As we leave campus, I can still see big black birds plummeting in and out of the square. They look like they could be fighting over a dropped sandwich. But they're not.

They're fighting over zombies.

I should be scared. That would be the logical response. Truth be told, my body emulates something like fear. My palms are clammy, my heart beats fast, and my body is so full of energy I find myself tapping my foot. It's not fear though. It's adrenaline. I'm pumped up. I haven't had a fight like that in . . . well, ever. What with my opponents being dead and all.

As Crow drives toward the center of town, my brain kicks violently into gear, screaming that I'm in a car with a strange creep who controls birds. I think he notices the change because I see a quirk tug at the side of his lips out of the corner of my eye.

"What the hell is going on?" I demand.

"I was wondering how long it would take you to freak out," he says.

"Yes, well. Now you know," I snap.

As we pass Evie's Garden Bar, Crow waves at someone—or something—in the alley by Apocalypse. But then we're passing by the small church at the end of the street and turning onto the road leading to the freeway.

"I told you, there was a seven-car pileup this morning," he says.

"Oh. And that explains everything."

"It does, actually."

"Right. So there was an accident on the freeway, some people died. And the logical next step in that story is that they came back to life again to attack me on campus. How obvious. How—oh, shit!" I look over my shoulder as we take the on-ramp. "We should tell someone. What if they attack someone else?"

"They won't. No one else can see them," he says. "Just you. And they didn't come back to life. They're dead."

"They didn't seem dead."

"Really? See a lot of people with protruding bones and hanging flesh, do you?" He raises his eyebrows, gaze still fixed on the wide road ahead. "Definitely not recruited for your brains, eh, little Demon?"

At that, all I can do is splutter.

He laughs. "I forgot how fun these little jobs were. Fun for a while, anyway. I'm going to need you to suspend your disbelief soon, or it's going to get boring."

"Oh. Well, I'd hate that. For you to get bored."

"You might." He catches my eye. "I'd have to find some other way to amuse myself."

I stiffen. I jumped into a car with this guy because he helped me out, but what do I actually know about him? He's been following me, I might have seen him creeping around the locker rooms, and he showed no restraint when it came to exhibiting violence.

He's strong too. I felt it when he caught my fist.

"Are you threatening me?"

"I told you last night, that's my job."

I glance out the window, then at the door handle. The traffic means we're moving slowly—I could probably make a run for it.

The locks click.

"Unlock the doors," I say.

He holds my gaze a moment longer. "Just messing," he says, turning his head back to the cars in front of us. "I'm not a threat to you. Not on this contract, anyway. I just meant I might ditch you. You're not exactly worth very much."

"Excuse me?"

He laughs again. "There you go. You're still amusing. You'll be fine."

I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and lean back against the headrest. "You're a dick."

"I know."

We fall into silence, and it gives me a chance to get my thoughts in order.

Everything about this guy screams untrustworthy. But ever since last night, things have been weird. A mysterious guy claiming to be an Angel somehow got into my room, I've been offered a mysterious internship, and—oh, yeah, I was attacked by dead people.

I glance at my knuckles, which are pink from the fight. If it was some kind of prank, there's no way it would have gone this far.

So what does that mean? I've actually sold my soul to the Devil?

And I was worried about telling my parents I wasn't sure about law school. . .

"Is this real?" I say.

"Aye."

"Seriously?"

"Uh-huh." Crow taps the steering wheel with his thumbs, apparently without a care in the world.

"Right. So then how does me signing away my soul equal dead guys coming after me?"

"Some smart-arse created an app," he says.

"Can you stop speaking in riddles, please?"

He shifts on his seat, head brushing the ceiling as he rummages in his jeans pocket. A moment later, he produces his iPhone.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" I say when he hands it over.

"There's an app on the home screen," he says. "Afterlife."

I find the icon—a black "A" on a white background—and tap it. A white screen materializes.

Hello, recently deceased! What are you looking for?

