v1 CHAPTER TWELVE: In which an unusual token of apology is received, along with unexpected duties.

Susan knocked at the rectory door. "Father Michael? Hello?" Her gaze occasionally drifted to the tree branch, which still hadn't been removed from the east upper-story window despite city services promising to send a truck hours ago. The Archdiocese hadn't been much help either, dealing with other more urgent problems.

Michael studied the young woman outside, peering through the window. Had he made a mistake, bringing her into all this? When his own judgment was so clouded? He felt more guilty than ever that he had let her orally pleasure him. What had become of his vows, his morals? He could blame a demon, of course. But he could not avoid the responsibility, or the fact that he himself was changing, the bedrock of his principles shaking.

The very idea of going on like this, under Yael’s influence caused him to shake, as if punched in the stomach. But what would be the alternative? Accepting Cassandra's offer of an honorable death, and freeing himself from Yael's clutches? Susan knocked again. Michael took a deep breath and opened the door for her.

“Good morning, Susan. Thanks for coming by, as always.” Michael tried to keep his demeanor warm and collegial, but a little impartial. Perhaps they could somehow rewind to the days before Susan was uncomfortably familiar with his most intimate problems and anatomy. Susan hurried in and set her bag down. She was wearing a white blouse and tight jeans that accentuated the curves of her hips. “Looks like the storm really hit St. Andrew’s hard? Was… was Yael involved?”

Michael shook his head but said nothing more—as if acknowledging the damage might make it more real, or worse than it really was. Looking out of the window in the light of day, he could see how badly it had affected the church building and grounds: branches were scattered everywhere, some broken off completely, others snapped cleanly at the trunk, strewn about the yard.

“I haven't seen my resident succubus in a little while. This was purely an… act of God, I suppose we should say? Simply being a house has never made churches immune to natural disasters. There was something else strange, though.” Michael proceeded to tell Susan about the encounter with the strange demon hunter, Cassandra.

Susan listened intently, her expression growing more and more serious as Michael spoke, until finally she shook her head. "I can't believe this is happening," she said, her face grim.

"Well, there's no way we can fight her, right?" Michael asked, trying to sound as calm as possible, hoping that he didn't sound as afraid as he felt inside. “I tried to convince her that I, too, am fighting the good fight. But I don’t even know if I can convince myself of that. I’m not sure there’s a chance outside of… the mercy she offered.” Michael was clearly dejected, but also strangely more at peace with his situation than Susan had seen him.

"That's not exactly true," said Susan, setting down her bag and taking a deep breath before continuing, "I believe we have a chance against her and any chance, even a slim one, is worth maintaining our faith and hope." Michael beckoned her to sit down, and listened intently, motioning for Susan to proceed as he poured them each a cup of tea.

"First of all," said Susan, "we need to find out where she came from." She pulled out a small notebook computer from her bag and began tapping away at the keyboard while Michael sat across from her, listening intently to everything she had to say. "If we can track down her origins, we may be able to find someone who knows how to defeat her. For instance, there’s the biblical legend of a Hebrew woman by the same name, who seduced and killed an enemy commander—”

Michael raised a hand, finishing a sip of tea, then explained, “Yael told me the other day that she was born to Lilith, the mother of monsters mentioned in the Apocrypha, fathered by Lucifer himself. She also said several other things that might interest you: that demons are basically beings of energy and need human hosts to form identity and personality of their own.

He paused for another sip of his tea before continuing, “To be individuals, in other words. They're attracted to certain types of people and situations--like you've described with your research on succubae."

"So, Yael was drawn here because she needed a host? Why do humans attract her so strongly?" Susan asked, still typing away at the computer screen in front of her.

Michael thought about the question. “I suppose because she enjoys being human-like. She enjoys being sentient, self-aware, in a way that animals are not. She spoke of other demons, the rampaging sorts, as being pure will or emotion, all drive and no personality. But if you could speak to her, you’d realize Yael has, well… a little too much personality.” Michael scratched behind one ear. “Sometimes I think her personality is infecting me, too.”

Susan nodded gravely, standing up and moving towards the door. “Oh, wait! I forgot one thing… I have a little gift for you. In part to say sorry for the other day.” She fumbled in her bag.

Michael blanched. “It isn’t you who should apologize, Susan. I’m older, in a position of authority over you, and far more experienced with… well, not with relationships, but with matters of life than you are. It was my fault, not yours. And it wasn't just sex anyway; it was something deeper and stranger than that. If anything, I owe you an apology for not setting firmer boundaries."

