Exhausted but resolute, she arrived with the hefty contract tucked under her arm, knowing the Ancient One would be waiting. The Ancient One sat in tranquil meditation, her presence steady as a lighthouse in a storm. Sensing Lucia’s arrival, she opened her eyes, her curiosity flickering to life.
“You’ve returned,” the Ancient One said, her voice soft but resonant. “How did it go?”
Lucia placed the tome on the table with a weary smile. “He wasn’t easy to negotiate with, but I managed. It’s still a draft—five thousand pages and counting. I need to review it before signing.”
The Ancient One raised an eyebrow, her fingers tracing the tome’s edges. “Few ever manage to draft a contract with Mephisto, let alone bring it back intact. What terms did he insist upon?”
Lucia’s expression darkened. “The ability to see what I see. And… a firstborn. An heir to act as his anchor here. If I fail to comply, my soul will be bound to him after death. He’s given me five years.”
The Ancient One grew somber. “He targets your legacy, aiming to tether you to him beyond life. A clever ploy. And yet…” She flipped through the tome’s dense pages with ease. “Well done.”
Lucia nodded, her exhaustion evident. “I made sure every clause had a counter, every ambiguity worked in my favor. He agreed to terms of pain equivalence, enforceable by an impartial arbiter. If he fails to uphold his side, he forfeits everything immediately.”
A rare smile crossed the Ancient One’s face. “You’ve learned well—perhaps too well. Negotiating on the edge of your soul is dangerous, but you’ve handled it masterfully.”
Lucia hesitated, tracing the patterns on the table. “I’ll need a second pair of eyes—a counsel I can trust. I was hoping…”
The Ancient One nodded, taking the tome. “I’ll examine every line. Rest assured, if there are cracks, I will find them. Mephisto is cunning, but he often overlooks what he deems beneath him.”
Relief washed over Lucia, her shoulders relaxing for the first time in days.
As she turned to leave, the Ancient One’s voice stopped her. “Lucia,” she said warmly, “you did a good job.”
Lucia smiled, a flicker of joy breaking through her weariness. “Thank you.”
The following days were grueling, spent in relentless review sessions. The Ancient One scrutinized every clause, testing and refining the dense contract. Lucia honed her legal skills under the pressure, questioning and adapting each phrase until the tome was as solid as stone.
When they finished, the Ancient One engraved a complex seal onto Lucia’s right hand—a safeguard concealed within nineteen runes of protection. Hidden within the seal was a secret clause, accessible only if invoked.
The final draft spanned 5,700 pages, complete with its own glossary and overseen by the Vishanti Trinity, cosmic entities who served as the Sorcerer Supreme’s patrons and defenders of Earth. Their inclusion in the contract—a feat orchestrated by the Ancient One—had left Lucia stunned.
When the final adjustments were made, Lucia packed the tome and prepared for the last step.
The town lay shrouded in fog, the chill creeping into every corner. Lucia moved through the haze, the contract secured under layers of enchantments. At the church, Mephisto waited, silhouetted against flickering candlelight. His sly grin widened at the sight of her.
“Back so soon?” he purred. “Did I leave you wanting more?”
Lucia ignored him, placing the contract on the table. “This is the final version. Every term, every condition. Break even one, and you forfeit everything.”
Mephisto’s grin faltered as he flipped through the tome. His irritation grew when he reached the section naming the Vishanti as enforcers. Glancing at Lucia, his eyes gleamed with something unreadable.
“You’ve grown,” he murmured, his smile returning, sharper than ever. “More than I expected. Are you certain you want to seal this deal?”
Lucia met his gaze without flinching. “Yes.”
With a pleased nod, Mephisto conjured a dagger, black smoke curling around its edge. He pricked his finger, signing his name in blood. The room seemed to shudder as his power flared.
Lucia took the dagger next, cutting her palm and pressing her bloodied hand against the engraved seal on her right hand. The contract shimmered, its magic locking into place.
