‘Get out of my house!’ I screamed at the girl in my kitchen.

She looked at me with a sort of bemusement. ‘No.’

Girls can be maddening. No offence to all the girls in my life-they’re all cool. But really, a girl teleporting into my house and stealing ice cream? Not very cool.

‘Who are you, anyway?’ I asked.

She took a big bite of the chocolate ice cream my mother had made (well, it tasted more like chocolate-flavoured ice) and said casually, ‘Satan’s daughter.’ like she was saying, ‘The mall.’

I raised an eyebrow. ‘The dude with the horns and pitchfork? That one?’

She nodded.

‘Prove it.’ I turned the statement into an order.

She took it as a challenge and held up her palm. A tiny fire danced across it. Seeing that I was sufficiently impressed, she stoppped and continued to diminish the ice cream poplation in my fridge.

‘How did you get here?’ I was still a little suspicious.

‘Accident. But Dad doesn’t like it when I make accidents. The last time that happened, he caused the Great Fire of London.’

A bead of sweat ran down the side of my face. ‘Well, get going! I don’t need another Great Fire in my house!’

She rolled her eyes. ‘After I finish this tub of ice cream.’

‘Take it with you and get out.’ I was beginning to get a little nervous.

‘Yeah, whatever. Bye!’

She blinked out of existence like Thanos had just snapped his fingers.

I was about to dismss it as a stress-induced hallucination when the devil himself appeared behind me.

‘Ahh!’ If deities were going to continue to sneak up on me, I would have to get a new set of bottoms.

‘Chill, bro. You seen my little girl?’ he spoke with no trace of an accent, and didn’t have horns or a pitchfork. Just looking very human.

‘Yes. She just disappeared.’ I tried not to sound like a hamster.

‘That girl. Always running off. You see her again, you call this number, alright?’

A business card appeared in my hand. It was embossed with a pitchfork and wrote, ‘Satan and Co.’ On the flipside was a number about as long as pi.

‘You- you won’t kill me?’ I did my best to not sound hopeful.

He shook his head. ‘Nah. I’ve got not much energy. Been tracking her for weeks already. I can’t even make fire at this point. Well, I’ve got to go. See ya!’

With that, he disappeared.

I totally forgot about this until a few weeks later, when I heard the sound of an ice cream tub being opened, though I was home alone.

Pulling out the business card, I took five minutes to type in the number.

'Hello? I've spotted Mr. Satan's daughter...'

I see the smudged symbol too late. Times like this, I wish spell check existed for Satanic rituals. The best I can hope is that nothing happens and I just have to find another squirrel to sacrifice.

The pentagram bubbles. I should know better than to hope by now. A sulphurous bang rocks the basement. When the smoke clears, a teenage girl is pouting in center of the circle. For a moment, I think her hair's on fire, but no, it's really that red, the same lively shade as her eyes. She looks almost human otherwise, gangly and awkward and freckled.

She's definitely not the low-level demon I was trying to summon. Those tend to be more humanoid than human, and usually have at least one horn or bulbous lump.

"Who the hell are you, and why am I here? Also, where is here?" she demands.

"Uh," I say. I've never been asked such useless questions by a demon. Every question answered creates a debt. She should be smart enough to avoid that. It's got to be a trap. "I'll answer your questions if you swear to answer mine."

She shrugs and rolls her eyes. "Sure, whatever."

Has she never done this before? Don't demons have some kind of schooling for this? "You've got to swear it."

She groans. "Ugh, you're just as bad as my dad. I swear to answer your questions in exchange, blah, blah, blah."

The ground rumbles somberly, unleashing a fresh wave of sulphur.

"Who's your dad?" I curse my self for wasting a question, but there was something about the way she said it.

She looks at me sideways, mouth twisted in disbelief. "Seriously? Isn't it obvious?"

A crueler man would count those as questions, but, whatever she is, she looks enough like a child that I can't bring myself to add them to the tally. "No, it's not obvious," I answer.

She rolls her eyes. "My dad is Satan. Duh."

I stumble back a step with a strangled gasp. "Satan, as in the Satan, our immortal lord and damner, rules Hell and all that?"

"What, is there another one?" she says.

I shake my head in disbelief. "You're really trying to tell me you're the daughter of Satan?"

"Um, yeah. I've got his eyes, see?" She leans her head forward and widens said eyes. Having never actually met Satan, I've got no idea whether his eyes also look like they're on the verge of shooting flames, but it seems plausible.

