Page 2 of Last Minion Standing
Leaving her tapping madly, I decided to pay a visit to the third bedroom in my condo, a space I’d converted into a walk-in closet. The room never failed to cheer me with its one wall taken up by a rack of shoes and boots. The other walls displayed clothing on hangers or folded neatly on shelves. Shopping wasn’t just a fetish for me; it was an obsession, one that served me well because demon hunting wasn’t just about the chase. It was totally about appearance too. And this had never been truer.
If I was going to be in the spotlight, dazzling the masses with my greatness, I’d need to dress the part. Of course, despite all the outfits and footwear I already owned, I managed to find nothing at all in my closet that would work. What a shame. I’d have to go shopping.
Stores beware. I grinned as I imagined my credit card screaming in my wallet.
Chapter Two
A few hours later, I returned from a successful bout of shopping, laden with bags and not a single dime left on any of my credit cards. Overspending was a special talent of mine. Dropping the bags, I kicked off my heels and padded into the kitchen for a drink, only to spot my special phone from Hell flashing. In the shape of a pair of lips, it blinked red on and off to let me know someone had a mission for me. Tacky, but it was a gift from my daddy, so I made it work with the rest of my decor.
Before checking in, I peeked in on Jezzie, who absently waved at me, even as she still furiously typed. I mouthed, “Any luck?”
She gave me a thumbs-up that told me nothing.
The blinking phone taunted me, but I took a moment to put away my purchases. I hated wrinkles. My new shoes, with the five-inch heels, looked divine. The leather pants were buttery smooth as I ran my hand down them. In short order, my purchases had a spot in their new home.
My pretties. My precious…
I’d stalled as long as I could. No longer able to avoid it, and knowing I was about to lose an evening of dancing and flirting, I returned to the kitchen and put the plastic lips to my ear before I pressed the only button on the base of the phone. The line rang a few times before someone answered.
“What do you want?” If it wasn’t the snarky tone of my arch-nemesis, Medusa.
The serpentine-haired gorgon positively hated me. I think she resented the fact that I’d gotten to move topside, lived in a swanky apartment, and got to do all kinds of cool freaking stuff. It wasn’t my fault she was stuck in Hell because she had an obvious head of snakes—although, I think her intense dislike of me might have also stemmed from the fact that I’d once braided her serpents when we were just kids. Some people just couldn’t let go of the past.
“Hey, mouse breath,” I said in a cheery voice. Did I forget to mention I still hadn’t lost my instinct to drive her nuts?
“You.” The disgust in her voice made me beam.
“Yes, it’s me, your favorite soul hunter. What do you have for me today?”
“I heard about your contest, and I’ve got a suggestion for you.”
Wow, Jezzie had truly worked hard in my absence if word was already getting around. “Oh yeah, let’s hear it.”
“Super Bubblehead.” Medusa snorted in mirth, pleased with herself.
I tsked. “Really, Muddie, can’t you come up with something more original? Bubblehead is so overdone already. If you’re going to play, put a little effort into it, would you?”
The laughter on the phone stopped abruptly. “You’ve got a mission. This one is an escapee from Hell. Quite a nasty little fucker, too. I hope he gets you. Check your printer.”
Without a chance to retort—a specialty of mine—Medusa cut the connection. As soon as she did, the printer I hid in the console table under the phone whirred to life. I opened the cabinet and pulled out the wanted poster that spat out into the tray, followed by a few fact sheets.
The Hell escapee didn’t look too imposing—balding on top with a sharp nose, almost no chin, and beady eyes. The stats sheet put him at only five-foot-six, which was shorter than my barefoot five-foot-nine. I read his summarized bio.
Albert Jefferstein lived from 1898 to 1959. He killed over one hundred women, mutilating them while they were still alive. He was brought to Hell prematurely when one of the victim’s mothers sold her soul in return for him being captured and punished eternally.
I perused the rest of the sheet, but mostly found an itemization of the crimes he’d committed and the punishment he’d incurred. I winced at what Albert had earned—Satan had a perverse sense of retribution. Do the crime, do the time. That was the big guy’s motto. Many folks on the mortal plane had this mistaken idea that vile acts would earn them a special spot in Hell.
Wrong.
Satan had little sympathy or patience for criminals and murderers. Sure, he liked the occasional lie, a good fisticuff, and other things sure to earn you a spot in the pit, but he truly hated those who preyed upon the weak. Those bastards were sent to the toughest prison in Hell, where they were punished for eternity, unless they managed to get a pardon or escaped—escaped like Albert, my newest mission.
Something nagged at me, though. How had he escaped? Prisoners such as him, who received the most severe of punishments, were closely guarded. There was no way he could have escaped without help. I would have cared more except that wasn’t my department, and I was sure my big boss, Satan, had noticed this glaring fact. The big man wouldn’t tolerate incompetence. I could sense a television special coming where heads would roll, literally.
But back to the matter at hand—finding Albert. Contrary to what Medusa and others thought, my job wasn’t an easy one. Getting the lowdown on escapees didn’t tell us where we’d find them nor help us seize them once we did. Anyone with the skills to escape Hell in the first place was a force to be reckoned with. A danger to humans and demons alike. It was a tough job, a dangerous one, and to everyone’s surprise, I’d shown a knack for soul hunting.
My dad said I had intuition. I called it dumb luck. Either way, I was really good at finding the souls who had somehow fled Hell’s punishments. And when it came to catching them, well, my years in the pit, where to get ahead you sometimes needed to kick some serious ass, had taught me some valuable fighting skills.
I read over the notes again, paying close attention to Albert’s hometown and hunting ground, but I kept coming back to one nugget of info: the part describing the mother who’d sold her soul so Hell would take him early.