v2 CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: In which a lady considers offers and advice from gentlemen of questionable trustworthiness.

Una adjusted her dress and stalked after Jessica, who was tripping lightly down the metal stairs to the nightclub floor. There’s no doubt about it, she thought. This is the same nightclub I dreamed of when Yael was still persuading me to become female. What is going on?

“Yael? Are you here?” She paused near the top of the staircase, listening, but no answer came. I’m just me right now, she realized. Not Micki and Yael, but Una… with no answers that I can access, even in a dream.

By the time Una reached the bottom of the stairs, Jessica had already found a group of strangers to dance with. The music had changed, moving from a bass-heavy house tune to a pulsing rhythm with a sultry voice over the top. Jessica hollered and raised her hands above her head, swaying to the beat as several men crowded in around her. Una bit her lip and watched.

“C’mon, Una! What are you waiting for?” The transformed priest, showing no sign that she’d been a man named John just half an hour before, danced with her head thrown back.

It’s only a dream, she thought, but this feels way too real. All her senses were engaged, and she could feel the thump of the music in her gut and the heaviness of the humid air, cloying with the odors of alcohol and sweat and sex. Even her skin tingled from the sensual assault, goosebumps rising as she watched her lover entwine her body provocatively with another woman.

Nope. Not gonna dance. Gonna figure out what’s going on here first. Am I sleeping in bed next to John? Or was the whole hotel a dream? Can I just wake up? She rubbed her eyes and pinched her arms, willing herself awake. Nothing changed.

Una sighed in exasperation and climbed up on a leather couch at the back of the room to observe. Her hooves left deep impressions in the yielding material, and she felt unsteady on the seat. From the balcony, the room had looked packed with dancers, but now she could see that most of the forms were indistinct and vaguely sketched, mere suggestions of bodies without details or depth. When she looked away, they faded into the background, the same color as the surrounding wall.

Some people in the crowd looked more solid than others; in their midst, Jessica shone like a starlet. The transformed priest threw herself into the music, gyrating her hips and pressing against her dancing partners, who circled and pawed at her like wolves.

She can’t possibly have any connection to the real John, Una thought, can she? John might be sleeping next to me right now; could I have drawn him into my dreams somehow? Una frowned. If she could only access the greater knowledge in the depths of her mind, the Yael layers, maybe she’d know the answer. But dreams are always unpredictable things, even for those with power, she told herself. Wait… was that knowledge a memory?

If this dream bore a message, it was a cryptic one. Una folded her arms, perching awkwardly on the couch, and watched Jessica turn and sashay across the dance floor towards her. Her dream-companion’s chocolatey skin glowed with exertion, and her cleavage rose and fell with each breath. “Why aren’t you out there with me?” Jessica asked, leaning closer. “I know I said I wanted to meet some guys, but I thought you were okay with that! We’re not exclusive, right? Come on, this was supposed to be our girls’ night!” She pouted and cocked one hip, peering at Una like a scolding sister. “Come dance, or at least get a drink.”

Una allowed Jessica to pull her up off the couch and into the crowd of dancers. The other woman screamed and hopped up and down as the music changed, becoming heavier and faster. Una felt the rhythm of the song thrumming through up through her hooves into her hips, and her head swam with noise. Jessica pulled her close and gyrated against her; the transformed woman’s ass ground against Una’s hips, and she placed the succubus’ hands on her waist as she bent over.

The succubus did her best to sway with the music, following Jessica’s movements, but she was no dancer. Nor was she the intended audience for Jessica’s performance; a tall man stepped into view, smiling down at Jessica before taking her by the hand. He had shaggy blond hair and a goatee and wore a black jacket over a muscular frame. Jessica went eagerly with him, but looked over her shoulder at Una and mouthed something. Una strained to catch the faint words.

“See? That’s how you do it!” She and her new partner melted into the crowd.

Una stopped dancing and extricated herself from the mass of gyrating bodies. She sidled up to the bar and leaned against it, waiting for the bartender to finish mixing a drink for another customer. All around her, the dream pulsed with light, noise and sensuality. She felt trapped, and considered again whether she should wake up, rather than trying to understand the dream.

