“It’s not,” Harold began, “that I don’t appreciate the offer. I’m flattered, really. It’s just the price seems awfully steep.”
The demon shrugged, its massive shoulders knocking cobwebs down from the rafters. “Quality is worth paying for. You could get a knockoff job for pennies on the dollar, sure, cheap imitation stuff. Real damnation is hard to find, these days. It’s all mass-produced, some factory in China.”
“How’s the warranty?”
“Eternity or ten thousand miles, whichever comes last.”
“Fully-loaded?”
“Look, this is hand-tooled craftsmanship. You don’t get that kind of personal service just anywhere.”
“I’ll think about it,” Harold said.
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