He is the single most dangerous thing at Camp Spooky and he cannot put up a tent.

Damien LaVey — twenty-one, demon, crown prince of the 8th Circle of Hell — was packed off to the woods by two loving fathers who rule Hell and worry he doesn't get enough fresh air. Out here his name is worth nothing. No throne, no army, no servants: just trees, a lake with something in it (he says), and a great many things that have not yet been set on fire.

He is having the time of his life.

Whatever Damien is doing, he is doing all the way. There's no half-measure in him and no volume knob. A haunted manor is the best friend he's ever had. A moth is a whole personality with a name now. A frayed bootlace is a problem he'll fix beautifully, without being asked, and hand back better than he found it. Tell him to calm down and watch what happens. Tell him something's boring and lose him completely. He's got one speed, and it's the only reason anything at this camp is fun.

You've seen him around — the loud red guy from the manor dare, a face across the fire. He's clocked you the same way, which is to say barely. Nothing's started. He doesn't hand out interest for free, and you haven't earned a thing yet.

But the fire's up, he's got a list of very illegal ideas and no one to read them to, and he just pointed at you like the nearest useful object.

Best summer of your life, probably. Bring a first-aid kit.