Page 76 of When I Accidentally Summoned a Demon

I don’t blink. I set my teacup down, pick up the red fire extinguisher, and give the column of hellfire an enthusiastic blast of white chemical retardant.

The fire sputters and dies with a wet hiss.

Lucifer stands in the center of the circle, looking less like the Prince of Darkness and more like he lost a fight with a bag of flour. He coughs, his perfect, mesmerizing features contorting into a snarl that bares rows of sharp, demonic teeth.

“What the bloody hell are you doing, witch?” he roars.

I pick up my tea and take another slow sip. “You took my demon, Morningstar. I’d like him returned.”

Ancient wrath flares all over his face. “You dare⁠—”

He lunges forward to rip my throat out, but the moment his foot hits the boundary of the inner circle, his body locks up completely. His arms freeze at his sides, his legs glued to the grass, and he stands entirely immobile, vibrating with silent fury.

“Feeling a little deadlocked?” I wag the leather-bound book at him. “Yeah, that would be the paralysis sigil I added to the circle. You can go back to Hell if you want, but you can’t go anywhere else in this realm.” I smile at him through my eyelashes. “So. Let’s talk.”

“Mark my words, Witch,” Lucifer hisses a low, vibrating hum which stirs all the leaves. “You do not wish to play the devil with me. Now, I have an execution to perform.”

With a sharp pop, he vanishes, returning to his domain.

I sigh, set my teacup down, and flip the page. I raise my hand and recite the rhythmic Latin summons once more, pouring my own blood-bound energy into the chalked lines.

Exactly six seconds later, the air cracks again.

Lucifer appears in the circle, roaring so loudly, the trees tremble. A fresh halo of hellfire sparks around his shoulders. I pick up the extinguisher and give him another thorough blast of powder.

He coughs, wiping the chemical dust from his tailored coat, his chest heaving with sheer, unadulterated rage. I would be lying if I said there wasn’t something deeply therapeutic about seeing the most feared being in creation standing in my backyard resembling an offended powdered pastry.

I take another sip of my tea. “Hell hath no wrath like a woman scorned.” I set the cup down. “Tell me, Morningstar, does Hell have a policy for when the woman starts scornin’ back?”

“I had no quarrel with you!” he fumes, his hands clenching into fists as he strains against the paralysis ward.

I tilt my head and give him a sweet, cold wink. “No. But I seem to have developed one with you. Now. Return my demon.”

“I do not answer to a mortal wench,” he snarls.

He vanishes again.

I sigh, shrug my shoulders, and begin the Latin recitation for a third time. This time, Lucifer appears for a fraction of a second, his face a mask of absolute fury, before he instantly forces his way back to the Pit.

“Rinse. Repeat,” I mutter, and begin the summons again, unable to help the amusement bubbling through me.

On the fifth attempt, the displaced air practically groans. Lucifer materializes in the center of the circle, his shoulders slumped by a fraction of an inch, his hand pressed against his brow as though he is nursing a massive, celestial migraine.

“Spawn of Lilith!” he groans.

“Aww,” I lean forward in my lawn chair, eager energy humming through my blood. “What a lovely compliment.”

“Perhaps I will spend the next year torturing your precious demon before I execute him,” he says through gritted teeth, his fiery gaze boring into mine.

I lift a single finger, take a slow sip of my tea, and smile. “Looks like you’ve found yourself in one hell of a bind, Morningstar. Because how wounded will your pride be when all your legions learn how a mortal armed with tea, paper, a sigil, and a fire extinguisher got the better of you?”

He lets out a sound of pure, helpless rage and vanishes into thin air.

I don’t lose my smile. I pick up the kettle, refill my teacup, and repeat the summons.

This time, the thunder is barely a whimper. Lucifer appears, covered in three separate layers of fire-retardant powder, looking thoroughly disheveled.

“Hells bells and buckets of blood, woman!” he snaps, clenching his fists as he stares dead on at me.