When Logan woke up this morning he was alone. After all this time back on Faerûn, back in the real world, he’d been woken up every morning. He was used to it by now. He expected it. But not today. No faint smell of brimstone. No whispering in his ear for him to get out of bed and back to work. Nothing. He tried to enjoy the peace. He stretched out across the rest of the double bed and pulled the tangled sheets back over himself. But it was there in the back of his head– some morbid curiosity. Where was the devil?

Later that evening Logan returned to his room at the inn.

He always preferred a clean kill. It was for professional reasons. It demonstrated skill and discipline. But when he was being honest, he knew there were spiritual ones, too. If it even made any sense for a damned soul to worry about spiritual reasons. He didn’t know. Tonight, though, he hadn’t had a choice of tactics. This one ended with his thumbs in the boy’s eye sockets before sending him back with a dagger thrust to the neck. Logan walked to the wash basin and shoved his hands under the tepid water. He rubbed his hands together loosening the gore caked on his skin turning the clear water a brownish color. 

“Kids! I love ’em. So natural and unspoiled. All that savagery and greed.”

Logan scolded himself. He should have known that something was up when the devil appeared unannounced. He didn’t turn around. “You must have enjoyed watching that.”

“I always enjoy watching you work, Logan.”

“He was eight years old.”

“I don’t make the rules. I just metel out the consequences for breaking them.”

Logan removed his hands from the basin and reached for a nearby towel. “So, what you’re telling me is that you’re really just a cosmic bureaucrat.”

The devil reached past him and reduced the towel to ashes with a brush of his fingers. “A little respect, if you please,” he said dryly. “After all, what are you but a tiny cog in the same great wheel?”

“I’m a professional,” he said, as he glanced at the devil’s reflection in the mirror.

“No.” Now the Devil was leaning against the wall. “You were a professional, Logan. And a good one, too, despite those flaws we’ve discussed. But you threw that away, and now you’re just another minion…of…the hells.” He accompanied each word with a poke to Logan’s bicep.

“Screw you,” Logan muttered, and crossed the room to get a fresh shirt. 

“Oh, come on. You ought to be used to the gritty side of death. Besides, think of all the people he would have killed if you hadn’t sent him back. He was already on his third family, you know.”

“Don’t try to tell me that you care about his victims.”

He pursed his lips, considering it. “No. Not really. Human suffering isn’t of much interest to me. Unless I’m causing it, of course.”

“When are you going to stop trying to manipulate me and just let me do my job?”

“Why, Logan,” the devil said with wounded earnestness, “our whole relationship was founded on manipulation. The pain, the visions, the dreams…For decades I had you writhing in the palm of my hand. I thought it worked for us. You don’t agree?”

Had it been so simple then?  Logan thought. No separation, no freedom. His soul surrounded on all sides with agony. In hell, the devil didn’t have that face then. He didn’t need one. The torment, it had been…everything. There hadn’t been any hope then, either. Nothing that would make him drive his thumbs through the green eyes of a child and rip the soul out.

“Yeah, well, you’re not as good at it without the brimstone to help you out.”

“Is that despair I hear? Tsk, tsk.” 

“I spend my days and nights trying to slaughter my way to a second chance. What do you think?”

“So you’re giving up on that second chance because you don’t want to get your hands dirty. Goodness. What would Satin say?”

Bastard. He was always in his head. He never wanted, ever, to hear her name in his mouth. “You know, maybe she wouldn’t care. Aren’t you the one who’s always telling me she’s moved on?”

“I say a lot of things, Logan. I would have thought you had better sense than to believe me all the time.”

There was a brief moment of silence. The Devil shifted impatiently. “This is all very self-indulgent, and I don’t think I like it. I didn’t bring you back from the Shelves of Despond to have you sit around and brood. In fact, as your employer, I forbid it.”

With a wave of his hand a bag appeared. The devil leaned over and opened it. Logan half thought that he should brace himself for a stream of bats or flying rocks with teeth to come out of it. But no, he reached into it and tugged out a simple blue dress shirt with a matching surcoat on a clothes hanger. This wasn’t making any sense. Logan’s expression must’ve said as much, because the devil smirked and handed them over to him.

“What’s this?” Logan asked skeptically as he accepted the garments.

“We have someplace we need to be and you need to look appropriate.”

