A Midsummer Night's Demon

By Alexa Piper

The son of the Lord of Hell, Lark, is engaged to a demon whom he does not love. He escapes hell, his father, and his fiancé. His flight takes him to the human plane, where he finds himself summoned by Chris, former lawyer and current accountant of St. John Investigations.

Chris really just wanted to learn about demonic math when he decided to summon one of the denizens of hell, but confronted with Lark, he decides getting the beautiful demon into his bed is far more appealing than accounting.

But Lark’s escape from hell does not go unnoticed, and soon the Lord of Hell himself arrives in Fairview to take his son back to the altar. Three wicked witches also come to the city looking for a love that was dragged to hell. It might just be one magical desk that holds the key to everyone’s happiness and happily-ever-after.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Changeling Press
• Release date: Jun 12, 2020

Book preview

Introduction

Welcome, Faintly Fuckable Reader, to this book.

My name is Valerian Smith, and I am not the author of this book -- but the author of this book seems incapable of dedicating her work to anyone. Let me begin, then, by dedicating this to you, you innocent human creature!

There is some sexual content in this book. There is some fucking, and some of it might even arouse you. I promise you, you will only be mildly aroused, however, because I am not in this book. Much. I managed to improve the glossary that is included at the end. The glossary itself was needed because a certain author behaves like a kleptomaniac on crack when it comes to the world’s mythologies.

There is also some cursing in this book, my Faintly Fuckable Human. Sometimes it occurs alongside the fucking. If this is challenging for you, I advise you to pour yourself a drink while you read. Plum wine is what I normally recommend, but don’t do that. The plum wine is for when you read about me, so go have some rum, hmm? It’ll make this easier for both of us, I promise. Go ahead, get yourself that drink. I’ll wait until you are ready.

Wonderful, you’re all set. Have a read, then, and be sure to have a refill or three. Heavens know this author tries.

Oh, and my dear and very Faintly Fuckable Human Reader, do be sure to have that plum wine ready. You will read about me again, and you’ll enjoy it.

Love,

Valerian

Chapter One

The desk felt like stirring. Its wood had rested for ages and ages, and its pegs were snug and fit just so. Its locks and secret compartments remained undisturbed and guarded securely, but recently, there had been things that made it want to move, to ease the wood it had been made from, and creak.

Firstly, there had been a lustful glare. Not so much for the desk itself, it knew. But a creature of power as dark and hard as polished obsidian had considered, in some detail, to bend a mage over the desk’s smooth surface, to take her, hard and fast, to feel her respond with ecstasy and sizzling lust only so the creature could conquer her body all over again. The desk could feel those fantasies, and it had creaked then.

Secondly, there was the mage herself, a petite being in comparison to the desk, but bright with power. She had seen the desk’s locked drawer, even though the desk normally hid that, and hid it well. The desk longed for her, her fingers brushing dust away, her coffee mug kissing heat against its surface. The desk loved when she was close, her arms resting on it while she typed on her work-warmed computer, her knee brushing up against its underside when she crossed her legs. Why she had needed a vacation from that, the desk did not understand.

Thirdly, an old owner had spotted the desk and recognized it immediately. Faintly, the desk had wondered what he was still doing, being alive and walking -- so unlike humans to last that long -- but it had not wondered overlong. The desk was used to some strangeness.

An accountant had claimed it when the old owner had pointed at the desk possessively, and the desk had uttered the faintest of creaks. Of course, the accountant was not the mage, was certainly a good deal more murdery, but there was always something special about being owned. There was never a piece of sentient furniture that did not agree, and so the desk had warmed somewhat to the green-eyed number wiz. It had considered its locks. It had considered revealing some, possibly opening them so the accountant’s nimble fingers could rifle through the secrets within.

