ll uhh… keep drawing.” Carl’s tone was pleading.

  “Okay, I shall graciously allow you to depart. But.” I held up a forestalling finger. “You will still be drawing. Four hours at least. This is a livelihood.”

  Carl’s tablet fell from nerveless fingers. “Holy shit dude. You’re the fucking best.”

  “Wait, why were you drawing? Didn’t I tell you to do it immediately yesterday? Why didn’t you start until last night?”

  “Well, you got the pizza ordered and I had some and then you went to bed, and I stayed up and felt this urge to work. And then it all started. I couldn’t stop until I felt tired and went to sleep. It was like… you know a real bad itch? Dude, I had to keep scratching.”

  I considered. Why did it take until then for my words to work? Danielle had talked about the interpretation of orders. How Carl would think brick ramen with an egg would be a suitably nice meal if asked to cook for people. Perhaps in the same way, it was slightly up to the personal interpretation. Carl did plenty yesterday for me, taking care of Craig’s clothing and getting people situated. It was only after my day was done that the only way he could earn his keep was to continue drawing. If intention played that big a role, I’d need to be careful. Carl wouldn’t be too hard to manipulate, but I thought about if Tracy were ensorcelled. She’d be a handful to keep on task, probably with a creative interpretation of my requests. Of course, that was the point of having a congregation, for people who functioned better without strict guidance.

  “Okay, I gotta pack up dude. You’re the shit.” Carl ambled forward, his arms wide as if to embrace me.

  “No.”

  “C’mon dude.”

  “No.”

  Carl shrugged. "Fine, be that way."

  He shuffled off to his room while I went to shower. It was the most refreshing shower I’d had in years. Afterwards, I checked myself in the mirror. I didn’t see much that was different. Maybe my face looked a little more robust. No dark circles under the eyes. Clear-eyed, just generally more alive looking. I shaved, noting how my skin didn’t seem as irritated. What a boon.

  Smiling as I exited the bathroom, I came out to the living room. Tracy was sleeping on the couch. There was no sign of Craig, but there was a pile of blankets in the corner. They somehow looked more disheveled than any pile of blankets had any right to be. I would have to make sure Craig's disorganization didn't propagate further- dealing with Carl had been bad enough.

  “Rise and shine, it’s a glorious day in service of Hell,” I chirped brightly.

  “Piss. Off,” Tracy muttered darkly, pulling her blanket over her face and flopping over.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  “Nope, we’ve got a congregation to congregate.” I was chipper and I was feeling it. “You said you had a person in mind for the congregation anyhow. Let’s get them here so I can get this over with.”

  “Bro, what is it, seven? Eight? She’s probably asleep. Total night owl. You want to talk to her, it’s gonna have to be tonight.”

  “Crap. Tonight is game night with Leon and Matt.”

  “Well boohoo. Now let me go the fuck to sleep.”

  “Carl’s going to be moving his shit out, so the front door’s going to slam a lot.”

  No response.

  I went back to my room, mostly to be out of Carl’s way for his ritual packing up. See, Carl wasn’t in the habit of going without when he left. He stripped his room down, packing everything up. Bedclothes, his clothes, the PS4, all his toiletries, everything. Except his mattress and drawing desk, and I believe that was more out of laziness as opposed to the sheer insanity of packing a mattress up for a brief visit to his parents. His dad owned a gargantuan GMC and it could haul all my worldly belongings twice over. I soon heard the familiar tromping of heavy footfalls, then the door slamming just a hair too loudly.

  “Yo Jeremy, my pops wants to see you.” For some reason, Carl's dad was fascinated with me, since I was “Carl's best friend who he didn't know just from the internet.” What a prestigious distinction.

  I walked past a morose Tracy who stared baleful daggers at Carl as he merrily plodded through the room. Outside stood Terry Smock. In all the ways Carl was, Terry was not. Terry was thin and short, a nervous tic of a man who perpetually had clammy hands. The wisps of hair still tethered to his scalp were pulled across his bald pate, a futile gesture to spite the ravage of aging. He had never been unkind or rude, but seemed fond of using me as an intermediary to speaking with Carl. This was mostly because I had never once heard Carl turned down or denied by his father. I wasn't sure the word “No” was in his vocabulary, at least where his son was concerned.

