My contribution to the deadlinesforwriters short story challenge March 2025. The prompt was „Contract“ and the required word count was 2500. Cover photo by Jarl Schmidt on Unsplash.
Fair Price
Ron woke up with the headache from hell. Yesterday they had celebrated Dario’s first conclusion of a deal. With some clients, the payment made the higher-ups really happy, so their boss had even given the team the afternoon off.
On this particular morning it was a blessing to live on the basement level. No windows meant less pesky sunlight adding to this giant hangover. Still, Ron had to get up and ready for another day in the office. He nibbled on a dry slice of toast and flushed it down with some herbal tea.
Before he left his flat, he pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt and pushed the sunglasses up his nose. Ron was glad for people not commenting on other commuters on the underground. He liked traveling through these dark tunnels; it made him feel like being summoned through the earth. It also beat idling in his car during rush hour.
At the entrance to the multi-company building, he pulled down his hood and smoothed out his hair. The receptionist told him with a grin that Dario had made the wise choice to call in sick for the day.
Ron himself had a full day of checking up on clients ahead of him. For some reason he had been assigned to the show business section. On the one hand that meant colourful requests, on the other hand, these people could turn a bit dramatic from one moment to the next. In any case, he was a bit apprehensive of his own first collection.
He took the lift down to his basement office. As he waved his hand in front of it, the wooden door opened with a satisfying click. He removed the sunglasses and placed them on their spot on the desk. A fresh stack of parchments waited for him. In these modern times, a lot of their work was prepared and filed digitally, but the bosses still wanted to see signatures on the dotted line. Ron didn’t even have his own company email address yet.
In a way he was jealous of Dario. Not because of the praise and attention or the raise that was coming his way. It was because Dario had passed the test and proven his worth. On top of an email address, he was going to get access to the exclusive business transport system. As soothing as the swish of the underground train was, this kind of commute had its own intrigue.
Ron sat down and scanned the new requests. A young actor hoping for her breakthrough, an aging screenwriter worried about dwindling demand, a dancer tired of training against her body’s capabilities. A few others, all of them desperate for his services.
He checked their addresses on the map. Four of them lived within a small enough radius to bundle them together. He called the operator to have her arrange the appointments, ideally today.
Ron could almost hear her rolling her eyes at the other end of the line.
“It’s high time you got your first conclusion. I still don’t see why they need you to go through it before they trust you enough to make your own appointments. Nevermind, I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks, Elatha. Let’s all hope that it happens soon and that I’ll pass, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”
“I never said I didn’t like you in my hair, Ron,” she teased.
He squirmed, but very quietly. It wasn’t a good idea to get on the wrong side of the operators, personal email or not.
“One thing’s for sure, I am not going to drink as much for my own party!”
“Oh, that’s just your headache talking. Would you like me to get you some painkiller?”
“No, thank you, I’ll be fine, as long as you sort out my appointments. It may even help me get in the proper mood.”
“As you wish, Ron!” she sing-songed and hung up.
He held back his sigh until he was sure they were disconnected. You never knew.
Ron opened the cabinet drawer with his running cases. He remembered how nervous he had been to meet his first client, even though the case had been straightforward. An author aged 51, out of ideas and under pressure from her manager. He had empathised with her from the beginning. There were few things worse than someone breathing down your neck like that.
They had set up an agreement for Ron supporting her through her next novel. She had laughed at the mention of his price. Like she hadn’t taken it all seriously. Actually, he had found her giggles charming. But what had really mattered was that she had signed. Now he expected her latest book to come out any day and made a mental note to check the bookstore near the station later. Once he was done with his probationary period, he would be updated on the progress of his deals automatically. He couldn’t wait.
When he heard a commotion in the hallway, he went and opened his door to see Kieran, another novice colleague, stomping towards him with a big cardboard box in his arms.
Kieran shouted over his shoulder, “And good luck getting a signature out of that one! I am out of this circus!”
When Kieran noticed his audience, he slowed down and said in a much friendlier tone, “Hi Ron! You remember when I said that politicians are not my thing? They really aren’t. Today was the last straw.”
“So what are you going to do instead? Not many other job opportunities around.”
“Dunno. Maybe I’ll start my own freelance agency like we used to talk about. It’s not like I need a license. Or anyone’s blessing.”
Ron gave his friend a pat on the shoulder. The thought of their own little business, Dario, Kieran, and him, made him a little nostalgic.
“You know me, Kieran. Malphas might be a giant nuisance, but all the accounting and the insurance stuff is to me what politicians are to you.”
“Whatever you say, Ronwe. You know, sometimes I wonder if this is really all there is we can be. Maybe I could be good at something completely different, like gardening? Or pottery?”
Ron laughed, not in a mean way.
“You wonder too much, always have! Take some time off and then let me know once you start your freelancing!”
They nodded at each other, then Kieran trudged on towards the lift and Ron went back to his parchments. The light on his office phone told him that he had news.
Elatha’s voice-message said, “I managed to fix four assignments for you. First one is due in 20 minutes. Pick up the schedule on your way out!”
Ron grabbed the tool case and left his office.
First on the list was the dancer. She opened almost as soon as he rang at her door and steered him inside, looking up and down the street.
“Thank you for coming here so soon! A friend recommended you, and I really am so tired, I just…”
Ron waved a hand.
“No worries, I am here to help. But first of all, could you draw the curtains? And could you confirm your name?”
“May, my name’s May,” she answered breathlessly as she complied.
With the light dimmed, Ron took off his hood and sunglasses. He was impressed by how she flinched only very little. Most people managed to look past the eyes but found his horns unsettling. Even though it was all laid out clearly in the brochure. This case promised to lead to smooth negotiations.
“So May, what is it that you want exactly?”
