"boxes": In 500 words (or 100 words if you prefer), tell what happens when there are boxes

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Baal

Baal rocked on his feet as he watched the workers haul boxes into the room. The lesser demon by his side scanned each box's tag with his tablet, then directed where to put it. Baal didn't particularly care about the organization, but he did care about the contents.

"And you're sure this is all they left behind?" he asked the lesser demon.

"Yes, Lord Baal," it replied. "We packed up both Dylan's and William's apartments ourselves, just as you ordered. We even cleaned Dylan's apartment to get her security deposit back. She's a slob."

"I want the contents of these boxes gone through with a fine-toothed comb," Baal insisted.

"Yes, m'Lord," the lesser demon said. "As you have said."

When Baal failed to turn and leave, the smaller demon sighed. "Was there something else you needed, Lord Baal?"

Baal scowled. He was hovering, and he knew it. But this was the first time in years they'd gotten anything solid about Dylan's whereabouts. Suddenly, they had her entire life's worth of possessions... yet still had no idea where she was. Lucifer would be both elated and infuriated.

"No," he huffed. "Work around the clock. Report each morning and evening what you have found so far. I will be in my office." He turned and lumbered down the hall toward his extravagant working space. It paled in comparison to his home, but, in truth, he spent more time in the one-bedroom apartment that functioned as an office than he did in his mansion.

Where in the hell did Will take that woman? he wondered for the umpteenth time. And why wasn't he reporting in?

He lowered himself into his desk chair and began going through his most recent reports, leaning back and propping his feet up on the edge of his desk. He frowned when he read one about a missing artifact... a special wallet of Welsh origin. It had been stolen while in transport from the temporary safehouse to the Vatican storage facility. Now, someone had it, and not only that, they'd been able to alter it for personal use. Untraceable person use.

This will not do. Baal relied on knowing where the money flowed to and from in the world. That there was now an artifact conjured and bespelled in such a way that he couldn't track its magicked money galled him. But humans couldn't keep something like that secret for long, so he knew it'd turn up one century or another.

He sighed and set the report aside. There were bigger fish to fry at the moment. He itched to go back to the storeroom and watch the unboxing, supervising it himself. But what was the point of having assistants if he didn't delegate tasks? Instead, he stayed put, reading more market reports and making mental notes of who would be the best victims to approach to make insider deals.

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Author's Discussion: Have you figured out who Dylan's father is yet?

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