“What’re you drinking, love?” The bartender’s British accent sounded vaguely familiar, and Una turned around to see him: a bald man in a tuxedo and white gloves, leaning across the bar. She started with recognition when she saw the bone spikes jutting in a ring around his smooth, pale head, and the sigil tattooed in the center, a many-pointed star.

“You!” I sucked your cock! The realization hit Una with startling intensity. Months ago, in Father Michael’s first dream of this club, this man had been one of four lovers taken by her newly transformed female self. Like Jessica, she’d stalked the dance floor and the bar, prowling for men. Later, in an orgiastic pile of bodies, she’d taken this being’s dark, barbed organ into her mouth. He’d disappeared afterwards… not long before her uninhibited dream-self drained three other men into husks.

“Me,” the bartender agreed. “Do you finally recognize me, Una? I was a bit hurt when you didn’t the other day.” Confused, Una studied the man’s face more closely. Last time, I was preoccupied with other parts of his anatomy, but… Her mouth dropped open.

The smooth-shaven, triangular face, foxlike features—suddenly everything clicked into place, layers of recognition settling on top of each other. His irises and pupils were now a different shape, catlike and alien, but their pale blue depths still danced with mocking laughter.

“Kyber,” she snarled, and grabbed the demon by his lapels. “You… that was you?”

The man in her grip smirked. “Afraid so. Sorry that I couldn’t remind you of our first encounter. A little awkward, with Nestor around, wouldn’t you say? And, well… you were quite different back then. Not sure if you would’ve recalled our tryst.”

Una just stared at him. Kyber, Nuska—whatever his name was—looked different without hair. His skin was unnaturally white, the gray-blonde mop he’d sported at their last meeting replaced by decidedly demonic spikes and runes. Whatever his game, he’s going to answer some questions, she decided.

She brought his face closer to hers and spoke with a hiss. “Did you create this place? Take advantage… of me, back when I was…”

“…a good little Catholic boy-girl?” Kyber’s tone was gently mocking. “No. This is your nightmare, then and now. It arose from Yael’s purpose for you, of course. Back then, I happened to be… in the neighborhood, conceptually speaking. Bargains are my domain, and the two of you stirred up quite a bit of drama.”

“But how did you get inside of my head? Unlike her, you weren’t possessing Michael Belmont.” Una scowled, remembering what that had been like.

Kyber chuckled. “Oh, dear. There are other ways of accessing dreams besides being a succubus or baku, you know.” Seemingly unconcerned with her grip on his shirt, Kyber snapped his fingers, and an amulet carved like an eye appeared in his hand. She turned to glance at it, but he palmed it again, and the talisman was gone.

When she looked back at Kyber, he was holding a gin and tonic in his other hand. “Relax, Una. Have a drink. Have you considered my job offer?”

Though Una wanted nothing more than to throttle the demon, she forced herself to relax, and released his lapels. “I didn’t need more than two seconds to consider that offer, Kyber. I have zero desire to be a reality television star.”

Kyber shrugged. “Fair enough. I’m sure there are other ways we could… collaborate. That was the most pleasant option.”

Una picked up her drink and eyed the demon. “Why exactly do you want to work with me? Or why does Nestor, rather? I don’t know what game the two of you are playing with each other, but I want no part of it.”

“Well, may we all get what we want, right?” He clinked her glass with his own, filled with a scant finger of brandy. “I’ll always drink to that. But I wanted to work with you because you’re charming! And your resources align with my business interests. It’s as simple as that.” No comment at all on Nestor, she noted.

“If you’re trying to curry favor with me, you could tell me how to get out of here. I’m sick of this nightmare and I need to check on a friend.” Una glanced down the bar. Jessica stood at the other end, her back pressed against the edge of the bar and her eyes bright. The man who’d led her away to dance stood in front of her, leaning in with his hands on Jessica’s hips as he whispered in her ear.

