v1 CHAPTER FORTY-SIX: In which mentor and protégé forge a new, loyal bond.

Micki couldn’t open her eyes. Something pressed down on her, keeping her asleep, but not exactly asleep.

A memory swam in from somewhere. A dream? Or was this happening right now, in her mind? Yael yelled at her as she tried to apologize. “How could you be so stupid? I’m caught away for a second and you trust a complete stranger claiming to be a dream-warden?”

Someone else spoke; the voice sounded muffled, as if on the other side of a door. Micki’s consciousness swam through darkness, catching fragments. “…can’t comprehend why you’d undertake a binding with that name, instead of…”

A higher voice responded, annoyed. “You must grasp the necessities of geas, Monsignor. I had to use the truest name, especially as the demon-infested soul rejects the body you insisted upon. She will eventually—” The second voice cut off in a strangled, choking sound.

“Do not presume to lecture me, witch.” The first voice was harsher now, and alarm coursed through Micki’s veins. She opened her eyes, but her vision was blurry. She felt impossibly heavy, the position of her limbs awkward and foreign.

“I can deal with the mind, as usual. The… instability may even prove useful, given the succubus power set. We’ll just have to—wait, he’s awake. Stand back, Sister.”

The face of Monsignor Thomas Spencer swam into view. She focused on his sharply trimmed beard, willing her eyes to work properly. “Well, hello there,” said Spencer. His voice was kind again. “You’ve been through quite a lot. Can you tell me your name?”

“Mick-eee,” she said weakly. “Sorry—I’m sorry if I can’t talk right; this body isn’t really mine.” Her voice was deep, rumbling in her chest. Dear God, she thought, it wasn’t just a dream. I’ve changed my body to look like that girl’s dream boyfriend.

He nodded. “Mick. E.” He said it as if it was a first name and an initial, instead of her first name. “Let’s just say Mick for now, all right? Everything is fine. Mick is a good name for a stout lad like yourself.”

Mick nodded, feeling a surge of relief. It was a perfectly good name for a stout lad like… wait. She didn’t have any mates called Mick. Did he? She couldn’t remember. He wasn’t sure.

Monsignor Spencer continued. “Now, let’s see—you’re safe now, Mick. Back in your own, proper body.” His voice resonated with warm, fatherly tones. Not a hint of suspicion or anger in the way he spoke.

“Oh, thank you Monsignor,” said Mick E. Belmont. “You got me out of that nightmare.”

“What do you remember?” asked Spencer. “Do you recall anything from the dream?”

Mick frowned; it was hard to concentrate with all the pain in his head. “Not much. I was on the beach in bed with some woman I’d never seen before. She tricked me, I shouldn’t have trusted—”

Spencer cut off the thought. “That was a succubus, Mick. They’re very deceptive. Do you recall anything about the succubae?”

Mick closed his eyes again and tried to picture the face of Yael. He remembered her long dark curls and beautiful red skin, which made him feel ashamed and comforted all at once. She’d yelled and cursed. Why would she want to treat him like that? Berating and threatening him… wasn’t sex supposed to be fun and natural? He’d only been having fun on the beach…

“Yes… there was a succubus. She… what did she do to me?”

Spencer looked up from his notes. “She took advantage of you while you were sleeping; she used your body to pleasure herself, and she wanted to control your body completely. The succubus is your enemy.”

Mick winced. All of that sounded like things Yael might do—now he could remember her teasing him, trying to molest him in his dreams. “Why is it so hard to think, Monsignor?” he moaned. “Wait, you said I was back in my body… but this body is nothing like mine! I don’t want these changes! How—how am I going to…?”

“Calm down. You’ll be fine,” soothed Spencer. “We’ll help you adjust.” He paused as though waiting for Mick’s approval. The priest could see no sign of agreement from Mick, whose face roiled with internal struggle. He sighed. “Let’s go over some ground truths.” He caught Mick’s gaze and stared into his eyes, unblinking.

“Your name is Father Mick Belmont. You’re 25 years old. You’re popular among your friends and enjoy masculine pursuits and skills. You’ve just been ordained and taken your vows of celibacy and obedience. Do you remember?”

Mick shook his head—a little too vigorously for his liking; the pain in his skull felt like someone had hit him with a hammer. He rubbed his temples and grimaced. “What? Masculine pursuits? No. I mean, I remember being ordained, but it feels like it was… a very long time ago.”

“Good boy!” said Spencer encouragingly. “You do remember. It may seem like a long time, but it was only weeks ago. You know me, of course. We’re working together as part of the Curia for Supernatural Warfare. You showed great promise in seminary, so I brought you to this facility to train and work side by side to battle demonic forces.”

