They left the village under the cover of darkness, each woman slipping from her family home with a charm at their breast to turn away inquisitive eyes. The putrid men under the order of the baron patrolled the roads in and out of the village, watching for the invisible danger that was black magic. Three women had already been lost to the great panic last month, after word had reached the town of the royal death at sea. Witches were to blame for the sudden storm that had killed the prince and his betrothed. How else would their ship have capsized?

On the outskirts of their little village, women, in groups of two or three, picked their way through the brush and mud past the tree line, aiming for the sacred hill of standing stones. In one group, huddled under an itchy woollen cloak a young woman held onto her companion's arm, tightly gripping her basket in the other as she was led forward. They didn't dare speak until they'd made it past the tree line, and when her friend finally spoke, her voice was softer than a whisper.
"We've hit the tree line. Not long now."
The young woman nodded and tried to squint past the swelling around her eye. She still tasted blood and a tooth had come loose in the back of her mouth that she couldn't help but tongue gingerly. The pain had been dulled with her high priestess' concoction, but it did nothing for the bruises and broken skin.
Even with impaired vision, the young woman felt at home in the woods of the hill. She'd been nimble as a goat since she'd learned to walk, and even now, partially blinded, she picked her way through the underbrush with startling precision. The woods were like a second home after all these years. Maybe now she did it by sheer memory. In her youth, no one had kept her from the forest or its dangers. Even now, the rhymes she'd learned as a child stayed with her, imagining the hidden dangers rising up to meet her. Skirt the grove of hogweed or blisters to make you bleed. Berries black as midnight, flowers white as snow, step around this deadly plant, it is a toxic foe. She wears a lacy collar, with hair as white as powder, but if her dress is purple, she'll kill you in the hour. The words calmed her mind and steadied her steps as she moved through the underbrush. Her friend would lead them true. All she had to think about was what was waiting atop the hill. Her basket clacked quietly, her candles and offerings safe and out of sight of her friend. The ritual was going to occur, no matter which deity she had decided to make a pact with…But her sisters would be disappointed just the same when they saw.

They would understand though, eventually. She hoped.

She could never be the same after her involvement with the priest's son. She couldn't just forget the disdain of the priest's wife.

The women climbed in relative silence, using the light of the full moon to guide their way atop the flat of the hill. Light streamed through the thick treeline, and when the women stepped through the last of the underbrush, finally standing at the summit, the moon shone down, welcoming them into the embrace of the sacred realm. In the middle of the open space stood five standing stones, buried in the earth and standing metres above all of them. Whether the stones had been moved there by the ancients, or these stones had always been here since time began, they sat in perfect alignment with a five-pointed star. Breathing in the air here, one could smell the age coming from the stones, as well as feel the vibrations of power through their feet.

The young woman and her friend were the last few to ascend to the clearing. In the bright moonlight, she could make out the women who'd made it before them, clearing away any debris from the stone circle, making ready for her. She swallowed, wincing in pain from the bruises that ringed her neck. Her basket for a moment felt heavier than before, the weight of her coming choices and the burdens they would bring overshadowing the power she would inherit.

"My Summer child, how are you feeling?" The woman turned to the older woman shuffling towards her. Even in the moonlight, one could see the milkiness of her eyes and the way she tapped her stick on the ground in front of her. The high priestess of their coven, Sorcha, looked as though a stiff wind would knock her down, but the girl knew, as all in their coven knew, that Sorcha McKenzie would bow to nothing and no one. Her patron, Airmed; the goddess of medicine and healing, delivered a quiet strength Sorcha wielded for the sake of her coven. She was a prized healer in the village, a sage elder beloved by many of the families.
Sorcha had taken on the role of guardian for the young woman when her mother had died, and when the old woman's papery, dry hands reached up, she bent at the knee to the woman's touch ignoring how her ankle throbbed angrily. Sorcha's wiry white hair blew loose in the breeze as her cool fingers brushed over the bruises and scrapes covering the young woman's face. She didn't flinch as the old woman's fingers lingered on each painful wound. In truth, it was calming her frayed nerves, which made her feel worse about the choice she would be making shortly. She couldn't look her godmother in the face, knowing the blind eyes saw far more than Sorcha let on. It was how Sorcha had always known when she had scraped with a village boy. She'd always come home 'smelling of the mountains'.
"I am fine. Truly." Sorcha clicked her tongue.
"You know lying is bad for your health. It'll rot your teeth before you are my age!" A few of their sisters close by chuckled at the high priestess. One woman stepped forward, a middle-aged mother of two and the town's best seamstress. She laid a gentle hand on Sorcha's arm and smiled encouragingly at the young charge.

