“Well, children,” the Night Nurse says, “I have good news for you. Not that you deserve it.”
Edwin raises an eyebrow. “Good news is an unusual thing for you to bear.”
“Indeed,” she says. “I am unaccustomed. Regardless - ” a flourish of her hand and a long scroll of parchment unfolds across the desk “ - I have it. Sign here and Hell will officially relinquish its hold over your immortal soul.”
Edwin’s eyes go wide and he jumps back. “No!”
Charles lunges to stand between him and the scroll, hands wide and protective, as though he could somehow sign it by accident.
The Night Nurse blinks at them in confusion. “I have been working for weeks to achieve this,” she says. “Time I do not have to spare. I expected gratitude, not - whatever this is.”
Charles glances back at Edwin for approval to take over the social interaction, then looks back to the Night Nurse. “So, er,” he starts, “we, um. May have, perhaps, been… periodically… a little bit… taking advantage of the fact that Edwin’s soul doesn’t, technically, belong to him.”
“Well, see,” Charles says, in a voice carefully calibrated to sound reasonable and casual, “if you happen to be, like, in a situation where selling your soul might get you out of a jam, or, um, get you a rare and valuable object, or… maybe something more minor once you’ve gotten used to using it that way…”
The Night Nurse’s eyes narrowed dangerously.
“You might, possibly, take advantage of the fact that your soul isn’t actually yours to sell, and the fact that anyone who wants to claim custody of it has to go to Hell and fight a big demon monster thing,” Charles finished quickly.
The Night Nurse folded her hands carefully in front of her. “Out of curiosity,” she said, her voice high-pitched and unsteady, “just how many parties are currently poised to engage in a custody dispute over your companion’s soul?”
“Um,” Charles said, “honestly I don’t…”
“Forty-seven,” Edwin said. “Plus another dozen or so who are owed periods of service. I believe around fifteen centuries, between them.”
The Night Nurse made a strangled noise, and the parchment rolled itself back up.
“Well,” she said, “that is more paperwork than I, for one, am prepared to deal with. Good day.”
