v1 CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE: In which an argument erupts between a host and guest over length of stay.

Also: be sure to check out the author's note at the end of this chapter for information about future chapters of this story, which some readers may find disturbing.

Two weeks after the “red dress incident,” Micki unlocked the metal gate barring her way onto the third floor of an old warehouse. She slid the heavy gate up easily with one hand and stepped out into her very own Brooklyn loft apartment. All right, so it wasn’t really hers. The suite of recently constructed rooms belonged to a friend of Susan’s friends from SUBMISSION, who was in Hong Kong on business for several months. For now, she had the place to herself… unless you counted Yael.

Jay Sigma, one of the sex party’s organizers, was apparently both a noise musician and some kind of programmer who dealt with information security; at least that’s what Micki guessed based on the equipment and periodicals she’d found lying around. No matter his profession, Jay had refined and expensive taste in furniture, and his home and everything Micki needed in a hideaway: an espresso machine, a simple guest bedroom, and a common area with enormous windows where she could sit, eat, and study.

Micki had never lived outside of Manhattan before but reassured herself with the thought that the West Village was only a few subway stops away. Half-joking, she’d told John that she was taking a spiritual retreat outside the city. This morning, returning with a box of croissants from the local bakery, the joke was closer to the truth: she planned to read in the spring sunlight and write in her diary. She wandered into the kitchen first to prepare a cappuccino, glancing occasionally at the large mirror in the living’s room’s corner.

With no duties at the church, and only a handful of people in the city who’d even recognize her, Micki had found herself with an unusual amount of spare time. She went to the library, delving into research on succubae and re-familiarizing herself with theology on the soul—from Aquinas and Augustine to contemporary thinkers.

She went for walks in the nearby park, and made the occasional sexual rendezvous, alternating between John or Susan, whenever she began to feel restless and aroused. To their surprise and relief, two lovers seemed sufficient to satiate a demi-succubus, at least for now; following those first intense encounters with each of them, sex had become more playful and eager, less thoroughly drenched in repressed desire, emotional release and barely controlled magic.

John was still uneasy with the entire situation, and it laced their somewhat furtive trysts with taboo and an almost primal need for each other. Her lovemaking with Susan was inventive and sometimes silly, even involving third or fourth partners, albeit carefully where Micki was directly involved. She’d managed not to transform anyone else, although Micki still felt the uncanny sensation of an incomplete wrongness in her body. She sipped her coffee and glanced once more at the mirror.

It’s a good life, she thought as she settled onto Jay’s electric-blue chaise lounge. If only it could last. Despite her cultivated quiet, she knew she was still being sought by the Vatican, living off her meager savings, and wandering the city with no legal identity or permanent address. Eventually, Monsignor Albert or Thomas Spencer will track me down, or threaten Susan for my location. The thought made her tail curl with a demonic flare of anger.

As she settled onto the chaise with her cappuccino and book—a biography of Thomas More—Micki felt a sudden wave of anxiety. Maybe she should break out of her stasis, the familiar mode of Father Michael Belmont, and do something. John thought she should petition a legal court for recognition and register as a supernatural entity. Susan wanted them to flee the city entirely and start a commune on a farm, but admitted that she was mostly indulging in a silly fantasy.

Instead, Micki found herself thinking about SUBMISSION; the party was happening again that weekend. She could test the limits of her powers as a succubus, dazzle queers and kinksters with her looks and body, and deliver dizzying heights of pleasure to some of them. Maybe she would transform someone into the shape they secretly desired, or feed on their—

Micki set her coffee cup down on the table with a thump and stared into the large mirror. A week ago, she’d deliberately rotated the chaise lounge to face it. Nothing moved in the mirror save her; she was wearing a black lace dress in a Victorian style, with a high neck and long sleeves, but a short skirt which had settled around her legs, tucked to one side. She let out a sigh and went back to reading. A minute passed.

“Ugh! You’re no fun at all.” The last word drew out in a long groan. In the mirror, the tops of Yael’s horns poked up from behind the blue seat. “I can tell you’re not actually reading that boring crap!”

“I was waiting for you.” Micki closed her back, not having turned a single page. “You know I can tell when you’re trying to put a thought in my head, right? Were you hoping I’d react as I did before I was used to you?” She placed the back of her hand on her forehead. “Get out of my mind, you wretched demon! I won’t let you tempt me!” Micki rolled her eyes while doing her best to smile.

