v1 CHAPTER FORTY-THREE: In which the search for truth continues on two fronts, dreamed and real.

Susan rubbed her eyes and looked up from the computer screen. “Any luck, Father? All I’m finding are a lot of conspiracy theories.”

John held up a finger. He was cradling his phone by his ear and speaking in a strained voice. “Yes, that’s right. If you could tell him I called—yes, Father John Hayes from St. Andrew’s. At his earliest convenience, it’s an urgent matter. Thank you so much.” He hung up the phone and sat down, staring at Susan.

“Nothing yet,” he said. “The Church officials who are friendly with me don’t know anything. The others… I know people who must have climbed high enough to know something about something as shady as Vatican operatives kidnapping someone. But they get cagey as soon as I ask about that kind of bullshit!” He pounded a fist on Susan’s kitchen table, then looked apologetic. “Pardon my foul mouth. We’re getting nowhere.”

Susan leaned forward to peer at her search results again. She was still wearing a bathrobe; she hadn’t even bothered to take it off through another full morning of investigating what could have happened to Micki. “Maybe we should try some other angles.”

“What do you mean?” John asked.

“Well,” Susan said. “When I was researching this case—when Yael first possessed Micki—I found some material on etheric signatures and demonic possession. In theory, with the right instruments, we could track her.”

“An etheric signature? That’s something like a magic radio frequency, isn’t it? Would that show up over a week later, inside of a car moving through New York traffic?” John looked over his shoulder with a quirked eyebrow.

Susan shrugged. “It’s worth trying, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” John said after a moment. “Let’s give it a shot.”

The front door swung open, interrupting their tension with an awkward bang. “I brought bagels!” Maria’s cheery chime emerged from behind two large paper bags. “Maybe too many bagels, but I’m hungry.” The statuesque blonde set the bags down on the kitchen counter, and one pumpernickel bagel rolled off the top of the pile. “Oops!”

John picked up the dark brown bagel. “Thank you, Miss Johannsen. We can’t keep doing this without food and water.”

“Of course. I’m here to help too—I owe Micki my whole new life!” Maria gazed solemnly at their grim faces. “Stop looking so glum, both of you. You care about Micki Belmont more than anyone in the world, and that means you’ll find her.” She tapped her forehead. “I’ve got a sense for it.”

***

Micki gazed down at her hand. There was a cup of tea in it. She looked up. Thomas Spencer was sitting across from her, holding his own cup of tea. They were sitting in the gardens of the Cloisters again.

“There, isn’t that better?” he said. “It’s easier to talk like this. But I hope you don’t mind if I slip you into something more comfortable.” Spencer waved his hand. The air rippled across her, and her skin faded from deep red to the pale shade it had been yesterday. She found that she now wore a plain white t-shirt and a pair of jeans.

“You like things just so, I’ve noticed,” she said. “However… I’m not sure this ensemble feels appropriate to the setting?” Micki exhaled, and noticed her skin changing again, growing darker and redder. Her shirt flowed downwards, settling over her legs; the sleeves narrowed into straps and the neckline plunged to reveal her reddening cleavage. A trim of lace appeared along the bodice, matched by cut-out gloves on her hands. Am I doing this myself? Or is Yael helping me? She tried not to let her curiosity show through her calm façade, but couldn’t help but wonder if she might control dreams, or even her own physical form.

Spencer quirked an eyebrow, seemingly unruffled. “As you wish. Interesting… you’ve gained some of the dream-shaping powers of the succubae?” Micki said nothing, only returning his gaze with a polite smile.

She somehow felt very calm, which made it easier to remember a few things she and Yael had noted about Spencer. He liked to catch people off guard, he liked to ask the questions, and he didn’t want to reveal much.

Spencer smiled, but the way his lips curled conveyed an ice-cold tone. “An organized mind at the service of supernatural willpower can prove a great asset. You should remember that. Now, let’s talk about your situation. You’ve caused quite a lot of chaos today, Michael.”