Mick nodded; he had heard about the war against supernatural evil in school, but hadn’t known where they trained new recruits. This place must be very secret indeed if most of the Church didn’t know its location.

Spencer continued to lecture while he scribbled notes on a notepad: “As part of your training, we will have several special sessions—but I’m hoping to get you back into general drills and field exercises as soon as possible.”

“Are there other recruits training here, Monsignor?” Mick sat up and flexed his arms. They were sore, but he was still in great shape, his muscles tense and ready. If he could have fought off the succubus with his bare fists, he would have; maybe then things wouldn’t have gone so badly. “Are there others like me? Other priests with special powers?”

Spencer raised his eyebrows and glanced at another note he’d written in the book. “What special powers do you remember having, Mick?”

Mick furrowed his brow, doing his best to think. “I’m an exorcist? And a healer. I vowed to help people.”

“That’s right,” agreed Spencer. “You’ve studied the rites, and we’ll work further on that. And you do potentially have some healing powers, although it may take you a while to access them. We’ve also begun combat training.” He turned to look closely at Mick, as if studying his skin, looking through it at what lay beneath. “Do you remember why you have the power to heal yourself and others, Mick?”

Mick frowned; his brow furrowed. “I am ashamed to say this, Monsignor. Although I’m not sure why. I think it has something to do with the succubus?”

“You don’t need to be ashamed,” replied Spencer reassuringly. “If anything, this is good news—the more you learn about your past and how you gained your powers, the better. Your memories are coming back now.”

Mick thought about that for a moment. Monsignor Spencer was right, he thought with relief. He’d remember more soon, and everything would be all right. “Am I… tainted somehow, Monsignor? I’m not possessed, am I?”

Spencer laughed; his eyes crinkled at the corners, indulgent. “Of course not. That would be terrible. You’re under no demonic control or influence whatsoever. But you should know that the succubus possessed you at one point. You gave in to temptation. You let her change you into a woman.”

Mick looked down at himself as he remembered—a strange memory of wearing a white bikini. A memory of running through the park, his body moving in unfamiliar ways. Of—of wrapping his arms around another man. The memory made him feel embarrassed again, but also sent a tingle through his lower back and his thighs. He felt his manhood stir between his legs. “I don’t like to talk about that time in my life,” he croaked hoarsely. “I just want… just want to be myself.”

“We’re going to talk about it anyway. Now sit up straight and show me you can be brave.”

Mick pulled himself upright and faced Spencer. The older man held out his hand; Mick took it and shook it firmly. “Now focus on the demon inside you,” Spencer instructed.

When Mick looked alarmed, the elder priest continued. “The demon inside may not possess you, Mick; its presence need not taint you. You contain it and restrain it within you. Within your strong, pure frame. But like a battery, you can access the demon’s power. If you imagine reaching inside yourself, try to feel it there, nestled in your soul.”

Mick closed his eyes. He breathed deeply. Then he imagined reaching deep into his body with both hands. It was hard to concentrate—he kept imagining himself as a beautiful woman for some reason. But finally, he felt something. Something cold and sharp.

He opened his eyes. “There’s something… something there, Monsignor. What should I—” Mick started, as if kicked.

Spencer clapped his hand over Mick’s mouth; then he reached across the desk and pulled a knife from beneath the pile of papers and placed it against Mick’s neck.

“If you move, I will kill you,” Spencer whispered harshly.

Mick’s eyes bulged, staring in terror at the knife. Why was Spencer doing this? Had the demon compromised him somehow? Or was he simply trying to scare Mick into obedience?

“Look at your left hand,” said Spencer.

Mick raised his left hand, seeing that it had changed somehow; his fingers were red, slender, and tipped with nails that tapered to points. The nails were black, as if painted with lacquer, and his hand was hairless and smooth. “What—What’s happening?” he gasped.

“The demon is fighting to regain its freedom,” replied Spencer calmly. “This is part of the training process. You must learn to fight it, to restrain the instability of your form.”

Mick struggled to keep his composure. This wasn’t like any demonic possession he’d ever read about. He breathed, trying to will his hand to return to its normal broad, big-knuckled shape. The rugged hand of a guy who’d been in bar fights now and then, who liked to practice boxing. Not a girl’s hand; not some sort of sex toy or slut.

Slowly, agonizingly, with a stretching feeling, his hand grew larger and thicker again. His flesh returned to its original contours and color, and his skin flushed pink as blood rushed back into the veins and muscles. Despite his victory, Mick shook with fear.

When he could speak again, he asked: “Why does it want to be free? Why can’t I be… exorcised, Monsignor? Are healing powers worth this… this danger?”