Yael pouted, resting her head and arms on the curving back of the chaise, behind Micki. “I can’t believe even a huge nerd like you is going to spend existence as a succubus sitting here and reading theology. Is this your idea of a joke?”

Micki smirked. “Perhaps. I’ve been reading a lot about the human soul. Seems relevant to our situation. Really, I was waiting for you to show up.” She patted the seat next to her, still looking in the mirror, but Yael just scowled.

“You’re not even going to go fuck your goody-two-shoes boyfriend or that nerd nympho gal pal of yours? I’m getting hungry…” Yael arched herself over the back of the little couch, letting her crimson cleavage bob upside-down out of the too-small camisole she wore. Her black ringlets spilled over Micki’s bare feet—or at least, over her reflection.

“Are you ever not hungry?” snapped Micki, then took a deep breath. This was the third or fourth conversation of this nature, and her patience was wearing thin. At first, Yael had simply scoffed at the notion that they might somehow coexist. The ancient demon insisted she had an “unholy claim” on the body that had once been Michael Belmont’s, and after disappearing in a huff, had resumed her series of temptations and tricks—lurid dreams, tantalizing suggestions, fits of screaming in frustration.

Yael’s prey was mentally in a very different situation than Father Michael had been in the past. She knew herself more thoroughly, her needs and desires. At one point, Micki had “graciously” offered to masturbate while Yael watched eagerly. She’d started by lazily stroking herself through a sheer pair of panties, then using her fingers to slip inside, and finally a vibrator, bringing herself to a crescendo of pleasure. Nothing had happened: no transformation, demonic energy or pulsing of forbidden desire.

“See?” Micki had said smugly. “Susan was right, after a fashion—just a little premature. When a woman like me is in charge of her body, and knows how to get herself what she needs, there’s no—” Yael had cut her off at that point with a torrent of foul-mouthed invective.

Now Yael was dejectedly slapping at Micki’s thigh with her own limp tail. She’s trying to be annoying, Micki thought. It’s like having a bratty, depressed roommate.

Yael glared up at her. “What do you expect? I’m stuck here with you, a demi-succubus who acts more like a gloomy nun. Nine thousand years of experience, and you won’t even worship me a little! I could teach you so much… or at least the bits that I remember! I could teach you those parts…”

“I appreciate the offer,” Micki replied, “But that would make us more likely to speed up the transformation. We’re not doing that. Why don’t you come out of the mirror so we can talk? I’ll make you a cappuccino.”

Yael stared at Micki’s half-full, foamy cup with an envious glare. “Who’s playing tricks now? You’re feeding us with a trickle of horny energy, all that boring maintenance sex with your tiny little modest harem, and you want me to burn up what I’ve got by manifesting? I’m not stupid, Micki. We’re in an endurance race.”

Yael sat up, reached behind the reflection of the couch, and pulled out her own illusory cup of coffee—a perfectly made macchiato, Micki noted. At least she’s calling me Micki, she thought. Yael just smirked.

“All right. If we’re both stuck hiding out here and waiting, why don’t you tell me why you’re upset?” Micki swiveled on the couch so that she faced Yael’s reflection.

Yael lay herself out on the backless end of the couch, propping her scarlet arm on a pillow. “Well, Father… I’ve been troubled ever since I got corralled into possessing this boring priest. Things were going well for a while, but now she’s an uppity demi-succubus who won’t cooperate!”

“Corralled?” Micki raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t pick me out as a target on your own?”

Yael scowled but didn’t respond to the question. “Subsisting on scraps, no worshippers, and the body I should control is dressing like an Italian widow and going for walks in the park. It’s bad enough that I sometimes consider fucking off straight back to Hell.”

“Would that be so bad?” Micki peered at her listless bodymate over the rim of her cup.

Yael caught her glance in the mirror and stared into her, their identical yellow eyes gazing into each other’s long, flattened pupils. “You can’t possibly have any idea how bad. No living mortal can.” Micki repressed a shudder.

“You know what your problem is, Micki Belmont?” Micki motioned for her to continue; she would anyway. “An absence of gratitude. You don’t know how good you have it, anchored to this world in a human body, able to feel and fuck and feed and fight.”

“Life is the greatest blessing our Creator bestows,” Micki muttered. “That, and the choice to do good in His name.”

