“So what do I do?” I asked. “Do you actually expect me to be the Devil? Like it’s my job?”
“No, not your job,” Gus corrected. “It’s your life.” He paused, frowned, and waved a hand to erase the last thing he said. “Well, no, technically it’s not your life because you’re dead, but being the Devil sure as hell consumes your existence.”
“Okay,” I said, walking around behind the desk. “So I sit in this chair. And I’m the boss. What do I do?”
“I don’t suppose,” Gus mused hopefully, “Being a seventeen-year-old kid and all, that you have much experience in business management , politics, or telekinesis?”
I sat down in the chair. It was the greatest chair I’d ever sat in. The level of comfort was like nothing I’d ever felt before. “No, of course not,” I responded distractedly. “Why would I?”
“Because those are probably the three most important skills you’ll need to use during your reign as Devil,” Gus said. “Though not necessarily in that order.”
Somehow, if only because of the soothing feel of the chair supporting my weight with such luxurious gentleness, I was beginning to accept that I might have to be the Devil for a little while. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to make some of that stuff up as I go,” I replied confidently. I looked up at Gus. He was smiling at me with what appeared to be a mixture of amusement and pity.
I furrowed my brow. “Wait,” I said. “Did you say telekinesis?”
He opened his mouth to answer, but that was when a thunderous voice outside shouted, “Downsize my department, will he? Where the fuck are you, Satan?”
I shot Gus a worried look. “Who is that?”
He didn’t get the chance to answer. The door through which I’d entered was abruptly blown off its hinges and sent flying across the room in shards the size of matches.