And as he climbed out of the treasure chest that had zapped him into the liminal space that was Jeeves's trailer, Lucifer, for just a moment, had the sense that things were starting to look up for him.

  The sun was rising, the birds were… trying their best to chirp, and most importantly, he’d knocked out two birds with one stone. He’d laid eyes on his Certificate of Rehabilitation and snagged an easy roadmap to this Help Desk, all after an unsuspecting night out on the town.

  But as he approached the mouth of the forest, where the backyard of The Big House was visible through the breaks in the leaves, Lucifer realized that that moment, like all moments, would be short-lived.

  “61st?!”

  A shrill voice rang through the air, halting the birds in their tracks. It halted Lucifer, too. The voice was familiar—too familiar. It was the kind of familiar that came with a mental replay of the last time he'd heard it.

  It conjured the mental image of Lucifer, with one foot hiked up on the window sill of his room in the mansion, sweating bullets as that person pounded on the door.

  "Oh God, 54th, they got him. I told 1st they would get him! No one ever listens to me!”

  Lucifer peeked through the foliage and, thankfully, didn’t see 54th or their worrywart companion in the backyard. He took his chance to conceal himself between two particularly thick tree trunks and fix his eyes on the back window of the inexplicably single-story’d house, waiting for them to appear.

  “Better that they have him than 1st,” the other pantsuiter, 54th, remarked. His voice came through crisp, crispy enough to have Lucifer shifting around in the trees, looking for him in the backyard.

  With a little maneuvering, Lucifer located the source, strolling into the sunlight through the back door. It was a young(er) man with a stern countenance and a cigarette pinched between his lips. “Sneaking out on his first night, embarrassing 1st with a trial, then having the nerve to do it all again…" The man leaned against the side of the door and fished in his pockets for a lighter. "Lord knows what he's in for once he turns up."

  Lucifer sighed. Ego, even in Heaven. How lovely.

  Lucifer had half a mind to start slowly backing away, to climb back in the treasure chest, but the other pantsuiter, frenetic-faced, finally made her appearance in the yard, hissing, “Oh, please, 54th! Don’t you see the state of things here?” She gestured to the positively demolished, barbecue-sauce-coated yard. The flowerbeds were smashed to smithereens. “You saw the little guy, there’s no way he could’ve done all this by himself!”

  And.

  Hey.

  Lucifer looked down at his form. It wasn’t “little,” it was… lithe. Nimble, if you asked anyone who knew better. And besides, it wasn’t his fault that he had a fast metabolism and a bit of a sleeper build.

  But the woman made up for it, continuing on to say, “And to make matters worse, he left an entire plate of imported dinner in his room. Who would leave contraband, especially contraband that looked that good, to go get abducted by demons?”

  Lucifer couldn’t help but give a slow nod in approval. Because that sounded like the perfect alibi.

  Meanwhile, 54th shrugged. He held out the cigarette for his companion, who waved him off in favor of searching the sides of the house. “I don’t know about that, 19th,” he replied, snubbing the cherry out on the house. “He trashed his room in the mansion before he snuck out the first time, too. Sounds like he came up with a shoddy alibi he thinks is perfect, and thinks he can play it twice.”

  Drat.

  Lucifer started to creep away, further into the woods.

  But 19th, who was quickly rising to the top of his mental list of the least-annoying of the pantsuiters, came back around the bend to shoot that down. “That sounds like profiling to me, 54th. And we don’t get paid to profile.”

  “We don’t get paid at all, 19th.”

  “…Touché.”

  Much to Lucifer’s chagrin, 19th came across the yard and reached for the gate, but much to his delight, she turned her back to him. It gave him a little more time to make his escape. “Well, 54th, what do you think happened here?”

  "I don't think anything happened, actually. I think 61st had a lot on his mind. Went out for an early morning smoke, and he'll be back here any—”

  Snap.

  Lucifer backpedaled onto the world's loudest twig, eliciting a gasp from 54th and 19th. In the breadth of a second, the two shared a look, then came rushing into the trees.

  Oh dear God.

