#devil fic

Life wasn’t fair.

And you knew that well, but it didn’t stop you from hoping every single day that it might get better. Sitting by your father’s hospital bed, unable to watch him fight for his life.

Your father had fallen into a coma after an accident at work. He was an engineer, and fell from scaffolding along with four interns, suffering a traumatic brain injury on impact. You found out when your school principal called you in for a talk. A neighbor came to pick you up and drove you to the hospital, where you found your mother quietly crying by his bed.

That was three years ago. 

Three years of watching your mother lose pieces of herself to the looming death of the man she had shared her life with for almost thirty years.

Most of the time, you held it together with them, but today was different. This was the end. Your family could no longer afford your father’s medical costs. The curse of living in America at a time like this…

The machines beeped in your head, charting the fading life of your father, vanishing little by little. And with him, your heart shattered, splintering into a thousand shards like glass.

Would your mother look at you and see your father’s reflection once he was gone? Would that only bring her more pain?

You swallowed hard, holding back the tears.

“Mom, I’m going to get some air, okay?” You hugged the woman from behind and kissed her cheek.

“Okay, sweetheart.” She murmured absentmindedly.

The moment you stepped outside the room, you let the tears fall. Breathe. You ordered yourself, lifting your chin and wiping your cheeks with a sharp exhale.

Being half-Latina, you were raised Catholic, but your faith had never been strong. Not until your father’s accident. Now you prayed, made promises, as if the world itself were ending.

“Are you alright?” A nurse approached, resting a hand on your shoulder.

“Just a bad day.” You tried to smile, but it never reached your eyes.

The woman smiled in a soft, maternal way. “Everyone has those bad days here, but they’re usually followed by good ones. Hold on tight, dear.”

“Thank you.” You whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You wished you could run away, but the hospital felt like a maze of white walls.

“Why don’t you take a break in the chapel?” She suggested, watching you. You turned toward her with watery, suddenly hopeful eyes.

It really seemed like a good idea.

You thanked her quietly and walked toward the chapel. When you stepped inside, it was empty. The pews glowed faintly under the fractured colors of stained glass. You walked to the front rows, sat down, and closed your eyes, hands pressed together in prayer, while more tears slid down your cheeks.

Three years ago, all that mattered was college—you wanted to study music and play with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, one of the best in the country. But after the accident, your mind could never stay on studying, and by some miracle, you barely made it into the University of Chicago.

Part of you was angry. Angry at the accident, at not having money to go out with friends and live like a normal young adult, at watching your mother trapped in this infernal limbo.

Anger was necessary, it kept you going.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed there praying, but then you realized you weren’t alone. The hairs at the back of your neck stood up with that unnerving sensation of invisible eyes fixed on you.

Your jaw tightened. Slowly, you turned, stealing a glance over your shoulder at the shadowy doorway.

For a second, you couldn’t breathe. Because a tall, slender figure was there, as though every nightmare and every phobia had converged in that pocket of darkness.

Then you blinked, and the shadow vanished.

Now she was framed in the doorway—a woman—wearing a black dress and red lipstick that defined the shape of her lips, yet somehow didn’t clash with such a sterile setting.

She looked at you with a confidence, a dominance, that made you shiver. As if she wasn’t even aware she was standing inside a church.

Her eyes. Enormous, brown eyes that seemed tinged with red from where you sat, made your nails dig into your thigh while every primal instinct screamed at you to run. She was terrifyingly beautiful, like a model. Dark hair—brown, not black—falling just below her shoulders.

And again, you returned to her eyes. There was no warmth there. Her features were striking, a straight nose, a carved jawline, high cheekbones that lent her… sweetness.

It was almost a sin for a woman like this to exist.

You had to be careful.

Any sudden move could shift the balance into survival mode. Where, obviously, you were the prey and she the predator.

And yet you couldn’t stop wondering who she was. She was fascinating to look at. Absorbing in a way you couldn’t explain.

Almost symbiotic.

Silence stretched between you. You wanted to wipe your tears, but you couldn’t move—frozen in fear and awe.

“I hope I didn’t interrupt your prayers.” Her voice slid through the air like wet silk.

You shivered at the sound. A voice that could tempt any woman, conjure her darkest fantasies.

You had to get out. Every instinct was still screaming at you to leave.

“Uh… no, I was just… leaving.” You lowered your head, shifting uncomfortably in the pew.

The woman stepped forward. She seemed… at ease. The stained-glass light shifted strangely around her, almost bending away, leaving her deeper in shadow.

Could that even be possible?

“Visiting someone?” She asked, casual on the surface.

“My father.” Just saying it stripped away the fear and desire she had stirred in you and the fragility rushed back.

“I’m sorry.” Another step closer. She glanced up at the Virgin Mary with an odd, almost knowing smile, as if she were intimately familiar with the saint. Which, of course, couldn’t be true.

“Thank you.” You fought against the tremors running through you. “Are you visiting someone as well?” It was a risk, you knew it, but showing fear wasn’t an option.

Her lips curved into the ghost of a smile.

“Not exactly.”

One step.

“Are you a doctor, then?” She had to be here for a reason, right?

Suddenly, the woman laughed, as though you had just told an inside joke.

“Do I look like someone who saves lives?”

“I… I’m sorry, I just assumed.” Swallowing hard, you rose, slipping past her and heading for the door.

Until the tall woman called you by name. You froze where you stood.

“How… how do you know my name?” Terror clenched your throat so tightly the words hurt coming out.

The woman, still gazing at the Virgin, turned to face you. Her head tilted, studying you, her body moving with deliberate slowness.

“You sent a prayer for your father.”

Confused, you nodded.

“And I came to answer it.”

Her chocolate eyes consumed everything, her words hitting you like a blow. Was this some kind of joke? Was she some creep lurking in hospitals to prey on fragile women?

“No, my dear. I’m not some creep waiting to prey on fragile women.”

She laughed darkly again, and the sound sent shivers down your spine.