Below are four black buttons. They read, "MORAL DEFENSE," "SOUL INVESTMENT," "SOUL RATING," and, "OMENS."

I must be pulling a "what the hell?" face, because Crow chuckles.

"It's like one of those insurance comparison apps," he says. "You know? Where they compare prices across all the companies and give you your best options?" He snatches it from me and taps the screen a few times, one hand resting on the wheel. "It asks you a series of questions based on what you're looking for—whether you're good or bad, where you're based, where you died, etcetera. Then it shows you your best bet," he says. "Here."

He hands it back, and I almost drop it. There's a map on the screen now, one with moving red, white, and black dots intended to represent "Ethereal forces near you." But that isn't what catches my attention. There's a pair of dots—one red, one black—approaching downtown Los Angeles. Next to the red dot is a photograph of me.

"What the hell is this?" I say, zooming in on a picture taken from my Instagram. It's from last Halloween when Josie persuaded me to dress up as a "slutty Demon" and be her date to one of the sorority parties. I'm wearing red latex and horns while prodding a keg with a plastic devil's fork. Josie's in the background attempting to play beer pong with her cat ears askew.

"Don't worry. You can change your profile pic," he says.

"Yeah. Because that's what's concerning. Not the incredible invasion of privacy." Although, I take note of where the "UPDATE PROFILE" button is before reading the rest of my bio.

Name: RACHEL MORTIMER

Company: DEVILS INC.

Level: INTERN

Active Cases: 0

Cases Won: 0

Cases Lost: 0

Soul Investments: 0

Reviews: 0

STATUS: ONLINE

"Like I said, some smart-arse created an app," says Crow. "When you die, it's automatically installed on your phone so you can check out nearby services after the whole 'welcome to death' spiel."

I frown. "What's that got to do with me?"

"Well, you were nearby. And you don't have any cases at the moment, so you were an obvious choice. Not to mention, most of the lawyers at Devils Inc. have set themselves to unavailable. They're predicting the death of a high-profile politician soon, and neither side wants him." He waves a hand in dismissal. "I can't be arsed to explain it all to you, little Demon. Not my job."

I open the window, letting in a soft breeze, the scent of car fumes, and the screech of a red Lamborghini as it overtakes us. Then I dangle his phone out the window.

"I swear to god, I'll drop this if you don't make it your job," I say.

He doesn't look particularly concerned. "Swear to god, huh?" He chuckles, then glances at me. "Okay. Calm down."

I'm tempted to do it just to spite him, but who knows how dangerous omens are. Slowly, I put the window back up.

"Go on then," I say.

"Well . . . everyone wants to go up when they die, don't they?" he says.

I look at him blankly.

"You know, up. Heaven. Paradise. Through the pearly gates. Whatever. . ." He pulls into a parking spot on a street of expensive-looking office buildings. After shutting the engine off, he turns to look at me, resting an arm on the back of his seat. "But only 'good' people are meant to go up. And 'bad' people are meant to go 'down.'" He points to the gearshift. "You follow?"

I look at him, perplexed. "Well, yeah. I suppose. But I don't see what it has to do with me."

"Well, good and bad can be pretty arbitrary when you come to think of it. Right?"

"I guess."

"And it's not as if the higher-ups or lower-downs left comprehensive legal guides. A lot of it is open to negotiation. There are frequent loopholes. And some souls are more . . . desirable than others. Sometimes, 'down there' doesn't want a bad soul. And sometimes, 'up there' doesn't want a good one."

"What do you mean, desirable?"

He blows out hot air. "I hate explaining things."

"I don't know why," I snap. "You're so good at it."

He climbs out of the car and makes a show of stretching on the sidewalk. Then he nods to the massive skyscraper to our left. It's made of shiny black glass.

"They'll explain it for you. Welcome to Devils Inc., little Demon. Ready to go in?"

Crow leans against the top of the Mini Cooper, absently studying his blunt fingernails. I don't move from the passenger seat, my mind still struggling to make sense of his shitty explanation of what's going on. Outside, suited people carry paper coffee cups and laptops through the revolving glass doors.

