Jo had been listening to the hold music for what felt like years. When the line finally clicked, she nearly wept.

“Thank you for holding,” said a chipper voice. “This is the Infernal Department of Summoning Complaints. My name is Sharon, how may I redirect your eternal anguish today?”

Jo gripped the receiver. “I’m not supposed to be here. My name is Jo. J-O. I own a café. I make cappuccinos. Sometimes demons show up. It’s, well, complicated.”

“Uh-huh,” Sharon said, typing loudly. “Let me just pull up your account.”

Jo heard typing and shuffling papers, then a ding.

“Oh, yes. You’ve been mistakenly categorized under Lost Souls, Barista Edition. That happens sometimes. Did you fill out your Form 666-B?”

Jo scanned her desk. “I’ve got a Form 999-Q?”

“Oof. Wrong branch. You’ll need to be transferred. One moment please.”

The hold music now garbled polka resumed.

Jo banged her head on the desk.

*

Back in Cedar Grove, the rescue committee was in session.

Mira drew a summoning circle on the café floor with hibiscus tea while Matteo calibrated the espresso machine to maximum extraction. Sev read from a grimoire of outdated office protocols and Clorvex stood guard with his mop.

Ever the intern, Jeff had a PowerPoint. “So, if we think of Holdspace as a call center dimension,” he explained, clicking to a slide labeled Operational Inefficiencies in Demonic Bureaucracy. “We need to escalate Jo’s case file. The key is pretending to be middle management.”

The Queen leaned over, amused. “You know, darling, I’ve ruined kingdoms with less paperwork.”

“Exactly,” Jeff said, sweating but inspired. “So, if someone poses as a regional summoning manager, we might be able to pull Jo back through the system before she gets reassigned.”

Everyone turned to Clorvex.

“Why me?” the demon barked.

“Because,” Jeff said, “you already have the clipboard aura.”

Clorvex blinked., then shrugged. “Fair.”

*

Meanwhile, in Holdspace, Jo’s phone line clicked again.

“This is the Conference Call of Doom,” a voice announced. “Please state your grievance after the scream.”

A chorus of voices, bureaucrats, demons, and one eternally frustrated necromancer, echoed across the beige.

Jo took a deep breath. “My grievance is simple. I. Want. OUT.”

The line hissed and the hold music warped into a choir of screams.

Then a voice Jo recognized, loud and sardonic, cut through.

“Attention! This is Regional Summoning Manager Clorvex, clipboard authority verified. Release the barista immediately.”

Jo froze. “Oh gods, they’re pretending to be management.”

The Conference Call went silent. “Please hold while we verify.”