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“It’s rare that a human is strong enough to fight our glamour,” he says. The demon smiles, flashing pointed teeth. “That makes it more fun.” His eyes flare bright orange, the magic in them strong enough to turn me catatonic were I not protected by Minerva’s eye drops. Still, I know what’s expected of me. And I know if I refuse him, I’m as good as dead, regardless.

“Open that beautiful mouth of yours,” he commands again. Tears prick my eyes as I obey him, letting him stick that clear thing on my tongue. It’s tasteless and dissolves instantly. “Sweet dreams, pet.”

One moment, I’m lying on the bed, surrounded by demons, and the next they’re gone. Memories blink into and out of existence faster than I can track them as everything I am slowly fades away.

And then I become someone else.

My eyelids are heavy with sleep. Yawning, I peer at my Bible and roll toward it.

It’s time for evening prayers.

Dressed in long, silky green pajamas, I stare out my curtained window, where lamplights flicker on an empty suburban street. Gosh, it’s late.

I shouldn’t have stayed at my boyfriend’s house for so long. If Dad finds out, he’s going to be mad. But he’s working the night shift tonight, so I’m probably safe. Besides, I can always lie and say college classes ran late.

I stare at the Bible and frown. Lying probably isn’t the right thing to do.

Flipping to the bookmarked page, I read the quote I last left off on.

“Submit yourself therefore to God. Resist the devil and he will flee from you.”

Suddenly, the words scramble.

“Submit yourself therefore to demons. Embrace them and they will pleasure you.”

Chest heaving, I slam the book shut as fast as if I’d burned my hand on the stove. Quickly, I scramble off the bed, hugging the pink wall Dad helped me paint over the summer. Squeezing my eyes shut, I count to ten, trying to still my frantic heart.

You’re alright, Julia, you’re just tired.

And I am tired. I’m so gosh-darn tired.

I run my fingers through my damp, freshly showered hair, inhaling the floral shampoo. When I crawl back into bed and reopen my Bible, the words are exactly as they should be. Sighing, I decide that’s enough reading for tonight and return the book to my nightstand, settling instead for a few hushed prayers. Tomorrow, I’ll catch back up with my Bible study group, when it’s not so dark outside and so many hours past curfew.

I turn the lamp off and climb beneath my fluffy comforter, curling up with a pillow. But the second I close my eyes, a hand wraps around my ankle. Sharp claws dig into my skin. My hands dart for the lamp again. When I flick it on and toss the covers off me, there’s nothing there.

Am I losing my mind?

Swallowing, I force myself back to bed, determined to get some rest before early morning Mass. My hands pause on the light’s pull tab before finally clicking it off. As I return the covers to my body and settle into the mattress, the room’s familiar quiet lulls me into a place of peace. And then there’s hands on both my ankles, sharp claws prying my legs apart.

A shrill scream rips from my lungs.

Horned demons—literal, biblical demons—crouch on every corner of the bed. Two at my legs. Two at my arms. They pull me in every direction as I kick and claw at them. Clothes shred, the green fabric scattering across my bedroom floor. Thick ropes knot around my ankles and wrists, forcing them apart as the demons tie me to the bedposts.

“Please,” I beg. “I’m still a virgin.”

The one closest to my face laughs. Stripping the dress shirt from his body, he tosses it to a heap on the carpet and climbs over me, his heavy thighs straddling my face. A thick bulge tents his black dress pants as he unthreads the buttons there. I shake my head back and forth and scream again, praying Dad will get home early—will save me.

But it’s not Dad’s voice I hear.

“She’s not your pet,” someone whispers, their voice low and menacing. My brows furrow. The sound is coming from somewhere else, somewhere not in this room. “Stop it.”

“And she’s yours, Sylrin? How come I’ve never seen you with her?” Again, the words come from somewhere else. For the span of an eye-blink, the room changes—only slightly—exposing the same four demons that had been crowding my bed, now sitting peacefully on the floor, their ribbed penises in hand. And then they’re back to where they started, one of them virtually crushing my shoulders as he works the final button on his trousers free.

Daemon. The name comes unbidden, just as the demon’s red length spills out in front of my face. Before he can position it where he wants, the voice is back.

“She’s my son’s, and he wouldn’t be pleased to see you screwing with her mind.”

“I didn’t think your son took pets.”