Lester and Amanda spun around. They stared at the maze of high shelves that wove off into the shadowy recesses of the basement but could see no one.

“Who’s there?” Amanda called.

There was no reply, but they could hear footsteps somewhere off in the black.

Lester stiffened, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Amanda grip the back of a chair. Should they make a break for it before whoever had spoken found them? With his knowledge of the basement, he thought they could probably reach the door unseen if they left now. He mouthed the word run to Amanda, pumping his arms in a mock jog.

The footsteps grew louder.

Amanda nodded her agreement, and they quietly moved to the edge of the pool of light that encompassed the table and rug. Lester held up his fingers and counted down. Three. Amanda crouched into a sprinter's stance. Two. Lester did the same. They locked eyes, muscles taut, ready to spring into action. One.

As they launched themselves forward, a figure stepped out of the dark. Amanda’s scream echoed through the basement, and Lester, unable to stop himself, stumbled.

“Hey, careful!” Mae Chase said. She caught Lester with one arm while expertly balancing a stack of books in the other. She must have been stronger than she looked because she had no trouble pulling him back onto his feet.

“What on earth are you doing here?” Amanda asked. She had recovered more gracefully than Lester and now stood, arms crossed, glaring at Mae.

“Me? I come down here almost every night to dig through the culled book section.” Mae held up a ribbon tied around her neck to show the silver key that dangled from its end. “It’s where they keep all the interesting stuff, deemed too controversial or shocking for the regular collection. This is the first time I’ve ever bumped into anyone else, though. So what are you two doing here?”

“Us?” Lester said, catching his breath. His heart was still pounding in his chest. “We were just — ”

“Talking about a play Lester’s writing,” Amanda added quickly.

“Yeah, that’s right, a play,” said Lester, trying hard to sound like this wasn’t the first he’d heard of it.

“No, you weren’t,” Mae said matter-of-factly. “You were talking about some men you saw that, from your description, sounded very much like fate demons.”

“What?” Lester said. “That’s just silly.”

“Listen, Mae,” said Amanda. “I don’t know what you thought you heard, but you’re wrong.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about me,” Mae said, setting her books on the table and taking a seat. “I won’t tell. Not that anyone would believe me if I did. Most people think I’m crazy. Like you do, Amanda.”

Amanda blushed. “I don’t think you’re crazy.”

“It’s okay,” said Mae. “I don’t mind, really. It’s only fair. I think you’re a bit snooty.”

“Snooty!” said Amanda, her face going even more pink. “I am not snooty. Lester, tell her I’m not snooty.”

“What do you mean, fate demons?” Lester asked, ignoring Amanda and sitting down across from Mae. “You know, for the play.”

“Well, it’s like you said,” continued Mae. “The glowing hands, flames, and red eyes are all classic characteristics of daemonium fatum or fate demons.”

“This is ridiculous,” complained Amanda.

“Oh?” Mae asked with a smirk. “Is this not what you had in mind for your play?”

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“Alright, then,” Amanda said loudly. “Thanks anyway. Come on, Lester. Let’s go.”

Lester didn’t move. “What else can you tell us, Mae?”

“Really? Okay. Hold on a second.” Before either of them could object, Mae disappeared into the stacks. “The Lesser Key of Solomon is around here somewhere,” she called to them from the shadows.

“The lesser book of what?” Lester shouted back.

“Solomon. It’s this famous seventeenth-century grimoire.”

“What’s a grimoire?” Amanda asked Lester.

“A book of magic.”

“You can’t be serious?”

“Lester’s right,” Mae replied, her voice now farther away and to the left. She seemed to be circling. “However, this particular grimoire focuses on 72 specific demons. Each is said to have different forms and abilities, but the details you and Lester mentioned are common to them all.”

“So why demons of fate, specifically?” Lester asked while Amanda scrunched up her face in a gesture clearly meant to stop him from encouraging this line of conversation. “Mae?” Lester called again when she didn’t answer. “Is everything alright?”

BAM!

Lester nearly toppled out of his chair, and Amanda let out a shriek as a large book hit the table.

“Found it!” Mae said from behind them. She stood beaming with pride, oblivious to the fact that she’d just scared them for the second time that evening.

Leaning down between Lester and Amanda, Mae straightened the fat, dusty volume so they could all see the six-pointed star carved into its front. The book looked ancient. Its cover was a patchwork of variously colored strips of what appeared to be animal hide. Stiff yellowing pages crinkled loudly as Mae opened it.

She carefully flipped past a series of black ink drawings depicting various animals with mismatched body parts. There was a bull with human arms and bat-like wings, a bird with the torso of a man, and a woman with the head of a unicorn. All were strangely distorted and grotesque.

“To answer your question, Lester,” Mae said as she continued turning. “Each of these passages gives instructions for summoning and controlling a particular demon. While the one you choose is based on what you want to be done, they all disrupt your life path or fate, as it were. Usually at a significant cost to your immortal soul.”

“Utter nonsense,” mumbled Amanda.

“Amanda!” said Lester. “Sorry, Mae. Go on.”

“No, she’s right,” Mae said.

Amanda made a face and stuck her tongue out at Lester.

“Stories like these have been translated through dozens of languages, and many details get muddled or lost in the process. Not to mention it was quite expensive to print books long ago, and those who did often altered them to their own liking. But if you look closely, a common thread winds through them all.”

Mae found what she’d been looking for and stopped, spreading the book wide.

Lester stared down at an elaborate drawing that stretched across two pages. Unlike the other images, this one was in color, and the detail was impressive. A full moon shone down on a circular clearing in the middle of a large cornfield. Two men stood on either side of a third, who was on his knees, engulfed in fire and howling in pain. The horns and pointed tails of his tormentors were straight out of a comic book, but Lester felt a chill go up his spine all the same. Looking closer, he saw that the flames were shooting from the demon’s outstretched hands, as their eyes glowed a deep red.

“Those are fate demons?” Lester asked.

“Yes,” Mae said. “Well, except for the guy in the middle.”

“And who’s he?”

“I imagine he represents someone who called upon them for a favor and is now paying the price.”

“I thought you said you paid with your soul — after you died,” said Amanda.

“I never said it was after. According to the lore, demons don’t necessarily have to wait for your life to be over before they come to collect.”

Mae turned the page. The next image was of three people on a jagged mountain top in the midst of a rainstorm. Above them, bright streaks of lightning shot out from dark clouds. Again, two figures surrounded another on his knees. However, the horns and tails were gone, replaced with elaborate robes covered in magical symbols. This time, the circle of fire surrounding their captor emanated from wands instead of hands.

Another flip, and they found themselves staring at a dark forest. A pale green light filtered through the canopy, illuminating two women standing opposite each other. They wore long black coats and matching pointed hats. Their hands ended in sharp fingernails, but there were no flames, just wisps of smoke curling from each one. Lester expected to see yet another cowering figure between them, but the space was empty.

“Lester,” Amanda whispered, gripping his arm so tightly he winced. “Look!”

Lester followed her gaze to the empty spot between the women and took in a sharp breath. There, on the ground, small enough that he had initially missed it, was a pile of white ash.

“Mae?” Lester said.

“Yeah?” asked Mae.

“I have a confession.”

“You’re not really writing a play?” said Mae.

“I am not writing a play.”