Cleo wasn’t much to look at. More of a bookish scholar than a supermodel, she was the exact dictionary definition of a librarian stereotype. She didn’t like buying herself nice dresses, or fancy-schmancy expensive makeup, she just… was. When she felt like it, she put her hair up. Most of her life she kept it short, but sometimes she grew it out or styled it around, if she was inclined.

All her life she had wanted to become a powerful sorceress, one of the few in the world to hold the distinguished title of ‘archmage.’

Her dreams were promptly crushed by the stupid blood test at the stupid academy of arcane sciences.

There was really only one thing to do.

Make a deal with a Demon.

 

Aen’yeernus wasn’t much to look at. More of a malevolent cloud of anger and magic than a person, she was the exact dictionary definition of an abstract demoness. She didn’t compose herself a real form, no fancy-shmancy sinewave of intent, she just… was. When she felt like it, she was red. Most of the time she kept it a dark, dried-blood red, but sometimes it was a shade closer to pink or purple, if she was inclined.

All her unlife she had wanted to live in the midworld, ‘earth.’ One of the few in the universe to hold the distinguished title of ‘interesting.’

Her dreams were promptly crushed by the stupid older demons who guarded the stupid gateway bridge.

There was really only one thing to do.

Make a deal with a Human.

 

Cleo was named for one of the wisest and most powerful queens in egyptian history. She was also named for her crazy “aunt ‘Patra” who died a few years after Cleo was born, and who it turned out had made a deal with a demon for her soul in exchange for phenomenal cosmic power. Drawing inspiration from her more recent namesake, the young college student held her aunt’s book in her hands in her mother’s attic. She knew the words to say, the sigils to write, and every law regarding what she was planning backwards and forwards.

Books about how Soul Energy could be used to alter the world around her had fascinated her from a young age, and although for the last two centuries it was widely acknowledged that magic is totally real and something to be studied not feared, there were still some archaic lines of thought surrounding the concept of female magic users. Her classmates had seen her studies as dangerous and strange, and she was quickly singled out as a ‘witch girl.’ It wasn’t a very fun part of her life, but it was still a part of her life and she was proud of the fact that she had not only braved it without backing down, but gotten all the more strong in her convictions because of it. The news that she wasn’t allowed to go forward into more serious education into the mystical arts had been all the worse because of it.

Cleo had been outraged, screaming at her teachers and the officials from the academy. It wasn’t fair. She had given up so much, worked so hard, for nothing? That wasn’t how it was supposed to work. She was already reading at a college level, she had memorized hundreds of pages on theoretical applications of spiritualist powers, written a rough outline of her dissertation on the connection between magic sensitives and natural telepaths, and so much more. All her life spent studying and working for her goal, and they moved the finish line because of a few measly genetic markers in her blood that labeled her ‘mundane.’

A year of constant pestering and complaint yielded no results. Two had gotten her almost nothing. Three, however. After three long years of letters and formal complaints about the way things were handled at the academy, she got a reply. It was meant to mock her, ridicule her, publicly humiliate and scorn her forever, but it was a reply.

“If the student in question, one Cleopatra Silvermin, can prove with utmost certainty that she does in fact contain within her the ability to summon and control the power of her own Soul, she will be interred within the halls of the Academy of Arcane Sciences within the month.”

Of course, there was no way she would ever be able to use magic via normal means. The genetic markers were a horrible, inhumane way of denying access to higher education, but she’d be damned if they weren’t accurate.

In the end, no matter how hard she worked, her DNA was simply incompatible with  the use of magic. She wasn’t one of the magically sensitive, or, as they were colloquially referred to, ‘The Changed.’

So of course she was going to use magic anyway.

The laws on the matter of demon summoning were very vague (supposedly because someone summoned a demon and sold their soul to change the laws and make it legal) but generally those who committed the taboo were deemed punished enough by whatever curse they were tricked into agreeing to that the legal system only isolated them to contain the dark magic.

If they were ever caught in the act at all.

The academy of course would preemptively expel her for even considering it, but luckily for her it was very hard to tell legitimate magic from demonic cheating. She opened the book to a colorfully marked page.

The latin words were difficult to pronounce properly but simple enough to understand: all she had to say in the dead language was “Demon of the infernal pit, I desire to make a deal” and that would be it. The rest of the negotiation would be in english. Complicated runes written in blood, chalk, and ink? Check. A written contract with simple, literal wording and as few loopholes as she could manage? Check. The only thing left to do was actually pick out one of the sigils on the page and say the words.

