It’s different, speaking the ritual out loud now that I know it’s a proposal. (It’s embarrassing.) Maybe the demon won’t come this time—maybe there’s a different ritual for summoning your demon fiancée. I read the summons all the way to the end, then look down at the door …

And just like before, it opens.

The demon walks through like it’s climbing up stairs. It looks the same as it did last time. Sometimes like a woman. Sometimes like a bear. Sometimes like a hole.

It steps into Penelope’s living room, and there’s a feeling in my head like a heavy bass note playing on cheap speakers. I try to shake it off.

“Shepard,” the demon says warmly, and my head buzzes again, “my betrothed. Did you need to speak to me?” It looks very much like a woman at the moment. Smiling. Sincere. Its arms outstretched. It’s wearing very expensive-looking stilettos and a silk pantsuit. (Is it really wearing that? Or am I projecting it somehow? When I try to focus on its face, my head throbs.)

“Hi,” I say, “how are you?”

Penelope is already stepping between us. “Shepard doesn’t need to speak to you today. I do.”

The demon stops short and frowns at her. “And who are you?”

“I’m his advocate.”

It looks back at me. “You need an advocate, Shepard?”

“This is concerning the contract,” Penelope says crisply. She sounds very officious.

“The contract…” The demon’s eyes glow. (The woman’s eyes, the bear’s eyes; there’s a pair of eyes burning red in a black hole.) My tattoos start to swirl and itch.

Penelope looks unfazed. “It’s invalid, I’m afraid.”

“You should be afraid!” The demon turns to me. “Who is this mortal, Shepard? Who dares question our engagement?”

“I—”

Penelope steps between us. “Your arrangement is with Shepard Love?”

“Yes,” the demon growls.

“That isn’t this man’s name.”

The demon lurches closer to Penelope. “He lied to me?”

Penelope presses her lips together and tilts her head. “He didn’t fully disclose—”

“That is a lie!” the demon shouts. My head is full of static.

“Well”—Penelope shrugs, unimpressed—“whatever it is, it voids the contract.”

The demon looks at me over Penelope’s head. “I will disembowel you if this is true.”

“You could disembowel him after the wedding,” Penelope says, “if he is unfaithful; infertile; or if his face displeases you. The terms are clear. But providing false information merely invalidates the engagement.”

“Where does it say that?” the demon asks.

“Right above his wrist. ‘The agreement is null and void, and any favours or gifts shall be returned’—”

It huffs. “He didn’t ask for any favours!”

“That makes it easy, there’s nothing to undo.”

The demon looks especially bearlike and holelike for a moment. “This man called me of his free will!”

“I did,” I say, “I’m sorry.”