If you want to hear a really good lie, try asking a demon what they with all of the souls they trade for.

No really. Go try it.

So far I’ve gotten 38 different answers, each a more outlandish fable than the next. From using them as incubators for their larval forms, to nothing except as trophies of their conquests and contracts among mortals, like some kind of metaphysical score keeping system.

The truth, however, is far more sinister… as well as being much, much simpler. They eat them.

It’s not even that hard to figure out. Next time you get a Pleasure Devil over for a little lala time, try faking passing out after having paid your ‘fee’. Don’t worry, it’s safe enough, despite the rumours. If anything, it will discourage her from trying to smear off any ‘quickie round two addendums’ on you. I’ve done it myself numerous times -sometimes a man just isn’t up for a second round, but he doesn’t want to suffer the blow to his ego and his manhood of disappointing an eager, beautiful lady.

It was during one of these fake naps that I noticed through slitted eyes my erstwhile bedroom companion pop something invisible in her mouth and swallow just like she’d just swallowed my… well, you get the idea.

At the time, I had no idea what that was. I thought she had swallowed one of those new-fangled ‘pills’ or something. After all, an alchemical contraceptive? For a being that could shapeshift? That made no sense!

It was not until days later, when I was rethinking the event, that it hit me. That had been my soul, slowly sliding down that beautiful throat. At least, the chunk of it that I’d just traded for a quick game of hide the sausage. And perhaps a little bit of butter the biscuit, but just as an experiment.

Shockingly, however, this is possibly the demons’ worst kept secret. Despite the gratuitous lies, demons take very little effort to actually hide it that they love chowing down on that which makes us who we are.

Once I actually confronted my next companion, she freely admitted that yes, they ate our souls. She then proceeded to blow my mind with a spectacular display of gymnastic flexibility and a complete lack of any sort of inhibitions, but that is not the topic of this discussion.

Odds are you already suspected this. After all, what else is a demon going to use that pathetic little puff of ectoplasm you call a soul for? What you might not know, is why they eat it. Do demons need good soulage in their diet? Does it help their bowel movements? Does it give their horns a beautiful, spectral luster?

None of the above!

Demons need souls the same way I need those delicious little cream filled pastries from the bakery down the street. Are they delicious? Yes! Should I be eating less of them? Probably. Will they kill me one day? Who are you, my doctor? Piss off! I can stop any time I want!

That is to say, to them, souls are a luxury item. Something to be enjoyed if available, but forgotten about if not. It is not necessary for their continued survival, nor does it fulfill any fundamental function in whatever ‘society’ they have on their side of the gate. In fact, I have it on good authority that the only place where souls are used as a currency is right here in Grailmane!

Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if most demons over in their world didn’t even know souls exist.

So why go through all of the effort to come to our world to collect the damn stuff? Well, I believe that question illustrates a gross and fundamental misunderstanding of what it is that demons want. People think they come here because they want our souls. I believe that’s getting things neatly the wrong way around.

Demons want souls because they want to come to our world.

- From the memoirs of Albricht Poppelheim, 8th High Master of the Institute of Diabolism, Grailmane

Ixxy looked up at the mansion in front of her and back down at the piece of paper in her hand. Then she scratched her head.

It turned out, not all contracts required a summoning. Contracts that were sufficiently complex or were of a long duration, were usually arranged directly at Triorbus Square in a manner that was similar to more conventional work contracts. Conventional work contracts that paid in souls, mind you.

The other way you got personalized service and home delivery to your door without the hassle (or the cost) of a summoning ritual was, apparently, to be rich as balls. At least, that’s how Sazka had explained it to her. Certain individuals in the city, certain powerful individuals, retained the privilege of having home-delivered service on request.

Which was why Ixxy had walked several kilometres to this large, old, red-brick house in a skimpy maid’s outfit, instead of just getting summoned again. This time people had stared at her the entire way, but she’d shrugged them off. She was a professional, dammit.