“She’s just a construct, isn’t she?” Una asked. “Part of this dream, but not… a real person stuck in here?”

Kyber raised an eyebrow. “Hmm. Probably?” His tone was noncommittal. “Ask a batibat, or an alp. I’m just a tourist. She’s clearly authentic enough to bother you, and that’s all that matters in a dream.”

Jessica had her hands on her suitor’s chest, but he leaned closer, pressing against her until her back arched and she had to tip her head back. She murmured something to him, with lips parted and eyes half closed, and he kissed her. A thrill of jealousy shot through Una as she watched the pair make out.

“You really do have Yael buried beneath a priest’s sensibilities, don’t you?” Kyber was mixing a drink for another customer; he rattled ice and liquor together in a cocktail shaker as he spoke. “Who else has nightmares about a dance club full of people having fun? Only prudes.” He slid the finished drink to the woman who’d ordered it.

“Just tell me what you’d do to wake up,” Una said, irritated. “I can’t seem to do it myself.”

The demon smiled. “It’s your dream. Have you tried controlling it?” When Una raised her eyebrows, he shrugged. “Try something. Turn this light show off.” He mimed flicking a switch.

Una rolled her eyes and looked up, concentrating on the ceiling. Off! Nothing. She mentally flipped the lights, imagining a switch in front of her hand. Lights off. The room stayed exactly as it had been. She closed her eyes and imitated Kyber’s motion, moving the imaginary switch with her fingers.

When she opened her eyes, the room had plunged into darkness. A solitary spotlight lit the bar, and the club patrons had vanished. Even the music sounded distant now, echoing from far away. At the end of the bar, Jessica and her paramour were locked in a tight embrace. As Una watched, Jessica turned around and braced herself against the bar, arching her lower back so that her ass pressed against her lover’s crotch. Una glared at Kyber, who only shrugged.

“Looks like some part of you wants to watch the show.” In response, Una kept her gaze fixed on the demon, and tightened her grip on the drink she hadn’t touched.

Kyber leaned in conspiratorially. “Look, Una. A piece of advice before this dream-world falls apart. Spend some time on your natural powers. You don’t see me walking around town looking like this, do you?” He gestured at his face, with feline eyes and a ring of bone horns. “You’re a succubus. How can you use that for your benefit? Make bargains with mortals that are mutually beneficial. When you know what you have to give, you can always exchange it, or withhold it.”

Una slammed her glass on the bar, sending droplets of gin flying. “Easy for you to say. Do you have an ice bucket back there?”

At the end of the bar, the man behind Jessica lifted her skirt, revealing round, perfect buttocks split by a thin black thong. He gripped her hips with one hand and fumbled at his crotch with the other.

Kyber placed a metal bucket sloshing with ice water on the counter. “Listen to me.” The ancient demon’s voice was urgent. “You’ll need to master yourself, and soon. You have little time for angst.”

Una looked at him in confusion. “Now you’re giving me cryptic warnings?”

Jessica’s partner stepped back, and his erect member sprung free from his jeans. Una blinked, unable to look away. The man moved forward and slid his cock between Jessica’s thighs, one hand on the small of her back. Jessica moaned and reached for her panties, pushing them aside.

Kyber took Una’s chin and turned her head, forcing her to look at him. His hand was hot and dry, and her skin crawled at his touch. “I can say little, even shrouded in dreams. With… complicated business… associates like Nessssstor—” Kyber coughed, seeming to have difficulty with the name. “I can’t provide more than cryptic warnings. Not without an independent deal. I am of bargains, after all.”

A cry erupted under the second spotlight: Jessica, her voice thick with desire, moaning as her lover thrust into her. Una’s skin prickled, and heat pooled between her own legs.

“Fuck!” Una looked up at the ceiling again, then squeezed her eyes shut. “Kyber, I’m not signing any contracts with you, your company, or Nestor. Come on.”

“Look,” he commanded. She opened her eyes. He had one finger on the strange symbol etched into his cranium. The tissue around the dark lines looked unhealed, new and raw, though Una was sure those scars had been ancient when Rome fell. “I am multitudes. Shell companies, subsidiaries, partnerships, legal entities. But I am also simply myself, by whatever name.”