“W-what? You’re not a doctor. You said you don’t save lives. I don’t understand…”

She raised a finger, demanding silence, and you shut your mouth, of course. The slender figure drew closer and closer, until you were no more than a meter apart. Now you could feel that terrible darkness radiating from her.

“I’m not a doctor, but I save lives when there’s something in it for me.”

You stepped back.

“I still don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t, my dear. You’re…” she leaned in again, sighing almost passionately. “Innocent. Sweet… You don’t need to worry. I’ll be happy to spell it out for you.”

She reached out a hand to touch you, but stopped herself. Her expression dimmed, returning to its usual taciturnity.

Then, with the snap of her fingers, the chapel vanished, and you were standing in front of your father’s room, staring at the door. Your father still lay sleeping, serene, your mother resting her head on the bed while holding his hands.

“I make deals that change lives.”

“What?… How?” You were still paralyzed, not understanding how you had shifted places.

You had to be dreaming. That had to be it. No one around you moved. The nurses were frozen, your parents too. The monitors connected to your father were unnervingly silent. You couldn’t even move yourself.

That was how your nightmares always went.

You had to wake up.

“You want your father to get better, don’t you?” Her voice was low and alluring, like a lover’s.

“Of course I do!” You almost shouted, suffocated by your own immobility.

The tall woman loomed over you, like a venomous snake. “And what would you give for him to be healed?”

You strained to turn on your heel, to look her in the face, but instead you found yourself eye-level with her chest. She was growing taller and taller. In that moment, you would’ve sworn she reached eight feet.

“I—”

“Think now, and think carefully.” Her brown eyes dipped toward your lips, as if she were considering claiming them for herself.

A wild flush burned across your cheeks.

“Anything.”

“Hm,” she paused to study your face. “Anything is a very dangerous word.”

You swallowed hard, unable to look away. Her eyes were like Saturn, but inside them you saw your father laughing, taking his daily walks, smiling.

The hunger to return to that moment, to see him healthy and happy again, was so strong it gave you courage to cast aside your fear and speak the truth.

“Anything.”

The slender woman seemed amused by your seriousness, and a slow, seductive smile tugged at her lips.

“Would you give yourself to me? Sell your soul?” Her black pupils swallowed the entire orbit of her brown irises. It was almost… demonic.

“Sell my—”

“Your soul.” She opened her palm, as though expecting you to take it.

“What do you even mean?”

“I’ll show you.” She extended her hand closer still, hesitating, you accepted the touch, and the second your fingers met, you were swallowed by darkness.

Everything around you was nothing. The cawing of ravens hissed in the night. You tried to see, but it was impossible. It felt like a dark, endless limbo.

“What is this?” You finally whispered, though fear was choking you.

“The end of everything you know and love.”

“Hell.” You assumed.

A little calmer—or as calm as you could be—you looked around again, frowning. Where were the flames and the damned souls?

“Hell is different for everyone, you know. It’s not all fire and brimstone.” The woman’s laugh was warm; she seemed to be enjoying you.

“I only see darkness.” You said, bewildered.

“Because your hell is nothingness.”

And then, you were back in the chapel. A wave of vertigo hit your head, and your knees buckled to the floor. The woman remained untouched, as if she were used to shifting through physical spaces. Her hands were in her pockets, waiting patiently.

Gasping for air, you spoke:

“Can you… save my father?”

Part of you wondered if you were dreaming. You had to be. There was no way you were speaking to the devil herself, bargaining for your father’s life.

“I can.”

“But you… you said you don’t save lives.”

The woman—or rather, the demoness—laughed deeply.

“I said I look like I don’t save lives, and as a rule, I don’t.”

“Then why do you want to help me?” You pulled yourself up and sat on the nearest pew.

Lady Devil walked over to one of the stained-glass windows, tilting her face upward to let the sun touch her skin.

“Because I hunger for corruption, and you are a pure soul. I need to corrupt you.”

“C-corrupt me?” The word was heavy on your tongue.

When you thought of corruption, you thought of stealing, hurting others, illegal things you would never do. But the woman turned to face you. Shadows gathered around her, her brown eyes merging with a soft ruby red.

“I want to possess your body, your soul. I want to show you the pleasures of the dark side, of the flesh. I want you to confess your fantasies. All of them, even the worst. And I want you to let me fulfill them with you. When I claim a pure soul through pleasure and drag it into darkness, that soul belongs to me in every sense.”

Your darkest fantasies? You tried to think… but nothing came to mind.

“Everyone has fantasies, darling. Even pure souls like you.” She extended her hand and twirled a lock of your hair between her fingers.

“You… you said you make deals, right? What would ours be?” Oh God… you were really considering this, weren’t you?

“You will come to me every Friday night, at the stroke of midnight. I’ll be free to do whatever I want with you until dawn. Only then may you leave.”

Her face was unreadable, impossible to gauge.

“For how long?” You whispered, lips trembling, trying not to imagine what she would do to you.

“Three months. A marvelous gift for myself, to celebrate the anniversary of my fall.” She smiled in wonder, now lost in your face. “And then, when you die, your soul will be entirely mine. Trapped in that nothingness I showed you.”

Twelve Fridays? You could endure anything for your father’s sake.

“How do I know you won’t let him die after you’re done with me?”

The woman’s smile was frightening. Not because it was monstrous, but because it was so sinfully sexy it promised every kind of vice.

“I may be the devil, but I’m no liar, kitten. I take what I want, and I promise on my black heart you will get what you want.”

You narrowed your eyes at her. You weren’t stupid. You’d seen plenty of movies about deals with the devil, and there was always, always a catch.

The trick was finding out what it was.

“And what about my mother, or anyone else I love? You’ll save my father, but let someone else die instead, won’t you?”

The demoness’s eyes widened at your boldness.

“That’s called cosmic balance for a reason, child. And no, I don’t have to bow to its will. You won’t face the death of anyone else because of our little deal.”

The words radiated possessiveness, making you feel strange between your legs. Was your soul really worth it to her? If yes, then you had a shard of certainty and refused to waste it.

“It’s not enough. Swear. Swear that no one I love will ever be harmed, and that my father will remain safe and protected forever.”

