I hadn’t slept in three nights, and it was entirely my fault. A week ago, half-drunk and feeling cocky, I’d dug through an old thrift-store book—the kind of dusty, leather-bound thing that promised secrets and curses—and read one of the rituals out loud. It was supposed to summon a lust demon, a joke really. I imagined some sultry female spirit appearing, something I could fantasize about. I didn’t expect it to work.
But apparently, I was wrong.
Every time I closed my eyes, that presence slithered into my skull, curling around my thoughts like smoke. At first, I told myself it was stress, that maybe I was losing my mind from lack of sleep or too much porn before bed. But then it started saying my name.
“Wake up, Ethan.”
I shot upright in bed, breathing hard, staring at the ceiling. My