Wet slapping sounds echoed in the darkness as the couple on the other side of the bar rutted. Jessica gasped and cried out with each thrust of the man’s cock. Her face warm with embarrassment, Una picked up the ice bucket.

“Remember,” hissed Kyber, and stepped back into the shadows. Jessica’s cries grew louder, her face contorting into a mask of ecstasy. As Una poured the bucket of ice-cold water over her head, the succubus heard the woman’s voice scream in the darkness.

***

Una’s eyes flew open, and she sat up in bed, naked under the sheets. Moonlight streamed through the window: glass set into a metal grid, with one section open at the bottom, admitting a breeze that rustled long curtains. She was in her own room in Jay’s loft. Sensations from the dream still hummed inside her, a confused jumble of rage and lust and frustration.

That was… one weird fucking dream, she thought, her mind still bleary with sleep. She tried to cling to the edges of the experience, the places where it connected to the real world. John! The bed next to her was empty, of course. She and John hadn’t slept in the same room since they’d returned to New York. She was in Brooklyn. He stayed at the rectory of their closed-up church.

They kept talking about and putting off the date they’d promised each other, both uneasy at the idea of sitting down for an intimate evening and trying to come to terms with their secretive relationship.

Una yawned and swung her legs out of bed, resting her bare feet on the polished wood floor. It’s too cold in here, she thought. However much I disliked that nightmare club, at least it was nice and warm. She picked up her phone. 3:15 AM, with a message… from John.

> You ok?

He’d sent it just minutes before. Shit… could he have shared the dream? She thumbed a reply.

>Yeah. Weird dream… you?

Una watched the dots spin as John typed a reply.

>Yeah.

He’d taken thirty seconds to write that. Not a good sign.

> Uh… if I can ask, what was the most unusual thing in the dream?

This time, John took almost a minute to respond.

> I guess… cute bodysuit, lots of straps.

Una exhaled in relief. The lingerie she’d worn in the first part of the dream—the enjoyable part, not the disturbing nightmare with Jessica and the nightclub. Still, that meant they’d shared the same dream… what would John think of that?

> Hello?

She quickly typed back.

> Sorry, it’s a lot, I’m thinking. Me too. Same dream. Not sure why… succubus thing maybe. Sorry.

> At least it was a good dream? Heh.

Una couldn’t help but smile. John was still reassuring her, despite the awkwardness of their relationship.

> Yeah. Wish we could’ve enjoyed it together in person, though.

John’s typing dots spun, and she felt a pang of disappointment when his response appeared.

> Maybe. I gotta get some sleep. Morning sermons.

Una stared at the phone, wondering how to respond to that. Eventually, she typed.

> Rest well, John.

She lay down and waited, but her phone showed no further response.

Curtains flapped in the breeze, and she pulled the sheets over her bare crimson body. Her tail slid slowly across her belly, twitching as she scratched the bulbous tip with her fingernails.

This tail, this skin, she thought, making her usual mental inventory. Horns, hooves, and eyes. The things that marked her as a monster, as a creation of the struggle between Michael Belmont and Yael, and the outcome where neither really won. Not to mention Thomas Spencer, she thought with a shudder.

She sighed and leaned against her pillow. The cool, dusty smell of the room washed over her, and she felt vaguely uneasy. Sleep would not return—not after the nightmare, or Jay Sigma’s strange warnings. Una thought back to the past week, remembering the reality this time.

One part of her had wanted to hole up in the loft, reading and sipping tea. Meditating, perhaps, to regain her peace of mind. But another part recognized this impulse as avoidance of reality and responsibility, and Jay’s erratic schedule meant the loft wasn’t always a peaceful retreat. Sigma was up at all hours, puttering or banging on things, and sometimes playing industrial music at high volumes.

