If you meet me, have some sympathy 21

Diving out of the computer terminal, I lay barely conscious on a patch of dirty carpet. I could hear sirens and for a moment felt again the burning of the antivirus guns. I knew that I hadn’t materialised properly – there was an ugly hole in my forearm where the flesh was missing and most of the rest was covered in scales. From a pricking sensation in my shoulders, I guessed that I’d failed to hide my wings and the weight on my temples suggested horns. If I hadn’t come so close to annihilation, I would have been ashamed – perfect cover had been my specialty.

And then I remembered the blistering crossfire and my last glimpse of Theresa engulfed in flames. A wave of sickening despair washed over me and I yearned for Hell to swallow me up again – the imps on the lower levels always needed feeding. But nothing happened so I raised bleak eyes and surveyed my surroundings.

I took in the cluttered flat and grey morning light, but most of all I took in the terrified eyes of my target, sitting at his desk. Fair enough – it’s not often you get to entertain a half-dead devil for breakfast.