It was close to midnight, and Iris sat alone in an overgrown field beside an empty park. The grass was damp beneath her knees, making her thin cotton skirt cling uncomfortably. Pale moonlight spilled across her makeshift altar, casting an eerie glow on her scattered tools and stretching long shadows over the rusted playground.

  It was too quiet for a park. No kids were out playing at such a late hour, so it only made sense—but Iris felt that wasn’t the only reason the silence weighed on her.

  She shouldn’t be doing this.

  Every instinct in her body screamed at her to go home. This was dangerous. Foolish, even. Who was she to summon an ancient being for help—especially one cloaked in darkness, bound by blood and fear?

  Not just any deity.

  A dark goddess.

  And she was only an inexperienced witch. Everything she knew came from books. Since her mom passed, she hadn’t even been able to get her hands on the grimoire she left behind—her mother’s knowledge dying with her. If Iris hadn’t been so determined to keep practicing, that magic would’ve died too.

  The book she found this spell in hadn’t sugarcoated it. The ritual was risky. The consequences—though she wasn’t sure what they were—would no doubt be steep. But Iris was out of options.

  Her hands trembled in her lap, barely steadied by the weight of her decision. Her mother’s warnings—that all magic came with a price—echoed softly at the back of her mind, no matter how she tried to push them to the back of her mind..

  The faint squeak of the swing made her jump. The sound seemed to echo in her ears.

  It was like a warning.

  This spell was dangerous. But desperation has a way of dulling fear… and silencing reason.

  This is for Ray, she reminded herself. She would do anything for him—her best friend, the person who mattered most, the only one who had never given up on her. He needed her now more than ever.

  Ray was wasting away in a hospital bed with no one else to rely on. His parents were long gone, and his only remaining family—a frail grandfather—couldn’t even remember his own name, let alone his grandson’s. The illness was uncertain, undiagnosed, a mystery. And keeping up with his treatments cost more than either of them could ever afford.

  That left Iris.

  Although they weren’t related, she and Ray were closer than siblings. All they had was each other.

  Maybe that’s what made it hurt so much. Maybe that’s why she was here—an amateur witch, kneeling in the dirt, gambling her life on a spell that might not even work. Because she knew what it was like to be alone. She knew what it was like to lose someone.

  And she couldn’t bear to go through that again. Couldn’t bear the heavy ache of loss pressing down on her chest until it hollowed her out. She didn’t want to be alone again.

  She liked to pretend she was used to it, but grief never softened. It found new ways to carve into her, to twist her heart and tighten her lungs until every breath felt laborious. Even the thought of it made her chest ache, made the night feel empty and cold around her.

  Her mother had passed away when she was a child, leaving nothing but a few flickering memories of better days. Her father? Nothing but a blank space on her birth certificate, vanished the moment he learned of her existence. And her uncle—the one who had taken her in at her mother’s request—would have welcomed her death with open arms, so long as it padded his pockets.

  When he became her guardian, he forced her to sign away her rights to her inheritance. But her mother had planned for the possibility of someone trying to take it. Though Iris doubted she ever imagined it would be her “loving” older brother. The will had a clause: Iris had to attend college, or no one got a cent.

  So now her uncle paid her tuition with her own money—and pocketed the rest. It kept her tethered to him, barely scraping by under his thumb. Dorm fees, books, and food were her responsibility. Her job at the bar helped, but it wasn’t enough—not with the hospital bills piling up.

  She only ate once a day now, stretching what little she had. And she didn’t mind.

  If starving meant Ray lived, she’d starve.

  If it meant begging a goddess for help in the dead of night, she’d get on her knees and beg.

  If it meant giving up her life—

  She would.

  Because it wasn’t just Ray’s life at risk.

  The hospital he was in—the only one willing to keep him long-term without family—was also the only one she could afford. They asked few questions, and they certainly wouldn’t tell Ray where the money for his treatments came from. If he knew she’d been paying, he’d be furious. He hated when Iris took on his burdens.

  She couldn’t leave the city either. Her uncle had made sure of that.

  He still had documents with her name on them—forms she’d never signed, loans she’d never taken, even a false record of a theft she didn’t commit. Once, he’d threatened her, cold and casual, with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes:

  Try running. See what happens when I show this to the police. Don’t forget who you belong to.

  Even worse, he possessed her mother’s grimoire. He never used it as a bargaining chip, but Iris knew it was locked away, out of reach. He knew she wanted it, knew the tie it represented—to her mother’s magic, to her own potential. He held it hostage, just as he held her. He wouldn’t hand her the key to unlock her power, but the mere possibility of obtaining it gave him leverage. Though he never had to use it.