Instead of staying at home, she’d made a point of helping at the Haven—which had the advantage of being the only place people knew her and accepted her nature. She’d volunteered in the kitchen, delivered meals to those who couldn’t come into the dining hall, and spent a pleasant afternoon working in the community garden with John.

Una looked down at her arms, dark in the pale light of the moon. She’d found no reliable solution to let her move around the city more easily. She wore clothes that felt impractically warm in the late summer heat; she avoided public transportation except early in the morning—but not so early that drunk revelers from the night before were going home.

Susan, who’d been kind enough to stay with her at the loft some nights, gave her a pair of cosmetic contact lenses that were uncomfortable when worn for more than a half an hour. Una’s scholarly lover had been dramatically preoccupied with her new job, but remained tight-lipped about what she was doing. (“It’s too soon. I need to gain their trust first,” she’d said.)

Still, Susan had also reminded Una of her gift from months ago, a small grimoire of simple spells. Una had experimented, finding that power flowed easily from her demonic wellsprings of energy, but that finesse was elusive. A glamour could hide her horns, tail or hooves briefly, but never all at once and never for long. The illusions shattered with any lapse in concentration—a problem Susan and Jay both said was typical for novice spellcasters. Una grimaced, remembering her friends’ looks of sympathy.

And I still have no legal form of identification. Una couldn’t enter government buildings or schools, and heaven forbid she run afoul of the law. I’d have to talk to Susan’s employers to deal with that problem, she told herself for the tenth time that week. But she seems nervous about bringing me there. I’m a liability once again.

Agitated, she got up from the bed and paced, her hooves clicking on the floor. She kicked over one of her boots, the cunningly designed platforms that hid her hooves. Damn it, Kyber. Una ran a hand through her hair, across her sensitive horns. Just master my natural powers, is that all?

She faced the mirror on the back of her bedroom door, taking in the whole sight of herself: the dusky red skin, the firm breasts and lean muscle of her abdomen, with her slim black tail coiling around her waist. She extended her hands towards her reflection, then took several deep breaths, trying to let the tension drain from her limbs.

“Change,” she said, her gaze focusing on a patch of scarlet flesh, at the join of her neck and shoulder. She pictured the pale, rosy hue of her old self, when she’d called herself Micki. Slowly, flakes of red peeled away and drifted into the air like embers, exposing pink skin underneath. Una shuddered, the sensation of magic taking hold strangely exciting.

The patch of lighter skin expanded, pushing outwards, with more stretches of red fluttering away. It looked like a reverse forest fire—if a forest fire could spread across a single body.

After a few minutes of intense concentration, the red had receded completely from her upper torso. She lifted her hands and flexed them, looking at her flushed but decidedly human skin. Her nails were still long and black but could pass as a Goth’s affectation.

Then, just as on her previous attempts, the red blotches expanded again, as if a tide of blood was rolling back in from a demonic ocean. Una grunted and focused harder, but the red spots grew larger and larger, spreading rapidly until she was once again… herself. Una Belmont, succubus at large.

“Fuck!” She hurled a boot at the mirror, leaving a hairline crack in the center. That made her press a hand to her forehead, frustrated and disgusted with herself. Destroying Jay’s property was not the way. I never would have done something like that as Michael. But I’m not him anymore, I’m… a madwoman. A horny, frustrated, lost creature, who has no idea how to control anything about her existence.

Tears stung her eyes, and she grabbed a towel from a closet hook, dabbing at her face and wrapping it around herself. Maybe it’s time to talk to Jay. I can’t just sit in here crying.

On her way through the darkened loft, she noticed the faint sound of a bass line drifting from the far side of the floor, where Jay kept his workshop and labs. The rhythm was complex and syncopated, and although Una was barely familiar with popular music, the term “drum and bass” sprang to mind.

The huge, sliding metal door that bisected the loft was slightly ajar, and Una slipped through. When she’d first lived here, the door had been chained and locked in Jay’s absence, and she still hadn’t seen much of what was on the other side. Compared to the residential half of the loft, the workshop was cavernous and unfinished, though without a speck of dust on the concrete floor.

