The two children regarded Zekelo with solemn eyes. If they were intimidated by the twisting horns jutting from his head or his obsidian claws, they gave no sign of it.

“Hello, young ones. Welcome to Zekelo’s Barterhouse & Emporium, the finest shop in all Limbo. Here, we offer phylacteries, nostrums, and rare antiquities from every plane of existence,” the former demon said. “What have you brought to trade?”

Outside the shop, fell winds screamed ancient prophecies into the endless void. Zekelo beckoned for his assistant, the Green Zephyr, to shut the windows and reactivate the outer wards. A minor wind of the spring, the Green Zephyr manifested as a floating child with skin of emerald moss and feathers of pearl. In stark contrast, Zekelo’s unsettling customers wore matching ebony suits, with scarlet cravats that seemed made of flames.

It was rare for mortals this young to navigate Limbo’s tricksome paths, but Zekelo was willing to make a deal with any who possessed enough power, skill, or luck to cross his door. Though he operated under certain restrictions made by arrangement with his landlords, he would get fair value for whatever these little ones had to offer, be it magic, treasure, or soulstuff.

“You mistake our purpose, Zekelo Demonos, Hewer of the Twelfth.” Both children spoke with the same voice, in a tone far deeper than should have been possible for either. “We have not come to barter. We are the Compliance. We’ve heard rumors of unlicensed soul trade and have come to Regulate your shop.”

Upon hearing this pronouncement, the Green Zephyr shrieked and leapt for the window he’d just closed, but before he could squeeze through, the girl-half of the Compliance opened a hand and froze Zekelo’s assistant in place. The boy-half took out an obsidian clipboard and a blood-red quill from his jacket, then made several quick notations. With each slash of the scarlet quill, the zephyr shrank until it was nothing more than green dust on the floor.

Unfortunate. Though there had been no friendship between them, the Green Zephyr was as trustworthy a worker as one could find in Limbo, and it would take Zekelo forever to find a new assistant.

The former demon did not attempt to flee, nor did he invoke his shop’s various magical countermeasures. Most would be useless against the Compliance, anyway. He’d planned for this, knowing it was only a matter of time before Hell sent one of their regulatory entities from the Infernal Revenue Service. Nothing infuriated corporate more than when a franchise-owner tried to start their own business. Or, in this case, when a hewer of souls from Pandemonium’s twelfth level fled the underworld to form his own interdimensional emporium.

“Perhaps we might come to an arrangement?” asked Zekelo.

“We are the Compliance,” the children said. “We do not have arrangements.”

“Of course, of course,” Zekelo said. “Forgive my impertinence. It has been long since I dealt with anyone from my old . . . company.”

“We require your signature,” the boy-half said, proffering the obsidian clipboard and blood-red quill. “So that your operation may be scrutinized under the Book of Regulations.”

Zekelo smiled. “Ah, but which one?”

Both children’s heads tilted to the side, curious.

“Didn’t you wonder how I was able to acquire this bit of unreal estate in Limbo?” Zekelo asked. He brought out a giant ledger and laid it on his desk. “I possess my own copy of the Books of Regulations. Not your company’s, mind you, but the Competition’s.”

The flicker of unease that passed across the Compliance’s faces warmed the empty void in Zekelo’s chest.

“You see,” Zekelo continued, “The Competition and I have come to an understanding. I don’t devour souls. I hold them for a small measure of time as collateral—perhaps from time to time allow myself a small taste of their soulstuff—but I then return them, teaching mortals a lesson in the dangers of soul trade. In return, the Competition allows my little store to conduct its business.”

The Compliance quirked their heads. “Damning souls is your sole function.”

“Damnation is boring,” Zekelo answered. “Trade, however, is interesting.”

“You are in violation of the Core Tenets,” said the Compliance after a moment of silence. “You shall be Regulated.”

Zekelo calmly opened his ledger to a certain page, willing his clawed hands not to shake. He had to act quickly before the Compliance got its bearings and Regulated him out of existence.

“Funny thing,” he said. “One of the worst transgressions in my landlords’ Book of Regulations is the denial of free will. Forcible possession of two mortal children seems an obvious violation of that. Since I use their Book to empower my shop, I can enforce their rules”—Zekelo traced a glowing line of arcane symbols in his ledger—“and set these children free.”

In an explosion of fractal deadlights, the Compliance let out a scream that could probably be heard from Gehenna to Elysium. The cry faded quickly, as if falling from a great height. The boy and girl blinked and glanced nervously about.

Zekelo pulled out a broom and began sweeping what was left of the Green Zephyr into a dust bin. Perhaps in time he could find a way to restore his lost assistant. Until then, it never hurt to have zephyr dust on hand.

“Hello, young ones,” Zekelo said. “Welcome to Zekelo’s Barterhouse & Emporium, the finest shop in all Limbo. Here, we offer phylacteries, nostrums, and rare antiquities from every plane of existence. Now, what have you brought to trade?”