  It was his way of keeping her in check—leashing her with guilt, fear, and forged paperwork no one would question. She was a broke college student with a dead mother and a fragile reputation. Who would believe her over a man with a polished name and flawless tax records?

  So she stayed.

  Willing prisoner. Reluctant servant. Desperate girl on her knees in a damp, cold field, whispering prayers to a goddess who might not even exist.

  She took a slow, unsteady breath and glanced down at her notebook, reading the ritual instructions one more time. The night air pressed down on her, cold and unyielding, despite the warm fall day that had come before. Every rustle of the sharp blades of grass made her flinch. Her teeth chattered softly, though she wasn’t sure if it was from the chill or her nerves. Instincts screamed at her to run home, to hide. The air itself seemed to warn her of the danger she was courting. But there was nowhere to run. No one who could protect her.

  The circle was drawn—twigs, salt, and string. Three candles flickered in the soft moonlight: two black, one red. Two goblets of wine, one for her, one as an offering.

  It had all felt like fate when she found the book, lying there in the dorm hallway as if waiting for her. No name inside. No library barcode. No one came to claim it.

  Leather-bound, tied shut with a thick strap in a neat bow. Like a gift.

  Or a bad omen.

  She studied it in secret, poring over its pages in the quiet hours between shifts and classes, sometimes late into the night, losing sleep to uncover its secrets. Most of it was cryptic—warnings, riddles, poetic threats—but the summoning ritual called to her. The corner of the page was folded over, as if it was begging to be used.

  Some of these deities, the text warned, could make deals with mortals. Whatever the mortal desired—fame, fortune, maybe even health—if the deity was powerful enough.

  But every deal came with a price.

  Still, no cost seemed too high—not if it meant keeping Ray alive. Not if it meant protecting what mattered most to her.

  Her hands were still shaking as she struck the match and lit the candles one by one.

  Two black.

  One red.

  She checked her watch. Almost midnight. This was it. It was time.

  It all felt too easy. Too simple. And she was terrified of how much hope she was putting into this.

  But what was the worst that could happen?

  If nothing happened, she’d be right back where she started—trapped, starving, and quietly breaking.

  Ray was the only thing she had to lose. And she was already losing him.

  If something did happen…

  Maybe, just maybe, she’d finally have a way out.

  The wind shifted just barely, brushing through Iris’s hair.

  It carried a scent she couldn’t place—smoke… and something older. Wild. Unnatural.

  Iris froze.

  The candle flames guttered violently, though no breeze stirred. The air went still—unnaturally so. Cicadas fell silent. Leaves didn’t rustle. Distant traffic seemed to vanish. Just silence. Thick. Watching. Waiting.

  She glanced at her notes. Palms clammy. Breath shallow. It was time.

  She lifted the goblet to her lips, swallowing a big gulp to calm her and letting it go down slowly. The wine was warm, metallic, bitter. Normally she enjoyed the taste—but tonight it tasted like desperation.

  Then she picked up the knife.

  “Dark goddess,” she whispered, voice catching in her throat, “I request your help.”

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  Her fingers tightened around the handle.

  Repeat the words. Believe in them- whether or not they’re true. This was her last hope.

  She began the incantation, voice trembling, barely louder than a whisper. But she managed to pull the words from deep within her.

  “To the one who sees between worlds,

  Keeper of veils, goddess of the night,

  I call to you.

  In shadow, I ask. In silence, I offer.

  Come. Bind me. Bargain with me.

  Take what you will… and give what I ask.”

  A hum filled the air—not from wind, not from the ground, but from everywhere. It vibrated in her bones, pressed behind her eyes, like a ticking bomb next to her skull.

  The wine in both goblets trembled.

  Iris reached toward the red candle, passing her hand through the flame. It kissed her skin—enough to sting, enough to ground her. Enough to remind her of the task at hand.

  Then—the blood.

  She turned her palm up, dragged the blade across the soft underside. Pain flared hot and immediate. She gritted her teeth, holding her hand over the offering goblet. Drops of red curled into the wine like spilled ink.

  Then—just as she heard the soft patter of blood in the goblet—she felt it.

  A presence. Massive. Ancient. Filling the air, taking up more space than it should. Turning its gaze toward her.

  The grass withered. Shadows thickened. The air grew unnaturally warm. The flames leapt higher, hungry and alive.

  And then—footsteps.

  Soft. Deliberate. Not boots. Not bare feet. Hooves, perhaps. Unnatural. Too heavy. Too quiet.

  Something moved beyond the trees.