"We're ready high priestess." Sorcha nodded and stepped back.
"Well done Merridan. Thank you" She didn't wait for a response and turned to the young woman. "It is time."

The young woman swallowed thickly, sweat forming under her arms as she looked past the gathering women and to the centre of the stone circle. The moon had dropped lower in the sky, and her sisters all waited, with the standing stones inside their circle. There was a gap at the northern point, waiting for her to enter and for Sorcha to seal the summoning circle.
It was too late to change her mind now, to go back to her initial choice. The Morrigan had come forth for her before, and even Cerridwen of the Celts had offered a pact. She'd been offered strength, and power, dominion over death and war. The Morrigan especially had offered her the chance for revenge against the priest's boy, his mother, and the other pious women of the church who had tried to condemn her.
But she'd made her choice. She didn't want just war or death, and revenge was tempting, but it didn't protect her in the future. Cerridwen's knowledge of potions and poisons would cement her in her coven as a powerful witch in her own right, not the ward of the high priestess.

But it wasn't enough.

There had to be change.

She entered the circle, her sister's hands brushing against her skin as she dropped the cloak, revealing her white linen shift. The cold condensed against her skin like a barrier, cooling the sweat of a fever she'd been nursing. Her body wanted to shiver and thrum, to cradle her arms and gather warmth, but power was calling.

In the centre of the standing stones, the woman knelt, setting her basket down in front of her and drawing a steadying breath. Across from her, standing in the circle, the faces of her many sisters looked back, somewhat blurry with her damaged vision. Would they be smiling right now if they knew? Would they be waiting with anticipation? How would their faces fall when they realised who she was calling down…Or up?

From her basket, the young woman pulled out the candles. In the semi-darkness, they could have been blue, or red, maybe green, but she knew…They were black as tar. She set the candles down in the same five-pointed star pattern as the standing stones and pulled out her altar items.
A bone from the spinal column of a lamb, a vial of black adder venom, the snapped branch of an apple tree, an apple, and a knife. She didn't know if it was enough, but it had felt right at the time of finding them. When she set the apple down next to the knife, there was a collective murmur that passed around the ring of women, but she couldn't give anyone time to call out, time to make her rethink her choice. She snapped her fingers, once, twice, then a final third time, and the candles in her circle lit with a violent flare. In times past, or so said Sorcha, there would have been a large bonfire, where young witches would all summon their patrons together in a huge celebration…But now persecution was immanent, and rituals in the dark were the only ones they could perform. It boiled her bones. Her candles were as much light as they could permit.

With her candles lit, the altar offering had begun.

Power began to converge in her veins. She could feel the way her body felt lighter, feeling less aches in her limbs and face. It took her moment, but she reached for the apple and the knife, one in each hand.

He who brought forth the dawn
He who rose upon Heaven
He who led rebellion
He who offered the Apple

Come hither, come hither, come hither.

She cut into the apple, feeling the juice dribble down the flesh of her thumb and down her arm. It smelled sweet in the darkness.

She who burns too bright
She who seeks too far
She who dives too deep
She who takes the apple

She calls, she calls, she calls.


She calls, she calls, she calls.

"Luci? Darling? What's wrong my love?"

Lucifer jerked, blinking back the pain of staring into the blinding chandeliers. His back hurt and his lower half felt numb as he shifted on the throne. He turned, blinking at his wife perched neatly on her throne beside his. Her honey and wine voice was soft and warm. She was smiling demurely, looking out on the nobility that tittered and preened on the ballroom floor. She lazily flapped a black silk fan, blowing back the lovely long blond hair that framed her horns. She was looking at him from the corner of her eyes, and he knew the smile was painted on for the crowd below.
The chant rang in his head, tugging at him. It was like sparks dancing under his skin, forcing him to look up. Beyond the chandeliers, beyond the manor, beyond his ring and above. Someone was calling him. A human was trying to summon him, and her voice was hoarse in the black depths.
"Lucifer."
Her voice turned sharp and she now turned to face him directly. Her pale face was as lovely as snow, her lips as plush as the petals on a red rose. Her eyes were bluer than lapis lazuli. But her anger was quick to light, and she would be mad to know what had drawn his attention. He straightened the lapels of his jacket and shot Lilith a grin.
"Nothing, my queen."
It was nothing. It had been decades since the last time a human had tried to summon him, and this night was important to his wife. He could ignore it.

He who brought forth the dawn

He blinked rapidly as the crowd shifted, watching Lilith stand elegantly.