She looked up at the house again, glanced around for any further hints, then tugged at a horn. It should be the right address, according to note that Sazka had shoved into her hand, but she’d said that the guy who’d rented her was loaded. And this place looked like a dump.

It was situated in an old, rich section of the Diabolist District, sure, but several of the windows were broken and wooden planks had been nailed over them. The curtains behind the windows that were intact were dirty, and a few scraggly vines climbed the brickwork in between, digging themselves into the masonry with all the persistence of nature given time to do its work.

Old, dried, mud-stained stone steps lead up to the front door, looking as if they had not been cleaned by anything other than wind and rain in a very long time. The front door itself appeared to be oak, though, which was a point in the house’s favour. Wood was rare in Grailmane as there were no forests close by and the ground was too rocky for trees. However, it was old and faded by time and the dry, mountain air.

All in all, while the house still appeared occupied, it looked like a place that had once been elegant and opulent before slowly slipping into neglect.

Ixxy scowled down at the piece of paper in her hand, the address written on it in bright red ink clearly matching the house in front of her. Unless Sazka had made a mistake, which seemed about as likely as, well, this being the right place.

She supposed there was no harm in at least asking if this was where she had to be, and possibly getting some directions if it wasn’t. Not like she could embarrass these folks any more than their house already did, right? Heck, if they’d been here for a long time, maybe they knew who around here was a pervert that liked his girls in maid outfits.

She wriggled her black corset to sit a little more comfortably around her bust, smoothed out the white trim around the bottom of her short skirt and stalked up to the door. Then she tapped the brass door knocker loudly and confidently.

She didn’t have long to wait before the door slowly creaked open.

Ixxy had been given no instructions to be discreet or use the servant’s entrance or anything else. So she didn’t.

If having a Pleasure Devil in a skimpy maid outfit walk up and openly knock on his front door bothered the neatly dressed man who opened the door for her, he gave no indication.

“Ah, you’re here. Good. Please come in,” he said formally, stepping aside and sweeping his arm invitingly. He was likely around forty, but with no sign of grey in his tidily cut brown hair. A thin mustache adorned his upper lip.

Ixxy bobbed a brief curtsy, ducking her head in a show of servility. “Thank you, Master. I am glad that I can be of… service.” She rolled the last word seductively, but the man held up a hand to stop her.

“None of that, please, Madam,” the man admonished her. “The Master is waiting for you upstairs. I am merely his manservant. You may call me Godfrey.”

Oh. Pity. Godfrey’s aristrocratic nose and cheeks gave him a delicate charm, and the suit jacket and button-up white shirt seemed to be perfectly tailored to his frame. He looked rather scrumptious. Ixxy only hoped his master was equally good looking.

She gave him a dazzling smile. “Of course, my apologies, Godfrey. Please, lead the way to the Master,” she said, easily slipping into a more refined way of speaking to match him.

“I am afraid, Miss…?”

“Ixilis. Ixxy to my… friends,” she grinned, positively purring the last word.

“Miss Ixilis,” he continued, pronouncing it perfectly and ignoring her attempt at being flirtatious, “I am afraid that we must first deal with the rather messy business of the contract, wouldn’t you agree?”

“The contract? Should I not be discussing that with the Master himself?” she asked, puzzled. He would need to sign it, at the very least.

“Oh, the Master doesn’t concern himself with such trivial things,” Godfrey continued easily. “He trusts me to handle such matters in his stead. Now if you would please step this way?”

He turned and began walking. She quickly fell into step behind him.

The inside of the house continued the impression of general neglect given by the exterior. A number of the rooms they passed had their furniture covered in white dust-sheets, though the remainder were kept immaculately clean.

Eventually, they stopped outside a closed door on the second floor.

“Now, Miss Ixilis, please confirm that the contract is in order,” he said, gesturing at the several sheafs of paper covered in tiny, neat script lying on a tray balanced on a small end-table against the nearby wall.

