For fifteen minutes last month, I was a hero. I saved seven women – well, six women and a succubus – from being killed by a four-hundred-year-old sorcerer, kept an angry demon from rampaging through town, and sent the villain to his just rewards. Not bad for a high school student who just turned eighteen the week before.

Unfortunately, the magical powers I bargained my soul away for vanished the instant Metraxion dragged Dr. Bellowes down into Hell and now I’m just plain ordinary Peter Collins again. Fortunately, Daraxandriel screwed up our contract – deliberately, as it turned out – so my soul is safe and she’s a mere mortal until her Dread Lord decides to forgive her and lift His curse. He can take His time with that, as far as I’m concerned.

You’d think I’d be happy to be ordinary again. No one should ever have to face imminent death at the hands of a power-obsessed madman or worry about their friends and family being horribly murdered by some otherworldly creature, but I miss it. I miss the excitement. I miss being important. I miss making a difference.

I want to be a hero again.