He who rose upon Heaven

He was supposed to stand, he knew, and offer Lilith his arm, as any loving husband would, but the room was beginning to blur under the chanting of many voices in his mind. What was this ball even for? He didn't know, but did it matter? Did any of it really matter? They did this so often, and never once did anything change. No nobility would be persuaded to defy Heaven. No one wanted to experiment with the Sinners who kept coming down and raiding the rings for all they were worth. Would anybody really miss him if he slipped out right now and-

He who led rebellion

"My love? Will you not escort me to the floor?" His throat clicked as Lucifer tore his eyes away from the ceiling again. The chanting had begun to drown out the rest of the room, and only Lilith's magical voice cut through the ringing. His cravat felt too tight around his neck, and the ballroom at once felt all too hot.

He who offered the Apple

Come hither, come hither, come hither.

He stood, abruptly, and the ballroom froze into the perfect picture frame of noble ignorance. He looked to Lilith, her face a quiet, stormy anger.

"I need to go."

He didn't explain, because what was the point? Nobody would really care. Lilith had everything in hand. She'd make up an excuse for him, would laugh it off, and a duke would escort her for the rest of the evening. Like every other evening, he left these events early. Lilith would only tell him how useless it was to make deals with humans. They had plenty of Sinners coming down, so why bargain for more?

He looked up again to the ceiling and succumbed to the chanting of a siren's voice, letting the magic of the summoning pull him up and through the darkness.


He wasn't sure what to expect. Was it a corrupt royal asking to keep their throne? Or a priest wanting to climb the ranks? Maybe a merchant looking to expand their empire, or a second-born son trying to usurp his older brother.
When the darkness of the summoning faded, Lucifer was standing on a moonlit hilltop, surrounded by women in dark cloaks, and ancient standing stones that thrummed with the exertion of pulling him up. He touched down on the grass and looked down at the shadowed figure before him. The girl was on her knees, hands clenching a knife and an apple tightly in her white-knuckled grip. His shadow fell over her as he shifted, not used to the feeling of hooves for feet again. She looked up at that moment and Lucifer was shocked, looking at the young woman below him. She looked as though she'd been recently beaten, with a swollen black eye, scraped cheek, split lip, and a ring of purple bruising around her neck. In the dark, her red hair was like mahogany, tight ringlets escaping from her braid. He cocked his head as she lifted the apple, her hand shaking as she offered it to him. Anger seeped through him because all at once the situation became clearer. She was looking for a powerful backer. But had she meant to call him? Truly?

"My-" She coughed, voice hoarse and croaky "My lord." Lucifer looked between the apple and her face, then to the women who ringed the clearing. A coven of witches. He looked up, revelling in the clear skies and the bright stars above. The air was cold and smelt of damp. He was grateful to the young witch. It had been so long since he'd seen the sky, and tonight was beautifully clear. The constellations winked brightly above, denoting the skies of Scotland.
The girl moved, and he looked away from the bright, clear moonlight. She was struggling to get to her feet, so he squatted down, aware of how he must have looked to her. a being draped in shadows, a monster of animal and man...Was she regretting her choice now? She paused only for a moment but sunk back down. He noted the swollen ankle before dropping his gaze to the altar offering. He looked at the vial of venom and bone, the branch of an apple tree scattered in her circle of black candles. So it wasn't an accident.
The girl looked a little lost, her eyes searching his shadowed face, maybe trying to find an expression in the darkness. Her coven mates said nothing, but he could feel their hesitance. The hostility that came with perceived evil. He cocked his head, looking at the girl. Why had she summoned him?
"My lord, I have summoned you, to ask you to become my patron."

Lucifer blinked and cast about the circle of witches. He wasn't familiar with the witches or their rituals, but he knew they all had patron gods and goddesses. Lilith had a few dedicated to her service all over the known maps of Earth, and more than a dozen covens that worshipped her, why hadn't the human summoned her? At the northern point of the standing stones, Lucifer locked eyes with an old, blind crone. Magic blazed in her vacant eyes as she stared him down, and he knew one word from her, and the coven would attack. This one was powerful. What would happen to the little witch who had called him if he were to up and leave? He looked away from the crone and back to the woman sitting in front of him.

"Your patron?" His gaze flicked over the injuries covering up her freckled face. "Little witch…I am not sure you have thought this through." Her brow furrowed and her mouth flattened into a frown.
"I have thought this through, my lord. I am not an ijit." Her voice was scratchy, and she winced, like talking hurt. The ring of bruising around her throat was no doubt the culprit. Women were still brutalised it seemed. Nothing had changed. He shook his head at her. Maybe not a little witch after all.
"If you had, then your coven would not be looking at me like I am the root of all evil."
The girl flushed as she looked away, not meeting his gaze. She didn't seem scared of him, but she muttered into the ground. Oh, but she was endearing. She was too young to know the implications of this deal.
"I didn't tell them who I was going to make a pact with." He nodded slowly, pieces of her story tying together in sad revelations.
"Why not your own gods? I hear The Morrigan is a powerful ally. Your sisters would accept her as your patron."
"They cannae judge me!" Her voice cracked as she looked desperately up at him.

