This night, as I stroked my growing belly, I looked at the softly snoring figure of my husband in the bed next to me. And I wondered at the events that made me the luckiest young lady in Springfield.

The brocade drapery was pulled closed to keep the street lamp light out of the parlor. A fire sputtered and popped, adding to the illumination of the candles set on every surface. I glanced at the oval mirror reflecting the firelight.

It wasn’t the first time I had played the Magic Mirror game on All Hallows eve. Each year since I was 13, I’d peel the apple, say the magic words, and look into the mirror to see my future husband. Each year the mirror was empty.

“I don’t want to play this game again tonight. I just want to go bob for apples,” I told Lottie as she handed me the leather-bound book. “I never see anyone in the mirror. I think my fate is single blessedness.”

“Don’t be defeatist, Molly. Besides, I’ve found a better way to play the game.”

Most of the girls at the Howard School For Young Ladies worshiped Halloween’s gayety and mystery; I came to despise it. The empty mirror, the foreboding tarot, they only served to remind me that I was the only one in my class without a beau. Was the mirror true, a life of hollow spinsterhood?

“Turn to page 257,” Lottie commanded, pointing at the oddly bound book.

I dutifully sought the required page. I stared at Lottie, waiting for further instruction.

“Wait, before you read the text, I need to ready the mirror,” she said while I waited with the open book in my hands.

“We have to cover the mirror while you read the incantation. And then remove the cover to let the spirit through.”

“What sort of spirit?” I asked.

“Don’t ask silly questions. It’s Halloween, any sort of spirit works,” Lottie replied. “You want to see your future husband, yes?”

I almost said no to the whole game. I was taught the living should fear spirits, not to invite them for punch in the parlor. Yet, I held my tongue. Four years of Halloween divination had only produced giggles and the occasional startled shudder. Why should this year have been any different?

“Start reading now!” Lottie commanded.

Advoco te, daemonium munuscularum functionariorum
Imple me tua sancta ordinaria
Igne nocumento tuo inardesco inimicos meos
Voluntatem suam dirue, ut defaltam vincere.

The tablecloth flew off the mirror in one focused pull. I looked in the mirror.

Nothing.

I turned to put the Latin book on the side table. The book dropped from my hands as I sought to use them to steady myself before the demon figure that had appeared behind me. I found no chair or table to grasp, so my posterior landed on the wool rug with a tiny bounce.

“Hello,” the demon greeted Lottie and me with a raised hand.

“Hello,” I responded out of manners and habit. I was still on the floor. Lottie just blinked.

“I can see you didn’t expect me. Let me explain. My name is Xylus. That spell you recited was one to summon me. So I’m very grateful for the passage out of Hell.”

“How do you speak English?” I asked as more germane questions evaded me.

“I learned in Hell. We have a lot of Americans in Hell.”

“You have horns.”

“Yes.”

“And red skin,” I said.

“Funny thing. Think of it as a really bad sunburn. Lake of fire and all.”

Lottie was still silent. She had fainted.

“Your friend seems to need help,” Xylus said as he picked Lottie from the floor and laid her on the settee.

“Can I help you up?” he reached out his hand after helping Lottie.

“What do you mean to do here?” I asked as if being upright again allowed me to find useful questions.

“Anything you want,” he said. “You summoned me, so I must do your bidding.”

“Walk me home.”

“As you bid.”

Xylus is just a law clerk now, but I have no doubt his ambition and demonic spitefulness will serve him well to ascend the hierarchy of Watson, Wilson, and Wallace. One day it will be Watson, Wallace, and Xylus.