"Sometime today," says Crow. "I'm contracted to deliver you, little Demon. I'll throw you over my shoulder and carry you in if I have to."

I snap out of my blank stare and turn to look at him.

"You will not," I say.

"Oh, I will."

I arch an eyebrow and call his bluff. "Do it then."

He holds my gaze. Then he pushes off the car and walks around to my side. And—oh, shit, he's not bluffing . . .

Hastily unfastening my seatbelt, I clamber out with as much dignity as I can muster.

"I was coming anyway," I say.

He chuckles as he closes the passenger door.

Something catches my eye on the phone map as we start to walk down the palm tree-lined boulevard. The buildings on either side of our dots are labeled. One has the Devils Inc. logo hovering above it; the other says "Halo Corp."

I've seen that logo before too.

I touch my jeans pocket, feeling the edge of the business card that weird dude Gabriel gave me.

He said he was an Angel. . .

Holy shit.

I look up to study the two skyscrapers in a new light. They face each other like they're in some kind of standoff. Unlike Devils Inc., the other building is bright white, its many large windows reflecting the blue sky. The top floor seems to be made of mirrored glass.

"What's in there?" I ask, handing back his phone.

He follows my gaze across the street. "A load of stiffs."

"Oh, that's so informative."

He smirks. "They're Devils Inc.'s main competitors. You met one of them yesterday, I presume? A skinny redhead who walks around like he's got a stick up his arse."

"You know him?"

"Aye. I know him." Something in his eyes darkens as he stares at the building. Then he heads for Devils Inc. "Come on."

I pause. I may have taken the ride with Crow to escape the zombies, but now I'm out of harm's way, is this really a good idea? Jonathon used to always say big companies would suck out your soul eventually. If everything I'm being told is true, this place does that in a literal sense. It might be true that I need an internship, but am I this desperate? Finding a coffee shop, getting a much-needed caffeine boost, then heading back to campus might be a more sensible option.

"Tell it to me straight—why should I go in there?" I ask.

He turns to face me. "Because the dead guys'll keep coming for you?" he offers. "Because they've actually accepted you onto their internship program, and you can't afford to be picky? Because they own your soul now?" He turns and carries on walking as though confident I'll follow. "Take your pick, little Demon."

I fall into step beside him. "They don't really think they own my soul, do they?"

"You really should have read those terms and conditions."

We approach a revolving door made of tinted black glass. Crow stops, giving me a moment to take in the horned obsidian goat's head hanging above it. Its eerie ruby-red eyes give me the serious creeps.

"What were you and him talking about, by the way?" he asks with forced casualness. It's a new tone for him.

I think back to what Gabriel said. He mentioned saving my soul if I secretly passed him information. It all seemed like bullshit at the time. But on the off chance it's real and I have accidentally promised myself to Lucifer, perhaps it's a good idea to keep that particular conversation to myself. . .

"Something about being an Angel. I was just trying to get him out of my bedroom, to be honest," I say.

As Crow holds my gaze, the gold flecks near his pupils seem to glimmer. Then he shrugs.

"I don't blame you. Dull guy." He steps toward the revolving doors. "Gabriel in a girl's bedroom. That must be a first."

He halts, and I almost walk into his back.

"Best not to mention him when you get inside though," he says.

"Why not?"

"Just trust me on this one."

Before I can tell him how little I trust him, we're entering the lobby of Devils Inc.

---

A U T H O R  N O T E

In case you missed the author note at the start, this is just a sample of Devils Inc.!

Devils Inc. is now published and you can get your copy from Amazon! Or follow the link in my bio ---> LEPalphreyman!

As well as the paperback version of Devils Inc. (available on Amazon and Book Depository) you can also get the ebook version on Kindle, Nook, and Kobo.

Devils Inc. is additionally available on Radish under the title 'Accidentally Sold to the Devil'.