If she is Satan's daughter, keeping her trapped in a circle might trigger his fiery wrath. If she isn't, and I let her go, there's a good chance she'll take the opportunity to kill me painfully. Actually, even if she is, there's a good chance of that. But banishing Satan's daughter is definitely a no-no.

Painful death is better than Satan's fiery wrath, I decide.

I turn to the girl who might be literal Satan-spawn. She says, "Dad's gonna to be real pissed either way, but you should really let me out of this circle." I wonder whether she can read thoughts or just faces, but even I am not dumb enough to ask that.

I cringe. "Uh, yeah, I'll get right on that." I pick up my oaken staff, close my eyes, and focus on the energies in the room. Despite the buffer of the circle, I can sense the immense potential for power barely contained by the girl's form. She's not lying, and I am so screwed. I sharpen my focus on my tightly woven circle. It's a pretty good one, if I do say so myself. A shame to break it, but I bring my staff down to shatter it's hold. Power rushes back to the Well and the girl-shaped powder keg steps over the remnants.

I open my eyes to see her staring at me, arms crossed. "Are you done with your little magic show?" she asks.

Knowing better than to tally any of her questions now, I say, "Yes, again, so sorry about the inconvenience. Is there anything I can do for you? And maybe you can forget to mention this when you get back home?"

She tilts her head in mock thoughtfulness. "You know, some ice cream couldn't hurt."

I nod, desperate for anything that might delay the ineveitable. "Yes, of course." Satan is going to torture me so, so much. "Kitchen is upstairs."

She smiles savagely, relishing my pain. "Lead the way."

I gulp, but she could kill me just as easily while I'm facing her, so I turn and go up the stairs. Satan's daughter follows me to the kitchen. I go to the freezer, thankful for the burst of cool air. Is the room getting warmer? A line of sweat carves a path down my back.

I clear the lump from my throat. "I've got, let's see, chocolate, mint-chocolate chip, lemon, and rocky road," I say into the freezer.

"Hmm," she says from somewhere in the vicinity of the kitchen table. "I think I'll have a scoop of each."

"Yes, of course, right way." I gather the tubs and place them on the counter.

She laughs. "Wow, you're so much nicer now. You're real scared of my dad, huh?"

At this point, I might be just as scared of her. "He is all-powerful."

I see her shaking her head out of the corner of my eye. "No, not all-powerful. Just, super-powerful. Definitely way, way, way more powerful than you. I mean, I'm just his daughter and I could crush you like a bug."

Shit shit shit. My shaking hands rattle the dinnerware as I grab a bowl. I cast about for some plan that does not end in my painful death and eternal damnation as I scoop the ice cream.

I all but drop the bowl in front of her before darting back to cower beside the sink. Not that I'm any safer there.

Satan's daughter, whose name I'm not sure whether to ask, sits in my kitchen, spooning the strange ice cream concoction, and says, "Dad's gonna kill you so, so bad."

"Yes," I agree in resignation.

She regards a spoonful of ice cream. "My name's Lucy, by the way." She licks the spoon and tilts her head at me.

I'm not sure whether I'm supposed to use her name or not, but I'm in for a whole lot of pain either way, so I say, "Hi, Lucy."

She smiles a little. "No one actually uses my name. My dad calls me DD, you know, like darling daughter? It's embarassing but he won't stop. And everyone else just calls me Your Highness."

Shit. "Should I, uh, call you Your Highness?"

She sighs in exasperation. "You're literally not listening at all. I don't even know why I expected you to."

"You want me to call you Lucy?" I ask hesistantly.

She rolls her eyes. "Yes. You're so dense. But, everyone is. Even my dad."

I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to agree with that. "Okay, so, Lucy."

She nods and takes another bite of her now half-melted ice cream. I twitch in the silence. She notices my twitching and sighs. "Fine, okay, I'm not gonna tell my dad. Happy?"

She's definitely messing with me. "Well, yes, that would make me happy."

Setting her spoon on the table with more force than is strictly necessary, she turns in the chair to face me. "I'm serious! I just wanted to watch you, you know, squirm a little. It's funny. But, like, my dad would actually fuck you up real bad and I don't really like watching that. It's kinda gross? With all the squishy guts and everything."

I force myself not to think about all the terrible things that could happen to my squishy guts. It still seems too good to be true. But what the hell? "Er, thank you. Very much. I also like my squishy guts untouched. So, thank you very much." I stop as an unpleasant thought strikes me. "Wait, does this mean I owe some unpayable debt to you?"

