Devils and Details, pt 1 (Patreon)

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Argyle looked at the two papers on his desk. They couldn’t possibly look more different or be representative of more polar opposite concepts. One was crisp and white, flawless font choice and a perfectly digitally duplicated signature reading ‘Marshall Reyes the Third’ at the bottom. The other was ancient, yellowed, nicked at the edges and refused to stop curling at the bottom. It was also covered in sticky notes with scribbles of the gray wolf’s own handwriting along with some very carefully scribed alterations and addendums. One of them was the ‘apology’ letter from his law firm telling him he had not now, nor would he ever make partner. The other was a contract. It had taken him since early law school, since he found the thing in one of those nameless dusty curio shops in the dark corners of a town, to get it into the state it was today. Ironclad, waiting for a name on the dotted line.

Part of him expected it was just a prop, at least at first. That hadn’t lasted after Argyle started to successfully translate the document, the legal language used in it was far too precise and exacting for this to just be some joke or whatnot. He’d had the thing for fifteen years now, taking notes, divining what each line meant and how it related to the others, triple checking his desired alterations to it forward and backward. Argyle was proud of the work he’d done on it – he just wished he could’ve used it as his thesis back in the day. Now, though, it presented him with an option. Which was always what it was really, an option to keep on hand, just in case.

Glancing at the pristine white paper again, at the digitally recreated signature of someone who couldn’t be bothered to even put pen to paper to tell him years of his work here weren’t enough and that they never would be, Argyle felt a simmering ire bubble up and reached for his best pen. Sure, the stories always said it was the height of foolishness to sign anything penned by a devil, but those people hadn’t had a decade and a half of legal study and time. 

Argyle squared his jaw and growled a little. He wasn’t some idiot farm hand in a fable, and he was a better lawyer than whoever wrote the document he now put his pristine and long-practiced signature to. The little flourish at the end was, perhaps, unnecessary, but Argyle felt it appropriate after so long a wait.

“Indeed, sir.”

The wolf did his best not to visibly jump out of his seat over that, but it took effort. As soon as he looked up from his signature the source of the voice was obvious, albeit not terribly ostentatious considering this was, unless he was greatly mistaken, a demon. Though for all the world it just looked like a red tree squirrel in a much nicer suit than his, tailored to be sure, and with a voice that rolled through his head like some rich honeyed liquor. The young man’s lithe form looked perfect while he stood there, expression neutral, arms tucked behind his back, completely still. 

Ideally there’d have been something appropriately dramatic to say right now, but Argyle was at a loss to do much but take a slow breath and state the obvious. 

“You came.”

The squirrel raised an eyebrow, which left Argyle with a clear look at the liquid gold irises the young man possessed. Shimmering things that were uncomfortable to look at with how they caught and stole light, but too fascinating to easily look away from.

“Obviously. Your work was flawless after all.”

Glancing at the parchment now bearing his signature, Argyle went through a rapid list of thoughts. He didn’t feel different, which was a good sign. The whole point had been to end up with a servant of some power and not sacrifice anything in the process. Well, apart from the time and effort. A servant, one who serviced him, in-

“Every fashion, yes. Did you want me to start on that immediately? I’m guessing not.”

Argyle exhaled loudly through his nose, shifting his gaze over to the other paper. The other signature, the half-assed dismissive one.

“Yes, I thought so. I’m detecting envy, greed, a little hint of wrath – I assume lust will come later. What is your-“

The wolf raised a hand, which did a proper job of commanding silence.

“Quit it with the psychoanalysis. I don’t want you explaining my own motivations to me through whatever way you see it. I just… I need to think about how I go from here.”

Argyle reached out and put his paw down, fingers steepled, atop the letter from the firm. 

“I can’t just quit being patient and careful because this step worked. If you want something to do in the meantime? Go make me something to eat.”

Looking up into the squirrel fiend’s eyes, the wolf tried to find some shred of annoyance in them. He didn’t see it if it was there. Just a vast reservoir of patience and a little malice around the edges. A good match for him, Argyle thought to himself. Didn’t mean he couldn’t take another jab just the same.

“And if you want to put those person-reading skills to the test then surprise me with something properly opulent and exotic – something I can’t just pick up down the street. Be nice not to have to choke down dinner in ten minutes to fit into the office break schedule for once anyway.”

All through the venting and the obvious challenge, the squirrel remained motionless. Eerily so, Argyle wasn’t even entirely sure if the creature was breathing now that he thought about it. The well-dressed rodent smiled at that, the two buck teeth all squirrels had looking normal enough, though the rest were a trifle sharper than they ought to be.

“Certainly, sir. I’ll return with something suitable while you let your revenge simmer. Such things shouldn’t be rushed any more than a good meal, lest we spoil our best ingredients.”

The wolf lawyer watched the squirrel bow slowly, lazily almost, before he began marching off directly toward the meager kitchen in the wolf’s apartment. At this point he just wanted the thing out of the room so he could think, Argyle wasn’t sure he’d thought through how to handle if the contract actually summoned a fiend bound to his will. He was certain he worded it perfectly though, his soul was still his, the creature had to do what he said – and not some crazy Needful Things version of it either. There was more than a little swell of pride in him that he’d pulled that off, and that it had actually profited him. That something had finally gone his way.

He’d finally hit his payday. Now he just had to decide how it was going to cost Marshall Reyes the Third.