Micki sat back against her chair and crossed her arms. “Have I done something wrong, Monsignor? Or has Sister Mary Margaret wronged me?”

Spencer shook his head. His short gray hair riffled gently in the breeze. “That’s not how it works here. You may have thought you could come to an understanding with the forces of darkness—you may even think they’re on your side. These games in your mind… they don’t bear on reality, where you’ve brought multiple forms of trouble into our house.”

“I’m not sure what you mean?” Micki felt her tone grow heated. Am I angry? Or does Spencer want to provoke me? “What I did was in the cause of my own—”

“I’m sorry,” Spencer interrupted. “I can’t disclose details of everything that happened today, but you’ve set back some of our plans. That includes some personal progress by Sister Mary Margaret, an embarrassing situation for both her and me.”

“What kind of creature is she, exactly? Not a demon.” Micki leaned forward, becoming curious again. She’d been wondering about the ancient-looking nun with the red-rimmed eyes since she’d first woken here… wherever here might be.

Spencer sighed. “She’s like you in some ways,” he said. “A human being who shares an existence with an ancient force of evil.” He sipped his tea, then added, “Unlike you, she’s actually in control, or was.”

The exorcist shook his head. “What was the idea, masturbating compulsively like someone with a frontal lobe injury? Were you trying to infuriate her? Or charge your spiritual batteries, hm?”

Micki stared back, silent.

Spencer laughed softly. “I know you’ve been colluding with Yael, whispering to each other like schoolgirls. But surely you recall, Father: we can never trust a demon. They only hope to corrupt; they’ll do whatever that takes—lie to you, manipulate you.” He set down his cup.

“That entity’s only goal is to take over your body completely.” He looked up and saw that Micki was staring past him. “Do you even realize… that’s probably come to pass already?”

Micki snapped her head to stare Spencer in the eye. “What?”

He stood up from the table and walked around it towards her. “Why do you think you acted that way? Do you think it was normal sexual behavior for a man, a Catholic priest? Or perhaps, were you completely controlled, in that moment, by a succubus? Which is it?”

Micki blinked. “It’s as simple as this: I allowed it, I did it myself. Because it felt good.”

Spencer nodded. “Mmm, yes. That’s why we must keep her out of your life. You have a way back, Michael. If you follow my instructions. If you refuse to do so, I can offer you another choice: we could provide you with enough demonic energy, all bottled up, for you and Yael to complete your transformation.”

Spencer set a small vial of red liquid on the table. “Drink that right now, if you like. Take the plunge.”

Micki looked down at the bottle. Whatever the nature of a vial of liquid in a dream-world, she sensed it represented a psychic leap, an end to this journey. She could fully become Yael. Or Yael would simply be her, with no more Micki.

“I see, Monsignor… you’d like to know if I’m afraid? By the doctrine of our Church, becoming a succubus completely is equivalent to suicide for me; I’d hand the body to Yael and fade away. Do you believe I’m afraid of that, Monsignor Spencer?”

“No, not really. At one point, perhaps, but not anymore.” Spencer sat down again. “Your fear—and it was a healthy fear—was based on your old understanding of yourself. As a human person. A male human person.” He paused, letting the words sink in.

“Now you’ve become an entirely unfamiliar creature. I don’t think you’re worried about becoming a succubus anymore; you feel you are one, or nearly so. You should be afraid.” The priest shifted in his seat, straightening and seeming to grow in stature. His voice deepened. “All your memories, the faith I see burning within you, your feelings for Susan Miller, John Hayes… Yael will erase all of that.”

Micki frowned. She’d fretted over this same worry for weeks, but hearing it reflected to her was jarring.

Spencer continued. “You’ll never experience human matters ever again. Including love. Not for your best friends, your lovers. What will happen to those two without you? Without your presence? Your love and guidance?”

Micki started to speak, then stopped. Spencer leaned forward, interested.

“Ah, I see now! She’s told you that you won’t disappear. Made promises that you’ll become something new together, and merge? Something like that?”