Lucy gapes at me, affronted. "No, does everything always have to have a price? You're just as bad as the demons! Always talking about debts and promises and bargains. It's so annoying."

"Uh, yeah. I guess it is."

She tilts her head. "Why do you even deal with demons? You know, you don't have to. Not like me, I don't have a choice. But you bet your ass the moment I'm eighteen I'm getting the hell out of Hell." I doubt it'll be that easy, but I'm not going to be the one to burst her bubble.

She's waiting for me to answer. "I'm, well, a kind of businessman, I suppose," I say. "I used to be a more conventional sort of businessman, and demons are actually much more pleasant to deal with than my old clients. It's also more lucrative."

She wrinkles her nose. "So all you care about is money."

I shrug. "Not all, but money is power, and I like power."

She huffs. "That's messed up."

"Yeah."

She scoops up the last bit of sludge from her bowl. "Where should I put this?" she asks.

I must look surprised, because she rolls her eyes and says, "What? I can have manners when I want."

"Yeah, of course. Uh, just in the sink is fine." I watch as she deposits the bowl into the sink and lets it fill with water. She rinses her hands and shakes them dry. I wince a little as the droplets land on the freshly shined oven door.

"I should get going. My dad's gotta notice I'm gone eventually," she says.

"Yeah," I agree.

She salutes me with a grin. "Been nice knowing you. Thanks for the ice cream."

"Er, you're welcome. Lucy," I say as she vanishes into a portal of spinning flames. The portal blinks out, leaving a faint scent of sulfur and the echoes of the screams of the damned.

I sink slowly onto the concrete kitchen floor, staring at the after-image of the afternoon.

"I literally just wanted Wendy's," I grumbled.

"Oh, Dad's gonna kill you," she replied with a smile.

The genie was sitting on the counter with a devious smile. It was as if they were in on this together. The genie had told me I could get anything I wanted after I had accidentally washed the little weird teapot my mom had brought back from her trip to Morocco. She had told me that the top was stuck on it, but after soaking it for three days, it came right off and out popped this cheeky Arabic teenager who told me he would grant my every wish. Sure, I could've just asked for a car or asked what time the bus was running, but I just knew that this was an easy wish that couldn't be fucked up.

"Wendy's. I want Wendy's!" I had said.

He shrugged and snapped, and instead of a bag of greasy, questionable chicken nuggets, I got an irritated, fourteen-year-old, freckled redhead who helped herself to my mom's lactose-free chocolate chip ice-cream and was telling me I was going to get in so much trouble when her dad found out. Now, when she wasn't taunting me, I noticed that she was making goo-goo eyes at Fahid, who was making no efforts to hide his infatuation with her.

"How did you bring this little twat here when I asked for Wendy's? Wendy's! With an s!"

"Whoops, guess I misheard," he said, without looking at me.

"Oh, dad's gonna--"

"Oh, shut up. I'm in middle school. Your dad can't do shit to me that I haven't already felt."

She shrugged and kept eating the ice-cream.

"Is her name even Wendy?"

"It's Eva, twat," the girl sighed with an eye roll.

"So, you just used my wish to bring your girlfriend here?" I said to Fahid.

"Listen, when you're a genie, you can bend the rules a bit. Plus, how do you think I got in the damn lamp in the first place? He caught us."

"He caught you?"

"The doors don't lock in Hell," Eva said with an eye roll. "You wouldn't understand true love, kid."

"True love? You both are literally only two years older than me."

Eva shrugged. "My dad will be here any second to fry you."

"Yeah, I'll be terrified when the Burger King shows up to kill me. Can I use my second damn wish now?"

"Just make it quick. I made dinner reservations," Fahid said, eliciting a surprised gasp from Eva.

"I wish you were free, and you and Eva could go and be happy. Get out,"

Fahid smiled with part gratefulness and part deviousness. He snapped and the shackles disintegrated.

"You know, you could've just broken the lamp and saved your wishes. But thanks anyway, kid."

I rolled my eyes. Fahid pulled Eva into his arms, and the two disappeared. I looked at the clock. My mom would be back in twenty minutes, and of course, the one time I tried to do my chores on time some magical shit she would never believe happened to make me unable to finish them. I scrubbed at the pan when I felt the room getting hotter and hotter. I turned around to see a flaming Colonel Sanders looking at me.

"Are you Danielle Sanchez?" he asked in a booming voice.