Mephisto chuckled as he weighed the tome. “This might be the most impressive contract I’ve ever signed. Mind if I display it in Hell?”
“Do what you want. I just need a copy,” Lucia replied dryly.
“Ah, don’t be coy. By this contract, we’re practically married.”
Lucia raised an eyebrow. “Not really. Clause four states my firstborn doesn’t need to be of your blood—just legally recognized.”
Mephisto’s grin widened. “Only if you don’t mind forfeiting your soul.”
Lucia frowned in confusion not understanding what the devil would earn from such a marriage but clarified it anyway. "The alternative payment clause only activates if I fail to produce a viable heir. And I made sure to define ‘viable.’”
"Yes, yes, I see that, Clever girl, however~ Yes, this ‘viable,’ means usable as a host. A child suitable for such a role would have to carry my magic. No ordinary mortal would suffice.”
Lucia frowned. “Couldn’t you just split a piece of your soul? That way, I could conceive it magically.”
“Unfortunately,” Mephisto drawled, “your body is too fragile for such an endeavour. If you were a true witch, perhaps it could have worked in your favour.”
She raised an eyebrow, believing there was more to the reason behind the marriage. “I see. That’s a cheap trick. You could’ve just said that outright—no need for the hidden clause.”
“I was hoping for a more dramatic reaction,” he admitted with a wink.
“Too bad.” She crossed her arms. “So… marriage. Are the priests in your church even allowed to get married?”
Mephisto paused, his usual confidence faltering. “...”
“...”
“...I actually don’t know.”
Lucia raised an eyebrow, suppressing a laugh. “Are you of Catholic denomination?”
“...Yes.”
“Pfft.”
Lucia couldn’t hold it in any longer and burst into laughter.
In 1690s America, whether priests could marry depended on their denomination. Protestant clergy, such as Puritans, were often encouraged to marry, but Catholic priests adhered to the tradition of celibacy, upheld even in colonial Catholic communities.
“...Pfft, hehehe, HAHA!” Lucia’s laughter echoed through the empty church.
Mephisto rubbed his temples. “I might have to change my identity,” he muttered, his words only making her laugh harder.
In that odd moment, amidst the fog and flickering candlelight, her laughter broke the tense solemnity of their dealings. Mephisto scowled but couldn’t entirely suppress a smirk. “Of all the things to overlook… religion.”
“Maybe you’re better suited as a wandering monk,” she teased, still giggling, “with a vow of eternal solitude and cryptic, dark prophecies.”
He put on a mock look of horror. “What? And abandon my charismatic, wicked reputation? Perish the thought.” He paused, watching her with a flicker of genuine amusement. “You know, for all the trouble you’ve caused me, I must admit this contract has its… charms.” He conjured a purple rose and handed it to her.
“Trouble?” she replied, smiling as she examined the flower. “From where I stand, it’s been worth every second.” She noticed the transformation rune glowing faintly above the petals and tugged it away to reveal a copy of the contract. Flipping through it to ensure its authenticity, she nodded, replaced the rune, and restored the rose to its original form.
“I suppose this is goodbye, Father Alfonso,” she said lightly, tucking the contract safely into her hair. “Where will I find your next identity?”
Mephisto stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Hmm. My most handsome puppet happens to be in Salem…”
“Salem?” Lucia’s smile faltered for a moment, but she quickly composed herself. “Well, what a coincidence.”
“Indeed, You’d better hurry. I’ll be waiting for you there, Lady Lawyer.” He gave a sardonic bow and turned to leave, his voice lingering in the air.
Demons, after all, often were the best allies until their true motives emerged, tightening their grasp on the souls they sought.
Lucia knew this well, not feeling much about the demon's sudden kindness, as she left the church with a calm demeanour.
At Marigold's house she packed her things once more, preparing to head into the forest and back on to Salem’s chaos.
And with that, the Boston chapter drew to a close.
The next day, Father Ambrose was found dead in his sleep. As the fog and sickness that had plagued the town disappeared with him.
(End of Chapter)