Metal shelves lined every wall from floor to ceiling, festooned with boxes of electronic components, tools, and stacks of books. A small pile of half-built drones sat in one corner, and Una could see gaping holes in the variously shaped frames where wires and internal circuitry had yet to be installed. A massive sheet of frosted glass further divided the room, refracting objects beyond in ghostly outline.

The music, louder now, emanated from beyond that wall, and Una trotted lightly towards a door at the far end. This was where Jay retreated to do most of his work: a compact but high-ceilinged room dominated by an enormous desk with his “rig,” a set of computers and screens with various input devices.

Dozens of large and small screens filled the wall to her right, and a long workbench held dozens of keyboards, tools, and other devices she didn’t recognize. To her left, a massive blackboard dominated the wall, with chalk equations scrawled in a script she couldn’t understand, and a section of rough-hewn slate decorated with arcane symbols. Stacks of technology, binders and assorted junk made moving through the room a matter of picking a careful path. Amidst it all, Jay sat behind the desk, his attention entirely occupied with whatever was on the screens in front of him.

“Jay,” Una yelled, pitching her voice to rise over the music. Then she noticed the headphones on Jay’s ears. Is he listening to two things at once? Or drowning out his music? She waved her free hand in the air, but the hacker did not acknowledge her.

Una stepped around the clutter and leaned over the top of one of the smaller monitors, bringing her face into view. “Jay…” The man’s fingers were moving at startling speed over one large keyboard and one smaller pad of blank keys, one hand occasionally moving to a mouse. Una glanced to the side and inspected the setup. Although lines of code filled the main screen, the displays on either side were playing video game footage, cartoons… and even a porn movie featuring two hairy guys in leather.

Una reached over and waved a hand in Jay’s field of vision. Startled, Jay reared back from the desk, almost tipping his chair over.

“Una! What the hell?” He removed the headphones, wincing, then tapped a key on his desk. The music stopped, plunging the space into sudden silence. “Don’t sneak up on me when I’m working. Fuck!”

Una shrugged. “Sorry. I called out to you.”

“This is why I don’t have roommates.” He flicked another switch, and several screens went dark—including, she noticed, the display of gay porn. “This, and your habit of eating my food. I clearly labeled that pastrami!”

Una rolled her eyes. “This again? I ate literally two slices of your pastrami, before you labeled it as ‘For Jay’s Personal Use Only.’”

“I brought that pastrami all the way from the Upper East Side! I savor that pastrami.” Jay grimaced. “Susan always described Father Michael as such a nice, kindly priest. I assume this pastrami-stealing behavior is demonic influence.”

“Are you listening to music on your headphones while also blasting music through our home?” Una asked, changing the subject. “Because it’s not even 3:30 in the morning.”

“It’s my home. You’re a guest. And for your information, I was listening to music while also training in mental discipline using aetheric signal tones.” He lifted his large, cushioned headphones again. In the loft’s silence, Una could hear a faint series of chimes emerging from the cups. “Is that why you’re here, clad only in a towel? The music shouldn’t have disturbed you. I checked the decibels!”

Una shook her head. “I want to talk… about nanotech.” She bit her lip, uncertain.

Jay’s eyes widened. “Oh ho! So you’re finally willing to consider my offer? I’ve been fine-tuning something I think will work for you.” He slid his chair back and stood up; he wore plaid pajama bottoms and a long Depeche Mode t-shirt, which overall gave the impression of a skinny, disheveled scarecrow.

“I want to go over the details again,” Una said. She’d heard Jay’s explanation of how she might use nanotech to control her appearance twice already, but had a hard time wrapping her head around it. “Then I’ll decide… I don’t want to do anything drastic, okay? I just want to look… normal.”

She felt embarrassed even saying it, but Jay just nodded with a solemn expression. “Of course. You should feel comfortable with the details. Come on, let’s go to the wet lab! I can explain while I set up.” He kicked a cardboard box out of the way and moved towards the back of the room, and a door Una hadn’t noticed before. The wet lab, she thought. Am I really ready for the wet lab?