Date With a Demon & Other Stories

Date With a Demon, Part 1

"Just bring a friend!" Nat throws her hands up, "Bring the pigeon that always asks you for food for all I care!"

"I don't have any pigeons that ask me for food, you know this," I reply calmly, "Why can't I just come alone?"

"Because there needs to be an even number of people! Otherwise, everything is all awkward!"

I have never understood my sister's obsession with even numbers. Frankly, it's really annoying. I could never invite an even number of people to my birthdays as a kid because, with me included, there would be an odd amount.

"Fine," I rub my forehead, "Fine, okay. I'll find someone."

"Thank you!" Nat drags me into an embrace, "You're the best sibling ever!"

I push her off, "Whatever. I should go. I've got to find a date by Friday."

Nat's fiancé, George, hands me my coat and scarf when I reach the door. I shrug my arms into my sleeves as I step down off the porch, muttering to myself about where I'm going to find a stand-in date a week from the wedding.

I'm about halfway back to my brownstone in Brooklyn when I remember my grandmother's not-for-cooking cookbook. Inside, she'd written all the different ways to summon a demon - which ones worked, which ones didn't work. The only difference between her and me is that she studied Latin in college and I studied History. Oh, and there is also the small detail that she was a master of the occult and I stopped believing in the Tooth Fairy when I was five.

At home, I find the large book locked in a trunk in my office and flip to a page marked DEMON SUMMONINGS in my grandmother's loopy cursive.

"Alright, Rylan," I mutter, "Nothing strange going on here."

I roll my the sleeves of my dark gray button-down and kick my shoes, coat, and backpack out of the kitchen floor. I gather everything that I'll supposedly need and draw a pentagram onto the tile in sidewalk chalk.

"I can't believe I'm actually doing this," I say to myself as I toss a bundle of parsley into the center of the drawing.

My grandmother's instructions were surprisingly clear and straight-forward so they weren't too difficult to follow. Once I'd completed the last step - changing in Latin - the pentagram lit up, making me look away and cover my eyes with my hand. When the flash dimmed, I looked back, only to find that nothing was there.

My shoulders slump, "This is what I get for listening to Grandma."

"I don't know who Grandma is, but she sure isn't me!"

I jump and looked back toward the abandoned pentagram. A man is standing there. He's tall, muscular, handsome, and tan. And he's wearing a suit that seems to change between black and dark red depending on how you look at it. I just stare at him. The man grins and walks in a circle.

"Well, isn't this a nice place! Where am I? Paris? London? Madrid?"

"B-Brooklyn," I stammer.

The corners of his mouth fall slightly, "Brooklyn? What am I doing in Brooklyn?"

"I summoned you. My name is Rylan Peters. Who are you?"

"Lucifer," The man drops into a low bow, "At your service. Though, you may know me as the Devil, Satan, or the Prince of Hell."

I step back until I collide with the counter, then brace myself on the granite.

"I summoned Satan?"

Lucifer smirks, "I prefer 'Lucifer', but essentially, yes."

"Oh, right, sorry," I nod, "Uh, what are you pronouns, Lucifer?"