"Listen, they just left. I wished he'd be free, and they'd go be happy, so just go to wherever she's happy, and you'll probably find them."

"Damn kids," Colonel Sanders said, turning to walk out.

I looked back and saw that he had left charred footprints in the kitchen all the way to the front door that he had kicked open, singeing it, and walked out of without closing. My mother would never believe that this wasn't my fault. A part of me wished that I had that last wish still, though with my luck today, I was better off just taking the ass whooping instead of trying to get out of this mess with magic. I just hoped she got my mental plea and brought me some chicken nuggets from Wendys. That was the least Fahid could do since I'd given him happiness. Though, when my mom showed up a couple of minutes later, earlier than planned, without a bag of greasiness in her hand, I knew he had once again failed me. I rolled my eyes and finished painting the burnt part of the door.

She sat on her throne,

carved from demon's bones,

polished with crimson blood.

She was not impassive,

So unlike her father

She always grinned in gory glee

She looked down at her subjects

Or what remained of them

Flesh and bones disarray

She needed fresh blood

So she reached for her father

The Devil...they called him

She cackled in amusement

If he were the Devil

What would she be?

What should we call an evil

Who was greater than he?

He, feared by all, even gods?

Let's think for that another time

For now, she shall bask in triumph

For her turn to rule has come

She suddenly felt a pull

It tugged her away

Up, up and upwards

A mundane kitchen

She found herself there

Quite amusing, she thought

Instead of a throne

She sat on a stool

With backrest's absence

Instead of blood

She was faced with strawberries

Frozen in sweet cream

With as much fervor

As she would show with blood

She drowned herself with pink cold cream

She only later noticed

A poor mortal agape

Such a poor unfortunate soul

You dare summon me?

Asked she, feigning anger

Oh Dad's gonna kill you

She said in a teasing tone

Too bad I killed him first

Aubrey- Devil’s Daughter. (Stole it from TAZ amnesty)

Toby- MC.

Toby awakes to the sound of a Tub of Ice Cream opening. Oh hell no, that’s my damn ice cream. He starts running towards the sound. He glances around the room, not seeing anything, and then bends down to check his ice cream, but it’s not there. “Oh fucking shit.”

“What?” A voice comes from the fridge. He opens it, confused. “Up here, stupid.” He looks up. The surprise is visible. Not only did she get in his house without him hearing, but she is on top of his fridge, eating his ice cream.

“Who the hell are you? How did you get into my house? Why are you eating my ice cream.” He is trembling.

“My name is Aubrey, and I’m not telling you how I got here. I’m eating your ice cream, because I don’t have ice cream at home, because I don’t feel like buying some.”

“But why My ice cream? I just got that...” He says, looking her straight in the eyes. Instead of being whiney, he is standing up to his full height, to where his head is almost touching the ceiling. He grabs Aubrey by the collar of her shirt, and sets her on the floor. He is looming above her “I haven’t had any of that.” He is obviously not a very happy camper.

“It’s the only house with ice cream on this street.” With this, he says,

“Find a different street.” HE takes the ice cream from her. and princess carries her to his porch. He sets her on the sidewalk, and ges inside, closing and locking the door. He eat the rest of the ice cream, and goes to throw it away, and sees aubrey again.

“Oh,vdad is gonna kiiiilllllll youuuuu”

"Okay, Draco." He just goes to sleep.

That was clever, giving me the wrong ritual. I’ll be the first to say I underestimated you. You were never a particularly bright or gifted witch, but you did possess an extraordinary talent for lying. I nearly believed those gushing crocodile tears and that poetic performance of your sappy apology. You just loved to torture me at the Academy, but I thought joining a coven might have changed you. I guess I thought you’d grow up. My mistake.

Now thanks to you, my house smells of charred flesh, and Satan’s beady-eyed teenage brat is raiding my freezer and eating my mint chocolate chip. After every spoonful, she reminds me in her pitchy soprano of all the ways her dad is going to kill me. She has quite the imagination, or maybe she’s learning the family business. I’ve heard she’s butchered at at least six thousand souls and sent them straight to dear old daddy. Quite the prodigy he has. Sending her to me was foolish and reckless. Satan barely needs an excuse to wreak havoc on earth, and now he’ll target all witches, not just me.

I hope you realize the consequences of your little prank, because I know that if you survive Satan’s rampage, you better hope the Sisterhood reaches you first. I won’t be so merciful. Watch your back, Sister.