Susan laughed lightly. “Few people have experience with life fighting off demonic sex infestation, Father! We can’t be blamed. Still, I obviously shouldn’t be gobbling up you up like the thirsty little slut I am sometimes… and since your anatomy keeps changing… I got you this to replace me.” She held it out to him: an oblong black box with a lacy silver design on top.

Michael looked down at it curiously, then opened it to reveal a pink vibrator with a large bulb at one end and a cord at the other. He stared at it blankly for several moments before looking up again at Susan. "What is this?"

"It's a vibrator," said Susan matter-of-factly. She pulled it out and offered it to him, pointing out a switch and dial, and showing him how the end swiveled open to change the shape of the vibrator into something long and slightly curved, perfectly suited for—Michael stopped himself before considering it too deeply.

“All right, Susan… I realize what it is. But why are you… why do you want me to…”

"It's a gift," said Susan calmly, closing the box and pressing it into his hands. "You're welcome." She turned to leave.

"Wait!" Michael called after her. "Why did you give it to me? What does it mean?"

Susan paused in the doorway, glancing over her shoulder. "It means you need something to help you keep your mind focused on the spiritual rather than the carnal side of things. You seem to have been spending quite a bit of time thinking about your sexual urges recently, haven't you?"

Michael nodded slowly, staring at the vibrator in his hands.

“Well,” said Susan, “Here’s my updated hypothesis. You are a kind of succubus now. We could call you a… demi-succubus, in the process of succubating. So, your transformations have something to do with interpersonal relations. For instance, fantasizing about others, or drawing energy out of an overeager grad student.” She reddened a bit.

“However! Orgasm is a perfectly natural function of the human body. If you bring yourself to climax, without any of that, there’s no reason demonic energy must be released. This, the vibrator! I know that when I just really need to get off, it helps me focus on other things. I'm sure you'll be able to use it to do the same thing, and hopefully make some progress towards acclimation and comfort in your own skin while you're at it."

She gave him a smile and left.

Michael stared at the vibrator for a few seconds longer before shrugging and putting it away somewhere he wouldn't forget where it was. No matter whether he decided to use it or not, he didn’t want to lose track of a pink vibrator in the rectory.

***

Michael walked briskly through the streets of Manhattan, his black clerical collar flapping in the wind. The sun was shining brightly, now that the storm had fully passed, and the air felt crisp and clear. A few tourists were wandering around, taking pictures of the tall buildings with their cameras. Somewhere nearby, a busker was playing a guitar and singing old folk songs. A thoroughly normal scene, thought Michael. Life goes on.

He came to a stop in front of the cathedral. He pushed open the heavy wooden doors and stepped through. It was dim and quiet inside, with only a handful of people scattered throughout the large space. At the far end of the room was the altar, with candles burning on either side. On the wall behind the altar hung a huge tapestry depicting Jesus Christ raising Lazarus from the dead. Michael stopped in front of the painting, gazing up at the image. It seemed so real that he almost expected the resurrected man to step down off the canvas and walk over to join him.

"Father Michael. Thank you for coming.” Michael turned to see Monsignor Albert striding towards him with a hurried pace, a scowl on the older man’s frown-lined face.

"Monsignor," said Michael, bowing his head slightly. "How may I serve you today?"

The Monsignor shook his head, brushing away the formalities. Albert had always been a rude and imperious man, risen through the ranks of the Church due to a reputation for sheer efficiency more than anything else. Michael had always done his best to steer clear of Church politics but was on thin ice now; if Albert knew what was happening to his body, his soul, that he was becoming a succubus, then Michael would likely be left out on the sidewalk to be picked up with the rest of the trash, or at best imprisoned with other victims of possession.

Yael’s bubbly, disembodied voice whispered in his ear, making him realize how long it had been since he’d heard her. “Ooh. St. Paddy’s. It’s been a while since I’ve been here!” She sounded excited, as though she were just about to do something naughty.

Michael looked around, trying to figure out where Yael was hiding. He could feel her presence somewhere nearby, but there was no sign of her yet. The church was empty except for them both and the priest who came by once a week to clean up. Albert coughed and continued, clearly annoyed by Michael’s distracted look.

"Father Michael," Albert repeated, "I need your help."

Michael blinked and focused on the older man. "Of course, Monsignor. What can I do?"

Albert's expression darkened. "It seems that Father Boudreau has fallen prey to one of those evil demons that have been plaguing this city lately. He was last seen with you—in the rectory of Saint Andrew's parish, if I'm not mistaken."