The second you cast the challenge, an invisible electricity flared. The heat rising between you was a promise of what was to come—and that was scary as hell.

“Fine!” The woman snarled, leaning in and sniffing the air. “I can grant extra protection to your pathetic favorite little humans. But if the other side makes a move, that’s on your precious angels, not me.”

Okay.

That was enough, right?

“Alright then… three months where I submit to you, and you heal my father.”

The words came out so naturally you barely noticed…

“Submit?” Lady Devil laughed, deep and low. “That’s your fantasy, baby doll? To submit? To have me… dominating you?” The look she gave you made every strand of hair on your body bristle. And it stirred that damned little voice you’d buried under the mask of the perfect daughter.

“Is it a deal?” You averted your eyes, cheeks flushed.

The demoness smiled.

“Yes. It’s a deal.”

“So… do we shake hands or something?” You stretched out your hand, still not daring to meet her gaze.

The demoness glanced at your hand hanging in the air, then yanked you forward. Your chest slammed against hers, startled by the heat of her body.

“You always seal a pact with a kiss.”

And then she tilted her mouth over yours, burning your lips together as her tongue invaded and ravaged you.

You moaned, dizzy, feeling heat spreading everywhere. The sensation of falling forever into darkness was terrifying; suddenly, your feet lifted off the ground, and you clung desperately to her neck.

You melted into her.

And then your mind betrayed you, wishing she would push you down on those pews, right in front of the saint’s statue and… Shit! You tried to banish those filthy thoughts, praying for a single point of light in the darkness that had swallowed you whole.

There was a blinding flash of light, the brush of soft feathery wings against your cheek—and then, a vision.

You saw a shining city among the clouds, streets of gold and crystalline stone.

Then it was gone, and nothingness remained.

Your lips left the demoness’s, but the heat lingered. Dimly, you knew she had heard the impure whispers of your mind.

“You’re mine now, pretty doll.”

And when you opened your eyes, you awoke. You were sprawled across one of the chapel pews in the hospital. As if everything that had happened had been nothing more than a wild, forbidden dream.

You sat upright, running your fingers through your hair to gather yourself. Looking around, you could swear the saints were condemning you…

You made the sign of the cross in apology.

But then you startled, pressing a hand to your chest, because you could swear you heard a deep, feminine laugh.

“I’m losing it. The stress is killing me.” You whispered to yourself.

For as much as you would have done anything to save your father, there had been no negotiation—because she simply didn’t exist.

~*~

Yes, R, she didn't exist...

TagList <3

Now, invisible to you, Rio watched you wipe away the tears. You were beautiful: eyes with long, dark lashes, that looked more like curtains; thick hair, loose in waves that resembled a storm.

Rio had seen women more beautiful, sexier and more provocative. However, there was something about you that attracted her; a natural beauty, it seemed to come from within. It was possible that a pure soul was calling to her, but the desire to run her hands through the waterfall of your hair… that, that was already lust on her part.

After you left the room, she brought her hand to her lips as she walked, running her fingertips over them.

You were imagining things.

Something happened. Curious, to say the least. When the woman in black kissed you and sealed the so-called pact, you thought you had seen something, just a quick second of a little girl’s hand brushing fresh blades of grass on a spring morning. The cold drops of dew tickled your fingers as you tickled her.

It was… celestial.

While Rio convinced herself that she did not want to remember what heaven was like, how it tasted or how it felt, kissing you brought forbidden memories back. She found herself forced to bury the wave of pleasure that the celestial thoughts brought her because they always brought back the pain of the fall. Lady Devil only… focused on filthy thoughts of corrupting your little human soul.

The she-devil usually saw people’s darkest desires during pacts. She left the chapel and passed unseen through the hospital until she reached the room where your father was. Rio went to him and stared for long minutes. The man had his eyes closed, breathing softly, anyone would say this man was nothing more than a vegetable, he would not last another night.

Time in that place was limited if you could not pay for it.

The woman extended her hand and woke your father from the coma—just like that. The man’s eyes opened slowly, and he seemed lost for a moment. A man who had begun his journey to the other side, but who was brutally pulled back.

“Did you come for me?” His eyes were gentle, just like yours.

Rio smiled faintly.

“I am not Death. She’s the one who takes calls from home.” The woman shifted, expanding into the space.

“And this isn’t a call from home?” Your father shuddered and at the same time relaxed, feeling relief as he finally stretched his muscles.

Lady Devil watched, enchanted. The human will to go on, to survive and overcome any obstacle for it, even one as painful as death, was so strong, so human.

“So… if you’re not Death, and there’s no way you’re a doctor, then, who are you?”

A twinge of pride ran through the woman knowing that the man before her had created her newest little toy, because that was all you were: a toy, a porcelain doll that Rio could do whatever she wanted with.

“I really don’t think you’ll want to know who I am.” She picked up the chart at the foot of the bed and lazily flipped through the pages.

“Try.” The man challenged.

That made Rio arch an eyebrow. Bold, isn’t he? Lowering the clipboard, the woman walked to the bed and offered her hand to the old man, who accepted it. And just as she had done with you, she showed him exactly who she was.

She let your father glimpse his own personal hell.

“You are the… the…”

“Yes.” She did not mind the word “devil,” but she never liked the weight it carried. It was too dark a word for a being who had once been considered the brightest star in heaven.

“This… this isn’t… You can’t be…!” Your father struggled, it was even a little funny… and lucky for him that Rio found it funny.

“I am, and you’d better believe it.” She replied.

“But… why are you here? I tried to be a good man.” He said with lost eyes, fixed on the white sheet of his bed.

“And fortunately, you succeeded.” Rio agreed, smiling as she crossed her arms.

“I don’t understand…”

“I’m not dragging you to hell. Scout’s honor, my dear,” the woman laughed, but only she did. “I’m here because your daughter just bought the winning ticket.”

“What are you talking about?” Your father blinked in shock at the woman’s mention of you.

“Don’t worry, you won’t remember any of this.”