  Lucifer used the cloak of their shoes pounding against the dirt to quickly submerge himself in a gaggle of bushes. He braved the scratches and scrapes as he forced himself deeper and deeper and—

  Whoosh.

  Four hands parted holes in Lucifer’s hiding place. Two disbelieving faces followed suit, and the damning rays of the morning sun weren’t far behind.

  And with the three of them staring at each other, the only thing Lucifer could think to say was,

  "Nice weather for an early jog, don’t you think?”

  ...

  Head Assistant Manager’s Acting Administrator-In-Training-By-Proxy’s Re-Training—that was the “duty” for which 19th and 54th had come to collect Lucifer.

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  On the way to the mansion—the long way, Lucifer noted. There were none of the twists, turns, or obstacles 60th had mentioned—the duo breadcrumbed Lucifer with phrases like, “Oh, it’ll be a breeze; it’s just a refresher” and “Don’t worry, as long as you’ve read your H.A.M. manual sometime this century, you’ll pass with flying colors.” But no matter how hard Lucifer pressed for a straight answer, they did not manage to give him one.

  Instead, the duo kept several paces ahead of Lucifer as they not-so-quietly bickered about what they would and would not divulge to 1st when they got to the mansion.

  (“Oh, lighten up, 54th. It’s his first week. Haven’t you ever been caught hiding your cigarette butts?”

  “…Not by anyone who wasn’t also hiding their cigarette butts.”

  “54th, that’s besides the point—wait. 1st smokes?”

  “Now, that’s besides the point, 19th.”)

  It was a fairly one-sided tug-of-war that, unfortunately for Lucifer, his new best friend, 19th, was unable to win by the time they rounded the corner of the building’s West wing.

  1st, 60th, two thick clipboards, and an awkward silence awaited them at the top of the stairs. Immediately, 1st slicked on a warm grin and called out, “Good morning, my successors.” They put on tight smiles, nodded in unison, and kept their heads down as they approached. “It seems you all enjoyed a nice, leisurely walk over.”

  They all knew better than to respond.

  60th came to the rescue, chiming in, “You should follow their lead sometime, 1st. You don’t get enough steps in delegating, judging, or micromanaging. We wouldn’t want those old bones to atrophy, now would we?”

  19th’s hand flew to her mouth. 54th’s eyebrows flew to his hairline. Lucifer peeked up at the two women towering over them.

  And to his surprise, 1st was as cool as a cucumber. She actually let out a little chuckle. It was a wispy, alarming little noise, coming from 1st—it was akin to the warning sound of a tea kettle that was seconds from a boil. But instead, she calmly said, “Dearie, I think you just might be onto something.”

  60th’s triumphant smirk cracked in half.

  “You know, a pre-brunch re-training orientation session with Mr. 61st was at the top of my list for today. And come to think of it, I do have a brunch meeting with our Eternal Affairs representative, very important, it’s our semi-centennial debriefing. And I did want to squeeze in an introductory call to 62nd before their post-brunch duties but… what the heck.” She quirked an eyebrow at 54th and 19th, who barked out laughter on cue.

  1st slapped her clipboard on top of 60th’s with a little more cheek than was necessary. “Why don’t we let our 60th take the lead for the day?” She gave a vaguely comforting pat to 60th’s back. “I’ll see you all later. Please don’t give her any trouble, my darlings.”

  And with her hands folded behind her back, her head down, and her smile spreading wide, 1st made her way down the stairs, past the dumbfounded trio, and off into the trees.

  No one moved until the click of her kitten heels faded to nothing—it was at that point that 60th had picked her jaw up off the floor. Looking as shaken as anyone had ever seen her, 60th began flipping through the pages.

  It could have been a trick of the light, but Lucifer was nearly certain he could see her hair begin to gray at the roots.

  She flipped and flipped, until finally, 54th cleared his throat. 60th glanced up, dazed, as if she’d forgotten that they were there.

  “Right. You guys. Jesus,” she stopped to swipe sweat from her brow. “You guys can, uh… orient 61st today. Show him the ropes. Or something.” And in a huff, she headed into the mansion, leaving 54th and 19th to bumble at each other.