Yup.

Easy.

Cleo was uncomfortably aware of the fact that she had not summoned the demon.

Swearing and closing her eyes, she put her hand over one of the sigils and said the latin words as quickly and as loudly as she could.

 

Aen’yeernus knew she was being summoned by the tingle spreading through her nebulous self. It had been centuries since one of her order was brought into the world, so it came as somewhat of a shock. No one wanted a minor impling. They barely had enough magic to rival any old human archmage, much less grant supernatural wishes. For crying out loud, she couldn’t even bring back the dead!

A horrible thought crossed her mind as she shifted out of the Underworld and began the journey to Earth. It must have been a mistake. Aen’yeernus would have sworn if it weren’t redundant (and if she had a mouth to swear with at the time). The smell of musty books and mothballs drew her up, up, up into the land of the mortals. She exploded out of the sigil that was her name as a mushroom cloud of pure energy, overstimulated by the sudden existence of so many things.

There were scents to take in, sights to behold, things to taste, people to talk to, it all overwhelmed her as she spiraled around the room for a moment before the charms scrawled on the walls and floor restricted her movement and brought her back to the present moment.

Mistake or no, any idiot mortal that would dare to summon a demon needed a bit of intimidation before the bargaining began. Condensing into a solid form, Aen’yeernus grew into her own personal take on humanity: razor sharp teeth and rending claws, but soft red skin and full black lips. Reptilian eyes and huge, bat-like wings, plus a nice layer of eyeliner and long, tied back hair. Elf-like, pointed ears, and five huge, twisting horns.

The runic restraints encircled her ‘waist’ like a glowing, magical belt as she reared on her summoner and screamed with the voice of all the beasts that haunt mens’ nightmares: “WHO DARES TO SUMMON THE DREAD QUEEN OF SUFFERING, AEN’YEERNUS!?”

 

Cleo knew the screaming threat was coming, and she even had some idea of what kind of form demons usually took when they were forced into a solid form. The supermodel looks and dangerous edges were sort of standard. She didn’t expect the title, though. Usually only powerful demon lords got titles, and she was pretty sure she had summoned an impling.

Instead of the fear that the demoness was certainly trying to inspire, Cleo’s face showed momentary confusion before she snapped her fingers and exclaimed her realization. “Oh! You’re lying to try and scare me! Got it.” That stopped the storm-in-a-bottle monster in her tracks. Clearly she hadn't expected Cleo to figure out her ruse quite so quickly. “Also, there’s no way I’ll be able to remember your whole name. I’m gonna call you Ayn.”

The cloud of evil and magic in human form glared down at her, not angrily but… with some emotion Cleo couldn’t recognize on her inhuman features. She opened her mouth, but it was a moment before she started speaking. “My name- I suppose it doesn’t… matter that much what you call me… I’m sorry but, how are you not terrified right now? Even with these restraints I could snap every bone in your body easily. I’m a demon. Embodiment of dark power and… and malevolence.”

Cleo rolled her eyes. “I know. I summoned you. On purpose. Do you want to make a deal or not?”

 

Aen’yeernus- Ayn was absolutely blown away by this strange human. She was seeped in confidence and a sense of entitlement, but it felt… earned. Here she was, staring down one of the most vile creatures from the depths of hell, and she was… nonchalant. Calm. Blase. Sarcastic, even.

Most humans that summon the powers of darkness could be split into two categories: the very very stupid and the very very misguided. The very very stupid ones, Ayn knew, were extremely dangerous and hard to deal with, but she had heard rumors and whispers deep in the pit about a third kind. Those that are just smart enough to not be stupid, but just dumb enough to try and reason with pure evil anyway. They always spread disaster and misfortune to every living thing near them, making horrible mistakes while claiming to know best.

She had a sneaking suspicion she was dealing with the third kind.

“Well, I haven’t stretched my legs in an eternity, but I suppose I could humor you for a moment and consider your offer. What do you have to trade for my time and patience you have already wasted, and what will you foolishly ask for from me?” Ayn asked. It was, again, a formality to be so condescending and threatening. Not a formality to the human, mind you, a formality to every other demon in the vaporous cloud that she called home. If even the lowest imp slacked off and showed anything but disdain towards a mortal, suddenly every over-emotional teenager would be expecting black magic favors and bonus deals on the side. It was just the way things worked that she had to act like she hated the idea of giving up magic, when in actuality she was more than willing to trade.

