I hate being a freelancer. It’s a pain in the butt trying to get clients to pay.

“The crux of my argument, your honor,” my lawyer said in a booming voice to the courtroom, “is that the defendant over there, Catherine—” He jabbed a pointer finger to the defendant's table where a woman with enormous glasses and frizzy hairdo sat, “promised my client her firstborn child first.”

I fidgeted in my seat. I didn’t have the money to chase after every client that didn’t pay. Witches aren’t unionized, after all. But I’d been lucky enough to find a lawyer who understood the situation I was in.

“So despite what Mr. Devil’s Advocate over there says,” my lawyer jabbed a finger at the silvery haired man dressed in aristocratic robes wreathed in shimmering green flames, “As a matter of common law, and let’s face it, common sense, you cannot promise someone something after you have already entered into an agreement with someone else in exchange for the same piece of property. The “property” in this case, being of course, the defendant’s firstborn child.”

I gulped. I hadn’t met my quota of human babies this month, and things were looking bad. And in this market? This economy? I couldn’t afford letting this client squirrel her way out of payment. My savings were not looking good.

The judge nodded almost automatically, adjusting the glasses on her face.

The Devil’s Advocate stepped forward.

“I do not argue against that,” he said in a deep baritone voice, and it was hard to hear him over the sound of the crackling fire on his robes, “But I simply must point out that the only proof of agreement between the witch and the defendant is a verbal agreement. Now, those are fine and all, but..”

The Devil’s Advocate rolled out a long scroll that fell to the floor, also wreathed in flickering green flames.

“I have a written contract here which is signed with Catherine’s blood, which as we all know, is a stronger agreement when it comes to the transfer of property, which the firstborn human child would be considered to be.”

The Devil’s Advocate pulled up the scroll, and it flew up and furled into itself, vanishing in a puff of green smoke.

“And let’s be real here,” the Devil’s Advocate shook his head, “A contractual agreement with the Devil himself has much more legal sway than a verbal agreement with a witch. I don’t necessarily agree with that, but it is what the law has decided, with Morningstar vs Baba Yaga serving as precedent.”

The Devil’s Advocate jabbed a finger at me, and I nearly jumped.

“Should we allow this lowly witch to collect the firstborn just because she happened to be there when the defendant was in a moment of desperation?”

He slammed a fist on his desk.

“Nay, I say. Nay!”

I let out an exhale. I exchanged a worried glance with my lawyer, but he smiled, slowly melting my worries away.

“No one is above the law,” my lawyer said in a whisper, “It does not matter if the defendant made an agreement with God himself or a lowly peasant, it’s a matter of common sense that you cannot promise someone something when you have already given it away.”

“You have no proof that your client even entered into an agreement with Catherine,” The Devil’s Advocate said, leering. “For all we know, she went around promising her baby to every person she met on the street.”

This was it. This was the moment I’d been waiting for. Ever since a particularly nasty client had screwed me over for months of pay, I’d gone to my grandma in Salem and asked her what she did when clients suddenly decided nooo, it was their baby, how could you take my baaaaby and other unprofessional drivel. She’d handed me the heaviest spell book I’d ever seen, telling me it was a legal reference for witches written by a lawyer witch herself, instructing witches how they should protect themselves in a court of law.

“It just so happens,” my lawyer said softly, “That my client made sure to place the mark of sacrifice upon the back of the defendant’s head as they made the deal. This mark is proof of agreement between a witch and a human, and contains enough magic for our court to be able to determine when the spell was cast, and whose baby was assigned to be sacrificed.”

I looked over to the defendant’s table. Catherine’s jaw had dropped to the ground. The Devil’s Advocate looked shaken as well.

“I can’t see anything on the defendant’s head,” came the Judge’s calm voice.

My lawyer wagged a finger, unable to contain the excitement on his face. “This mark is revealed when a servant of the devil places his hand on the mark, as all witches invoke the power of the devil to do their work. Not an everyday demon, but a servant to the devil himself.”

He strode over to where Catherine was sitting.

“And since the mark can only be revealed by a servant of the devil,” he smiled at The Devil’s Advocate, who stepped back in response, “Who more fitting to ask than the Devil’s Advocate himself?”

“I..” The Devil’s Advocate trailed off. Beads of sweat were visible on his forehead, which evaporated almost instantly because he was on fire.

Murmurs erupted from the jury. The judge leaned forward in her chair.

“As the Devil’s Advocate, I cannot do something that would go against His Infernal Majesty’s interests,” the Devil’s Advocate said simply. “I am here on his behalf. I cannot agree to reveal any such marking, even if it existed.”

The gentle thud of a gavel pulled all eyes towards the judge.

“This case has gone on for too long already,” the judge said, “If you require a servant of the devil to reveal the mark, you will need more time to get an appropriate expert. The court sees no problem extending the case further, but would you please consider it, Mr. Devil’s Advocate, so that we might head towards a faster verdict?”

All eyes were on the Devil’s Advocate. He looked to the floor, appearing forlorn. Then he took a breath and looked into the judge’s face.

