A locked door represented many things. The most obvious was that they didn’t want me leaving the room. However, if this was the case, they probably would have locked it from the outside. The other reason was to stop anyone from entering. Although this was less likely, it had some merit, given the potentially sensitive nature of whatever we were about to discuss.

I found myself unable to wring some further introspection out of this moment. Nausea and what I had hoped was not cold sweat overrode the chance for my brain to unfold the loose pages of my dour narrative.

Partridge turned, and he looked tired - defeated, almost. Gone was the usual bluster and overcompensating pomp he usually exuded. Instead, he strode over to me and moved his chair to my desk. He sat and deflated, placing an item on the desk.

A small black rectangle with an ominous red button. No further features.

“I’m obliged to tell you that this button pops the lock, and a group of heavy weapons will then waltz in and fill you with hot lead.” Partridge scrunched up the corner of his mouth.

My intrusive thoughts wanted to reach across and slap it. Get the party started to avoid any unnecessary and awkward talk. My death warrant was literally on the table at this point, but words could never hurt me. I was no demon. Yet.

He raised his gnarled hands to paw at his eye sockets. “Fuuuuck me, Eric fucking Redd. Where do I even begin?” He slouched back in the chair and relaxed his arms in resignation.

I hesitated to begin talking. Never give up more information than you need to. Plus, you never knew what ears they had in the room. It was meant to be private, but I wouldn’t put it past the Org to sneak a bug in here - especially for their ‘golden boy’. I amused myself at how literal that now was and hoped it didn’t show on my face.

“Are you fucking a demon?”

My mouth opened in slight shock. Despite being well known for his near-constant cursing, the phrase had taken me aback. Partly because I wasn’t sure if he was being literal or just meant I had some screws loose. I supposed the answer would be the same either way.

Unfortunately for my mind fighting off the corruption, my tongue became a slippery eel that slid past the gates of my stoic professionalism.

“Not right this minute, Sir.”

There was a brief flash of anger and possibly amusement in his eyes. “We were getting your things ready to pass your pact demon back over when one of our techs was configuring your Blank’s viewing slate. Noticed you were dicking around in hell already.”

I swallowed. We had thought we were free to mess around in the Lowers now that Pearl now longer had the Jailer watching over her. The Org didn’t usually watch a Hunter unless they were working on a Quest, so I had assumed… more the fool me.

“Lots of demons to kill, Sir.”

“That’s beside the point, Eric. Don’t play coy with me.” He sighed and worked his jaw. “You think you’re the first Hunter to rub their genitals on whatever demon first appeared nuanced?”

Not something I had really considered.

“Happens to most.” He shrugged and glared at me. “It’s only human, after all. But it only ends in two ways.” Two fingers rose into the air, but I cut him off.

“Hunter dies, or demon dies.”

He wavered for a second, then lowered his hand. “Don’t ruin my lecture, asshole. Hunters are meant to kill demons. Demons view humans as playthings to discard when used up.”

“Does the Org intervene?” My words again slipped from my mouth without being double-checked by the internal processes.

“Sometimes. You’re already - constantly - skating on thin ice, Eric. The Org would love for me to push this button.” He pointed at it, which I found rather unnecessary. “After your purple princess rescued your dumbass from the Titan, it at least gave me some hope that your dick found somewhere useful to roost.”

If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

My right eye twitched. I wanted to convince him that Pearl was different. How she was unlike the other demons. Part of me knew that sounded foolish, and that I was deluding myself. A greater part of me knew that nobody else needed to be privy to my personal life. Demon or not.

“The Org won’t…”

“We learned the hard way that trying to split Hunters from their… fiends was a bad idea. Almost always guaranteed the Hunter going rogue or being killed by the jilted lover.” He shuffled on his chair, clearly uncomfortable with the policy. “But It’s still a red flag against you unless you get their true name.”

“And give it to you?”

“Yeah.” He watched me, trying to read my reaction.

I held firm, poker face extraordinaire.

“We don’t exactly have high-Level Hunters out the ass to come and settle domestic disputes, and your gal looks like she can handle herself…”

“So, what you’re saying is if there was an issue, I’d be the easier one to remove from the picture?” The picture being existence. Something I had grown quite fond of as of late.

