A Demon Every Birthday

Dana.

Several lit candles illuminated my dismally plain dormitory room. The building I lived in was built before the first world war, and from what I could gather, had only been updated with a fresh coat of paint since.

The normally dour space looked kind of romantic in the warm, dim light, though.

Everything was just about ready.

A narrow, made bed sat against one wall, a brown desk against the other. We weren’t allowed to put posters or photos up on the walls. Perhaps because the drywall would crumble from the pressure of a single thumb tack.

The only thing that adorned the wall was a crucifix, just above my headboard.

With a guilty glance toward the ceiling, I pulled it off its nail and shoved it into the top drawer of my dresser.

Jesus didn’t need to see this.

A dark leather grimoire was waiting beneath my bed, tucked inside my luggage trunk. After unlocking it, I carefully unfolded the muslin blanket around the book and opened it to a bookmarked page.

My cellphone read 11:30 PM.

Thirty minutes until my eighteenth birthday was over.

A quick glance in the mirror revealed an oversized T-shirt hanging past my thighs, a pair of thick socks, and... panties.

Hmm. Maybe I didn’t need underwear.

My reflection frowned back at me. “Better not make any assumptions.”

Maybe he’d want to take them off himself. The thought sent a little nervous, excited flutter through my stomach.

I double-checked the door was locked and the curtains were fully drawn.

With the grimoire open before me, there wasn’t much left to do.

Except… summon a demon.

My legs crossed beneath me as I settled onto the bed.

The socks suddenly seemed like a terrible choice. Even if this demon was an incubus, I didn’t think seeing tube socks would help me plead my case to him.

March nights were cold in Connecticut, but my insecurities won out. The socks were discarded.

Now chilly and even more nervous, I tugged the hem of my shirt down one last time before grasping my resolve.

“Here we go.”

I placed my palm over the intricate geometric pattern on the weathered page. Latin words felt strange on my tongue as I spoke them, “Ex tenebris, ego te voco eni, daemon. Veni, et responde.”

My imagination prepared me to see a portal to Hell tear open in front of me, like a big black mass.

Or maybe there would be an eruption of fire manifesting itself into a man. Maybe he’d have horns.

I had a lot of time to think about this.

Even after I spoke the summoning spell, nothing happened. My head craned around to check my closet from where I sat. Empty.

The room remained perfectly still, even as seconds ticked by.

My toes were cold. The candles were lit. My heart was pounding in my ears.

After a moment, I leaned forward, bracing my palms against the mattress as I peered down at the tome, perplexed.

Maybe I said it wrong.

“Okay. EX. TENE-bris…” I used hard annunciation. “Ego—”

“You said it correctly the first time,” a deep male voice interrupted.

My head snapped up and with a startled yelp, I jerked backward against the headboard.

An alarmingly tall man stood near the door with his arms crossed. Faint wisps of smoke lingered at his feet.

Black hair was gathered into a low bun at the nape of his neck, and his figure was lean beneath a neatly tailored three-piece black suit.

His face was... perfect. A narrow, straight nose, a wide, pouted mouth. Sharp, large eyes. He may have been sculpted by an angel.

Or… a devil, probably.

The urge to make the sign of the cross was almost overwhelming.

A faint scent of cardamom drifted through the room.

Pale gray eyes wandered over the candles and the open book before settling on me again.

My throat closed up and my body shook.

The spell actually worked. He was real!

When his eyes met mine, the excitement faded.

I recognized his expression.

It was the same look I’d received countless times before.

Indifference-- as though I were another piece of furniture or a blank wall.

I grounded myself by curling my fingers into the bedding beneath me.

“Well?” he asked with his arms still folded. His voice sounded British to me, with a seductive smoothness to it. “You’ve summoned me. What is it?”

After a frantic glance at the grimoire, I managed to collect myself and remembered the next step.

“O demon, please accept my toll," I rasped. Between both hands, I held out the silver brick with my head bowed.

Silence followed. My arms were starting to shake.

When he didn’t speak, my eyes lifted.

His expression looked rather peculiar, almost scrunched. “You’re offering me silver?”

“S-solid silver,” I clarified.

“Who walks around with silver in their wallets?” he asked mildly.

“Um...”

His eyes flicked to the leather tome on the bed. “Just how old is this spell book you’ve summoned me with?”

“Um… Eighteen-hundreds?”

“We’re in the twenty-first century. Next time you call me, bring cash.”

Smoke had already begun to gather around his feet as he turned.

“Wait!” Nearly flying off the bed, I reached toward him. ”Please!”

He paused, glancing over his shoulder. “What? You have a wad of cash sitting around?”

His eyes drifted around my dormitory. “You certainly haven’t spent it on the decor of this dismal place, have you?”

“I-I can get some. Tomorrow. I promise. Please don’t leave.”

One black eyebrow lifted.

In the candlelight, his eyes appeared almost silver, the same shade as an overcast sky.

“Whoever it is you want killed, it’ll have to wait until then. I don’t take IOUs.”

“What?” My head snapped back. “No! I don’t need anyone killed!”

He stared at me. “Then why did you summon me?”

“I... um...” The confidence I’d spent the better part of the evening cultivating was rapidly fading. Heat crept into my cheeks. “I... I want you to take my virginity.”

The long pause that followed left me in complete agony.