It took May a long moment to answer.
“I want to be noticed. All those years of training, and they never see me! They never choose me for a leading role!”
Ron felt for her. Who wouldn’t want to be seen for all the hard work they did?
What he said was, “We can certainly help you there. Did your friend also tell you what it would cost you?”
“Yeah! Yes, she did. You know, I have tried mental coaches, all the nutrition fads out there, several body trainers, everything shy of surgery! Ballet is my life! It’s what I was made for!”
Ron held up both hands saying, “Wow, okay! You have me convinced! That’s the kind of energy we are looking for to be able to support you. Have you already made the preparations?”
“Well, I am not sure I did everything right, but I cleared out a basement room.”
“Perfect! Then let’s not waste any more time!”
May led the way downstairs. She had really put some effort into it all: There were candles flickering in the corners, the sigils chalked accurately onto the concrete, and an ornate wine glass in the centre of the room.
“Well done, May, I love the choice of goblet! Are you sure your calling is not more in the direction of interior design or clergy? Oh, don’t mind me! I am sure you are going to be a fantastic prima ballerina!”
He set down his case and, among other props, took a dagger from it. At May’s alarmed look, he winked at her.
“Don’t worry, nothing is going to hurt you today. But tradition is tradition. Please be seated in the centre and hold the goblet for me.”
Again, May did as she had been told. Ron paced around her in seven flawless anti-clockwise circles, mumbling under his breath. This bit of the ritual was mostly decorative to get the client into a solemn mood. The elaborate gestures he made with the dagger were not necessary either, strictly speaking. Some of his colleagues even did without the candles. But Ron liked the overall old-timey atmosphere. It also seemed to relax May as well as excite her.
Eventually he pointed the blade at her and asked, “Are you willing to exchange your soul for that which you desire me to give you?”
This part was absolutely indispensable. Ron held his breath.
“Yes, I am. I promise to surrender my eternal soul, if you give me what I want in return!”
Ron was fascinated by the firmness in her voice as well as the impeccable delivery of the formula. She was going to be very happy with the strength of the changes. Until payday came around, obviously.
He exclaimed, “Then it is done!”
In a puff of smoke, the wine glass filled with ruby red ink, and Ron handed May a quill. It looked ancient, except for its modern metal nib.
With a last flourish, he produced the parchment bearing her name, which he had taken from his desk earlier. He indicated the little neon yellow arrows he had stuck on it in three different places.
“Please sign here and initial here and here! Thank you so much for doing business with us! You can expect to see improvements within days at most. Once our side of the deal is fully done, I will return to collect what you owe us.”
When May had finished signing and Ron had stored the dagger, quill, and parchment, she looked at him, her head tilted.
“What if someone doesn’t even believe in souls? Would all this work anyway?” She gestured around the room.
“Oh, don’t even say that! Why would you even think that?”
And here Ron had thought this was going to be an easy deal.
“No reason,” May hastened to say.
At the door, Ron waved at her, sunglasses and hood firmly replaced. Within a few hours her memories would fade enough for her to stop thinking about her soul. Kieran had regularly worried what would happen to them afterwards. But the way Ron saw it, it was only fair recompensation for services rendered generously. It was not his fault that most of them were somewhat desperate. It really wasn’t.
The bookshop window featured large stacks of a certain bestselling novel, so Ron called Elatha to let her know he was going to change plans and collect. The excitement added a bounce to his step on the way to his big moment.
At first, the author did not seem to recognise him, so he reintroduced himself.
“Ronwe. We’ve met, and I am here to receive payment as agreed.”
Her face sank as she whispered, “Oh, it’s you! You’re real?”
“As real as your debt towards us.”
“It wasn’t a dream? But I don’t even believe in souls! Or magic! And it turned out I didn’t need you! I came up with a story all by myself!”
Ron pinched the bridge of his nose. He wasn’t sure how he had expected his first collection to go, but this wasn’t it. He questioned the wisdom behind blurring their clients’ memories.
“No, it wasn’t a dream. And no, the idea was not yours, it was sent by us as promised. Can I come in? Please?”
“Yes, sure, I’m sorry!”
She took him to her living room and gestured for him to sit on the sofa. He declined the tea she offered and pulled her parchment from his tool case.
“I need you to place your hand on your signature,” he told her.
“Oh!”
The tears were a surprise. As was his reaction to them. Things had suddenly become real, and his stomach clenched up.
“I beg you, isn’t there anything else I can give you? Can’t you give me more time?”
With a quiver in his voice he replied, “But you agreed! You knew the price, and you signed anyway! You should have been ready!”
She pressed her hands together as if in prayer and pleaded, “Please, just one more month, so I can prepare myself! Please!”
Ron felt the parchment rustle in his hands. He let his head fall back, eyes closed.
“Alright. But just one month! I will return. And there will be no more delay!”
The odd noise the author made caused him to open his eyes again. In her stead he saw his boss jumping up from the suddenly more than incongruous armchair.
“Ronwe of Thrax, I had such high hopes, but you failed the test! What a pitiful performance, giving in to tears like that! You do know the punishment for failing: With this, I extract your essence!”
As his boss pointed his bare hands towards him in a simple gesture, Ron tried to cover his horns with his arms, but it was too late. They were gone.
“No, please! What am I supposed to do, Malphas? I don’t know how to be a human being!”
Malphas looked down his long nose at Ron.
“You should have known that before and prepared yourself. But never let it be said that I am not always open to cooperation. If at some point you find yourself in need of support, do not hesitate to give us a call.”
Malphas handed something to Ron before he disappeared in an impressive burst of flames.
In his hand, Ron held a slightly singed but familiar leaflet.
Like my contribution to the story challenge March 2025? You can find more of my stories here!
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