  But that didn't stop him from making pushy asks of me, in pursuit of Carl's self-improvement. “Hey Jer,” he began, his slightly nasal tone lingering. No one else ever used that name with me. I had never given anyone that name to use, and even Carl called me Jeremy. It baffled me as to why Terry would insist on using it. “Did you get a chance to look into Carl’s work situation?” His tone was hushed, conspiratorial. He had pleaded with me before about getting Carl some kind of job. I had explained to him that Carl bristled at the notion of working retail and he didn't seem much enamored with other occupational pursuits either. Which made it slightly more enjoyable to do this:

  “Yes, he’s going to get a job as soon as he gets back, isn’t that right Carl?” I asked loudly, to Terry’s slightly frantic panic.

  “Yeah dude. Made up a resume and everything,” Carl offered as he carried a few figurines downstairs.

  Terry gawked. “How?”

  “I got a promotion, new job opportunities. Carl gets to share in the wealth. It'll be good for him.” My tone was obnoxiously cheerful, almost saccharine in its sanguinity.

  “You did? You did? Oh my Lord. Carl my boy!” Terry was jubilant.

  I wondered idly if Carl could tell Terry about the Implement, but discarded the fear almost immediately. There was no way that such an obvious vulnerability would be there. Surely they weren’t permitted to. Oh God. Carl had already had plenty of free rein, he would have told Terry already. I couldn’t ask Carl in front of Terry, Craig wasn’t here, and Danielle definitely wasn’t here. Funny that I’d just have to take this on faith.

  “Jer, I don’t know how I can repay you. Moving out has been such a good thing for Carl.” It definitely had not been for me. “Anything you want, just name it.”

  My mouth moved before my brain. “Your soul?” I added a light quality to it, jocular.

  “Jer, if I had a soul on me, I’d give it to you.” Was Terry crying? God, I felt bad for doing it but this was how it worked, right?

  Carl watched passively as I drew the Implement from beneath my shirt. The prick I intended to give Terry ended up being more of a light stabbing. Blood immediately welled around the wound, the knife buried a little less than an inch deep. “Oh God, I didn’t mean to do that.” I hastily drew it out, the blood reaching. Right, the blood. I moved the Implement closer again, and it drew blood from the wound, soaking into the blade.

  “Wow, I really got hurt there, Jer,” Terry said, staring at the wound. It wasn’t flowing the way it probably should have been, and only lightly stained his woollen sweater. “Must have been something clumsy I did, heh. Hey, I didn’t know you were into knives. I’m not much of a knife guy myself, too accident prone.”

  I continued to hold the Implement and said “Terry please, for the Love of God, stop calling me ‘Jer’.”

  “Can do, Jeremy,” Terry said affably.

  “Dude c’mon, my dad? Did you have to?” Carl’s features, neutral before, slowly melted into grief. “I know I haven’t been the best roommate but you didn’t have to do that to me.”

  “I didn’t do it to hurt you Carl, stop being a drama queen. I just capitalized on a situation.” That felt a little unfeeling, but then again, Carl hadn’t displayed a breadth of understanding by leaving me in the lurch with the utilities and maintaining the apartment and keeping fed and… Yeah, in short, fuck Carl. “You can bond with Terry over how unfair I’m being.”

  “Nah, you’re not being unfair Jer. You caught me with my pants down, heh. Took advantage of old Terry here.” Terry gave another nervous “heh”. I hadn’t had to explain anything to Carl either, it seemed like the same effect that seemed to fuzz their memory also made clear what had occurred. At least, I never had explained to Carl that he obeyed me now, and Terry seemed to be acting the same way.

  Still holding the Implement I asked “Did you tell anyone about this, Carl?”

  Carl shook his head, ponytail bouncing. “Nope. Can’t do it. Tried to tell my mom but my voice froze up. Dude, that knife is fucking unreal. But now I can tell my pops.” Carl turned to face Terry. “Pop, Jeremy has me soul enslaved to do art for him for money. And he also wants me to get a job at the shithole he works at.”

  Jerry nodded along. “I’ll make sure to help you live up to your expectations, son. I wouldn’t want you getting in trouble with Jer… emy. Heh.” They both nodded in rhythm as if they had reached some magnificent understanding.

  “Okay, now finish getting packed up and go home.” I had briefly considered commanding Carl to stay and focus on helping me out, but even with Terry covering, I figured Eleanor (Carl’s mom) would suss out that something was wrong. Carl never stayed up here when he had the chance to go home. I didn’t want to blow my operation because of dumbass Carl and his tendency to run back to his folks at the drop of a hat. But that did lead me to another question.

  “Is there some way I could get Eleanor? With the Implement, I mean?”