“I’ll still have to go to the Master to check his credit before I will be able to sign,” she replied as she picked up the contract and began skimming through it.

“Ah. You must excuse me, but the Master does not perform such… crude forms of payment,” Godfrey said carefully. “I am afraid he only works through the Bank.”

“The what?” Ixxy asked, puzzled.

“The Soul Bank.” Godfrey careful tugged at the final page of her contract and she flipped it to the front. It was a letter of credit from a ‘Soul Bank of Grailmane’, indicating that it would pay out to the bearer.

Immediately, knowledge flooded Ixxy’s mind.

“Ah, why didn’t you say so?” she recovered with a quick smile. Huh. So there was such a thing in this world. Who would have thought the mortals would accept something like that? Something to ponder for later.

“My mistake, Miss Ixilis,” Godfrey replied with a carefully neutral smile.

“You know, Godfrey,” Ixxy continued as she lay the credit letter aside and flipped back to the first page of the contract. “I do love a man in uniform. Once I am finished with your Master, what do you think of the two of us sneaking off for a bit of fun in one of the unused rooms before I go? Depending on my mood, I might even give you a little discount…”

“Miss Ixilis, are you offering me the Master’s… what is the phrase? ‘Sloppy seconds’?”

For a moment Ixxy just stared at him open-mouthed, before shutting it with a click of teeth. “I’m not sure how I feel about being referred to as ‘sloppy seconds’,” she finally said. “Offended, certainly. And yet possibly a little turned on as well. It is a most curious feeling. One I would love to explore in depth, later, if you are up for it, Mister Godfrey.”

Godfrey gave a polite laugh. “I am afraid that dealing with the infernal is more the Master’s thing than mine, Miss Ixilis. But I do appreciate the offer nonetheless. Now, perhaps you should read what is expected from your contract first? Before the Master gets impatient.”

With a sigh and a roll of her eyes, Ixxy began reading her contract again, only to pause as she reached the second section. She read it again, just to confirm. Then she read further, just to make sure she wasn’t misunderstanding the context, her eyebrows climbing higher and higher as she went.

“Let me get this straight,” she asked, wide-eyed. “Your Master wants me to actually just clean things?”

Ixxy carefully stepped inside the Master’s chambers, closing the door behind her.

The room she found herself in appeared to be a study. A few richly decorated bookcases lined the walls, and the thick, soft carpets underfoot seemed expensive. It all looked a little worn, though.

Her last hope for a surprise sexual encounter faded as she took in the ‘Master’ sitting at a desk in one corner, facing the wall, head bent down over a stack of papers he was writing on with an old fashioned quill.

He was old. Not the ‘silver fox’ kind of old, but the ‘gee, I hope he survives long enough to pay me’ kind of old. His wrinkles looked like they had wrinkles. He would probably get a heart attack if she bent over too far.

Her entering the room had elicited no response from him, so she took a step closer and politely cleared her throat. Still nothing.

“Excuse me…” she tried. No reaction.

The last thing she wanted was to scare him to death by accident after all of the effort she had just put in to haggle with Godfrey outside.

She’d almost refused the contract on the spot. If Sazka hadn’t impressed upon her the importance of keeping this particular client happy, and she hadn’t been just a teensy bit desperate for souls, she would have. In the end, she’d settled for arguing the price up as much as she dared.

“Sorry, Sir? Er… Master? Do you hear me?” she called a little louder, trying her best to edge into the older gentleman’s peripheral vision at a safe distance so as not to scare him and potentially trigger some kind of fatal episode.

When he still didn’t respond, she stamped her foot. That finally got his attention.

He turned to look at her, giving Ixxy just another view of just how old and wrinkly he was. “Eh? Who’re you!? What are you doing here!?” he shouted.

“I’m the Pleasure Devil you ordered, Master,” she purred, doing a small curtsey.

This turned out to be a complete waste, as the old man shouted back: “Speak up! I can’t hear you, girl!”