  Its form flickered—tall, short, hunched, crawling on all fours. Fingers became claws, then hands, then… something else. No face, yet Iris felt it smile.

  Then—without a sound—it was inside the circle.

  Shadows twisted tighter, crawling up her spine like icy claws.

  And then it spoke.

  “You called.”

  The voice rolled through her ears—a woman’s voice, a child’s, a growl. Iris shuddered.

  Iris couldn’t move. The creatures cold blue eyes pinned her in place carefully like a taxadermied butterfly.

  Her eyes adjusted—or the figure changed, she couldn’t tell—and now… a woman sat before her, legs crossed.

  Beautiful. Terrifying. Familiar

  She swirled the goblet in her hand, mixing the wine and blood like she was sitting with a friend for cocktail hour.

  “I… um…” Iris stammered, eyes flicking over the circle. Not a single twig had shifted, not a grain of salt disturbed. “How… how did you—?”

  She’d summoned the woman, sure—But nothing—nothing—had ever come like this. Her rational mind screamed that this couldn’t be real. It was an illusion, a prank.

  It had to be a prank. A sick, elaborate cruel prank. Maybe someone had followed her here. But who? No one knew about the ritual, the book… no one knew she was even out here.

  And yet—there had been no sound. No footsteps, no rustle of leaves, not even the faint groan of a car on gravel. Time seemed to stretch, mocking her. An hour and a half had passed since she’d arrived. Who would wait that long for a prank? Who could wait that long?

  The woman laughed—low and wicked, as if Iris had just told an amusing joke.

  “You summoned me, remember? Took you long enough. I’ve been waiting… ever since you found my book. Weeks now. All that effort, and you still doubt me?”

  She raised the goblet to her lips, sipping slowly, savoring it. Her eyes half-closed, lost in the taste, as if it were the richest thing she’d experienced in years. She hummed softly, pleased.

  Iris’s stomach twisted at the sight. Watching her blood consumed so deliberately felt like witnessing a predator enjoy its prey—and she was the prey.

  “You… you were waiting for me?” Iris asked, her voice small, uncertain.

  The woman didn’t answer right away. She simply regarded Iris over the rim of the glass, smile curling like smoke. The dark red of her lips, stained with wine and blood, made her all the more terrifying.

  “Of course. Why do you think I left that book in your hallway?” Her voice shifted, settling into a smooth, seductive tone. “It wasn’t coincidence that you found it. You intrigued me. And I knew exactly how to draw you closer.”

  “Now,” the woman said, reclining slightly, “tell me what it is you desire. Why you finally decided to summon me. I was about to take a bath, you know.”

  A bath?

  Iris blinked. The woman was draped in a silk robe—deep green, almost black—that shimmered as the candlelight shifted. And beneath it… nothing. The neckline plunged scandalously low, revealing pale skin like cream over marble. Her hair, a soft gold, was tied elegantly above her shoulders, a few loose curls falling gently from the bun.

  She didn’t look real. More like something torn from a painting… or a nightmare. Too beautiful. Too hypnotic. And yet—

  Iris couldn’t shake the strange sense that she’d seen her somewhere before. A lecture hall? The dining commons? Maybe at the bar? She couldn’t place it, and the uncertainty only made her heart beat faster.

  “This is a joke, right?” she asked. “An initiation prank to get into a sorority? Did someone put you up to this?”

  The woman tilted her head, almost amused.

  “Would I really drink blood for a prank?”

  She took another long sip, slow, and deliberate as if to prove her point.

  Iris didn’t answer.

  Would someone? People were weird, sure—but even she drew the line at drinking blood.

  But deep down, she already knew this wasn’t a joke. Her stomach was too tight. The air too thin and heavy. This was real—somehow. She was real.

  Iris swallowed hard and lifted her goblet. If this was a joke, it was working.

  Her instincts screamed at her to run, to get as far away from this woman as possible.

  Instead, she drank—trying to steady herself.

  “I need money,” she said. “A lot. Fast.”

  She downed nearly all of it in one go, hoping the warmth would steady her nerves.

  The woman swirled her own glass and licked a drop of wine from her lip. “That can be arranged, but surely you know—it comes at a cost.”

  “I know.”

  “So?” Her voice purred, low and dark, a dangerous melody. “What are you willing to pay? Worship? Offerings?”

  Iris hesitated. “I… I guess? I’m not really sure how this works.

  “Offerings and worship are boring.” She waved a hand, dismissive. “Candles. Incense. Bread and blood. Anyone can do that. I want something better.”

  She leaned forward, eyes gleaming now.

  “I want a pet. A simple offering isn’t enough. I want obedience. A companion.”