With a snap of her fingers, the eyes so similar to yours closed, and the white light in Rio’s palm passed into the man’s head. Those were the last remnants of her angelic powers, which strangely the Father had not taken when He took everything else.

That dawn, the doctors were baffled by your father’s rapid recovery and would send him home, declaring it a miracle.

However, for you this would be a debt. One that Rio was very interested in collecting.

[...]

All you wanted was to sleep five more minutes. The bed was too warm and comfortable, but the sharp, incessant sound of the alarm clock was already driving you crazy.

Getting up would mean seeing your father—one last time.

Today would be the day they turned off the machines and your father would suffocate without air until death. In truth, the doctors could not say for sure how long it would take, maybe a few days. The man was strong, you knew, he always had been and was the type who clung to life while you and your mother watched in agony.

You did not want to face that, not yet.

It was a sunny day, with an extremely blue sky and a few clouds decorating it, making it clear that everyone is insignificant despite the misfortunes that happen.

While drinking a cup of coffee—already somewhat lukewarm—you thought for a long time about what had happened. Was it a frightening dream? Erotic?

You couldn’t say.

A deal with a demoness…

Yeah, right.

Sighing heavily, you placed the mug in the sink and grabbed your aged brown leather bag. It had been in your family for generations and had always accompanied you since your first day of elementary school. However, as soon as you picked up your phone you noticed twenty missed calls from your mother.

Trembling, you dialed the number back.

“Sweetheart! Thank God!” Your mother gasped when she answered on the second ring.

“What happened? Is it dad?” Your voice trembled as you ran to put on your boots under the stairs.

“Yes, sweetheart! Yes! But it’s wonderful news. He came out of the coma. I think that…” Your mother choked, losing her voice for a few moments. “I think he's getting better.”

“What?” You wiped away any tear that might have fallen on your face.

You didn’t understand.

“It’s a miracle! Your father. Your father called me around nine. Can you believe it? He woke up around six feeling better than he had in a long time. They ran some tests and did a CT scan as well,” the woman paused to breathe. “There’s nothing. No trauma or clot.”

You blinked several times. How? Just yesterday he was on the brink of death.

“Mom, they made a mistake,” you said, trying to sound logical. “They have to…”

“They tested several times on different machines, they couldn’t believe it either, sweetheart.”

You bit your lip so hard you could taste the metallic tang of your own blood. It was too dangerous to let hope take over.

TOO DANGEROUS.

“What does that mean?”

“He’s going to come home in a few days. I’m here waiting for the doctors to finish the other tests, sweetheart.”

“I’m coming.” You hung up before your mother could protest.

As you turned to grab your car keys, Seth, your orange cat, was sitting on the shelf. He looked at you as if asking what was going on.

You were in a hurry, but you couldn’t resist and ended up stroking the animal’s golden fur, which he answered with a purr.

“I’ll be back later. I’ll bring your treat this time. Promise.”

As if they spoke the same language, Seth let out a small meow in agreement. He lay down on his belly, tucking his paws under his chest, watching his human rush off somewhere. Yawning, the orange cat closed his eyes.

It was going to be a long day for everyone.

When you arrived at the hospital, your nerves were shot. Your trembling hands gave you away. You parked the car and went straight to the room, but when you reached the door, the hairs on the back of your neck stood up and that strange feeling rose in your stomach again.

Just like in the dream.

You looked around, searching for her, but found nothing except nurses at their stations.

“We made a deal, you’d better not forget.” The feminine, sensual voice that echoed inside your mind was not your inner self, no, it was… someone.

You squeezed your eyes shut. No. It had to have been a dream. A dream! The meeting, the pact… none of it was real! The woman, the demon, that damn kiss—everything, everything had been a dream.

[...]

Your father was sitting on the bed, his face once pale and now full of color, smiling broadly. Your mother was talking to one of the doctors and seemed distracted. It felt surreal.

Out of this world.

How was this possible?

Just yesterday your father had been lying in that bed. Vegetating. Quiet, pale, and almost dead. And now, in the hospital, the man was healthy, with bright eyes.

And for a fucking fraction of a second, your heart filled with hope.

“Hi…” you said, stepping into the room timidly, but when the man opened his strong arms—the same ones that made you feel safe when you were little—you couldn’t resist.

You ran to him. You kissed and hugged him, the way you wished you had before he left the house on the morning of the accident.

“Hey, palomita. I think I’ll be going home in a few days. Can you believe it?” His eyes shone with an intensity you didn’t remember seeing before.

He had been vegetating for so long that you had started to forget the man he used to be.

“Yes. I was on my way here when mom called me. I still can’t believe it.” You hugged him again, your chest tight.

“Well, I’m a miracle!” He laughed happily.

“Indeed, sir!” The doctor interrupted. “We detected nothing in your brain, and you have no aftereffects after three years in a coma. Truly, a miracle.” He nodded again. “In any case, this is great! I think it’s best you stay a few more days until we confirm your health is stable, but we’d like to send you home on Wednesday.”

Your mother broke into a pearly smile. But she wasn’t smiling only with her white, beautiful teeth—she was smiling with her eyes too.

“Wednesday?”

“Yes. I try never to keep my patients waiting, and in this case, his condition looks very good. I’ll leave you alone now, but make sure he rests.” He said at last, before leaving.

You stayed at the hospital for more than two hours, your mind catching up as your father stood up on trembling legs for the first time in three years.

You simply didn’t understand.

Was that strange dream real? And were you, for God’s sake, actually considering that you had made a real deal with the Devil?

Back home, you searched on your computer: “deal with the devil,” and when the search history revealed results, you held your breath.

Several articles about mythologies. There were even explicit descriptions of rituals to summon a demon at a crossroads to make a pact.

Seth perched on the desk, his face and ears alert toward the window that overlooked the front door, his tail swaying back and forth.

“It’s Sunday. No mail today.” You reminded him, stroking his spine as he answered with a needy meow.

Suddenly, a folded piece of paper floated magically through the air, almost as if it were lost until it found its destination. It was a typical envelope, with a stamp and everything. And it stopped precisely at your window.