“I said, I’m the Pleasure Devil you ordered from Triorbus Square, Master!” she said back, raising her voice so that he could hear her.

“Bah, drop the ‘Master’ garbage, Girly, I know what your kind really mean by it!” the old man called back. “Now come closer so I can see you! Can’t believe it’s that time already…” he trailed off in a mutter.

Obediently, Ixxy stepped closer as he fumbled with a pair of glass lenses before putting them on his eyes. Magical, if her nose was correct. They even had a piece that tucked into his ear on one side.

He might have been handsome once, a long, long time ago. But age and a life of excess had clearly ravaged this poor man.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here? I ain’t seen horns like that before, and I got an eye for horns. You new, Girly?” he asked in a more normal tone of voice as he studied her through the glass lenses.

For a moment Ixxy dithered on how to answer. She considered lying, telling him that no, she knew exactly what she was doing. Nothing in the contract that she’d signed compelled her to tell the truth. And this was supposed to be about the client’s fantasy, not her reality. But perhaps…

“Yes, Sir,” she said demurely, eyes downcast, neatly slipping into the role of the innocent young maid. “This is only my second contract, and my first one didn’t go so very well, so I am hoping to serve you well…” she mumbled, awkwardly playing with the hem of her skirt, ‘accidentally’ lifting the already short piece of material another centimeter or so in the process.

The old man, however, just sighed. “What’s your name, Girly?”

“Ixxy, Sir,” she replied, ‘innocently’ biting her lower lip.

“Well, Ixxy, you can call me Albrecht, not ‘Sir’,” he said. “Now please drop the innocent act. You got two horns on your head that tell me you’ve never been innocent in your life.”

Shit, she’d guessed the wrong approach again. But it had made sense, with the older man and the maid outfit and everything. You couldn’t blame her for getting it wrong. Luckily it hadn’t gone nearly as catastrophically wrong as the last time.

This was no problem, though. She could adapt. A smile curled over her lips as her posture adjusted, her back slightly straighter and her chest pushing out just a minute amount. Suddenly, she projected confidence and allure.

“Oops, busted. Looks like you got me, Albrecht,” she said slowly, in husky voice, her smile warm and inviting.

“No, not that either,” the old man cut her off. “Stop that. I’m way too old for that shit.”

Ixxy had to resist the urge to hiss and stomp her foot in frustration. What did the old coot want, then? Icy Dominatrix? Bubbly Overeager Youth? Desperate Nymphomaniac? Any of the other scores of possible personality templates she had access to in her brain?

No, this time she wasn’t going to assume. She could learn from her mistakes.

She took a deep breath. “Sir… Albrecht, I am afraid I am not certain what it is that you want from me,” she said as evenly and as formally as she could. Surely he could find no complaint with that? “Could you please clarify for me and I will do my best to accommodate you.”

Albrecht took out a handkerchief and blew his nose before stuffing it back into the pocket of his ratty old coat.

“What did the contract say?” he asked flatly.

“It only stated that I am to clean you and your chambers, and then a number of individual tasks I need to perform such as dusting and cleaning the bath.”

“Good. So do that,” Albricht stated.

Ixxy blinked. She was so confused. You didn’t hire a Pleasure Devil to do your dusting! It was stupid and wasteful! You could get any girl off the street to do it for the price the quill that he had so casually tossed back into the inkwell!

But her smile never wavered. She was going to be professional about this if it killed her. Again. “Of course, Master Albricht. May I request to know how you would like me to perform these actions? Obliviously? Sensually? Perhaps while slowly undressing…?”

Albricht sighed and rubbed his eyes with two long, gnarled fingers. “Look… Ixxy was it? If I were fifty years younger I would have had you bent over this desk faster than you could blink. But that life is long behind me. Nowadays, I enjoy the sight of industrious work far more than supple flesh.” Then he looked up at her appraisingly. “But you know what? If you want to get out of those clothes so eagerly, then let’s do this part first. Strip.”

Finally. That was something she understood.

