I snap a couple of pictures of Fetter and send them to Fiona.

Girl, this guy says he is a demon and

our ritual yesterday summoned him.

I checked and it is a summoning spell!

Wut!?

Come by my place again after work.

My phone buzzes with a call from Fiona and when I answer she’s yelling in my ear.

“There’s a demon in your house! Get out of there!”

“I think it’s okay, he seems like a nice demon,” I say.

“A NICE DEMON?!”

“Uh, yeah. Like, he made lunches for the kids and he’s very polite explaining everything to me even though I cut him with my bread knife.”

Fiona makes an inarticulate noise of dismay.

“Listen, just come by after work—”

“I’m leaving now!” I hear a muffled yell, she’s turned her phone away as she hollers at her co-workers. Then she’s back on the phone. “Listen, my Aunty Lindsay knows how to deal with stuff like this. I’m going to call her. And I’ll be over to your place in like—20 minutes?”

“Okay, but Fi—”

“And wear your Aunt’s necklace! Have you charged your schorl recently? Put it in the middle of your table—No, wait, put it in your pocket! And don’t talk to the demon anymore! Ignore him! I’m on my way!”

“Okay, but—”

She’s hung up.

I look at the demon. He still has those cute horns curling around his head.

“You should not tell people what I am. Nothing good can come of that,” he says.

“Yeah but Fiona helped summon you, maybe she can help sort this out.”

He looks disgruntled, but not in a scary-demon way. In a petulant sad-boi way. That might be why I’m not freaking out more. Even though he is a literal demon from hell, all he’s doing is trying to placate me. Like I have the power in this situation.

At length I ask, “So, if a soul is just a useless leftover spark from when I was created, why do you want it?”

He looks reluctant, but I wait silently for him to answer, and he eventually says, “Your existence was sparked by a soul, but I was created in hell. There is no—the demons of hell are fallen, you understand?”

I nod.

“So they are separate from the creator, the spark of their souls burned out of them in the fall.”

Huh. I guess I never thought about demons having soul of their own or not.

“They do not procreate. New life cannot be created without a spark of divine creation,” he continues explaining. “I was created through the union of a demon and a human.”

“So you’re like a half-demon?”

“I am not some sandwich sliced into halves and quarters. I am demon.”

“But human too.”

“But not half anything. I am both.”

“Okay,” I sooth him. Obviously this is a touchy subject and we’re getting hung up on semantics. “So You were born. So you had your own soul?”

He shakes his head, “My father sold his soul in the middle of the act. As I was made. So that sparked my creation, but it was never my soul. It went from him to my mother who devours souls to gain power and influence. She’s a succubus.”

“Oh wow.”

“Yes, so I learned from observing other demons born from humans that I could gain vitality and sustenance from the soul of human freely given to me.”

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

Finished talking he gazes at me with this earnest look, willing me to understand him.

“Alright so, you were created through some kind of demon loop-hole, and you need a human soul to sustain you?” I ask.

“Yes. Well ‘need’ might be wording it strongly. Without a soul, I still exist. I will continue to exist. But I do not have any vitality.”

I don’t think I really understand what he means by vitality. I take a deep breath and focus inward. Am I missing anything? I don’t really feel different? I vaguely remember being lifted off the ground and I feeling like breath being sucked out through my chest. Was that my soul leaving my body? I rub my palm over my sternum. I feel the same.

“Okay, so now that you have my soul, I’ve obligated you to take care of my kids? Do you even know anything about childcare?”

He looks down at the floor. He really has remarkably pretty hair. Black curls so full and springy and soft looking that I want to touch—

“I am planning to learn. If I can locate a child-care expert, I will touch their mind and learn everything I need to know that way—”

“Touch their mind?”

“Yes. In my discorporate form I can access the thoughts and memories of a living human.”

I nod. Okay wow.

“Well in the mean time you can just observe for a day or two, okay? I can’t actually leave my kids in your care—” what am I saying? Am I actually hiring a demon nanny?

Well, it seems like he’s not going anywhere. And he also seems pretty harmless. And pretty pretty. Not only does he have gorgeous hair, but he has high cheekbones, lusciously full lips, and his eyes are a dark brown fringed in the thickest, longest lashes I have ever seen—

He’s just pretty. Cute. And he is earnest and sweet. So I’m having a hard time being as scared as I should be.

So maybe he could hang around. And I could train him up to be an awesome nanny. Maybe the kids would benefit from having demon devoted to their health and well-being?

My wandering thoughts are interrupted by a loud banging at the door, then it pops open, and Fiona lets herself in.