“Where are we going?”

“Dinner tonight. My treat.”

Located on the northwest corner of the intersection of the High Road and Waterdeep Way stood what has been called Waterdeep’s most plush inn. The Jade Jug was deserving of its prime location; many noble families envied the spotless, luxurious accommodations. Every detail, from handsoap bowls beside the piped-water baths to the bedside icebox filled with shrimp snacks and chilled wine, had been thought of. A guest’s every need was attended to by a personal servant of their choice for the duration of their stay from those not presently engaged with another customer. Anything a guest wanted was instantly provided. The décor was muted, not garish or in bad taste. 

The devil and Logan pulled up in front of the inn in a well appointed sedan. A young male valet opened the mahogany door. “Welcome to The Jade Jug.” Said the valet as he assisted the devil out of the carriage.

As the sedan drove off, the devil and Logan were greeted by the maître d’. The mature male smiled broadly and escorted them into the inn. Without any introduction, the maître d’ immediately seated the pair.

“I’m impressed.” said Logan. “What is this really about?”

“I like you Logan. I’m just showing my appreciation for all of your hard work.”

“Yeah right. Just tell me what you want. What you need done. What you need undone. You don’t have to spend three or four hours building up the suspense.”

“Do you know why I like you, Logan?”

“I always figured it was my pretty face.”

“Mmmm….no. Think how many times I ruined it. Several hundred, I’d guess. There was the acid, the rats, the hooks-”

“Okay, then…why?”

“It’s that defiant will, that pride. It’s what brings all my best victims to me. But seriously, can’t I just treat you to a decent meal, a show of appreciation to a hard worker from his employer, without having to endure this – this very disturbing display of paranoia?”

“Nope.” He grabbed one of the rolls and started to butter it. “First off, you’re the one who gets pissed whenever I dare to take five minutes away from my precious mission to get a bite to eat. And you’re also the one who’s led me to expect something nasty behind every supposedly nice thing you do for me. Paranoid. Ha!” He snorted. “What – you’re gonna tell me that I need to get up and send the maitre d’ back?”

The devil opened his mouth to retort but was interrupted by a slight cough from the waiter, who’d been standing beside the table unnoticed. He looked at Logan and raised an eyebrow at his simple, out of style attire. Barely acceptable by the inn’s standards.

The devil ordered the soup du jour and the salmon. Logan ordered the most expensive items on the menu. Whatever the devil’s trick was Logan planned on milking it until he decided to let the cat out of the bag on his real motive.

And then they waited. Logan just stared at him, not letting him out of his sight. The devil pretended not to notice, idly running his fingers up and down his necktie and looking innocently up at the ceiling. Logan was sure he was up to something. Finally the devil just let out an impatient sigh and looked back at Logan.

“Fine,” he said, almost pouting. “Fine. You expect something, then fine. Be right back.” He turned to look over at the door to the kitchen, and Logan followed his glance only to find that when he turned back, the devil had disappeared. That didn’t bode all that well, but he’d be more subtle than leading Logan to an expensive inn only to ditch it and leave him holding the bill. That was way too obvious for his style.

He still hadn’t come back when the waiter arrived with the soup. Actually, it was a different waiter than the one who’d turned his nose up at Logan’s outfit. He was still puzzled over this one when he turned and found the devil back in his chair, sipping at the glass of wine next to the soup. Logan glanced at the new waiter as he headed back to the kitchen.

“Different waiter,” Logan commented, tasting his soup. 

“Observant.”

“Should I ask?”

“Oh, it’s nothing really. It’s just that our previous waiter was in a brief altercation in the kitchen. One of the cooks provoking him with … baseless rumors regarding the man’s fiancé. Sad to say, the waiter now numbers among the ranks of the disgruntled unemployed. Pity.”

“Yeah. Pity.”

“Are you satisfied now? Was that enough to convince you that all of my dastardly shenanigans for the night are exhausted and we can have a simple dinner in peace, hopefully devoid of any further paranoia?”

“Fine. Whatever.” Logan had to admit, though, that this little stunt did help to break the tension. He’d been too – too nice all night. It was almost reassuring to see evidence of the same old wickedness.

“I’d skip the soup and stick to the rolls if I were you, though. You know how disgruntled waitpersons can be.”

Logan set his spoon back down on the table. Typical.