A slender, long-limbed man in a black suit strolled along the rooftops of a business district on the fringes of Atlanta, just before the city gave way to endless suburban sprawl. Doctor Mercurial didn’t know what he was looking for tonight. Maybe he was just enjoying the city, and the night.

As he walked the edge of an abandoned warehouse, a flicker of candlelight through the window caught his eye. He stepped back from the edge of the roof, and to the broad, steel rafters beneath it.

On the floor below him, four figures sat around a circle drawn on the floor in red and white chalk. The circle was inlaid with what looked like a complex arrangement of lines and swirls, many forming discrete runes. All around them were dozens of red candles. The figures were all dressed in black, the candles revealing the shine of leather and glint of numerous buckles. It was hard to tell from this distance, in that lighting, but he thought he detected considerable use of fishnets. Three heads had long, black hair, the fourth bore a bleached pixie cut. One of them had a book open on her knees, and was droning something in a low rhythm that might have been chanting.

Mercurial stifled a chuckle. It seemed he’d stumbled upon a coven of would-be witches in the middle of a ritual. He stepped from his rafter to the one immediately over their heads to listen in.

The one leading the ritual was a broad one. Her bodice bore four belts, and pushed up her ample chest, containing it with fishnets connecting to her otherwise detached sleeves and a band around her neck. Her skirt was short, and though her legs had seemed bare at first, more fishnets ran all the way to her heavy boots. She rambled something in what might have been Latin. When it was over, she added. “Come, Satan. I, Faline, offer my body and soul in exchange for your service.”

Merc barely managed to keep himself from laughing. They were those kind of witches.

The one to her left, the one with white hair, was a tiny, slight thing. Her face was pierced in at least a dozen places, and she wore a diaphanous dress over a black bikini top with heart-and-skull motif, leather pants so tight they practically looked painted on, and knee-high heeled boots. Her hips, however, were very broad, giving her an impressively wide gap between her thighs. “Come, Satan,” she echoed. “I, Gossamer, offer my body and soul in exchange for your service.”

The next one around the circle wore an elegant full-length dress with a corset. Sleeves started at her elbows and looped around her thumbs, held up by chains connected to the dress, and a broad leather collar with a loop where someone could attach a leash. She was alarmingly thin, with prominent shoulders, sunken cheeks, and even the shape of her knees visible with how the dress laid over them. She also wore the most makeup, bringing her face to a nearly perfect white. The shape of her jaw caught Merc’s attention, and when she spoke, her voice confirmed it. Coven sister she was, no doubt, but Merc wasn’t the only one in the room carrying a Y chromosome. “Come, Satan. I, Jezebel, offer my body and soul in exchange for your service.”

Last was the tallest one, approaching six feet. Thin and fit, with narrow waist nicely displayed by her midriff shirt, she definitely put some effort into it, perhaps jogging regularly. Her face was unfortunate, however, with the structure of her mouth putting her crooked teeth on constant display.Her pants had over a dozen straps between her legs, and more connected her jacket’s sleeves behind her back. “Come, Satan. I, Raven, offer my body and soul in exchange for your service.”

Mercurial couldn’t stop grinning. They were so solemn. Not one had so much as hesitated. They were really committed to this Satan-summoning ritual. In the first few seconds, they were collectively growing nervous that Satan hadn’t appeared.

Very well. Merc pulled out a handkerchief, wrapped it around his chin, then deposited it back in his pocket, giving himself a goatee. He could be Satan.

He reached into his pocket, conjuring up a handful of smoke pellets, then tossed them to the floor in the middle of the circle, where they crackled and sparked on impact, quickly generating a column of red and grey smoke. Squatting low, he teleported into the smoke, then rose dramatically back to his full height to loom over the young women, facing Faline.

Gossamer scrambled back a few feet. Raven tripped herself twice trying to get up, and ran for the door. Jezebel didn’t make a sound. Faline was still, but her eyes shined triumphantly.

Merc watched Raven go, briefly considering doing something to stop her. He hadn’t set anything up, however, and scrambling for it would have made him look less in control. Dismissive of her, he casually scanned the other two. Gossamer was shaking, and coming down from hyperventilation. Jezebel seemed frozen. If her eyes were any wider, they’d fall from her face. He returned his grin to Faline, and extended a hand to her. “Good evening. What do you desire?”

Trembling, perhaps only with excitement, she took his hand and rose to her feet. With a fierce grin, she said “Revenge!”

“For the last six years,” she continued, “three girls have made our lives a living Hell. Stephanie Roche, their ringleader, and her two bootlickers, Ashley and Jenny. We want what they have. Beauty, admiration, money, and hot boyfriends. I want to be the prom queen.”

As the math added up in his head, Merc’s grin grew wider. “And for this, you’ll trade your bodies and souls?” Whether or not souls were real had never, to his knowledge, been verified, even by magic.

Faline nodded firmly. “Yes, Lord of Darkness. We are yours, in this life and the next.”