Michael felt like someone had punched him in the gut. "Yes, Monsignor. That is correct. But that was nearly two weeks ago. He’s been missing this whole time?”

"You are aware that demonic creatures are drawn to unholy acts? To depraved activity of all kinds?" Albert asked. Michael nodded; it was the conventional wisdom. "Then perhaps we should consider the possibility that he may be dead, or nearly so." Michael winced at the bluntness of the statement. Albert didn't seem to notice his discomfort. "If he were alive, he would have contacted me by now."

Michael hesitated but spoke. “If I may ask, Monsignor… why did you call me in the first place? Why not send an exorcist, or an investigator from the Vatican, or—or anyone else from your office?"

Albert gave him a cold glare. "Because I am not sure that you will fail, which is more than I can say about the other resources we have in this area at the moment. Because I know that you and your lay assistant, the Miller girl, have been researching these demons, and that you may well know more than any of us about fighting them. I’ll turn a blind eye to her illicit research… for now.”

Michael frowned. The Monsignor had never been fond of Susan, and the feeling was mutual. They had clashed several times over the years, and Michael had always managed to avoid getting on the older man's bad side. Now was not the time to make things worse.

"I understand," said Michael. “Monsignor… my request for an exorcist from the Vatican. Obviously, nobody has arrived yet or you wouldn’t be asking me to take this on. But is there any word from them? You did… contact them?”

Albert shook his head. "Not as far as I'm aware. There are rumors—rumors of a great deal of confusion in the Vatican itself, with many priests vanishing without a trace. It could be nothing; it could also be something very serious indeed. In any case, we've been forced to improvise."

Michael sighed. He could tell that Albert wasn't going to like what he was about to say next. "This may be a job for a demon hunter, Monsignor. Not a parish priest.”

Albert glared at him, then turned away and paced back and forth across the empty church. “What do you know about our dealings with the demon hunters, Belmont?” he asked after a long pause.

"Only that they're some kind of secret society," Michael replied. "I don't know much more than that."

"Then let me fill in the blanks for you, Father. Demon hunters are dangerous men who have been known to kill those they deem impure or evil. Obviously, we can’t risk that if Boudreau is in any way…” Albert gestured as if shaking something off his hands, “salvageable. However, if Boudreau is already fully possessed, dead—or worse—then we might just have to consider the option of removing the entire problem."

Michael swallowed hard. He knew what Albert meant by "worse". He'd read too many accounts of such things.

“For that reason, I will authorize you to hire one of them to help you in this matter," Albert continued. "The name Cassandra is familiar to me; she's not one of the best, but if she can find Boudreau quickly enough, we won't have to worry about her killing anyone else along the way.”

Michael stifled his surprise. Cassandra was a freelancer for the Church? He had to hope that she wasn’t sharing any details of his own condition with Albert or others in the Archdiocese. He nodded. “Yes, father. As for… supplies?”

Albert waved a hand dismissively. "That's taken care of. I've arranged for you to receive a supply of holy water and crucifixes from the Vatican's armory—and a few other things besides. All you need to do now is begin your search. Good luck, Belmont." The Monsignor strode away, but Michael called out one more time, much to Albert’s evident irritation.

“Monsignor… you didn’t mention what made you suspect demonic activity in this case. Was there some evidence, associated with Father Boudreau?”

Albert paused; he seemed to be considering his words carefully before replying. "No," he said finally. "There was no evidence of any kind. Just a hunch." With that, the Monsignor walked out of the church, and Michael was alone. Or as alone as he ever could get, given his unwanted guest.

Yael piped up again. “That dude suuuuuuucks. Withered old pickle with a layer of frosty icing… and lying to you…” The succubus’ voice faded away again, leaving Michael to wonder at her comings and goings.

***

Michael stepped into an antechamber and called Susan. She was going to be excited, possibly too excited. Despite that, Michael would need her help; he was no investigator and had only a passing knowledge of possessions. Other than the intimate knowledge of his own. He'd have to trust that she knew what she was doing. "Susan?" Michael asked.

"Yes?" came the reply. There was something about her tone—he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"Something's come up that you might be interested in. I probably should have mentioned it earlier, but... there's a missing priest. He may have been possessed. Monsignor Albert asked us to investigate—both of us, in fact." He paused, waiting for her reaction.