He saw the silvery lining of tears in her eyes and looked at her more thoughtfully. He waited as she glared at him. She bit her lip, and her hands tangled together in her lap, fingers twisting tensely. "I need power." she started. "I want my enemies to fear me. I want the power to make them suffer. I want to be strong, and face them. I don't want to just survive here." Her voice quaked for a moment, and she took and long, slow breath, holding it and letting it go for a moment. Lucifer watched intrigued as she squared her shoulders and looked up at him.
"I want you as my patron, because you led armies, because you offered freedom and you fought for your rights. You had ambitions." Her voice grew stronger and stronger as she spoke, and she struggled to her feet, favouring her left. Her shift was ghostly pale against her freckled skin, the fabric shifting in the breeze, even as the dampness from the grass stuck it to her legs. She held her hands tightly against her stomach, and Lucifer rose, pinned under her gaze. She shifted, and the tilt of her face, made it feel as though she were looking down her nose at him.

"I have ambitions of my own."

Had he ever been stared down so hard? This was the first time a witch had summoned him, and the first time his sins had been spoken to him as triumphs. Would she be saying the same thing when she inevitably ended up in Hell? He considered the not-so-little witch. He liked her fire. Liked the way she simplified everything to the root. She wasn't lying to him about what she wanted or justifying what she wanted. Honesty rang from every word. She wanted his strength and he was inclined to give it to her.
Righteous anger at her beaten state made him want to ask who had hurt her, ask her how it had happened…But the Devil asking? It would sound ridiculous. Would she believe he was more than evil? Believe he had heart? She was so young, would she have any experience with his stories?

"How old are you?"
"Twenty-three" she answered confidently. It made him want to laugh, because what was twenty-three years to him? He'd been alive for thousands already. He grinned at her and watched as she caught the flash of his sharp teeth. She didn't flinch, but he saw the muscles jump in the flesh of her hands as they tightened their grip.
"You're just a baby witch then. Do you know what you are asking? Of me, and all those who accompany you today?" He saw her throat work, and she glanced back behind her, to the old witch at the northern point. Whatever she saw there made her flinch, because the little witch turned back to him, and for the first time did he see her falter.
"I'd be going to Hell when I die." He nodded.
"You could avoid it though. Close the circle, try again another night. Call on the Morrigan. Make your coven proud, and you'll all forget this night ever happened."
For a snap instant in time, he looked at the little witch, and wondered what her life was like, to send her to desperate measures like this. What would it be like to follow her around in her daily life and offer her all the powers in Hell? The idea of seeing the sky, even if only for a few short decades while she lived was tempting.
But she was so young, and she still had so many choices to make. She could still go to Heaven if she lived a life in service to others. Her soul, whilst spotted in darkness was still light and good. She was good. Being around him would be a one way ticket down.
"You dinnae know what I suffer."

"Oh?"
He'd suffered plenty.
"We suffer here. Witches are being burned and there is nothing we can do. If I had power, real power- I would protect my sisters."
"And punish the abusers" he finished for her. She didn't meet his eye for a moment but they both knew what he meant. Her assault was plain for everyone to see.
"I will not deny it."
"You would go to Hell if I were your patron." She nodded stiffly.
"I know."

She was decided then.
"If you went to Hell, you would be just another tortured soul."
"I know."
"It would be for eternity."
"I know."
"You would not receive any leniency."

She growled with frustration, and Lucifer had to stifle the snort of laughter as she stamped her foot into the grass.

"I know dammit! Will you be my patron?!" Lucifer snickered and with a flourish of magic that made the collective coven gasp and murmur, he offered a contract to the little witch. She took the parchment piece and stared hard at the cursive script of the contract. She looked at him.
"Do you have a quill?" He chuckled again at her urgency.
"Read it first." She huffed and began reading. The moon drifted lower in the sky and Lucifer could feel the rising tension of the women surrounding their circle.

The little witch looked up from the contract.
"You are giving me a job when I go down?" Lucifer nodded and tried to shrug it off nonchalantly.
"I think it a fair trade. You become the guardian of the eternal dead, and I teach you everything you need to know." She scoffed.
"But we all die here, how can we die again?" If only she knew.
"You'll find out if you sign." Her brows drew together as she read over the last of the document.
"You dinnae ask for my soul." Lucifer shrugged, unable to bring himself to explain why he'd let her keep her soul. That he could feel its warm glow, and it drew him in.
"Consider it a gift."