 

Cleo was slightly put off by the way the impling she had summoned had phrased her consent. In order to make a pact with the underworld, verbal consent was required from both parties, as she knew from her books, but the way she had said that… paying back the time she had already wasted? Was she going to have to offer more than she had bargained for? Well, no turning back now, the cat was already out of the bag. Metaphorically, anyway. In actuality the cat was in the bag, since black cat bones were a part of the summoning ritual.

“I offer you something I believe you will have need of,” she said, pulling an old heirloom from inside her robes and balancing the book she was holding on one hand. It was a pearl, inlaid with golden swirls and wrapped in silver vines. “An eye of arcana. Sealed within it is the power you seek to sustain yourself in this world, as well as a charm to disguise it from all but you. With this pearl, you can live on this earth for one hundred years outside of the protections I have made for you here.”

Demons were made of pure energy, and as such they needed something to anchor them in the world if they wanted to stay. Most of them did, but items that allowed such anchorage were very rare. Eyes of arcana were by far the most common, there were a couple hundred in existence, but almost all of them had been snatched up by museums and schools for educational and historical usage. Not to mention, they took quite a lot of time to charge. Thank the gods for old aunt Patra, who had managed to keep this little beauty charged after using it in her own deal.

Ayn looked down at the magic artifact with her burning, slitted eyes. It was impossible to read her emotions, her face a mask of apathy and disdain. She stared at it for a long moment, as if thinking of how to turn this to her advantage. It was already to her advantage. Damn greedy demon.

“Well,” the reptilian woman started, before stopping herself. Cleo wanted to scream. Just ask what she wanted, it was so easy, what was wrong with her. “You called me for a reason. What else did you want of my mighty power?”

Finally. “I find myself in an awkward situation I need help with. I have devoted much of my life to studying the ways of magic, and am regarded as an extremely advanced prodigy. Unfortunately, despite all my studies and knowledge, I lack… certain aspects of-”

“You can’t do magic, can you.”

Cutting right to the fucking heart of it, then, apparently. Well, what did she expect. “That- that is correct, yes. I want you to help me use magic.”

The demoness glanced around the room. “If you can’t use magic, and there’s no one else here, then how did you..?” she spun her hand in the air, gesturing vaguely at the entire space.

Cleo sighed. “Rituals and very complicated rune work. Those bonds will only hold for another ten, maybe fifteen minutes. More than enough time to make a deal, but not very long to hold a higher level demon.”

Ayn seemed to contemplate that for a moment before moving on. “I am open to the terms of the deal discussed, however, after hearing your request, I have one more addition to the agreement.”

This was to be expected. Probably her soul or first born child or something equally archaic and ridiculous. She had to agree to having one more addition, of course, because these stupid deals had more rules than there were loopholes in the justice system, but she didn’t have to be polite about it. “Fine. One more addition. What is it?”

The demoness grinned with more feeling than was probably strictly necessary, which gave her an uncanny look that would probably have freaked Cleo out if she hadn’t been expecting the worst nightmares of hell to come barging out of her book already. “I will accept the Arcane Eye as my property, and brand it with my mark, but that is only payment for wasting my precious time. In exchange for my magic, I want you.”

Cleo nearly dropped the book. “I- wha- I don’t- I mean- me?” It was completely unprecedented. No one had ever traded themselves. Their souls, parts of their bodies, their minds, sure. But this was- how would that even work? Would she be a slave? The very idea of being bound to her service for all eternity was enough to make her retch, but she held back her disgust and simply made a face.

Ayn, weirdly able to read her face, grinned down on her and continued. “You won’t be my slave or anything sordid like that, I assure you. What I want from you is access to your life. You will bear my mark and I yours, and we will be bound until such a time as you no longer require my power. You will go about your day, doing whatever it is you humans do, using my magic and accomplishing your goals, and I will be right there with you. Sitting on your shoulder. Every minute of every day. Whispering in your ear, listening to your thoughts, seeing through your eyes.”

Now she understood. “You’re- you’re just going to watch my life like a sitcom, then?”

“I don’t know what that is, but it’s probably an apt description.”

“Why? What could possibly be in it for you?”

“Entertainment.”