  Iris blinked.

  “A what?”

  “A pet,” the woman purred. “Something to keep me company. Something pretty. And loyal.”

  Iris blinked again, confusion twisting her stomach. “A pet?” she repeated. “Like… a cat? Or a dog?”

  That didn’t sound like a steep price. If that was all she wanted, Iris could find a stray by tomorrow, no cost.

  But… why would she need Iris for that?

  It sounded too easy. Too good to be true.

  Her gut twisted. Something about the woman’s tone, the slow curl of that dark smile, told her there was more to this than the words suggested.

  The woman laughed—low, cold, and sharp. The sound made Iris’s stomach clench.

  Of course it wasn’t going to be that simple.

  “No, darling. I want something a little more exotic.”

  She leaned forward, her voice dropping, intimate and dangerous, as if sharing a secret meant only for Iris.

  “I want you to be my pet.”

  “Me?” Iris’s voice caught, small and uncertain.

  The woman took another slow sip of wine and reached for Iris’s hand.

  Iris was too shocked to pull away, not that it would’ve help anyway.

  “Did you really think I’d accept a housecat as payment?” she said, turning Iris’s palm upward and studying the thin red cut across it.

  “I can pick up a stray anywhere. Do you think a cat can hold a conversation?” She smiled—sharp, sinister. “I get lonely sometimes.”

  Her grip tightened.

  “No, I don’t want a cat. You’re much better. Soft. Desperate. Full of sweet blood. Full of life.”

  Then she pressed Iris’s palm to her lips and licked the blood beading at the cut.

  Iris flinched, trying to pull away—but the woman held firm.

  The gash stinged starting slow. Then sharp. Then burning. A chill raced down Iris’s spine. There was no way this was a prank.

  No more doubt about it.

  And the way she savored Iris’s blood—like it was an expensive dessert—made her skin crawl.

  “Are you… a vampire?” Iris gasped, trembling as the woman finally let go.

  The woman’s grin widened.

  “Vampires aren’t real, love.”

  She lifted her glass again. “Call me a demon, if it helps. I prefer goddess.”

  She reclined once more, sipping the last of her wine to wash down the blood on her tongue.

  “You’ll learn more if you agree to my terms. So—do you accept?”

  The woman rose, suddenly impatient. Her silk robe shimmered, shifting like water.

  Iris froze.

  “I… um…” Her thoughts raced.

  She didn’t even know what being a ‘pet’ meant.

  It sounded… dangerous.

  But Ray—

  Ray’s life was on the line.

  And she’d already made her decision. She’d give anything to save him. Even her own life.

  The woman’s voice snapped her out of it.

  “Well?”

  A thread of annoyance now. “I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

  “I’ll do it.” Iris’s voice broke.

  She said it quickly, scared that if she hesitated a second longer, the woman would change her mind.

  “I agree to your terms.”

  The woman smiled.

  She leaned down, took Iris’s chin, and pressed her lips hard against hers.

  It burned—like Iris had kissed fire.

  When she pulled back, her voice was soft. Triumphant.

  “Good. Our deal is sealed. I’ll bring the paperwork tomorrow.”

  She stepped back and hesitated for a second.

  “One more thing. Don’t bother trying to run and hide, Iris. You belong to me now.”

  Then—she vanished.

  Iris shot to her feet, heart hammering.

  Gone…Just like that.

  The candles were out. The air was still.

  Both goblets—empty

  She raised her fingers to her lips. They burned beneath her touch.

  That hadn’t been a kiss—it was a mark. A claim.

  She sank into the grass, shaky and cold, the fleeting warmth gone, along with her doubts.

  The woman had spoken her name, though Iris had never given it. As though she had always known. Yet Iris didn’t know hers. She didn’t know anything about the strange deity she had just sold herself to.

  She spotted the wine bottle, still half-buried in the grass, which had somehow come back to life—lush, vibrant, no sign of the withering from earlier—and picked it up, her hand lingering to feel the warm blades of grass.

  Had she really agreed to be someone’s… pet?

  The word clawed at her chest, absurd and terrifying. She was a possession now. Was it some kind of twisted sex thing?

  She shuddered and took a long, slow drink, letting the wine burn down her throat.

  A cold breeze swept across the field, brushing the sweat at her temples.

  No more time for questions.

  She took one last gulp and screwed the cap back on, gathered her candles, cleaned up her supplies.

  She’d go home. And tomorrow, she’d pretend this hadn’t happened. Go to class like she always did.

  But pretending wouldn’t change the truth.

  She had made a deal.

  And there was no going back.