The climb was worse than Jo expected. Every step up the Tower of Paperwork made the stack of forms in her hands double in weight.
Mira had to stop twice to mutter, “I refuse to let my obituary read death by filing system.”
Matteo’s espresso machine wheezed in solidarity, occasionally stamping approval seals in steam.
Oddly cheerful, Clorvex was already doodling in the margins of his paperwork. “Look, I made a little demon with a mop. He’s unionized.”
“Focus,” Jo hissed. “If we don’t get through this paperwork gauntlet, Cedar Grove’s basically going to be a walk in portal for misplaced demons.”
At every landing, a demon bureaucrat blocked their path.
One demanded they complete Form 666-B, an Application for Temporary Chaos Containment.
Another insisted on a survey about Overall Torment Satisfaction, on a scale of One to Scream.
A third forced them to listen to an entire loop of hold-music that was a haunting remix of “Girl from Ipanema” played on tortured violins.
By the time they reached the top, Jo’s hands were cramping from all the signatures.
Then they saw it. The Master Switch.
A vast, glowing lever jutting out of an obsidian desk the size of Harmony Café. The desk itself was covered in sticky notes that read, REMEMBER TO FILE BLOOD ORANGE REQUEST, DO NOT LET JEFF TOUCH THIS, and above it hung a glowing sign that read PLEASE HOLD FOREVER.
The Operator of Doom reappeared with a sparking headset. “Congratulations. You’ve reached the Switch. Of course, flipping it requires unanimous approval and someone must be placed on hold.”
Jo froze. “Define on hold.”
“Suspended in the abyss until further notice,” the Operator said smoothly. “Could be a minute. Could be a millennium. Depends on call volume.”
Fidgeting with his clipboard, Jeff whispered, “Uh, I can volunteer? Intern hours, right?”
“No!” Jo snapped. “You’ll just misfile everything for eternity.”
The Queen of the Hollow Moon swooped forward with her glittering cloak. “Darling, I live to be dramatic. Let me languish in the void. Imagine the gowns I’ll wear!”
“Hard pass,” Matteo muttered. “We’d never get her back.”
Clorvex raised his paw. “I’ll do it. I’ve been on hold with my cable provider for three years anyway.”
“No. It’s my café. My chaos,” Jo said, gripping her chipped mug. “I’ll do it.” She set the mug on the desk as the orange glow pulsed like a heartbeat. “We flip the Switch. We stabilize the connection, and if I have to sip coffee in the abyss, then fine. I’ve got my mug.”
The Operator’s grin widened as sharp as paper cuts. “Very well.”
With a booming click, the Switch flipped. The lights flickered, the tower shuddered, and for one terrifying moment, all of Cedar Grove’s weirdness, ghosts, vampires, demons, cursed pastries, enchanted mops all funneled into the single glowing lever before bursting outward like confetti.
Jo vanished into static.
“Your call is very important to us,” the Operator intoned. “Please hold.”
Mira gasped.
Matteo cursed.
Clorvex howled.
Jeff wrote oops on his clipboard.
And Cedar Grove had to brace for whatever was coming next.