Having been the accountant’s preferred space on which to read the ancient tomes that were kept on bookshelves in another room gave the desk clues as to what to show him to demonstrate to him it had enjoyed being claimed. The accountant had developed an interest in the underworld, and the desk had a faint glimmer of knowledge about that, hidden well away. It hoped the mage would not fall jealous when she learned the desk had revealed its secrets to the accountant first.

Then again, maybe the desk wanted her jealous if only it meant she’d come back. It would be even better, considered the desk, if she brought with her that dark creature and let him do to her what he had imagined in quite some detail. The desk had noted these imagined acts, had admired the dark creature’s creative desire. It imagined how it would support her when the creature took her, imagined how her breaths would mist against its wood, how her body against it would feel like fire.

Lost in daydreams of sweat and salt and other juices mingling on its surface, the desk creaked, but there was no one there to hear how it had stirred.

* * *

Chris was waiting at a crossroads for the moon to reach its zenith. It was a nice night for summoning, or at the very least, it was a nice night, warm with spring, and quiet, perfectly cloudless. Chris didn’t really know what was good for summoning as he had never ever done such a thing before, unless calling forth a witness to the witness stand qualified.

Chris brushed chalk from his hands and looked at the design he had drawn onto the concrete. The circle had needed some adjusting -- a manhole had interrupted the pattern, and in the end he had moved it just a bit, hoping that it was still close enough to where the roads intersected to get the summoning done.

The Vineyard was very cozy for calling a demon, Chris thought. He had considered finding an abandoned spot at the docks, but it turned out rich people didn’t hang out in the streets much after dark. Instead, the streets were very empty, and because it was the Vineyard, they were very clean, made scenic by walled-in or fenced-off front yards, some of which sported a fountain or a pond. All the hedges in the Vineyard were well-trimmed.

Chris liked rich people, and not just for their skill -- or their gardeners’ skills -- with trimming greenery. He was himself not exactly poor, but he didn’t care much for money. He enjoyed taking care of it, though. He enjoyed accounting, because seeing things balanced just so always flooded Chris with a deep sense of happiness.

Thinking that demons should be the best accountants between this world and the one that was called the In-Between was exciting. Chris hoped they did trainings. He would love to learn a thing or two about demonic math or hellish arithmetic.

The moon was almost where he needed it to be, and so Chris pulled out the piece of paper he had found tucked way back in a drawer of Cora’s desk. He had not even noticed that drawer when he’d first taken over for Cora while she and Valerian were in China, but it had certainly been there when he’d opened it to clean and organize it.

He cleared his throat. I summon thee like dying night summons morning’s first breath, come anon, Lark, demon of demon borne, demon birthed by witch, meet me at moon’s apex where roads cut crosses in the earth, where paths meet and diverge. I call thee. Come.

Chris looked around. The Vineyard was still quiet. Nothing stirred. A fountain twinkled happily behind a ruler-straight hedge. Too bad. A demon would’ve been fun, Chris said and stuffed the paper back into his jacket pocket. He looked at the circle, chalked just like one of Rafe’s books had said to chalk a demon-summoning circle. Chris wondered what the residents would make of it. Perhaps he should leave some of Rafe’s cards in a few mailboxes nearby. It might get them a concerned client who wanted a PI to make sure the neighbors were not Satanists.

Before Chris could take a step away from the chalk circle and toward a mailbox, the air stirred and began to sizzle with electricity. A scent of earth and mulch permeated everything, and rumbling thunder rolled through the cloudless climes. In the circle, someone took shape.

Wow, Chris said. He had summoned a demon, he really had. Had Cora been there -- or Valerian for that matter -- he’d have high-fived them. Life’s good. He had another thing to scratch off the old bucket list.

The human plane! the demon said when he had become fully corporeal. He stood in the center of the circle and looked around with bright blue eyes. His raven hair appeared feathery soft. Fuck. Are demons supposed to look this good? I hope this one isn’t taken. The demon looked at Chris. You summoned me. Thank you, I am in your debt. My name is Lark. What’s yours?

Chris looked the demon up and down. I hope this hell creature is open