“With this blood I summon thee, Lucifer Morningstar, Fallen One, King of Hell, Bringer of Light, and Master of Truth.” My voice is strong and unwavering as I chant alone in the middle of the forest. “Come to me on this Hallowed Eve, grant me your favor! Grant me my desires!” The lush forest falls silent as the candles of my circle are extinguished by a timely gust of brisk autumn wind.

I hold my breath, shivering in my simple white slip-dress beneath my black velvet cloak. The shadows loom and stretch around me, distorted by the dappled moonlight, reaching with gnarled fingers as if to ensnare the unwary.

For most, Halloween is nothing more than an excuse to overindulge in candy, wear risqué costumes, and run-amok … but for me it’s so much more. Tonight represents sacred tradition, a duty passed down from mother to daughter since the time of the infamous Salem Witch Trials. The foremother of our line paid with blood and flesh to save us all, to grant us protection, and to ensure we had a future beyond the cruelty and barbarism of those dark days.

The world has changed, and continues to change, but religious zealots still exist, and bigots of all kinds ravage the world with their hate-mongering. Inciting fear and panic among the masses on a daily basis, they ruthlessly corrupt from their untouchable positions of authority. And so, the truth remains that people have in fact not changed at all. Not really. The ill-informed are still as easily led, and stupid as sheep. They’ll flock to the first false shepherd to promise prosperity, and rid them of their supposed enemies. And history has proven that time and time again my kind often fall prey to being viewed as just such an enemy.

And that’s why I stand here tonight in my ceremonial circle of salt and flame, pantless and ready for what is to come. I must make the same sacrifice my forebears have made over the centuries if I am to ensure the renewal of our powers, and the safety of my great family. These powers I speak of are no sham. They are real, a gift from the Dark Lord, himself. All he asks in return is our fealty and love—quite literally. Soon, I will know the fiery touch of the Devil, and experience the depths of his depraved and infernal desires for myself.

The candles unexpectedly relight, bursting into flames one by one, until the circle is complete once more. A great fire erupts from the center of my makeshift altar on the forest floor, the flames spiraling upon themselves in a flurry, as if caught up in a great hurricane. The heat and wind buffets me, and I shield my eyes as the brightness diminishes.

There can be no mistaking the horrifyingly beautiful beast that now stands before me on cloven feet. His pitch-black eyes gleam with the eternal darkness of the Abyss, like unholy jewels nestled into the face of an angel, his form more perfect than any likeness ever carved by the hands of man. Great curling horns like those of a ram sprout from his head—adding to his already unnatural height—and black hair spirals to his shoulders, drawing my attention to his long, braided goatee.

My breath catches in my throat as my gaze drops one painstaking inch at a time, drinking in the magnificence of his broad shoulders, chiseled abs, and the definition of the famed Triangle of Adonis that leads to the forbidden treasure resting beneath the silky black fur that covers his crotch and monstrous goats’ legs.

“I’ve been expecting you,” says Lucifer, his deep voice husky and full of illicit promise.

“Master,” I breathe, falling to my knees, head bowed.

“What is your name, girl?”

Swallowing the urge to whimper, I clear my throat and raise my voice to just above a whisper. “It’s Willow Wildes, Master. Daughter of Lily, granddaughter of Abigail.”

“Ah, yes,” he says. “I remember them most fondly. Each more than earned their power.” Lucifer pauses a moment, before squatting and lifting my chin with a long, curved claw. “And now you seek your own power,” he says. “As the women of your line have done for some three-hundred years.”

I tremble as I gaze into the eternity of his dark eyes. “Yes, Master. I have come to offer you blood and flesh in return for your favor, just as Sarah did so long ago.”

“You are a unique beauty, Willow Wildes,” he says thoughtfully. “I have not seen this for over a hundred years.” Raising my chin further, he brushes away errant strands of my blood-red hair to examine my face. “One blue, and one green, for the sky above and the earth below. Most intriguing.”

“It’s a condition. We call it heterochromia,” I whisper.

“It is a good and rare omen,” the Devil interjects. “It bodes well for you, my pretty. To be different is a gift in and of itself. To wear your difference with pride, and stand apart from others as unique takes courage.”

“I only ask for that which my foremothers were given,” I say as he rises.

“I cannot give you the powers of your foremothers,” he answers, looking down upon me.

Fear and sudden panic surge in the pit of my stomach, bringing with it the sour taste of bile. I wring my hands in my lap in an effort to contain my nerves and maintain my self-control. Dare I question the Dark Lord? I lick my lips, my gaze fixed on his cloven hooves. “Have I offended you, Master?”

“No, child.”

Heart racing, I feel like I’m going to be sick. “Am I unworthy?”

“Far from it.”

“Then why?” I ask, looking up to gaze upon his flawless face backlit against the bright moon.

“You have been marked for greatness, Willow. I cannot give you that which I have given your foremothers because you are destined to have much greater powers.”

“Greater?” The word tumbles from my lips unbidden in wonder.

“Much greater,” he emphasizes.

With chaotic butterflies in my belly, I place my hands on my knees—palms facing up in submission and obedience—and hold his gaze as boldly as I’m able. “Ask of me what you will, Master, and it will be yours.”