Watching the slow, magnificent dance of the paper, discomfort prickled at the back of your neck. You let out the breath you were holding and opened the window, wary.

When you picked up the letter, you felt the texture of the paper. Expensive. You could tell. Unfolding it, your eyes could not have been more unbelieving.

“Miss,

You have recently concluded a transaction with Her Majesty, the Queen of Hell. You have agreed to surrender yourself to her desires for three months in exchange for the life of your father. You must be ready every Friday night at eleven thirty. A black sedan will pick you up. It will take you to a place where you will fulfill your obligations. Should you at any point wish to terminate this contract by invoking the free will clause specified in the attached contract, article 1, section 2, you will then face the immediate death of your father.

Any questions regarding your contract with Rio, full name Rio Vidal, may be written and addressed to Ms. Vidal’s attorney, Billy Maximoff, Esq.

Sincerely,

Mr. Maximoff.”

Your eyes read and reread every part of the letter, unsure whether to believe it, laugh, or cry.

“Did I really make a deal with the devil?”

Seth’s long, fluffy tail brushed against your leg, making you jump in place, your heart nearly leaping out of your chest. The orange cat hissed and ran off—probably one of his many energy bursts.

“Jesus, Seth.” You said, but he was already gone, and your gaze returned to the room.

With trembling hands, you looked at the letter again, still in shock, analyzing the frighteningly long list of “terms and conditions” that made very little sense to you.

You read between the lines again, until you found the free will clause: “According to the laws in force in Hell, a human will always retain free will, even during transactions with a demon. That is, any deal, permanent or temporary, in which the dark entity may receive any benefit is valid and binding, unless the mortal exclaims: ‘I invoke my right to free will.’ At that moment, the transaction is broken and the benefit granted to the mortal will be undone or removed.”

You looked closely at the contract, reading the signature lines at the bottom, where your name had been written in your own hand. Running your fingertips over the signature that seemed to pulse, the painful memory of kissing the demoness flooded back. The heat, the sensual dominance she had over you; the celestial feeling around you. Breathless, you tried to breathe. One, two, three. The deal had been sealed with a fucking kiss.

It was real.

You placed the paper on the table, returned to the desk, and opened a new tab. You had no idea what you were looking for. Some answer, obviously, but the internet didn’t help.

But in one of your casual searches, the address of a psychic bookstore appeared. You saw it was near your college and stayed open until 10 p.m.

“Should I go?”

Seth entered the room again and meowed loudly.

“Is that a yes?” You said with a smile, when the feline rolled on the floor, showing its little belly and looking at you.

“Well, I’m going.” You said while already putting on your coat and slipping into your black Vans.

When you arrived at the bookstore, the sun was already setting in the sky, and you parked right in front. A small sign stood out: “The Occult Botanist.” The shop was flanked by a café on one side and an H&M clothing store on the other. Only the café was open, and even then with just a few customers.

Adjusting your bag on your shoulder, you walked toward the place; a small chime rang above your head as you entered. The smell was a strange mix—musty old books, candles, incense, and other spices—filling the air like a heavy cloud.

In one part of the shop, there was a counter with glass bottles and other things. A woman stood behind it, reading a book that looked ancient; you stared.

She didn’t look your age. Slender body, long brown hair like a rope. Her nose was sharp and gave her a mystical beauty; with square glasses resting on the tip of it, she looked up—eyes as blue as the sky.

“Excuse me,” you said, a little intimidated. “I’m looking for some books.” You closed your eyes, scolding yourself.

She would definitely think you were crazy.

“Books about what?” Her voice was deep and strong, as if she could swallow a platoon of soldiers.

“Devils…” the word barely left your mouth, “specifically about making deals with them.”

“Crossroads pacts.”

“Something like that.” You shrugged.

You and a she-devil were in this? Was that really qualified?

“Are you making deals with the dark, kiddo?”

“I’m 21.” You weren’t a child.

The woman’s lips tightened.

“What’s your name?”

You told her, and saw her give you a smile.

“Do you know what it means? Mystic gift. Gods would kill to have you.” The woman extended her hand over the counter, and you looked at it suspiciously, unsure whether you should reach out too.

When you gave her your hand, the woman seemed to feel its weight over hers and turned your palm upward, then frowned.

“You…”

She stopped.

“What’s wrong?” You looked at your hand again, doubtful now.

“A person’s palm should have heart and life lines that are similar, but not exact. Yours is… split.”

You had never really thought about palms and what they meant, but you knew the lines didn’t actually match.

“Oh, child, what have you done?” The woman asked you, her blue eyes full of concern.

“What do you mean?”

“Come and sit.”

She gestured for you to come behind the counter and around a curtain. You hesitated, but you were already here, right?

Behind the curtains, there was a small table covered with a purple cloth and a tea set. She offered, humming, and you accepted in silence.

“Drink it all.”

You frowned as you drank the dark liquid, waiting patiently. As soon as you finished, she took the cup from your hand and looked into the bottom of it.

“Do you want to save your father?”

“Yes.”

How could she know that?

“A woman came to you and offered a deal to save your father’s life?”

“Yes…” you whispered, fearful.

“You gave her your body, not just your soul. She will break you, girl. No one ever survives a deal like that.”

With sweaty hands, you wiped your palms on your clothes; your neatly trimmed nails dug into your leg, desperate to get out of there.

“Br… Break me?” Your voice came out hoarse, almost unbelieving.

“You’re not the first woman to catch her attention. She loves pleasure in all its forms.”

Your teary eyes lifted, half desperate, half hopeful.

“Is there anything I can do?”

You didn’t even consider breaking the contract and losing your father forever, but if there was anything to be done for self-protection, you would do it.

She lifted her chin, thoughtful, until she spoke:

“Come with me.” She stood up quickly, returning to where the counter was. She crouched down and searched through some boxes.

A small box with golden details sat dusty in the woman’s hands. You saw her sigh and sit on the ottoman behind the counter—she seemed afraid to open it.

A small wooden cross on a white-gold chain.

Simple and beautiful.