  Terry’s face screwed up in grief-shaded consternation. “Oh Lord, Jer-emy, I really don’t want you doing that to my Eleanor. But she’s also a little more spiritual than I am, she probably wouldn’t just give up her soul anyhow.”

  “She would probably do it if you offered to release my soul,” Carl spoke up. It was maybe the most helpful thing he’d done besides laundering Craig’s accoutrements.

  “Okay, Bring Eleanor back when you get back from Christmas, Terry,” I said.

  “Can do, Jer-emy.” Terry said.

  “Dude come on, not my mom too.” Carl pleaded. It was a bit jarring to see answers and offers pulled out from Carl without any sense of begrudgingness, while still maintaining his hold on his own thoughts. With one hand he sold his mom out, with the other he pleaded for me to leave her out of it. No wonder Wayward Souls wanted other people wrangling this, it was confusing.

  “Your mom too, Carl. And don’t tell her, but I’m going to keep your soul too.” Okay, that was probably unnecessary cruelty. Carl’s eyes were wet with tears. “Go finish packing.” I walked back into the apartment.

  “What the fuck, bro. That was cold,” Tracy said from the couch. She had the ratty green blanket thrown around her shoulders.

  “I’m taking this job very seriously,” I replied. “Craig’s talking has me spooked about what’s going on. I hope he has good news, but if I’m getting thrown to the wolves, I want to do my best to protect myself. Along those lines, I’d really like to meet this candidate of yours. The more troops I have, the better.”

  Tracy gave an exaggeratedly disgusted sigh. “I already told you, she’s asleep. She gets up at like… two.”

  “Well, you’re clearly not getting back to sleep, and you should have been at your shift already, so what were you planning on doing for the next five hours?”

  Tracy gave me a flat stare. She rolled her eyes. “I’ll call her.”

  “That’s what I like to hear.”

  *****

  “Jeremy, this is Chevy. Her real name is Abigail, but don’t call her that. She hates it.”

  Chevy was a shorter girl, round and bouncy. She wore multiple dark hoodies, somehow dressing even darker than Tracy. Where Tracy was a deathly pale, Chevy had a skin tone that was browner, but avoided the sun almost as much. Her brown eyes studied me curiously, brown and querrellous. They were a bit bloodshot, dark bags underneath. Chevy’s makeup was more understated than Tracy’s, but equally dark.

  “Chevy, this is Jeremy.” Tracy gestured at Chevy, “Okay, give her your best pitch.”

  “Wait,I thought you would tell her what’s going on.”

  “Learn on the job, be a big boy,” Tracy said snidely.

  “Okay, Chevy. Nice to meet you. My name is Jeremy, and I am a Lieutenant of Hell.” I waited.

  We were standing outside my apartment, Carl and Terry gone. Tracy had left after a lot of incredibly vocal whining, but she finally did leave. It took her almost an hour to convince Chevy to come. Apparently Tracy had not exaggerated about the hours that Chevy kept.

  Chevy’s eyes stayed level. “That’s it?” she asked.

  “I have been appointed by Hell to serve in its capacity of human recruitment for the war with Heaven. In that role, I bring unwilling souls to heel and assemble a willing congregation to assist in that endeavor. Tracy, the leader of my congregation, recommended you as a primary choice for the congregation.” I tried to inject more confidence in my voice. The whole line was true, but it felt incredibly outlandish. Probably the same kind of reaction Craig would get if he told his story to anyone passing him by on the sidewalk.

  “Okay, now that’s it?” Chevy asked again.

  “That’s uh… the long and short of it, yeah.”

  Tracy nodded to Chevy..

  “Sure, I’m in.”

  Really? That blase? “Oh uh, yeah, you just need to swear a simple oath to join my congregation, and you’re in.”

  “No blood or knives or altars or dead animals? Lame.” Chevy said. She shrugged. “I swear to join your congregation. So do we have a temple somewhere?”

  “Just my apartment.. For now.” The little apartment would probably be quickly outgrown, if this trajectory was any indication.

  “If you’re lying to me about this guy, Tracy…”

  “Relax, it’s legit.”

  “Okay last step requires me to give a sermon to my assembled congregation… and Craig’s not here.”

  “Been here,” Craig muttered behind me.

  “Dude what the hell, how do you do that?” I almost jumped out of my skin. Again.

  “Only need to be seen when I want. Everyone ignores Craig Baird. Got some rich gossip. Came on back. Wonderful congregant, I am. Bringing on more lasses for the cause, eh?”

  Chevy and Tracy both frowned at Craig.

  “Okay, I need to give a sermon, let’s do it inside.”