Yael ignored her as easily as a disinterested cat. “But then, I already knew you for an ungrateful bitch. I helped you out with Mastema, not once but three times: his name, the wounds he inflicted on you, and that bullshit in your church. Then you all left me depleted underground.”

Micki held her breath. Yael returned to this topic when they spoke, often building to a rage. Apologizing hadn’t mollified the succubus. That’s not the point of saying sorry, she chided herself.

“I regret that.” Micki regarded her red, curly-headed counterpart with a grave expression. “If I had known you were… stuck in that semi-ethereal form, conscious but unable to do anything, we would have… I don’t know. Given you more energy. I was scared. I still am.”

Yael waved a black-nailed hand. “You’ve said all of this before. Why don’t we discuss ways to cooperate instead?”

Micki sat up, setting her cooling cappuccino down. “Really? What do you have in mind?” This was what she’d been waiting for; perhaps in all the ancient demon’s knowledge, though a substantial chunk of Yael’s memories were bound to be about sex, there was a way to coexist.

Yael gave her a conspiratorial smile. “Glad you’re on board. Here’s what we do: first, we’ll need to gather a lot of energy. Once we complete the transformation and bring you to full power, you’ll have abilities that will make it easier to evade or hide from the ones looking for you, particularly that creepy exorcist. You’d be able to help your lovers, deal with threats…”

Micki listened but held up a hand. “Can you show me how to accomplish some of that without transforming completely? You know my concerns in that regard.”

Yael shook her head, tilting her head and resting her chin on one hand. “Dearest one… there’s so much you still don’t understand. You’ll come into your powers when you look like this…” She gestured at herself. “Or more like this. Maybe we’ll keep the haughty bitch look. It’s growing on me.”

Micki felt her teeth grind against each other, her sharp canines poking her gums in tension. “Who exactly will call the shots at that point? You?”

Yael drew herself up. “Remember that I’m the senior partner here, girl. I will guide and protect us as—”

“As what, Yael?” Micki was on her feet, staring in the mirror. “What will I be doing?”

Yael glared back. “You’ll become part of me, of course.”

Micki’s temper boiled over; she clenched her fists and looked around at her coffee, a hamper of her freshly laundered clothes, Jay Sigma’s furniture. No. She picked up a magazine and hurled it across the room, an ineffectual expression of the rage that ping-ponged between the two of them.

“The same old bullshit,” she hissed, and reached up to unfasten the clasps at the neck of her dress.

“What in hell’s name are you doing now?” asked Yael. The anger was infectious, Yael’s brow furrowing and a dark aura of energy shifting around the long arcs of her horns.

“If you won’t negotiate with me in good faith, I have better things to do. I’m going running.” She reached behind her back to undo the dress, enjoying the flexibility of her changed body.

Yael stood up on the chaise lounge, finally gaining a height advantage on her unwilling host. “You haven’t been listening to me! There isn’t any other way. I don’t know what you’re fantasizing about, you silly girl—were you hoping I’d be happy riding along like this forever? Eating your scraps? Do you think I enjoy hanging out in a mirror whispering to you?! I need a goddamned body. Do humans reproduce by budding yet? Have you mastered cloning? If not, I need this body.”

Micki stepped out of the dress, wearing only a simple pair of black panties underneath. “This body is occupied, and although you’re welcome to stay if you… behave yourself… I’d prefer it if you found another.” She walked towards the mirror but continued to regard Yael, standing on the couch.

“Listen,” she said to the reflection that had haunted her for weeks. “What if… I figured out a way to get pregnant? Then, as a new life began…” she trailed off, horrified at her own words. What happens to the soul of the infant?

Yael flopped down onto the chaise again. “What an absolute dork. That method doesn’t work well for succubae for reasons you might already know, spermicidal cooch and whatnot. Even if it did, I don’t think you have the nerve to pull it off, Catholic girl. Even if you did, I’m not in the mood to spend over a decade as a pre-pubescent runt! I’ve known plenty of Lolita succubae, but this bitch isn’t one of them.”

Micki placed two fingers on her forehead between her eyebrows. I need to get out of here. This conversation is making me lose my better judgment.

Yael came closer. “All right, all right. What if we tried this? Just let me use the body… occasionally? If you relinquish control for a time, and we could even make a contract for it, perhaps we could learn to work in harmony.”

