18
The next thing I know, I’m seated in a cramped white office on a rickety wooden chair. Lincoln sits beside me. Before us, a Mantis she-demon is perched behind a rusted metal desk. She’s tall, lanky and bright green with a tiny head, large bulbous eyes, and long bony arms with an extra set of elbows. Her black hair is pulled back into a tight bun.
“You’re late, Myla Lewis,” she says, scribbling something on a sheet of paper.
I try to understand what’s happening and fail utterly. “My personal hell is this office?”
“Obviously, and you’re tardy in the extreme.” Her mouth is teensy and has long pointed teeth.
I exhale a long breath. At least, I know this is my personal hell.
Lincoln eyes the Mantis demon carefully. “Why is there a time schedule here?”
“There is and the ‘why’ is none o