“It’s a talisman blessed by a saint. Take it. Though I don’t know what it does.”

“I thought crosses only worked on vampires.”

The woman laughed.

“Crosses don’t work on vampires. Vampires aren’t demons.”

You narrowed your eyes at her.

“Are you telling me vampires are real?”

“You made a deal with a demon, and you don’t believe in vampires…?” She laughed softly. “Dear, darkness is full of monsters, humans and many others.”

“Vampires, yeah…” you didn’t really know what to say or what to think. Your world was disappearing overnight.

You shook your head and put the cross around your neck, tucking it under your sweater.

“How much do I owe you for the reading and the cross?”

The woman held out her hand.

“Nothing. My name is Agatha. You can come back whenever you need me.”

“Really?” You couldn’t hide the surprise in your tone—or your expression—but you quickly composed yourself.

You wanted to hug Agatha, but held back for the moment.

“You must be careful. The more you surrender to the dark, the more you will lose yourself in it. You must find the light within you, and hold on to it.”

“Thank you.” You touched the cross hidden under your sweater, eyes slightly watery, and said goodbye to Agatha briefly.

A bitter wind wrapped around you as you left the shop. You rushed to your car, hands trembling as you opened the door. When you sat down, you turned on the lights and felt the presence of something in the back seat.

You really tried to ignore it, thinking of all the horror movies you had seen. You felt like you were going insane, like Norman Bates himself in Psycho. Slowly, you let your body give in and turned around, finding the seats empty.

But the presence, the weight, was still there.

Dry mouth, shallow breathing, and your racing heart pounding in your chest were the perfect combo for tachycardia to set in. You gripped the steering wheel tightly, until your knuckles turned white. You could swear you saw a flash of brown light, like an overly sweet chocolate cake, staring straight at you.

Through the rearview mirror.

“I’m going crazy. I really need to go rest.”

“Do that,” a distant, deep voice whispered in your ear, tickling and sending chills through every pore. “You’ll need it.”

Jumping in your seat, you hit the gas, trying to get home faster and, maybe, finally forget all this madness.

[...]

At 5 p.m., Agatha Harkness locked her shop and flipped the sign to closed. After reading your tea leaves, she felt she needed to breathe. Having the gift of touching the other side had always weighed too heavily on her shoulders.

You were in danger, but there was no way to help you. It wouldn’t be wise to challenge the demoness.

Agatha straightened some books and put them back on their proper shelves; she swept the shop, trying to keep her mind busy. As she leaned the broom against the counter and bent down to grab a dustpan, she froze instantly.

Something was in her shop.

A shiver ran down her spine. The woman stood up slowly, and it took all her self-control not to shrink back when she found herself face to face with one of the most beautiful women she had ever seen.

She wore a tailored suit. Her medium-length brown hair shone as if lit by sunlight, even though the sun had set some time ago. Her eyes were fiery brown, strangely unreadable of any emotion.

“Can I help you?” Agatha asked carefully. There was no doubt about who this woman was.

“I think you can, Agatha.”

The woman waited, wisely.

“You should stay out of my business.” Her brown eyes turned red, almost ruby in tone.

“Are you talking about the girl?”

There, Agatha scolded herself. She knew the words could be taken as a challenge—even if that wasn’t her intention, she would never bow to her.

Agatha was a powerful witch who had lost much over a long, thorn-filled journey.

They both knew it.

“Yes.” Said the demoness, dragging a finger across the counter as if searching for dust. But her finger left a trail of fire behind it, charring the wood.

“I haven’t heard of you making any deals lately. People come to me after meeting a crossroads demon. What’s so special about her that you made the deal?”

The woman tried to act casual, as if she weren’t speaking to the Queen of Hell. She bent down to grab the dustpan, picked up the broom as well, and finished sweeping and gathering the dirt from the floor.

The she-devil followed her, stopping at a specific shelf. Witchcraft. She picked up a book and flipped through its pages.

“She is… pure.” She finally said.

“No one is pure.” The witch replied without thinking.

The brown-eyed woman formed something like a smile and put the book back.

“I don’t mean pure as in free of sin. Everyone makes that mistake.” She slipped her hands into her pockets and walked slowly toward Agatha, close enough that she could whisper and still be heard by both of them. “Poor women. Witches… even the good ones, which isn’t your case, is it?”

The witch swallowed hard, gripping the broom handle even tighter.

“If you don’t mean sin, then what do you mean?”

Straightening her posture, Agatha carried her dustpan to the trash can, pretending to ignore the tightness in her chest after the demoness mentioned her past.

She would not see her pain.

“A soul can be pure when a mortal loves another more than their own life. That girl is the only soul to ever make a deal with me to save someone else.”

That made Agatha freeze, surprised.

“Surely there were others.”

The demoness leaned her hip against the counter frame, watching the silhouette of the woman with her back turned.

“I’m sure there are people who would die for those they love, but to give themselves to me? No one has ever done that before. I find the girl… interesting.” Her voice sounded strangely soft at the end.

She stopped her monologue to look at the glass display cases.

“The little gift you gave her was charming. Ineffective, but charming.”

The witch’s face burned with shame.

“It won’t work?” She said, looking everywhere except at the demoness.

She let out a haunting laugh, uncrossed her arms, and teleported to the exact spot Agatha was staring at.

They were face to face now.

“No, not on me. On lesser demons, yes. But me? I’m an angel, my dear.” The smile she gave was like the Cheshire Cat’s—dangerous and… demonic. In fact, there was no other word for it.

Agatha watched the demoness step away and finally released her breath.

“I’ll spare your life, Agatha. I find you delightful. You’re afraid of me, but you haven’t shown it even once. Humans like you have a different taste.”

The witch kept her mouth shut. She would not thank the demoness for sparing her life.

“If the girl visits you again, you must ease her worries. I don’t usually break my favorite toys.” The woman watched the fallen angel handle the candles, the crucifixes, examining each item with a certain precision.

“It won’t be so bad. As long as she doesn’t rescind the contract or resist my demands, she’ll be released from our little agreement in three months. Of course, when she dies, her soul will belong to me. Forever. But we shouldn’t let her worry about that, not when she has about seventy years to enjoy.”