Doing a little music-less dance, Ixxy slowly began to unbutton the front of her black corset as she swayed from side to side…

“No, no, I mean, just take off the clothes and put them over the chair over there, I just want to take a look at you. None of this… show nonsense.”

Ixxy paused uncertainly, before shrugging and stripping out of the outfit as quickly and efficiently as she could and hanging it neatly over the nearby chair. She was done trying to figure out what the client wanted. She was just going to do what he said.

“Good. Good! Now turn around so I can get a good look at you,” Albricht instructed, twirling his finger. Ixxy rolled her eyes but did as he said.

Normally, she loved being ogled at. Every man - and woman - unable to keep their eyes off of her was another pat on the back, saying, “This look you designed? Damn fine job.” It was a compliment on the quality of her work.

But the way Albrecht stared at her was like a man inspecting a horse. It was cool, calculating and at least partially disinterested. It made her feel just a tad uncomfortable. Why couldn’t he sexually objectify her a little more?

“Hmm. So that’s the new style, eh? Skinnier than back in my day, but I suppose there’s no accounting for the taste of today’s youth,” he muttered as she finished her rotation. “Regardless, you’ll do well, I think. At least, you didn’t try to go for the ‘bigger is better’ approach like I’ve seen some of you girls attempt.”

“Er, ‘bigger is better’, Master Albricht?” Ixxy asked carefully. Was he saying he wanted her to take a different form?

“Yes! Like, a teeny tiny waist and a huge rack and ass, completely disproportional to the rest of their bodies. Sounds like the epitome of sensuality, ends up deep in uncanny valley,” he explained with a wave of his old, gnarled hand. “You actually put some thought into the result as a whole. Good job.”

“Then I suppose I should say thank you, Master Albricht, for the compliment,” Ixxy replied, still completely nude. “Is there anything else I can do for you?” she asked with a grin and no hint of shame.

“Yes. You can put your clothes back on and get to the actual work,” he scoffed, turning back to his writing. “Make sure you clean under the bed in the next room as well. It’s been collecting dust bunnies.”

Ixxy stared blankly at the sudden dismissal. Did she have shitty luck when it came to contracts or were all mortals in this world just crazy?

The mortals in this world were crazy. How else could you explain them not only tolerating something like this, but actively making use of it?

The remainder of Ixxy’s contract had been fairly dull. Several hours of dusting, tidying and cleaning, during which the old coot had completely ignored her. And then there had been his bath, which she had been required to help him with and… well, the less remembered about that particular adventure the better.

Now, the contract was finally done and she was standing in front of the bank, ready to collect her payment.

Somehow, she could still not wrap her mind around there being an actual freaking bank just for souls, that was, get this, run by demons around the back of Triorbus Square. Because of course it would be run by demons. Humans couldn’t manipulate or even see the damn stuff! They had to trust demons with the entire process!

And despite that, most of the clients currently queuing in front of the array of tellers were humans willingly depositing pieces of their own soul at a demon owned and operated bank!

Madness. Sheer madness.

“Can I help you?” the bored demoness at the counter asked as Ixxy finally reached the front of the queue. She also appeared to be a Pleasure Devil, though she was a bit more full-figured than Ixxy and her outfit was far more conservative and than any of the others she had seen since she arrived.

“Er, yes, I have this letter of credit that I’d like to collect on…?” she said uncertainly, holding up the letter.

“Mmm-hmm. And the name?”

“Er… Ixilis.”

“I don’t give a rat’s arse what your name is, Sweetheart. I meant the name on the letter of credit.”

“Oh!” Ixxy laughed awkwardly. “That’s… er… ‘Albricht Poppelheim’. Is that fine?”

A sudden smile bloomed on the teller’s lips. “Ah, yes, Mister Poppelheim. Yes, that’s perfectly fine. He was one of my first contracts, you know,” she said, taking the letter of credit from Ixxy.

“Did he also make you clean his room while he ignored you?” Ixxy asked.