Micki studied him carefully. The man’s guess was almost on target, for she herself hoped for a third way, but Spencer had it the roles reversed; Yael mocked the very idea he was suggesting. Which meant that Tom Spencer didn’t know as much as pretended.

Spencer smiled. “Of course…” He shook his head sadly. “That’s impossible. The only thing you might manage in that regard would be the creation of a new succubus—another mindless, sex-obsessed manipulator, all predatory instinct with no humanity.”

The exorcist’s eyes flashed. “Even if you could do that—even if it were possible—why would you?” He stood once more, seeming to pulse with the desire to move. “Walk with me, Michael.”

Micki rose and followed him through the archways of the old monastery, her long white dress fluttering in the breeze. They strode towards a grassy meadow on a hill; her bare feet brushed the grass. Micki threw a glance upwards at her captor. She hadn’t realized how tall the priest was until now; his stature dwarfed her reduced size, leaving her feeling like an awkward child accompanying an adult. That’s how he wants me to feel, of course. Who knows how tall he really is?

Before them, two people sat in the grass having a picnic, laughing in the sun. Micki recognized them, her heart pounding tangibly against her ribs.

“Behold your friends,” said Spencer. “Susan and John.”

The man and woman turned and waved to her. No, not to her. There was another woman walking across the grass, wearing a sleek green halter top and a flowing skirt. It was Micki Belmont, but fair of skin, no tail curling at her side. Her hair was long and loose, falling in a soft wave around her pale shoulders. Just an ordinary girl meeting her friends.

“Would you prefer a life like this, Micki? I can call you Micki, can’t I?” Spencer’s tone was gentle.

She nodded. There was no use prevaricating about her identity at this point. On the grass, nice Micki and John and Susan were feeding each other strawberries.

He laughed lightly. “If you master yourself, if you play every card right, you could have everything you need. Everything you desire. Live in the city with your lovers—discreetly, of course. Do good works, including those in my service. And all the sustenance you need.”

The other Micki, the nice Micki, leaned over and kissed John full on the lips. Her other hand pulled Susan close. Ah, now she saw it: the tendrils of desire weaving around all three of them. The other Micki was still a succubus, but she was a respectable demoness.

Micki paused before asking a question, not wanting to say too much. “You mentioned I should resume my male form if I wanted to walk the world, Spencer. Otherwise, the Church will confine me to… a convent?”

Spencer shrugged. “Not necessarily.” He gestured toward Nice Micki and her entourage. “I can see you’re already like her—a succubus who no longer needs a human host. As Micki Belmont… well, you may not need to leave this body. I see… potential in you. That means if you can master yourself, the world could be yours to enjoy.”

Micki considered this for a moment. Then she looked up at Spencer. “I’ve been thinking about it,” she began tentatively. “Mastering myself, I mean. This is… a difficult situation.” Because you’re keeping me straight-jacketed in a secret Vatican insane asylum, she thought to herself. “I don’t even know what’s real anymore, at least in certain moments. So much has happened… that I have a few questions.”

Spencer nodded. “Of course.”

She took a deep breath. “I want to live my life the way I choose. Certainly, I’d like to help the world—fight demons if that’s my lot in life. You must know I faced down Mastema. Yet I’m so unsure of my footing in this realm I’ve been… brought into.” Abducted to, she had almost said. “Monsignor Spencer,” she said, adding a hint of plaintive tone. “How did you do it? What… led you here?”

He considered for a moment. “You would like to hear my story? The tale of a man with no choices?”

Micki nodded. Information, of any kind, was power.

Spencer gestured for her to sit on the grass, and he joined her. Behind them, in an entirely different sort of dream, the fantasy versions of Susan, John, and Micki laughed and kissed.

“Once upon a time,” he began, “there was a young man named Thomas. Though he appeared young, he was old in his thinking, wise beyond his years. He was brilliant at the art of language, which he loved above all else. And yet, despite his intelligence, he remained deeply troubled by his own nature. For he had a secret: a great, dark secret that threatened to destroy him—and the world.”