“But… she’ll be changed, won’t she? When you’re done with her…”

The demoness’s smile was perverse and warm; Agatha could swear she saw a red flicker in her eyes.

“Oh yes, certainly. She will be corrupted, a soul destined straight for Hell when the right time comes. But you may pick up whatever pieces are left, if you feel particularly worthy.”

“I will!” Agatha promised.

With another smile, the demoness walked toward the door and vanished.

Alone, Agatha let her weak, trembling body collapse into the nearest chair. If the demoness planned to visit more often, moving would be a good option.

She paused, replaying the entire conversation in her head.

Two things.

The demoness seemed concerned about that girl, about the confused feelings she knew she would develop. She would also leave her alive and free after three months—at least until death. It almost sounded… merciful.

And the last time she checked, the demoness was not supposed to be merciful.

[...]

“You didn’t kill her?” Vision asked as Rio took off her suit blazer and draped it over the chair.

“No.” She sat down and finally breathed. “She’s more useful alive.”

“How so?” He made a funny face, mouth half open and eyes wide. Rio even felt more human with Vision by her side.

“I want her to come to me willingly, not afraid. I don’t want her to revoke the contract. The more she wants me and the darkness, the faster I can claim her through the gates. So Agatha must not be touched. Ensure her protection.”

Vision let out a sigh.

“If word gets out that we’re protecting a human witch—”

“The whole of Hell would revolt?” Rio rolled her eyes, teasing.

“Yes?” He frowned.

Rio slapped him on the back.

“Relax, old friend. After millennia, I’ve finally found something that interests me again. That’s reason enough to celebrate. Meet me at the club in half an hour, we’ll find some juicy humans to sate our lust.”

At that, Vision smiled.

“It’s been a long time since the two of us indulged.”

Rio could spend days in bed with women, drinking them in over and over, never tiring of it. Every position, every kind of toy and fantasy—she had done it all.

Vision was already gone by then.

That made her kick off her shoes and stretch her feet. Her mind was blank, as it hadn’t been in a very long time. Looking out the window, she could see the night breeze stirring the leaves of the trees. Midnight was Rio’s favorite hour. When the clocks slowed at the twelfth hour, the battle between night and day was perfectly balanced, giving the world a sense of equilibrium, a feeling of beauty and peace.

And it had been so long since Rio had felt peace.

After the Fall, she had mistakenly thought she would find it, but no. Her back still burned; the scars were the only imperfect part of her, always aching whenever she thought too long about the wings that had once been there.

You can never taste heaven again, not completely. She knew that. However, when the pact with that foolish girl was sealed, Rio was able to feel part of paradise again. Her own paradise. And she wanted more.

The she-devil wanted more, was desperate for it, in fact. Desperate to feel peace, the happiness your lips had given her. If just kissing you had made her feel back in heaven, then in bed you would be explosive.

There was an irony to it all: the more you showed her heaven, the more Rio would condemn you to hell.

But that was the deal.

Rio knew Vision was waiting for her, but she didn’t return to the club—not yet. First, she closed her eyes and sharpened her focus on you. She could see inside your home, your bedroom with one wall painted dark green and a huge cello, and a… cat?

The orange creature stared at her with its ears flattened back, like airplane wings.

Common sense assumed cats were evil, familiars of the devil, but that wasn’t true. Felines were a curse to a demon’s existence. They could see and feel the unnatural nature of creatures like Rio.

“Seth, what’s wrong?” You came out of the bathroom wearing an oversized sweatshirt that covered most of your legs.

The cat clearly chose to ignore you. Rio narrowed her eyes at the animal and flipped it off, making it hiss and bolt out of the room.

You, unaware of the forces around you, shrugged it off, believing it was just another of his nightly energy bursts. You barely noticed that a she-devil followed you into the kitchen—an invisible, undetectable presence.

You opened the fridge and took out a slice of yesterday’s pizza—because it’s always better the next day. As you heated it up in the microwave, there was a sharp loneliness on your face that intrigued the demoness.

Rio didn’t spend much time with mortals, not like this.

You were her newest toy.

She could see you whenever she wanted, see what you were doing, eating… pull the strings and make you dance like a beautiful marionette.

The high-pitched beep of the microwave echoed through the kitchen, and you served yourself, settling onto the couch with a glass of Diet Coke, leaning forward to press play on the movie you were watching.

Rio leaned in to see what movie it was and frowned.

Twilight.

Ugh.

There was nothing romantic about immortal bloodsuckers. Fallen angels were a million times more interesting.

When she bit a lover in bed, it was for pleasure, not necessity.

“Don’t worry, sugar sweet. I’ll show you just how much fun we can have in bed,” she whispered, already almost leaving the room, but not before leaning in to press a warm, wet kiss to your cheek. “Sweet dreams,” she added with a profane laugh, knowing you would dream of her all night long.

~*~

Guess what you were dreaming of?

TagList <3

“How did you fall from the heavens? Morning star! Daughter of the dawn!” 

“No longer the favorite child!”

“You will shine no more!”

Her siblings' taunts echoed in her mind as she plunged through the clouds. Darkness consumed her as she fell past the stars toward the earth. The air slashed, the wind roared so violently that her eardrums burst. Dawn was breaking on the horizon, she would die before she could see the skies again.

“You, my brightest star, my favorite one. How could you disappoint me like this?”

The Father’s voice was the hardest to bear. Rio closed her eyes, embracing the end—the death of light, of life.

“You were meant to bring light to the world, to inspire my creations, not corrupt them with your jealousy. Now it is your duty to rule over the corrupted who will follow you.”

The earth rose up to meet her, and she did the only thing she had left—embraced the pain. Her angelic heart shattered the moment her body collided with the ground. Everything went dark. Then, she felt herself again. Every muscle, every bone, every atom in her body screamed in agony.

Grace was gone.

It felt like a millennium had passed before she realized she was lying on the cracked, hardened ground. Her body ached, but the worst pain ran across her back. Still, Rio was grateful not to see them.

