Lucifer appeared the following morning without his sidekick, Angel. He walked onto my deck some moments after I shuffled my way from the pantry, bringing the last of what I wanted to eat to the table. As I contemplated turning him away, he opened the door and poked in his head. "Anyone home?"

I rolled my eyes; it was a ridiculous question. Idiot. But, given he was already half way into my cottage, I invited him in with a wave. He grinned, came through the French door, and looked as happy as a carefree neighbor invited to coffee.

"Good morning, Olivia. Slept well, I trust?" he said politely, taking a seat at the table.

"Not really. But at least I don't have a hangover which is a damned miracle. Too much wine always does me in. I wish you'd left the never empty bottle of hell-wine here when you left."

"Alas, that is not typically allowed unless it is part of a bargain. It would have to be, if you pardon the expression, one Hell of a bargain to get me to leave such an artifact behind. They are quite rare, you know."

He was dressed in elegant casual, like business casual, only with pressed Italian wool pants, a starched Egyptian cotton shirt, and handmade leather footwear. I studied him as he talked, contrasting his clothing to my ripped jeans, fuzzy socks, and baggy t-shirt. The difference would mortify me any other day. But today? I didn't much care.

He handed me a scroll of heavy paper tied with a red sash of silk. I gently pulled the silk ribbon off and unrolled it, my eyes wide at the sight of the gold leaf and delicate strokes of ink making up the writing. I found myself lost in it, studying the artwork of the first letters of each item on the list. The art seemed alive, appearing to move and shift on the paper, but when I blinked, everything returned to normal.

I ignored the scraping of a knife across dry toast as Lucifer smeared on the thinnest layer of butter possible. Apparently, the consumption of saturated fat was also a worry in Hell. Strawberry preserves, on the other hand, appeared to be more temptation than even Lucifer could handle, and he slathered the toast with a generous helping before tasting the crunchy treat. He moaned in appreciation.

I looked over the scroll at him and scowled. "Help yourself," I invited, my disdain undeniable.

Lucifer ignored it. "Thank you!" He took another large yet elegant bite. "This is delicious! Worthy of being added to Hell's list of Irrefutable Temptations. Where did you get it?" He picked up the small jar from the table but found no label on it.

"Deirdre and I made a huge batch during strawberry season last spring. It's my grandmother's recipe. I'll get you a jar to take with you when you leave."

"You are too kind." He wiped his mouth delicately.

I lowered the curling pap. "I don't understand what this scroll is. It seems to be a list of the seven Virtues, not seven people. I read, 'Prudence, Justice, Temperance, Courage, Faith, Hope, and Charity.' Am I missing something?"

"Oh, no, you have read it correctly. It is, indeed, a list of the seven Virtues. There is one person in your circle of influence, and exactly one person, who matches each of those Virtues. At least on the surface."

"Hmm. What do you mean?" I sipped my cooling coffee and eyed the carafe left behind him on the counter from where I sat, contemplating if I wanted to finish the lukewarm liquid in my mug or get up and pour fresh.

While I suffered no ill effects, physically, from the night before, particularly from all the hell-wine I had consumed, I was still terribly weary emotionally. It was all I could do to get up, take a shower, brew the coffee, and make some toast. Now, it seemed merely existing exhausted me; expending the energy to get more coffee was a decision carefully made.

Lucifer caught me gazing at the pot. "May I get you some more?" he asked, picking up my mug.

It surprised me. Kindness was not something I was expecting to receive from him. My eyes narrowed. "What will it cost me?"

Lucifer tsked, pausing as he stood with my cup. "Not everything I do has a price, Olivia. I am quite capable of being sensitive to people's struggles. You are tired, weary to the core. I can see that. I want coffee, and so do you. So, I thought to pour you some while I poured my own if you would be hospitable enough to offer."

I blushed, embarrassed at being called out as a poor hostess, even to the Devil. My Southern grandmother, who prized good manners above all else, would clutch her pearls, appalled. Sorry, grandma!

"Of course. Please, help yourself, and thank you for the pour." My voice was softer than it had been only moments before.

"Thank you. How do you take yours?"

"Cream and sugar, please. But not too sweet."

I directed him to the collection of mismatched coffee cups. What will he think of them? Wait. Does it matter? He began reading them, laughing at several as I studied him.

Eventually, he chose the mug with the llama in sunglasses which said, No Drama!

"Creamer?" he asked, looking around the counter.

I scoffed. "I don't use that fake shit. The real cream is in the door of the fridge."

"A decadent woman! I like you more and more, Olivia Chase."

"Wait until you find the organic turbinado sugar."

"This keeps getting better! The only thing missing is the chicory."

"Well..." I looked sheepish.

"No! Really? Chicory coffee?" He opened the carafe keeping the coffee hot, and delicately sniffed the aroma. "I have died and gone to Hell! We must have breakfast together more often."