Micki looked Yael in the eye again, then gazed at her body in the mirror, thinking. Yael’s figure, next to her, was more curvaceous, with full breasts and slender limbs. Micki’s own arms and legs had become somewhat muscular in appearance, as she’d spent more time exercising and running; those parts, and a few other aspects of her skeleton, had never fully changed and still resembled Michael’s. Perhaps that was why she gained muscle tone quickly.

Still, she’d become attached to her appearance, perhaps because it deviated from Yael’s, or that of any classic depiction of a voluptuous succubus. She wanted to be her own person, not like any of the demonic schoolgirls from her nightmare of a class taught by Yael, or Yael herself. She’d rather be a tall, lean demon than a little curvy one.

Yael was scowling, clearly overhearing her thoughts with scorn. “You’d really trade off with me?” she asked. Yael nodded eagerly and stepped forward. Micki watched Yael approach in the mirror, then felt Yael’s breasts press against her side as the demoness embraced her. Shit, she thought, I guess we’re doing this right now. The image of Yael held her close, then melted into her. Micki felt an inward struggle, something pulling at her, and relaxed to let it happen.

Yael flexed Micki’s hands, looking at the fingers move, then ran one hand through Micki’s sleek block locks. In the mirror, the woman broke into a smile: Yael’s shit-eating grin. The succubus began laughing, with Micki’s contralto timbre. Her hair tossed around in a sudden breeze, and gained a slight wave, no longer stick-straight. She squeezed her breasts, and felt them pulse, growing just a little larger.

“No!” yelled Micki from somewhere within. The face they shared looked as if she’d just been slapped. Yael clutched Micki’s head with one hand, as Micki used her other hand to grab Yael’s wrist. “You’re not transforming me anymore!” In the mirror, two succubae wrestled over one body.

Micki screamed, clenching her fists towards the ceiling. Steam wisped out of her ears, nose and mouth. A crackle of energy arced between her delicate horns. She panted for breath. “Fuck you,” she said, glaring towards the disheveled, red succubus in the mirror. “No more tricks.”

In control once more, Micki walked to the hamper and pulled out a pair of bicycle shorts, a slim sports bra, and a sheer white athletic T-shirt.

“The easy way or the hard way, Father Michael. Remember? If you won’t accept me, if you keep resisting, eventually I’ll have no choice but to break you!” Yael’s face twisted into a bestial snarl.

“There’s always another way,” murmured Micki. “We all have some kind of choice, even you.”

“You naïve little cleric!” Yael scoffed, her pupils shrinking to squares as she narrowed her gaze. “You’re imagining there’s some happy ending where we hold hands and meditate together, becoming a beautiful goddess with two heads and four arms. That doesn’t exist. What do you think would happen if I just left for Hell itself or another body? Why do you think I haven’t already abandoned you for the nearest demon-worshipping slut?”

Micki hiked the shorts up her legs. “Enlighten me, O Yael.”

“You’d be toast, stupid. A little succubus who doesn’t know how to regulate her powers. Without giving in to an exorcism, you wouldn’t change back, which I realize is what you wanted.”

Yael placed her fists on the mirror. “But you don’t know what you’re playing with. You think you’ve found a quiet life of minor pleasures, but without me inside, you’d pop. An out-of-control demon in New York City? You’d last five minutes before that demon hunter or one of her kin sliced you in two. You wouldn’t have any idea what to do when your eyes started bleeding, and I wouldn’t be here for you to crawl back to.”

Micki said nothing, disturbed. She pulled the shirt over her head and turned to leave.

“You stupid little slut!” Yael screamed. “Listen to what I’m saying! You have no choice but to give in to me.”

“I can’t trust anything you’re saying,” hissed Micki over her shoulder. “You lie and lie.”

“What do you expect, idiot? Do you think I’m a friendly spirit? A ghost? I’m a demon.” The reflected room behind Yael flickered with illusory flames.

“You’re nothing but a parasite.” Micki raised the elevator gate with one hand. “I feel sorry for you, but you can’t expect me to cooperate in what amounts to suicide, or reducing myself to a set of memories in your senile, fading collection.”

Yael roared with rage, slamming her horns against the other side of the mirror. A crack appeared in the glass. Micki paid her no heed; it was another illusion. She stepped into the elevator and pushed the button to leave.