“What kind of Devil’s Advocate would I be..” he said in that baritone voice, “If I testified against the devil himself?”

“No,“ he said, crossing his arms. “

I felt my stomach sink. The court could delay my case for as long as they wanted. But I did not quite have the money to survive without settling this soon, while the devil had deep pockets. I was the desperate one here. I needed a faster verdict or I would be homeless soon.

I looked up at my lawyer, tears almost welling up in my eyes. He’d fought a good fight. He’d taken on my case for this long. But we needed a high ranking devil and didn’t have it. Who knows how many months it would take to get one? This wasn’t an everyday demon that I could summon at any time. A A Devil’s servant was much higher ranking devil, and honestly, their services didn’t come cheap.

“Would you like to end this and reconvene at a later date?” The Judge asked gently.

I rose to my feet, thinking about my options. None of this would be a problem if I had money. All of the solutions required time. Time which I didn’t have. If I dismissed the case, I would be able to save a little money and carry on working until another payment arrived. If I continued the case, I would have more expenses that would leave me broke very, very soon. It felt like being squeezed from all sides.

“You’re looking a little worried there,” came a gentle voice. I looked up to see my lawyer gazing at me with concern.

“I don’t know how long I can keep doing this,” I whispered to him.

“I ask again,” came the judge’s voice, “Will you be asking for another extension?”

“I don’t think I can drag this on any more,” I said. The settlement from this would be a major help, but I really didn’t have months to spare.

He looked into my eyes for several moments.

“I told you I’d take care of this.”

“You have,” I said, “But..”

“Could you please give the court an answer?” came the Judge’s voice again.

“There’s no need for an extension,” my lawyer boomed to the court.

“But I can’t—“ and before I could finish, he placed his hands on my shoulders and pressed me down into my chair.

“Just watch.”

I felt a buzzing in my head.

The lawyer strode over to where Catherine was sitting. “Could you please stand and show us the back of your head?”

“I told you I won’t do it,” The Devil’s Advocate said, “Why are you—“

The lawyer chuckled.

“I can’t pretend I work directly for the devil or anything,” the lawyer said softly, as Catherine rose to her feet. “But I am a lawyer. And that should be enough, I think.”

He gently tapped the back of her head to reveal shimmering white spider lines that sprouted and snaked the back of her head to form a sigil.

The judge raised her glasses, nodding at the sheer magical power seeping out of her scalp.

Catherine slumped over, clearly knowing when she was defeated. The Devil’s Advocate let out a sigh.

“Well, there you have it, folks," my lawyer said, flashing me a smile.

I gave my lawyer the happiest smile I’d felt in my life.

"I swear, you two are very lucky I'm not the King of Solomon!" The judge had heard enough arguments from the wizened crone and goat-horned red imp in front of him.

Despite being the main agitator, the little imp didn't take kindly to the comment. He jerked his left goat horn with his right hand and hurled it towards his right. The ivory horn boomeranged with the schwiiing of a saw around the courtroom before embedding into the judge's right eye with such force that it punctured outside of the skull and back again through the front, remaining impaled in the man's temple.

The old woman threw her hands in the air before placing them on her hips, whipping her head accusingly towards Impy. "Now look what you've done!"

"You heard the man!" The little imp's voice ended on a high note each phrase, extremely defensive. "You heard what he said, we should have taken his tongue out first."

"You dolt! They'll have to reschedule us now!" The witch, Helen, was already packing up her wooden briefcase, filled with various potions, ingredients, and her court paperwork.

Impy's shoulders rounded as his face fell. "Oh, yeah." They had already waited a month. Suddenly Impy's face got even redder. He looked at the floor in shame, for the moment forgetting his hatred for Helen. Why hadn't he thought harder at the moment and not killed the man?

It's hard, to think of things like that. It is just an instinct, an instant thing to hurl a horn at a man who insults your character. As simple as breathing, or kicking a stray cat, or checking each car door to see if they're unlocked. Just one of the things you don't really think about, you know?

Helen did not know. Her face looked grosser the longer Impy talked. Eventually, he lulled into silence.

"Uh.. yeah. Right." Helen rolled her eyes, making a weird face. Impy was confused what she was thinking. "Look, whatever. I'll see you in a few more weeks, I'm sure. Just don't kill the next one." Helen turned before Impy replied, her hips swinging as her heels clacked.

Impy spent a few minutes processing the event, trying to work through it in his head.

How could he prevent this in the future?

How could he be sure he remembered? Maybe writing a note?

Fundamentally there was no way to know he would remember. Maybe he should just repeat it in his brain a million times. No one will believe the excuse a second time that he just didn't think. Did they all believe him the first time?

Impy stopped packing his briefcase, his heart rate escalating. He imagined everyone he had ever known, accusing him. Calling him a liar and a cheat, a fake and a hypocrite, a bastard and a phony. After all who just doesn't think about something so serious as killing a person?

He scribbled a note in his notepad app, then he didn't open the note for the next four months before deleting it without a second glance during a phone spring cleaning.

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