Micki listened intently.

“As a child, Thomas had been so desperately lonely that he sought companionship from the most unlikely of sources: an evil demon who lived in a cave near his village. The demon, a being named Nezz, promised to grant Thomas’s wish if the boy would do anything the demon asked. Thomas agreed, and the demon soon harnessed him as a vessel for its own purposes. As time went on, Nezz’s demands grew vicious. He wanted the boy to steal gold from his own father. To seduce his own sister. One by one, Thomas broke every one of his family’s hearts. But he did not stop there; he broke the hearts of other people, and he did so gleefully.”

“As time went on, Nezz’s demands grew more insidious. He wanted Thomas to help him create a weapon—a tool to enslave the world. To do so, Nezz needed a human to become like him, a truly demonic being. But every effort by Thomas to transform had been unsuccessful. No matter how much pain he inflicted on himself, or how many people he hurt, he could not make himself more evil than he already was.”

Thomas stopped and smiled at Micki; his eyes were cold and hard.

She raised a finely arched eyebrow at him, but said nothing.

“You want to hear the complete story?” said Spencer. “Of the dark deeds that Thomas committed, and how he trapped the demon inside of him to be his slave… rather than the reverse?”

Micki stared at him. “This is a lie, isn’t it? At least… it isn’t the whole truth.”

Spencer laughed. “Of course! You seemed too interested in ferreting me out. But shouldn’t we all play author at our own stories?” He put his hands on his knees. “Now, Micki. I’ve made you several offers to work for me, with every benefit I can devise. Alternately, we could exorcise you and see if you survive, or you could complete your transformation, if you believe Yael’s word, and become fully hers. In that case, I would negotiate with her, instead, and see what ends we could put each other to. Here and now, my interest is in you, and your choice. Which will it be?”

Micki remained silent. She lay back on the grass and stared at the dreamy blue expanse above them.

Spencer sighed, but then Micki spoke. “Is this where I say, ‘Away with you, Satan?’ Are we at three temptations yet?”

“Excuse me?” Monsignor Thomas Spencer looked confused, an unusual expression crossing his grave face. Micki propped herself up on her elbows, still reclining.

“You’ve offered me the chance to join you and save the world. Power over the mortal sphere, that’s the third temptation. You’ve offered me a life to sate my needs, with friends and food and fornication, if I use my powers on your behalf. The first temptation, I suppose? Sustenance in the desert. Though… the life portrayed in this pretty tableau more resembles the last temptation, if heretic enough to enjoy Kazantzakis’ version.” She winked at Spencer while counting on her long black nails.

“Or… the other suggestion, that I could trust Yael and take the plunge… possibly annihilate myself if I’ve misplaced my loyalty? A leap of faith from a pinnacle, trusting in a fallen angel to catch me.” She held up three fingers, fanning them. “Did you read the temptations of Christ when you were a little boy in a village, Monsignor? Or are you just a big fan of Satan’s style?”

Spencer peered at Micki as if staring into the eyes of a ghost; then he laughed. “What exactly are you, Belmont?”

“You already know me, Monsignor,” Micki began. “Before I was a succubus, I was a priest. I know the Bible; I serve a higher power first, mortal institutions second—even the rock of the Church. I am also… more than just a priest, so I’ll tell you I cannot live on bread alone. I need more than mere sustenance for a meaningful life, and my faith does not lead me to tempt fate. So, I must reject your temptations.”

Spencer seemed to consider this. “Then what do you want?”

Micki shook her head. “Not what I want—what I need. I need my friends. I need to practice my faith in my own way. I need my freedom. Do not bar my way. Let me go, and perhaps we can talk as equals.”

Spencer shook his head. “A rebellious angel. We will speak again, ere long.” He snapped his fingers.

The sun went out, the meadow disappeared, and Micki fell back into darkness.