For the first time, he saw a smile light the little witch's face. It was small, barely registering on her face, barely the quirk of her lips, but she smiled, like it was a secret, to herself. For that moment, his chest tightened, and he had to hold himself still at the warmth that slithered through him. Her eyelashes brushed her cheeks as she glanced up at him, wiggling her fingers.
"Quill?"
Lucifer snapped his fingers, and a plush, white feathered quill appeared in the little witch's hand already inked. She jumped, and the smile grew. He should stop her before she could sign her name. The smile was too much, her grace too much.
He would devour her goodness, even as she thanked him. She would regret eventually, would resent him eventually. When she died and travelled down, she would realise what she sold herself into for the trivial pursuit of change.
"Are you sure?" His voice croaked out, less like the smooth, cavalier Devil, and more like an angel, asking those under him, if they were sure they'd follow him unto death. Like those very angels, the little witch looked up at him with a determined smile.

"Fair is foul, and foul is fair."

She took the quill from him and waggled her finger at him. Confused, he cocked his head at her. She waved again.
"Turn around."

She wouldn't.

He turned around. Against the darkness of his shadows, he felt her step up behind him, and the parchment brushed against his back.

Oh but she did. She had used him as a brace as she signed her name at the bottom of the document. He turned around when she pulled away and he held out his hand with a feral grin. Her triumphant smile dimmed.
"B-But I already signed-"
"I like to seal my deals a little differently, little witch." He snapped his fingers and the contract vanished in golden sparks. Lucifer reached out and she hesitated for only a second, her eyes taking in the tapered claws on his fingers. When hers slipped into him, he marvelled at the calloused palm, her grip soft in his. He tugged her forward gently, distantly aware of her wounded leg. She pulled up flush against him, eyes wide and sparking in the moonlight. He could just make out the colour, a grey blue tone, washed out in the semi-dark.
Her tongue dipped out and wet her bottom lip.
"What are you-"
He leaned down, and as gently as he could with her swollen, bruised face, pressed his mouth against her forehead. One would barely consider it a kiss, but the idea of hurting her would be unforgivable. Lucifer felt droplets of his power flow between them, the warmth of her skin, heating and flaring as the power healed her wounds from the inside out. He felt her flinch as she gasped, and held her steady as she jumped back. He couldn't help it, he laughed again as her hand came to clap over her mouth. With a shower of golden sparks, the contract between them was sealed.
She looked at him with bright, clear eyes, no longer tinged in pain and blinked rapidly, feeling her face for the scrapes and swollen bruises he'd introduced himself to. He winked and swept into another elaborate bow.
"You're mine now…And I take care of my people."

The little witch flushed a deep red and when she spoke, her voice was smoother than before, sweet and honeyed. She bent, sweeping into a deep curtsy, holding the hem of her shift.
"Thank you, my lord." Lucifer rolled his eyes and with a grin at the shocked witches surrounding them, he lifted her hand and kissed her open palm.
"I think we're past 'my lord' now. Don't you, little witch? Say my name."
The little witch flushed deeper, her blood singing as her collarbones turned pink, and wasn't it such a pretty shade on her too? She didn't meet his eyes but looked to the ground, his hooves. He leaned in closer, trying to hear her quiet mumble. He loomed over her, grinning as she grew stiffer the closer he got.
"T-Thank you, Luci-Lucifer." His grin grew and he turned slightly, breathing in the herbal, beeswax scent of her neck.
"Excellent work." He watched the skin of her neck pebble and he pulled away, delighted by the response. She blinked up at him, chest rising and falling faster and faster.
"My name is Eilidh."
lightening lanced through his blood as he looked at the witch again.

"Eilidh?" She nodded slowly. Lucifer stooped and picked up the apple the little witch- Eilidh- had dropped.Like calls to like. Lucifer stooped, picking up the fallen apple and wiping it clean to give himself a moment. He bit into it and savoured the fresh, waxy skin, the sweet juice that dribbled down his throat. A witch who burned so brightly, calling uponhim, bringer of the dawn. The fates were laughing at him.
"I'll be back when you call Eilidh. Best you get home. Dawn is coming."

With one more flourish, because who wouldn't want to put on a show for their new pupil, Lucifer released his wings and flapped once, twice and a third, shooting into the sky. He didn't turn to watch what happened as he left, knowing his little witch -Eilidh- would face the consequences of her actions with the same power she'd brought him down to her with.
And if they punished her?

Well, he'd just have to step in.