WARNING-MATURE THEMES *** It's October 31st. Three girls walk into a bar. A man sits next to one of them- the pretty one, with the long blonde hair and that odd stare in her eyes. He buys her a drink. She watches him, running her tongue along her top lip and her finger around the rim of the glass. He talks sweetly to her, his hand on her thigh. Then another comes. A sweet, innocent girl who seems to be eighteen, with a pout and begging eyes. And the man turns back and forth, smirking and thinking that his score has doubled... Until the blood starts seeping out his side. The young one scowls as she wipes the blood from the blade. "I don't like real men anyway." The pretty one rolls her eyes. Another girl comes up, her eyes alertly darting around the room. This one seems neither very pretty, nor very innocent, but the wicked glint in her clever eyes and the quickness of her tongue says enough. This one is the brains. "Another?" she mutters beneath her breath as she slides onto the barstool. "There will never be an end," the pretty one says, shrugging. "Not in the month of Satan, for damn sure," the innocent girl agrees. This is where our story starts. - - - Three girls have been tasked with a distasteful job. They hunt demons. Not demons as you and I know them, but as worshippers and slaves to Satan himself. They are regular people, gifted due to their devotion. They carry out the dark lord's havoc. They cause chaos, death, destruction, and deeds far too evil for the human eye. These girls have their own suitcase of baggage to carry around with them. And their pasts will come to haunt them as the stakes heighten, and they notice two things that are utterly terrifying. The demons are getting stronger, and they-with their own thunderclouds over their heads and luggage at their feet-are getting weaker. And a question rises: What do you do if your defining trait is the thing that you keep trying to sweep under the rug?