“Oh I cleaned his room, yes,” the teller laughed as she began filling in the paperwork. “But his eyes were locked on me like a hungry wolf on a rabbit the entire time. And I made sure to put on a lovely show.”

Huh. Guess he really did prefer his girls a little curvier. Why hadn’t he said anything, though? With shapeshifting, Ixxy could have had any shape he wanted without a problem.

“But he didn’t touch you?” she asked, curiously.

“He didn’t pay to be allowed to touch me,” the woman laughed. “There was a bit of a thing at the time. We’d all hiked our prices for the sordid stuff, just for him. He could look, but wasn’t allowed to touch without a hefty fee. Can’t even remember why, it was so long ago. I think it might have been a prank or something. Anyway, here you go. One soul fragment, courtesy of Mister Poppelheim’s account,” she said, holding out an invisible, squirming mass of tendrils.

“What are the odds that we’d both had the same guy as a contract, huh?” Ixxy chuckled, carefully taking the chunk of soul from the teller’s grasp before making it disappear inside of her. “What an incredible coincidence.”

The teller shook her head. “Nah, not really. Sazka, the Receptionist, has some kind of arrangement or something with him, I think. She always makes sure to send the new girls to him at least once. Don’t ask me why.”

“Oh really. Perhaps I’ll ask her about that next time I see her. Thanks. I’m Ixxy by the way.”

“Call me Leez. Short for ‘Leezalin’,” the teller volunteered. “Now, is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Maybe you can answer a question for me, Leez?”

“I can try.”

“How does… this all work?” Ixxy asked, gesturing at… everything. It was less a bank and more just an array of booths that were set into the back of Triorbus Square. If it wasn’t for the elegant sign with ‘Soul Bank of Grailmane’ on the wall above them, she wouldn’t even have realized that was what they were.

“Oh, that’s easy! Mortals cannot hold souls on their own, so we do it for them! And then we pay who they instruct us to pay on their behalf. That’s all there is to it, really,” Leez explained. “Well, not all-all, there’s also handling fees and deposit fees and storage fees, but really it’s all very simple, in principle.”

Ixxy frowned. “But where do they get the souls in the first place? I mean, is it their own soul? Do they regularly come ‘donate’ into their own account?” she asked as she watched a feathery Awlin hold out his arm to the teller two booths over and the tell-tale shudder as a part of his soul was removed.

Leez shrugged. “Sometimes. But mortals pay each other in souls as well, here in Grailmane. Not as much as they do in coin, obviously, but it happens. Sometimes, people have no other way to pay their debts and their creditors collect soul fragments as part of or in lieu of payment.”

Ixxy suppressed an involuntary shudder. Demons collecting souls from mortals as payment were all good and proper. But humans collecting souls from each other? Even if it were demons making the transactions possible? That was just wrong.

“And, they just trust you to do this fairly, without taking too much?” Ixxy whispered. “I mean, they can’t even check their own balances, or see their own ‘funds’, they have to trust you…”

“Which is the same as with any other bank,” Leez explained brightly. “All our customers sign a contract with us, so we are legally obligated to treat them fairly. Plus, why would we want to cheat them? If we’re fair, they keep coming back! Anyway, can I ask you to move along? Sorry, you’re holding up the line.”

“One last question,” Ixxy asked, holding up a finger. “What do you get out of working here?”

“Oh, I get paid a salary! The work is boring but it means I don’t need to worry about making rent at the end of the week,” Leez said with a grin. “Now, please?”

With an apologetic smile, Ixxy said goodbey and stepped away from the teller and allowed the next person in line to take her place. It was a wheezing old woman dressed in simple shawls.

As she walked away, she could hear the woman let out a wail of anguish.

“Please… please, can’t you just take a bit more? I need to pay my bills or they’re going to take my house!” she begged the teller, who began to patiently explain the limitations of the Grand Contract.

Sheesh. This place was just a little fucked up.