[ WP ] You are the devil and you have been summoned via a satanic ritual . As you manifest yourself you find yourself in a quaint living room and meet a sweet old lady who just wants some company

`` Again?'' I groaned. It was the second time today, rounding it out to a solid half dozen times I'd been summoned this week. 
 
 The first had been some teenagers in their parents' basement - I collected their souls in exchange for some pretty sweet electric guitars. The next two, legitimate practitioners of the dark arts looking for official permits to use black magic. A lawyer ( yawn ). A drug dealer trying to get clean. And finally a slumber party - which helped me meet my quota for the month. 
 
 I'd been looking forward to a weekend off. Too late now. 
 
 The pull of the summoning was god-awfully strong. This was a good one - I had n't felt a call this solid for around five hundred years. 
 
 `` Someone's been doing their homework,'' I muttered just before my spirit was sucked like a a plastic capsule in one of those vacuum tubes you see at the drive-through portion of a bank through the fabric of reality. Pain hit me hard, as it always does when my physical form manifests. As a spirit, nothing hurts - you just coast. But physical manifestation hurts like a sonovabitch. 
 
 I do n't know what I expected - a dark cathedral with blood fountains, an altar still red and wet from sacrifice; maybe a bonfire roasting a goat; at least a dead chicken. Certainly not a gilded tea service with piping hot... is that Earl Grey? With lemon?! 
 
 `` Scones?'' I asked, sounding dumb even to myself. Blueberry by the look of it. I picked one up - the fucker was still warm from the oven. Tears pricked suddenly in my eyes and I dropped the pastry as though it had burned me. 
 
 I did n't see her at first, she all but blended in with the floral print of the couch. A cloud of blueish hair was in tight curls around her head, and her large, thick glasses gave her the appearance of an owl. Her skin was thin, translucent and papery, and had I the time or the inclination, I could trace each blue vein like a highway map. 
 
 `` You do n't like blueberry?'' she said. Her voice warbled, as though she had n't used it for some time. 
 
 `` What?'' I asked, feeling inept. I was the Morningstar, for crissake, I should n't bumble when mortals spoke to me. 
 
 `` For scones. I knew I should have made pumpkin. You seem like pumpkin a pumpkin man, but my Bob always said Blueberry was the way to go,'' she said, and twisted a lacy handkerchief in her hands with distress. 
 
 `` No, blueberry is lovely... I just --'' 
 
 Then I saw the blood - it was traced in incredibly intricate lines on the floor. Each rune was immaculate, not a drop out of place. 
 
 `` *You* summoned me?'' I asked, more confused than I had been since the dawn of time. I studied her, her soul was pearlescent, but for the smudge on it brought on by summoning the Prince of Darkness to tea. According to her records, she still went to church every Sunday, and up until a couple years ago volunteered as a cook at the homeless shelter. She was the kind of soul I never saw. Never wanted to see. 
 
 A small smile creased her face and she picked up a teacup covered in painted violets and roses and sipped the steaming liquid. 
 
 `` I know, I just wanted to stop bothering Father Larry, who's been really good to me since my children passed on. He's so busy these days, what with the new church over to Scottsdale,'' she said. `` Why do n't you have a scone, since you do seem to like them.'' 
 
 Shockingly, I could. I was *compelled* to pick it up. Damn, that was a fine summoning circle - it even circumvented some of the Big Guy's restrictions on my feeling happiness. *Blueberries! * I had only ever read about them in books, or heard stories by others who had been damned. It's not like Seraphim ever needed to eat anything. 
 
 `` That's a good boy,'' she said, practically beaming as I ate the scone. The tea was perfect. Just enough lemon to balance the Earl Grey. 
 
 She stood, and even if she was n't hunched over, she could n't have been much more than four-feet tall. She moved to turn on a little machine in the back of the room. It whirred to life, and a tube of light flickered and cast an image on the far wall. It was a slide projector. 
 
 `` This is when Sally was born. She was such a good baby. Hardly ever cried. If I'd had Benny before I'd had my Quiet Sal, I do n't know that there would have been a number two,'' she said with a laugh. The machine made a chunking sound, and the woman cooed with delight at the next image that appeared. `` That's when we all went on a trip to Disney World. Bob saved all the loose change in the house for five years and gave it to Sal and Benny that Christmas along with a picture of that fancy castle. That's how he told the kids. Bob always liked to surprise them.'' 
 
 And it went on like that. Pictures of family trips and birthday parties, friends drinking wine or beer around campfires or lounging against kitchen counters. Each with a story and a who's-who, names, inside jokes, tears. An entire life painted up on the wall. After an hour she flicked the lights back on and began to pack up the tea service. I helped without being asked. 
 
 I washed the tea cups under her watchful eye and she dried them. 
 
 `` Well, my boy. I think our time is coming to an end,'' she said, and a hint of sadness touched her eyes. 
 
 `` Well, usually people ask something of me,'' I said, and suddenly felt terrible. `` But I wish you would n't.'' 
 
 She smiled and patted my cheek, pausing only to wipe away an errant tear that had somehow gotten there. 
 
 `` I would just want you to visit me. Let me tell some of my old stories. No one's left to tell them to,'' she said, with a small sigh. `` It's my one indulgence.'' 
 
 `` I'd be happy to,'' I said. 
 