“Who’s this? Where’s the demon? I have white sage, salt, holy water and a bible. Aunt Lindsay said that a good old fashioned exorcism is the only way to deal with this—”

I interrupt her to say, “This is Fetter. He’s the demon. I don’t think I want to exorcize him.” Then I ask, “I thought we weren’t using sage anymore because it is a closed practice?”

“Listen, I don’t want to culturally appropriate anything, but I really don’t want you being harassed by a demon. So I’m going to smudge your house with this then ask for forgiveness and make a big donation later.”

“A donation to what?”

“The American Indian Justice Fund.”

This is so fucked up. “That’s not how this works, Fi. We know better so we have to do better. Don’t use the sage. But make that donation anyway.”

“Ugh, fine. I won’t use it. Unless the exorcism fails. Then all bets are off.”

I grab the stuff out of her arms and set it on the counter. Then I grab her shoulders so she’s looking at me when I speak, “I don’t want an exorcism. I like the demon.”

Her mouth hangs open, then she looks from me to Fetter, then back.

“I think you need a priest for an exorcism anyway,” I add.

“I’m an ordained minister. I did it online two years ago so I could officiate my cousin’s wedding. I can perform an exorcism just as easily.”

“Please do not do an exorcism. It’s a terrible ordeal and kind of gross,” Fetter says. He looks so worried with those big soulful eyes, I want to comfort him.

“Gross?” Fiona asks.

He nods, “Disgustingly sublimated ectoplasm everywhere. I’ve heard it smells like burnt fur and melted plastic. And the smell never dissipates.”

Oh that is gross. I look back to Fiona.

“No exorcism.”

She nods. “But how about smudging? We don’t have to use the sage. We can use another—”

“Smudging is a closed practice. You are the one who explained this to me.”

She nods with a resigned air and mumbles, “Nothing works as well to cleanse—”

I give her shoulders a small shake.

“Okay, alright, this is an appropriation-free zone,” Fiona pauses thoughtfully then says, “We should at least bind him.”

“Please do not attempt it,” Fetter says.

“And why not?” Fiona demands, jerking her shoulders out of my hands to turn and face the demon head on. “A binding spell will keep you from harming others! Unless you’re planning to do some kind of harm—?”

“But what if I need to protect Daria or her family from harm? And I am unable to do so if your binding succeeds? I will not allow it.”

“Sus,” Fiona mumbles, but without any heat.

I gesture toward the demon and say, “Look at him! He’s just standing there. He’s not hurting anybody. And we are the ones who summoned him.”

“Let me see that book!” Fiona reaches around me to slide the book towards herself, then she starts flipping through pages until she finds the summoning spell. “Okay, so invocation…attraction…power…hmmm. I guess the way I read it, this spell was supposed to confer these things, but what it actually does is summon Furtur who is a demon and can do these things for us—”

“His name is Furfur,” the demon speaks up. “He is very unpleasant. You are lucky he did not show up.”

“How is he unpleasant?” Fiona asks.

“He lies all the time. Everything he says is a lie. And his voice is very annoying. And he smells like wet goat. He never bathes—”

“Okay, I guess he does sound unpleasant.” Fiona looks from him to me. “So you want to keep him? You made some kind of deal?”

I nod. I won’t get into the whole thing with my soul. Fiona has just now calmed down. I don’t want to get her riled up again.

After thinking for a moment Fiona says, “Okay, so we could bind him from harming you, me, and the kids. Intentionally or unintentionally. Forever.”

I agree. “That sounds reasonable.”

“I am so bound. Refer to the summoning spell,” he says with patience.

Fiona and I spend nearly twenty minutes translating parts of the spell. We make a list of each aspect of it, and sure enough there is a part directly after the demon is named that binds him from harming the summoners or those they care for. It also binds him to honesty.

Fiona has calmed quite a bit by the time we get through all that and she’s not talking about binding, smudging or exorcisms anymore.

“Well, there’s good news,” I say.

“What’s that?”

“The spell worked. That’s something isn’t it?” I’m trying to cheer her up, but her brows scrunch and she looks offended.

“The other ones worked! You’re happier, your skin cleared up and Scott wants to ask you out—”

“Who’s Scott?”

“Ugh! You know Scott! He’s the rent-a-cop. The one who hangs out at the security desk—?”

Shaking my head I tell her, “I don’t date cops anyway.”

“Understandable. I’m just saying that our rituals work, they’ve been working for both of us. This is the screw up,” she says gesturing toward Fetter.

“She means we misinterpreted the spell,” I tell Fetter. “You’re not a screw-up.” He smiles at me, and dimples grace each cheek.