He burst into laughter. It was warm and deep, and sent an unexpected tingle across my skin.

“Hell below.” He wiped at the corner of one eye and released a high-pitched sigh of amusement. “You aren’t joking, are you, girl?”

My cheeks burned hotter.

“My name is Dana,” I corrected, trying to sound more confident than I felt. “What’s your name?”

“Lucien. You believe I’m an incubus?”

My eyes flickered helplessly toward the grimoire again, as if it could defend my case. “Aren’t... you?”

His gaze wandered around the dormitory again. “Hm. Young girl in a Catholic boarding school... I don’t suppose demonology is part of your curriculum here, is it?”

I shook my head.

Still pressed against the headboard, I glanced down at myself and suddenly remembered I wasn’t wearing a bra. My arms quickly folded across my chest.

“Pray tell, where did you come across that book?” He nodded toward the tome on my bed.

“An antique store. A-a few months ago.”

He snorted. “Right next to the crocheted doilies and mildly racist tchotchkes, I suppose?”

A smile threatened to curl the corners of my mouth. “No.”

Drawing in a deep breath through his nose, he let it out slowly.

“So, you believed I would take your virginity...”

His lips turned downward as he studied the brick of silver.

“For a rough kilo of silver? I’m not entirely familiar with exchange rates, but that’s a rather cheap date you’re vying for.”

He was mocking me. Of course he was.

My shoulders slumped. “So you’re not an incubus. You’re... an assassin?”

“I deal in many pacts," Lucien answered. "Most of them involve killing people, yes. In your case, I assumed a boyfriend had cheated, or someone spread some particularly damaging gossip and ruined your ever-so-important social standing.”

I ignored the insult. “So you’ve... never...”

His eyebrows rose when I didn't finish my question.

“Never what? Done a pact for sex? Of course I have. But I don’t make sex pacts with girls.”

“I’m not a girl. I’m eighteen.”

He gave me a dubious once-over. “Are you, now?”

“Today is my birthday.”

“And why is it you want a demon to take your virginity?”

I really thought this was going to play out differently. The demon would take the silver brick and suddenly my clothes would get ripped off and we'd do the deed.

I didn't expect to be interrogated.

“I’ve... I’ve never had a boyfriend and probably never will," I admitted softly. "I’ve never been close with a boy.”

The only time we were allowed around boys were chaperoned dances. And those were… horrifically awkward. You couldn't exactly flirt when nuns were watching your every move like a hawk.

Not that I knew how to flirt.

My friends, on the other hand, had been able to meet boys from social media or when they went off campus… but none of them ever gave me a second glance.

I was another blank wall. Another piece of furniture in the room.

I might as well have been invisible.

Lucien gave another dismayed scan of the room. “And what is so important about doing this on your birthday?"

“All my friends have lost their virginity. They’ve all experienced it.” My fingers twisted together in my lap. “I wanted to, too.”

What I didn’t say aloud was the most embarrassing part of all: I just didn’t want to feel alone on a momentous day, like I did the rest of the year.

All I wanted was to be held and loved by someone.

My gaze dropped to my hands, I waited for him to laugh at me again.

“Go find someone your own age,” he said, instead. “Don’t call upon demons as your personal prostitute. That’s just lazy. This is the technology era, just download an app or something.”

“I told you, I’m never going to get a boyfriend.” The response came out sharp and fast, even I was surprised.

His eyes rolled. “And why is that? Because you’re boring? I’m struggling to stay awake, myself.”

“I’m fat. And...” Self-consciously, I tugged at one of my springy red curls.

“This.” I was teased for my red, frizzy hair almost daily.

Lucien stared for a moment. “In some parts of the world, large women are highly desirable.”

His expression scrunched slightly as he considered me. “And you’re hardly some hideous, bulbous, lurching mass. You need to look at things in relative terms. You’ve got just enough meat on you to survive a winter. A good deal of men like that sort of thing.”

“Do you like that sort of thing?”

He gave me a strained smile. “I’m not just a man, I'm a demon. My opinion is irrelevant.”

My eyes dropped again.

“Please...” The word came out barely above a whisper. “Please take the silver. I know I’m not beautiful. Or... particularly interesting, as you've pointed out.”

God, I felt pathetic.

“Just go buy one of those things other women use, the one that looks like tongs.” He made a motion with his fingers like a crab claw, mimicking a hair straightener. “And dye your hair. This isn’t that difficult. I didn't even have to use google or magic to solve that problem for you.”

“W-we aren’t allowed to dye our hair.” I bit into both my upper and lower lips and shut my eyes to fight back a sting of tears.

“So, please.” I nudged the silver bar toward him.

Lucien was quiet for a time. “I won’t fuck you.”

Rejected even by a demon.

This had to be a new record low.

All I could do was stare at my feet and hope I could hold back my humiliated sobs until he left.

I heard him take a step forward.

Then a second.

I blinked at the sight of his shiny black dress shoes.

One of his fingers touched my chin and lifted it to force me to look up at him. God, up close, he was pretty. Terrifyingly so.

And I was a mess. Tears streaked down my face.

“Lay back on the bed.”

Quickly, I wiped at my eyes with the side of my palm. “But… you just said—”

“Lay back,” Lucien repeated sternly, and began shrugging out of his suit jacket.