I Gave Flowers to The Devil

Luci In a Bottle

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Lucifer

At first glance, the polished home at which I am summoned looks like any other house you would find in a suburban neighbourhood such as this one; clean, well-maintained, fenced. It's quite boring, really, and not at all what I was expecting.

I shouldn't judge. It's been a hot minute since someone conjured me. ME. I daresay it feels good not to be forgotten. The Devil still has it.

I brush the shoulders of my black custom-made suit with the back of my hand, lest a bit of dust has attached to me when I teleported.

As I make my way across the manicured lawn, each blade of grass greener than the next, I figure my client must be the straight-laced type. Perhaps he is a lawyer, an accountant or a corporate ladder climber. You know the type. They are always looking at signing over their soul in exchange for a promotion.

The first thing that hits me as I enter the house is the smell. You see, there is a distinct smell to magic. Whether it be distilled in a potion or plastered across a casting circle, it smells a little bit like... cinnamon but with a hint of musk. Except it's too strong here to just be coming from a casting circle.

I wrinkle my nose. A witch. Great.

When my eyes adjust to the darkness of the room, I stand shocked at what's before me. It looks like a hurricane struck, but from the inside. I can confidently say those burn marks on the walls are from lighting. I note the remains of a couch, reduced to shards of wood and fluff and cringe.

I walk by a suspicious blue stain on the wall and try to ignore the candy wrappers crumpling under my leather shoes.

What the Hell is this mess? It looks like an alcoholic hobo has made this his dwelling.

Believe me, I understand a mess. I can do messy. I'm the very definition of evil. The sum of all chaos in the world. I'm the ruler of all things unholy, Lucifer in the flesh! But this is just unsanitary. Unacceptable.

Witches can be so damn gross.

As I delve deeper into the house, I start to feel the pull of the clumsily cast circle growing stronger. It's beneath me.

I gingerly step down the carpeted stairs to the basement, being careful not to crush the empty glass bottles stew around.

Too late. I step right on one. The edge of the glass cuts right through my Italian leather loafer. I swear under my breath. This isn't how the king of the Underworld should be greeted.

By the time I make it to the bottom of the stairs, I am seething.

"Oh. My. God," someone says. "Nancy, wake up!"

A light is turned on and once my eyes adjust, I come face to face with two young women. Both of their mouths are agape, their eyes wide as they stare at me. Judging by their identical masses of black curly hair, I presume they must be related.

"It worked!"

The one who had just been sleeping on a dusty sofa, probably Nancy, gasps. She trudges toward me as the other one remains frozen in place. Before I can properly introduce myself, she comes right up to me and pokes me in the shoulder.

Hard.

"Mary, you did it," she yells. "It's actually here!"

I realize I'm clenching my teeth and about to lose my cool when a slight movement to the left catches my eye. In the corner of the room is another witch. I'm not sure how I could have missed her, she sticks out like a sore thumb sitting atop the back of a worn-down leather chair. She is wearing obnoxious striped leggings, a pair of dark shorts, a lime green t-shirt that says Stay Groovy on it and... one boot.