Merc turned his eyes right. Gossamer had recovered herself, and was now leaning forward with interest. “Yes, Lord.” He looked back over his shoulder. There was a desperate hunger in Jezebel’s eyes. “Ye-” she croaked roughly, then swallowed, moistening her mouth. “Yes, Lord.”

The magician nodded, satisfied. “Don’t leave.” He took a few steps out of their circle, then realized he hadn’t planned an appropriately Satanic exit. The nearest place to hide was through the door, some 30 feet away. Flash paper. He reached into his coat, and pulled out a large black sheet or flash paper, and flung it around his head, causing it to wrap in a cylinder around him, then set it off with a touch. For a fraction of a second, he was surrounded by flame, and teleported back to the roof.

Raven wasn’t in sight. She might still be useful. He began teleporting from roof to roof, searching the area. As he did, he conjured Katie’s ear into his pocket, then drew it to his mouth. “I need you to find a person. Stephanie Roche. High School senior living near southwest Atlanta. I need an address.” He returned the ear to his pocket, then to the woman as he continued his search.

It didn’t take long. Raven had gotten to the nearest major street, and was running along it. Not very fast, as she was hampered by her straps. He took a few steps to get himself to a run, pulling a small, black bag out of his jacket, then teleported immediately behind her, bidding the bag’s mouth to open wide as he snatched it down over her head, then had it close tight around her neck.

The terrified young woman fell. No doubt she shrieked, but no one around her heard a sound. The bag hung limp, its interior in another place.

He pulled at the straps between her sleeves, passing them through her torso, then around her arms to take up their slack, tying her arms to her sides. Her chest heaved with deep breaths and long screams, but the sound carrying back through her neck was heavily muffled. She tried to struggle, but laying on her front and having no idea what she was feeling, her efforts were useless.

Minutes later, back at the warehouse, a black curtain appeared, supported by rods on a pair of posts. It was dark, and no one happened to be looking in that direction, so nobody noticed until Mercurial stepped through it. In one hand he carried a one foot cube black box decorated with silver images of skulls. In the other, he carried a broad, flat sword around two feet long. The “witches”, chattering nervously amongst themselves, fell silent and turned toward him.

“Remain quiet,” he instructed softly as he strode casually into the room, and through the curtain drifted a four-post bed, following him. It was an elaborately carved thing, with light pink, lacy curtains of its own, and a canopy. White sheets rose with the shape of a sleeper beneath them. Realization dawned of the three’s faces, and their realization was confirmed once they could see the face framed by golden hair on the pillow. This was Stephanie. Beside her pillow was another box with sides of maroon velvet, and an arched opening on the side facing them.

Though the bed stopped as soon as it was through, Mercurial continued until he stood a foot away from Faline. He held the box over her head.

Nervous and confused, she looked into its open underside, with its slot to hold the sword, then back into his eyes, and raised her chin confidently, prepared to accept whatever he was going to do.

He brought the box down, then raised the sword, pointing it at her throat.

Jezebel gasped, and took a step forward, reaching out in an effort to protect her coven sister. Merc shot her a level look that fell short of a glare. “You are mine,” he intoned softly but firmly. “You’re going to have to trust me.” Jezebel nodded, and stepped back, clutching her hands together over her heart.

He thrust the sword through the bottom of the box, and through Faline’s neck. The rest of her collapsed to the floor. Gossamer squeaked in surprise. Jezebel’s gasp caught in her throat, and she softly moaned. They could see into her neck, see her spine, throat, muscles, and fat. In fact, they could still see her throat moving with each breath. There was no bleeding.

Mercurial turned, and with an air of ceremony, carried the box and blade containing Faline’s head to the bed. Leaving the sword held by the box in his hand, he picked the one on the bed up, and carefully placed it over Stephanie’s head, the arch fitting around her neck. It was fortunate that none of his new servants could see the black layered sheets covering the top. Up close, it looked far more like a Las Vegas prop than an artifact from Hell.

The woman in the bed began to stir. He didn’t give her time. Turning the skull box so the blade pointed down, he slotted it into the velvet one. Both passed into it as if it was empty. Then, he drew the sword back out, and moved it and the velvet box aside, the skull box nowhere to be seen.

The flawless, big-chested blonde let out a soft “Mmmm?” and stretched. Then, her eyes snapped open, and she shot bolt upright, tossing the sheets aside to stare at the nightgown-clad body underneath. She grabbed around her waist, then all around her body. “Whoa! Whoa, whoa, whoa! This is- I’m-!” She looked at Mercurial with rage, which then softened into contemplation. Then, a devilish smile crept onto her. “Ohh. I see- I understand, Lord!” She lunged out of bed, wrapping her arms around his leg, and nuzzled her cheek against his hip. “This is perfect!”

He smiled, and laid a hand on her head, and looked to the others.

Gossamer looked giddy. “This is so! Cool!”

Jezebel tucked her arms close, withdrawing. Though she stared at Faline with that same desperate hunger, it was still tinted with worry, and now, just a hint of guilt.

It didn’t matter much. It might take a different approach to keep her cooperative, but he had little doubt he had them all.