Page 7 of A Date With Demons

A blessed apple that’s for the altar is not supposed to be a snack. But my mom has always been a little bit of a rebel. I’ve heard my dad say it’s a reaction to being a goody-two-shoes for the first twenty-something years of her life. But I don’t buy it. If anything, my dad has kept her feet on the ground.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“You’re welcome. And if you need a disco nap before the party, don’t worry about the trick-or-treaters. We’ve got it handled.”

“Disco nap, Mom?” I roll my eyes.

Mom blows me a kiss and heads downstairs.

The apple in my hand is a perfect Honeycrisp. Shiny and tempting, without a single flaw in its tender skin. Ideal for doing a spell.

Before I can question it, I go to my closet and dig out the dark magic supplies I’m technically not trained to use yet. I’ve collected them over the years, out of curiosity, and I’m just grateful that Maple and Hollis haven’t gone through my closet to discover them.

I grab the volcanic sand, then the black candle. A vial of pig’s blood is next. I pick up the black magic spell book and, finally, Magda’s grimoire. I set the rest of the things on my spellwork table, then sit cross-legged on my bed. I open the grimoire to the part about the apple.

“There is an old legend,” it reads, “that a mate can be summoned when a maiden eats an apple in front of a mirror. But we are cautioned against this type of gray magic, as it is only a whitewashed version of darker spells. The Accord of 1859 can only hold against demonic forces if we white witches use our powers for unselfish reasons.”

Sounds like gobbledygook to me. Sounds like someone doesn’t want us to have any fun.

Maybe I’m feeling some kind of way after misreading my vision. But I’m tired of being a good little witch; I’m ready for a little devilish fun.

I take a deep breath and fidget with the loose knot at the front of my robe. Then, I open the black magic spell book and look for the entry on apples. What I read there makes my eyes go wide—and a particular need stirs in my panties.

This is the solution to my problem, right here in these pages.

What could possibly be more fun than a succubus-for-hire?

“A contractually obligated demon fulfills your deepest desires for one night. Dream escapades are an optional add-on. Price to be negotiated upon delivery.”

I swallow and read on, scanning the long, dense columns of text for an explanation of the price. Of course, as a witch, I know perfectly well that every spell, every curse, comes with a price. White magic simply requires balance. For every positive, there’s a negative. It’s up to the witch to decide if the trade-off is worth it. Want to magically have your taxes done? The other side of that coin is you might have a slightly smaller refund. Want to raise someone from the dead? Someone else in the world ofequal impact has to die. No one is dumb enough to choose that, especially not white witches.

So, we must always be careful.

That’s the thing about black magic. When you deal with dark spirits, you never know what the price might be. It’s always a gamble.

Am I ready for that?

What if the price is I’m dragged to hell to be an underworld bride for eternity? That probably won’t happen. A succubus-for-hire is in the business simply to get a vacation from hell. I get what I want, and he gets a break from his prison.

Surely, that’s all there is to it.

I climb off my bed, go to my spellwork table, and grab the bag of volcanic sand.

On the floor, I pour the sand carefully in the shape of a pentagram inside a summoning circle. Then, I carefully open the vial and pour the pig’s blood inside the circle. For fun, I also toss the resin costume demon horns I made for my would-be date into the circle. It can’t hurt to be extra specific.

Seated at my table, I set up my mirror and light the black candle in front of it.

I shut off the lights, then sit down in front of the mirror and say the words written in the black magic book.

“Dearest darkness, veil of night, hear me through space and light, be he far or be he near, bring the demon I desire here.”

I eat the apple, then count out the seeds one by one.

One…two…three.

Three?

How in the heck can there be only three seeds in an apple?

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