Two wounds now marked the place where white wings had once been. She let out a guttural cry as she stretched to grasp a single feather drifting near her, placing it carefully into her tunic. It was just a feather. But to Rio, it was a piece of heaven, a piece of home. If she didn’t hold on to it, she felt she might die of sorrow.

With great effort, she lifted her head. Hearing birds singing in harmony. Beyond the desolate field where she’d landed, a lush green Eden stretched out before her, teeming with beautiful animals and flowers.

Rage flooded her chest, giving her a new kind of strength. Somewhere within that Eden were the Father’s favorite beings… humans. Such a dull word for such painfully dull creatures. Nothing like the angels. But Rio was no longer an angel.

She was fallen. A wingless being, a graceless soul.

What was she now?

Rio didn’t know who she was anymore. But there was no time to reflect. She forced her way through the underbrush toward the garden ahead.

At the center of the paradise, one tree stood out. Red apples hung heavy from its branches, ripe and fragrant. The Father had spoken of this tree—the one that held the knowledge of ages. And humans had free will, something angels could never even dream of.

What if, just maybe, they failed to keep the promise of staying away from that tree… Rio would have her revenge. She would watch the Father’s chosen fall into utter disgrace.

Hours of pain later, a crooked smile crept onto the once-perfect lips of the angel. She could already see it—humanity breaking under its own weakness. Bringing down the humans, one by one, would shatter the Father's heart… Just as He had shattered hers.

The wind howled. Now, all her feathers were gone. She was glad she'd kept one in her pocket. Paradise was lost, and Rio would make damn sure those cursed humans never reached it either.

[...]

The Three Stakes Coven was a den of corruption, a haven for sin and scandal. Hearts were broken there, dreams destroyed, dark fantasies fulfilled.

And it was the closest thing to home that Rio Vidal had.

She was in the VIP lounge overlooking the dancers below, slowly sipping cognac, savoring the dark, sharp burn of it.

It had been centuries since she’d mourned what happened. Rio had become a different kind of demon than the Father ever imagined. She no longer spent her days lingering at the edge of the Abyss, staring into darkness. She became Rio Vidal. With what little power she had left, she built a world to suit her own desires—The Three Stakes Coven, a nightclub in the heart of Chicago.

She only returned to the dark for one purpose: duty. The gates of hell needed guarding, or else corrupted souls would flood the world.

That wasn’t what she wanted.

Contrary to popular belief, Rio liked the human realm just the way it was.

A woman near the staircase flashed her a muted smile, an open invitation. Rio raised her glass in silent greeting but wasn’t interested. Her mind drifted elsewhere. Uncomfortable thoughts, uncharacteristic for her, were rattling the bars of her emotional cage that night.

She wished hell could take care of itself. She was tired. That damned place didn’t need her to keep suffering, not all the time, and that, in itself, was a relief. Still, she couldn’t completely ignore the work. Tracking down lost demons wandering into mortal paths… and destroyed them. This brought her no joy

Rio preferred the mortal realm, watching humans make the kind of decisions that led them into sin. She loved the secret language of hidden smiles, of lingering glances, of forbidden hands exploring under the weight of dark desire.

Rio craved corruption, not evil.

“Rio.” The deep, familiar voice pulled her out of her thoughts. She was still in her private suite, exclusive enough to lead straight to her office.

From her vantage point, she could see the club below, a blur of drunken bodies moving in chaotic rhythm.

“Yes?” She turned away from the strobed haze and faced Vision, one of her fellow fallen angels.

He had glacier-blue eyes and golden hair. Once, they’d been siblings in the luminous city of clouds. Now, they were bound to the dark.

“You asked me to bring the list of this month’s crossroad deals.”

He walked toward her, hand extended as if to shake. Rio placed her hand in his and her mind was immediately flooded with sorrow.

A hundred souls, a hundred bargains struck. Some made in anger; others in greed; others in the pursuit of power.

Predictable and disappointing.

She pulled her hand away and rubbed her temples. Vision took the seat across from her and stayed silent for a while.

She wasn’t pleased.

There was a nauseating emptiness growing inside her, and she couldn’t shake it. It wasn’t unusual for Rio to feel nothing, but lately, it felt worse.

“Rio… you seem unsatisfied.”

She almost denied it. But Rio never lied. The Devil speaks truth. They painted her a liar, but it wasn’t her doing—they lied to each other in her name.

“I am unsatisfied.” She admitted.

Ever since she was cast out of Heaven, Rio had been restless, furious.That fury had dulled over the years she spent trapped in hell. One suggestion here, one nudge there, and mortals would fall so easily.

Rio longed for a challenge.

The gates of hell needed pure souls to be corrupted to stay strong.The more souls she dragged down, the more power kept the demons locked in place. In a twisted way, the corruption of a few protected the lives of millions.

And it had been far too long since she’d targeted the pure.

The gates were starting to weaken.

Time for a challenge, when Hell itself needed a recession-proof strategy.

“Aren’t there any good, incorruptible souls left?” she murmured.“The gates are weakening. I can feel it.”

“There must be. Shall I find one for you?” Vision’s tone was sincere. “I care about the gates too. It’s been a long time since we last hunted for pure souls.”

Rio crossed her arms.

She hadn’t expected him to offer. She was just… thinking aloud. But he was a soldier. Loyal and smart. If anyone could find a soul to test her limits, it was Vision.

She eyed him with caution. The inner tug-of-war between want and need echoed loud.

“Find me a pure soul. One that will truly challenge me. If we want to keep the gates safe, I need work.”

“Understood.” With a whisper, Vision vanished, dissolving into smoke and shadows.

Rio stood in her heels and made her way into her office, sinking into the black leather chair. She lit a cigarette, inhaling slowly. She let the nicotine calm her nerves before exhaling the smoke into the stale air.

She needed to focus.

Vision would find her the perfect soul to corrupt, and that would give her hollow, aimless life some purpose again.

Lady Devil was ready to return to the game.

~*~

Well, well... you tell me

Tag List <3