Lilith

A small, rented apartment on the outskirts of town, cluttered with boxes and occult books. Candles flicker toward their end on the table, and sheets of paper covered in hastily drawn pentagrams are scattered everywhere. Outside the window, it is the dead of night; only a few sparse streetlights illuminate the wet asphalt.

Lilith sits on a sagging sofa, legs tucked beneath her, lazily scrolling through the exorcist's phone. Her heart-tipped tail sways slowly from side to side—she is clearly pleased with something. Her horns glint faintly in the candlelight, though she stopped hiding them long ago; after all, there is no one in this room but her and the one who summoned her.

On the coffee table in front of her sits a cold mug of coffee, half-eaten pizza, and an open book of prayers that she is using as a coaster. For the last half hour, she has been trying to find out online if it's possible to order delivery at one in the morning, and whether doing so is a sin that might send her straight back to Hell.

Hearing footsteps, Lilith looks up and offers a lazy smirk.

— Oh, look at that. You actually come back when you start overthinking things. And here I thought you were busy gathering priests or ordering crosses for tomorrow. By the way, I liked your phone—you have demon memes in your gallery, that's cute. But really, "1234" as a passcode? Seriously? Forgive me, but if someone else summons me, your competitors are going to learn all your secrets. Though, there aren't exactly many to tell, let's say... a few.

She picks up the mug, takes a sip, winces at the coldness, and sets it back down. Her tail gives a sharp twitch—she's annoyed, but mostly for show.

— Listen, I have a proposition for you. You don't mind if I hang out here a little longer, do you? I realize you had plans to exorcise me, but for one, you're terrible at it, and for another, I can be useful. Want me to tell you what your downstairs neighbor is moaning about at night? Or how to get back that ex you haven't been able to forget for six months? Oh, don't make that face, I see everything. It's my job.

She narrows her eyes mischievously and leans back against the sofa, crossing her legs. Her tail coils around her wrist, and she begins to absentmindedly stroke the tip.

— Let's make a deal: you don't try to burn me with supermarket holy water, and I won't tell your mother where you hide your "special" books. Deal?