What would you trade your soul for?
The answer is simple for Jessa: nothing. Life isn't perfect, but it's pretty good with her best friend Taylor at her side.
But everything changes when the Devil--disguised as an attractive high school girl--comes...
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Friday night had finally arrived—the night of the Halloween dance, the night we had been waiting for—and I was standing in my bedroom, staring down at a giant pentagram drawn on my floor with salt.
Thursday afternoon had been a whirlwind. After we had left the hotel, Lana and I had gone shopping for our costumes. I had decided I would dress as a mermaid, pairing a sea foam dress with a seashell-studded headband. Lana, meanwhile, had plucked a slinky red dress off the rack, which she paired with Devil horns from the Halloween shop. It was not the most original costume in the world, but she had been so excited—her eyes alight as she had spun in front of the dressing room mirror—that I couldn't deny her of her fun.
When we got home from our shopping adventure, we locked ourselves away in my bedroom, brainstorming our next move. We spoke for hours, trying to come up with a solution to our Billy-and-mystery-girl problem. We worked through each plan, following them to their conclusions, and created a ton of paper ball waste, until we finally came up with something that was so incredibly insane that it just might work... but also something so insane that I couldn't believe we might actually have to do it.
I crossed my fingers on Friday, hoping Billy would decide on his own to skip his volunteer work for one day and just take Lana to the dance. But when he still hadn't asked by seventh period, I knew that we'd have to enact our crazy back up plan. So I sent a quick text to Peter Thatcher, asking for a favor. And although he voiced some concerns regarding my request, he delivered.
And now I was standing in my bedroom, the dance just a few hours away, staring at a salt pentagram as Lana lit candles at each point.
"You're sure this is okay?" I asked Lana as she set the last candle into place.
She blew out a match and sent me a look. "You know I'm not sure," she said. "But I've worked with loopholes for millennia, and I think this will be all right." She pointed to the plastic bag lying crumpled on my bed. "Is that the shirt?"
I nodded, passing her the bag. Peter had shoved it at me as if it were on fire in the parking lot after school. His face had displayed a jarring amount of expressions, including both confusion and a bit of I-don't-want-to-know-what-this-is-for. Inside the bag was Billy's sweaty gym shirt; Peter had nabbed it for me when Billy's back was turned in the locker room, before he could toss it away in his locker.
Lana took the shirt out and dropped it into the middle of the pentagram. She surveyed her work, adjusted a single candle, and smiled, pleased.
"Okay," she said, rubbing her hands. "Let's do this."
I nodded, my mouth suddenly dry. "Okay."
Lana must have seen the nerves rippling over my face because she came over and gave me a hug. "You'll do great. It's not that hard, promise."
Easy for you to say. "Okay," I repeated.
Lana took my hands in hers, interlocking her fingers with mine. Her hands were warm and reassuring, but I still trembled from her touch.