“Bingo. Always said you were a smart fuck, Eric. But that leads me to problem number two on the shit sandwich you have slapped upon my plate. You were popping off your little shiny gun down there on your date, huh?”

Ah. The other elephant in the room had been trying to hide behind the more colorful one. I had clearly underestimated how worried I should have been. Maybe I could take the goons outside the door - but with only five shots-

“Is this something the demon has granted you?”

“Huh?” Momentarily I was confused before I realized he was talking about signing some kind of pact or contract with Pearl. “No - it was something that happened after Wight possessed me one time.” Not a lie, but a firm stretch of the resistant truth.

He sat and watched me again, his eyes narrowed. I had a firm grasp of my wriggling eels now. Instead, I really wanted to know if I could shoot all the guards. My eyes darted between Partridge and the remote control. Maybe two shots, or three, the fallen would block the door briefly so that I could reload and then…

“Pain in the ass. Not only that, but your patron has been getting too big for his boots.”

Wight never wore boots.

“We are…” He flexed his neck side to side, “…taking a chance on you, Eric. A shitload of chances. I think you have more of an idea why the higher-ups keep giving you impossibly fucked Quests.”

My head nodded slowly. One overpowered patron and a guy crazy enough to wield the demon while being too stubborn to die. I let him continue to do most of the speaking.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. Kobi and Rose were Level Five… but they weren’t cutting it. You know patrons have a hard cap, right?”

This time, I shook my head - brow furrowed. How quickly could I hit the button, stand, and draw?

“Not all Formless are created equal. On average, the amount of power they can lend stops between Ten and Fourteen. Some are a little higher, and some are lower.”

“So Kobi, Rose - weak patrons?”

“Not to make it sound like we cull the weak. Part of being a strong Hunter in the Mids is being able to work with what you’ve got. It’s as much about the brains in your head as the mystical Hell magic you work with.” He looked tired again.

“That’s why I keep being put in these situations because Wight is-“

“Higher potential cap than most. Fuck me if I could give you an estimate, though; that’s not for me to know. You’re a loose cannon and an important asset. They’ll kill you if you fart too loudly, but they’re also allowing you to bed demons and fuck around with your own powers.”

Another test, I reckoned. Keep me unstable, unsure of myself. Was I a free man? Would I find a bullet in my skull in the middle of the night? Keep aware, be cautious, trust nothing. They were training me for the Mids and to fully utilize Wight. Beyond the words and the misdirection, I understood it. Hated it, but understood it.

“Even this was a test.” He allowed a humorless smirk to cross beneath his mustache. “The button here. If you were corrupted, you wouldn’t be able to resist pressing it. We were frankly surprised to see you alive after being deep-throated by the Titan. Clean and dressed well, too.”

“I’m a tough asshole.” I nodded, wondering if the button was really a decoy or if I could invite murder into the room still. Good thing I had self-control. Good for them.

“You’re… certainly something, Eric. You got your boy back, and we’ve found and disabled two other portals, thanks to your info. I can only assume you’ve been moonlighting during your holiday and railing demons in your leisure time. And I mean that in both ways. You need to keep us in the loop a little more. We can help.”

“More meds are always good. I have a habit of spraining my ankle a lot. Plus, losing half my blood, give or take.”

“Some of your sanity, I bet.” His eyes tried to scour my face for signs, as if the madness would leak from my pores once it knew the jig was up. “I’ll see what I can do. On our end, we are going to have to fast-track your promotions a little.”

This did raise my eyebrows a little.

“You’re obviously getting acclimated to the Hells quicker than most, and the Org wants to get some use out of you before you murder-fuck yourself to death. So, there’s one Quest we need you to do - and then you’ll get your Level Six.”

Always with the catches. One more chance to put my feet to the fire and see if I set alight. Still, my holiday had me aching for some real battles, and I was eager to meet Wight again. Once I shook this residual corruption, it would be back into some classic Redd and Wight adventures.

“Time-sensitive? Would be good to reconvene with Wight and circle back-“

“You’re going now, Eric. Straight to the prep room and away.”

A cold shiver ran down my spine. Just when I thought the meeting was going my way.