"So, all it takes to impress you is chicory coffee and homemade preserves? Really?" I cocked an eyebrow as he handed me my fresh cup. I blew across it before taking a sip; it was perfect.

Lucifer shrugged. "I am used to people being terrified by me, mostly. Or wanting something from me. You seem to fit neither of those situations." He slid gracefully into his chair and leaned back casually, crossing an ankle on a knee.

I considered how I was feeling for a moment before speaking. "Honestly, behaving as if you terrify me requires more energy than I have to give. And, as for wanting something, you've already agreed to it, so I don't have any other demands to make."

He nodded and gently put his mug on the table. "Indeed. Which brings us to the topic of the list on that scroll."

I struggled to get the document to lay flat. Lucifer snapped his fingers lightly, and it transformed into an ordinary sheet of paper with the seven words typed on it. A prick of disappointment at the change disturbed me, but I had to admit it was easier to handle.

"As I was saying, you have met, in some way, each of those seven people. It might have been for a moment in time, but your paths have crossed. Some of them are aware they are a Virtue and others are not."

"Is that why you chose to bargain with me instead of someone else? Because of my connection?"

"Yes, precisely. Other people have come in contact with five or six, and they who would suffice, but you were the best choice at seven."

"And I agreed."

He sipped his coffee. "You did indeed agree. Are you having second thoughts?"

"Of course, but I'm not stupid enough to try and break a deal with the Devil."

"That is good to know, Olivia," he spoke low and menacing. "Trying to cross me would go very, very badly for you."

I squirmed, reminded that, no matter how nice and charming he might seem on the surface, inside, he was still the Devil. I cleared my throat and tasted my coffee again, deliberately putting aside my fear to continue. "So, tell me how this works?"

Lucifer brightened and relaxed, once again becoming the friendly neighbor type. "Each Virtue on that list is a corrupt person, one whose soul belongs in Hell. For each of those souls, you will regain a piece of yours. As I explained, it cannot involve me in any significant way. Therefore, it is up to you to figure out who represents each and then bring them to me."

I raised my eyebrows but then scowled. "What happens if I'm wrong?"

"Well, that is unfortunate for them."

My brow furrowed deeper. "But they'd be innocent. And, I'd be handing their soul over to you. That doesn't seem right."

He sipped his coffee, watching me for a moment before speaking. "Are you telling me you would deliberately bring an innocent soul to my office for me?" His eyes gleamed with humor. "You would truly pick someone you were not absolutely convinced was a name on that list?"

Horrified, I drew back. "No! Of course not! I'm not that..." my voice trailed off.

He leaned forward. "That what, Olivia?" he demanded with power behind his quiet voice.

"Evil." I looked at my lap. "I'm not that evil, okay?"

"And I am?" he smirked.

My head snapped up, and I scowled at him, "Yes. Yes, you're that evil," I cocked my head. "Aren't you?"

Genuine laughter filled the kitchen as he threw his head back and roared. It was so infectious, I was half smiling when he finished.

"Oh, my dear Olivia," he dabbed at his eyes with his napkin, "You are a delight. It is true I have the reputation of being evil. It is because I am cruel. But I am only cruel to people who deserve it, do you not see? I would no more want an innocent soul in Hell than He would want an evil soul in Heaven. They just do not belong." He reached across the table and took my hand, "Hence, that is why I do not have Deirdre."

I snatched my tingling hand back and rubbed it on my jeans. "That's nice to know, I guess."

"Yes, I imagine it is." He leaned back once more. "So, let us say you bring me the wrong person. What do you expect to happen?"

"Well, I'd expect you to let them go. They're not a name on the list."

"Olivia," he reproached with disappointment, "you would deny me a soul that rightfully belongs in Hell?"

"But they're not a name on the list! They're innocent!"

"Oh, but they are not!" He held up an index finger. "You would not risk bringing them to me if they were not a name on the list. Thus, you will have picked out a person who deserved to be in Hell."

"I don't understand."

"Each of the people on this," he tapped the piece of paper, "may have a virtuous exterior, but there is an inside you must work to uncover. They are the worst of the worst, for what is a hidden evil but the most horrible thing you could find in a person?"

"Oh, come on! Are you telling me a hidden evil is worse than one you can see? Like... a person who murders in the open is somehow better than one who doesn't?"

He held up his hands. "Do not get me wrong. I find both to be heinous and would gain a great deal of satisfaction raining down punishment and cruelty upon them. But at least the one in the open is honest. That is one step closer to virtuous than not."

I stared, appalled.

"Do you not understand? I have absolute faith that anyone you choose to bring to me is well-deserving of enjoying my company in perpetuum."

"So, you'll allow me to stumble around, choosing those I hope are on the list, while you sit back and enjoy the results of my efforts? And you 'can't,'" I used air quotes, "help me figure out who I'm supposed to be bringing you? You bastard!"

"Olivia! Manners! What would your grandmother think? I have a Father, thank you," he simpered, looking much like the rat who ran off with the cheese.