  …

  Lucifer’s pre-brunch orienting went as follows:

  (“You’ve got this part, 54th,” 19th declared, delivering a very familiar, vaguely comforting pat to 54th’s back.

  54th grabbed at her hand when she tried to dart off into one of the corridors. “Hey! What do you mean I’ve got this?! This is our job!”

  19th sighed, “It is, but I promised the 30s I’d host the next game of Heads Down, Thumbs Up and I’m already late.” But before 54th could kick up a fuss, 19th offered an agreement. “How about this: you babysit him from now ’til brunch, and I’ll take him after.”

  Lucifer bristled at the verbiage, but there was no point to protest. The two shared a nod and a handshake. And so it was.)

  And the brunch bit went a little something like this:

  (“Alright, 61st, it’s show time,” 54th declared, ushering Lucifer into the packed dining hall. It was magnificent to say the very least. There were mile-long tables draped in golden tablecloths that felt softer than spider silk. There was a live-orchestra made up of more pantsuiters than Lucifer cared to count. Appropriate lighting warmed the room and the smell of the food wafting from their plates was—

  “Intoxicating,” Lucifer mumbled, wiping the leak at his mouth. As if led by the nose, he wandered ahead of 54th and straight to where the bright-eyed pantsuiters with serving spoons were beckoning him.

  “Not so fast, big guy.”

  Two hands clamped on Lucifer’s shoulders. He slowly turned around to find the handsy guards who’d accosted him the day before, arching their eyebrows at him. 54th came rushing over, giving sheepish smiles and apologies to the guards. He nudged Lucifer off to the side and mumbled, “Sorry, man. I completely forgot; brunch is for mansion residents only.”

  So, 54th had to return to the drawing board (which was, and remained, completely blank). And after that brief trip to the drawing board, to make a long story short, the two of them ended up with grumbling stomachs, their Heads Down, and their Thumbs Up.)

  Suffice to say that by post-brunch time, when Lucifer was handed back to 60th, he hadn’t been any more oriented than he would have been had the two pantsuiters blindfolded him and spun him in circles all morning.

  And neither was 60th.

  She’d held a polite finger up to Lucifer when he stepped into her room. She was pacing a hole into the ground, with her face scrunched in concentration, and her eyes glued to the ringing tablet in her hands. Lucifer peeked over her shoulder and saw the contact ID, bolded on the screen.

  62nd Head Assistant Manager’s Acting Administrator-In-Training-By-Proxy

  He gulped.

  But it rang and rang, then rang some more until—

  Beep.

  60th muted the call, scoffing. “Can you believe this? Second day on the job and 62nd is already dodging phone calls?”

  Lucifer, remembering how liberally Dina deducted HP, kept tight-lipped. Which 60th didn’t mind. Not a second later, she finally connected to “62nd’s” voicemail. When Lucifer saw her curve her upper lip in preparation, he quietly excused himself to the hall.

  And for a moment, Lucifer considered hightailing it. 1st had run off into the wilderness. His handlers for the first part of the day dumped him in favor of indulging in a post-brunch snack he was barred from. And now his handler for the second part was busy leaving a scathing message to an unattended voicemail box.

  But that moment was short-lived, too. Because just as he resolved to spend the rest of his afternoon on his rock-hard bed in The Big House, munching on day-old twigs, 60th tapped on his shoulder.

  Lucifer turned to face her, but instead was met with the front page tucked into the clipboard she’d held earlier. “Can you cover this for me? It isn’t too much.” She mouthed to Lucifer during a break in her tirade. Before he could think of a reply, 60th turned around, hissing, “And another thing—”

  Sucking down a deep, deep sigh, Lucifer braced himself against the wall and scanned the list.

  60th’s To-Do List

  ?? Delegate (54th and 19th during 61st’s orientation, 61st after his orientation)

  ?? Judge (subject of choice, preferably one of the 30s—they have been slacking, haven’t they, dearie?)

  ? Micromanage (3rd in The Big House during chore time—goes by the name ‘Elio’—I’ve been getting complaints about improper laundering technique. And theft.)