"Oh my god! Oh. My god." Susan was clearly thrilled by the news; Michael wasn't sure if he should be pleased or worried. "But wait—" she giggled girlishly, followed by the sound of a slap. "I said stop that, naughty girl! We can pick this up later, you'll just have to restrain yourself until then," Susan said, speaking to someone else. "I'm sorry, Father. This is amazing news. It's like a dream for me. Did they give you any special equipment? Restraints? A Codex Maleficarium, maybe?"

Michael wasn't sure what all those things were, so he simply responded: "Um... no. I don't think so? Albert mentioned holy water and crucifixes, but I know you carry that stuff around. What did you mean 'we can pick this up later'? Are you um, in the middle of something?"

"Yes—no!" Susan sounded flustered. "This is just a friend. Not important. Listen to me, Father. You're not to do anything. Nothing. Not yet. All right? Don't go anywhere without me. I will be there in half an hour. No more than that."

Michael chuckled. "Don't worry, Susan. You're part of this assignment as well, and you'll receive a fee. I called you as soon as I could, and I'm uptown right now as well. I'll meet you at St. Andrew's right away."

***

When Michael arrived at the rectory, he found Susan standing outside the front door with her arms crossed. She looked angry. When she saw him approaching from across the street, she let out a sigh of relief. "Thank God," she said. "I thought you'd gotten lost or something."

"Susan... I took the subway here from the cathedral, as quickly as I could. Are you alright? You seem..." Michael struggled to find the words; he was afraid of offending her.

"I'm fine. Let's go inside, shall we?" Susan opened the door and led Michael through the foyer, which was empty except for a small table with two chairs. They sat down, facing each other.

"What happened?" he asked. "Are you okay?"

Susan nodded. "I'm fine. Just—it was awkward. A lover's quarrel, I guess. But this must come first!" She brightened. "So, fill me in."

Michael explained the situation: Boudreau had last been seen not more than fifty feet from where they sat... and not long before Yael made her presence known. But since then, nothing.

"And Monsignor Albert said it was a hunch that demons were involved? A hunch?! He's got to be hiding something," Susan said, tapping her glossy lips with her pen. "He doesn't like you. I remember you telling months ago that he’d disliked you ever since your ordination. Is he… trying to get you in trouble somehow?"

"Perhaps," Michael replied. "But I don't think he'd have any reason to lie about this. He's just obviously... not telling us everything. Maybe for Boudreau's sake—the two of them were together in seminary."

Susan shrugged. "Well, let's hope you're right." She paused to take a deep breath and compose herself. "So... he was last seen here. But that won't tell us much. There are traces of demonic energy all over this place, due to Yael's activity. The monsignor won't give us anything else... so that leaves his residence."

"In the Gramercy Park area, I believe," said Michael. "Shall we? Or do we need to prepare anything else?"

"No, no—I'll get my coat," Susan said, rising from her chair. She slipped into her overcoat and pulled on her gloves. Then she looked at her watch. "It's almost six o'clock now. We should leave soon if we want to make it there by eight or nine."

At the front office of the church, they found a large box had been delivered from the Vatican armory. Susan hurriedly tore it open, with more than a hint of a Christmas morning unwrapping. "Holy water, check. Disposable rapid-deployment crucifix... I've got a better one already, plus one you can borrow, no need. Ooooh! What do we have here!" With a glint in her eye, the young woman pulled out a long wooden staff topped with a silver cross, its bottom shod in some kind of hinged metal cap.

"What is that?" Michael said, in surprise. It had clearly taken up most of the length of the box, which was filled with packing material.

"I’ve seen drawings of one. This is called an exorcism baton," she explained. "The Church uses it for ramming demons back into hell. If you hit them hard enough, their energy will be expelled—and you can use the crucifix as a handle to pull them out of people who are possessed. Plus, there's this." Susan pressed a hidden catch at shoulder level, and the metal piece at the bottom slid forward like a switchblade.

"A stiletto blade?" Michael said, impressed.

"Not exactly. This is what's called a 'demon dagger.' They're specially made for the Church; the blades are enchanted to cut through demonic flesh and bone. Like what demon slayers use. Hmm, now how do we get it back in? We don't really want the NYPD bothering us..." She fiddled with the thing while Michael took the last item out of the large box: a smaller wooden container with a hinged lid. Inside were two small vials of holy oil—one green and one blue—and a pair of small candles.

"Hmm. These are supposedly blessed by the Pope himself," Susan said, reading a slip of paper inside. "They're used to anoint weapons and other objects, like this staff. I'm told they work best when lit and carried in a person's hand." Michael tucked the container away in his voluminous cassock pocket, and they set out.