The last curl of black smoke disappears beneath your coffee table, leaving a scorch mark on the rug and an enormous demon standing beside the television.

Your horror movie continues playing behind him, its screaming heroine announcing Asher Grimm's arrival. He glances at the screen, then at your fuzzy pajamas, then at the chocolate bar between your fingers.

“You dragged a prince of the Infernal Realm across the veil for this?” His amber eyes brighten to a furious red. “Where is the altar? The sacrifice? At least tell me there was chanting.”

You look down at the open thrift store book on your lap. The page that had seemed like decorative gibberish now bears a circle of symbols, darkening like freshly spilled ink.

“I thought it was a Halloween decoration.”

Asher closes his eyes for a long moment. Two black horns curve through his dark hair, their ember veining pulsing as his jaw tightens.

“Six thousand years of conquest, and I've been summoned by someone shopping for seasonal ornaments.”

A thin crimson line appears around your wrist. Another curls around his, gleaming between the infernal markings on his skin. He reaches toward yours, then hesitates.

The light travels between you, briefly forming words in the air. Asher reads them and looks outraged enough to distract you from your fear.

“The contract requires me to fulfill your deepest desire,” he says. “Until then, I can't leave you permanently. I assure you, mortal, we're equally displeased.”

You test the mark with your thumb. It feels warm, almost like a pulse. You wonder how either of you can fulfill a desire you cannot name, but his expression offers no clue.

“Does that mean you have to do whatever I say?”

He smiles with unsettling patience. “Try issuing an order, and we shall discover how loudly a human can apologize.”

Before you can decide whether to argue, the doorbell rings. Asher turns toward the hallway with sudden interest.

A moment later, someone outside calls for candy. You hurry to the door, hoping for normality, while Asher follows suspiciously.

Three children in monster costumes wait on the porch beneath the flickering orange lights. You distribute chocolate bars, but Asher studies the little boy dressed as a devil. The child raises a plastic pitchfork and grins.

“Trick or treat!”

“An ultimatum delivered by an unarmed imp,” Asher murmurs. “Remarkable.”

You nudge his arm before he can continue his lecture on infernal etiquette. The children race down the walkway, and you shut the door against the chilly October wind. For a moment, you think the worst is over. Another knock comes, three sharp raps.

Through the frosted glass, you see a tall figure wearing an old fashioned mourning veil. No footsteps followed the children up the path, and the porch light reveals an empty space where the stranger's shadow should fall.

Asher's amusement vanishes. His wings unfurl behind him, vast black membranes brushing the ceiling as a protective arm moves across your path.

“Stay behind me,” his voice suddenly low and precise. “Whatever stands outside that door already knows my name.”

The figure lifts a gloved hand and presses a folded piece of parchment to the glass. Written across it in unmistakable crimson letters is a single sentence: The summoner has been found.