Spencer sighed as he put away the knife. “It’s like a drug,” he explained. “If you take too much of it, you lose yourself. Instead, we must train ourselves to take it only in small doses. We need to control our powers without letting them overtake us. Exorcism is like trying to remove something that your system depends on: withdrawal would kill you. Like it or not, you are a supernatural warrior, and you have powers beyond healing.”

Mick stared. “What—what am I supposed to do with these powers?”

Spencer smiled sadly. “You’ll see soon enough.”

***

Susan was still tinkering with the contraption. Maria peeked at it as she stepped into the rectory kitchen. The device was enormous, full of wires and panels, and Maria hadn’t a single clue how it worked. She hefted the bag of Thai food and set it in what she hoped was a safely empty spot on the table. Susan didn’t seem to notice, still adjusting a lens.

“Susan! Miss Miller! You need to eat. I’ve brought you some food.”

Susan looked up from where she sat cross-legged on a chair in front of the device. Her eyes were wide with panic; she jumped off the chair as if something might electrocute her. The thing hummed ominously. A light flickered across its many screens.

“Sorry!” said Maria. “Is it the food? I can move it!” She swung the bag away from the table and knocked it into a pile of books. Susan waved her arms.

“No, no! You’re fine! I just don’t think I adjusted the harmonic resonator correctly…” she muttered with a distracted air, beginning to reconfigure the device with an array of screwdrivers.

Maria watched her, pulsing with curiosity. This was the first time she’d seen anything like this outside of TV shows. There was a glowing panel at the back of the machine covered by a sheet of glass, and a keyboard on the front surrounded by switches and dials, next to what looked like a tiny computer screen. It was, she had already decided, a contraption.

“So… This will help us track Micki down? How did you even know how to make this… something like this?” Maria came around to peer at Susan; her friend might be worried about whether the strange device was working, but Maria was worried about whether her friend was working, taking care of herself.

Maybe I’ve gotten more maternal since becoming a woman? Maria pondered the idea. No, that’s a total stereotype. Besides, how many friends had she ever known who’d seen her through a life change like this? Susan was a gem. Maria wanted to see her through this crisis.

“Hmm,” said Susan, finally answering the question. “It was certainly a learning process; it’s not as if there was one diagram I could follow to assemble it like store-bought furniture. I got about 30% from research and journal articles. Another 40% resulted from cobbling together instructions for various sub-components online. The rest… I don’t know, sometimes I feel like something is guiding me?”

Maria nodded. That made sense. When she was younger—as a boy, then a man—she hadn’t felt guided by anyone but herself. Now she could see it clearly: there was a pattern to everything in life, even if humans couldn’t always be aware of it. Micki had shown her that, which was part of why they had to find Micki.

“The problem is,” Susan was saying, “I think John’s worries were right. There are so many etheric signatures in New York, after two weeks, that it might be impossible to pinpoint Micki’s. If only we had some lead to narrow the search to some area she might be in…”

Maria tilted her head and looked up at the ceiling. It was a pose her agent advertised as part of her “uncanny beauty” for photo shoots. She was supposed to practice those. “Leads? What about… what’s her name?”

Susan blinked at her. “Who?”

“You know who,” said Maria patiently. When dealing with scholars—especially ones as brilliant as Susan—you had to stay patient and explain things slowly. “That girl.”

Susan frowned at her; she wasn’t getting across. “What girl? Is she tall, short? An opera singer? An airplane welder?”

“No!” Maria rolled her eyes. “Why would we need an opera singer? I think you said she was tall. You used the word ‘rangy’ and said she looked like a wolf, if a wolf had gotten kicked out of college for stalking people.”

“Oh!” said Susan. “You mean Cassandra.” She paused and then added: “That’s the demon hunter. I did tell you about her, didn’t I? The one who kept staring at me during the siege of our church—but I haven’t seen her since.”

“Yes!” Maria pointed at her. “That’s the girl! The one with a crush on you. You should call her.”

“We can’t just call anybody,” Susan replied firmly. “We’re still not sure who we can trust. Besides, Cassandra… did freelance work for the Vatican. Wait…. wait a second… God in heaven, it’s a totally brilliant idea! What if we ask Cassandra where the Vatican takes possessed people?”

Maria stared at Susan for several seconds; then—finally understanding—she let out a squeal of excitement and jumped up from her seat. “Yes!” she cried. “I knew we ought to call her! She’ll be all like, ooh,” Maria said in a husky voice, “I’m sulky and mysterious. But that foxy smart girl, Susan… she needs me. I must help her.” She sat back down. “Then you bat your eyelashes at her.”

Susan gave Maria an incredulous look. “That will not happen. Not in a million years.”

“Oh, come on!” Maria whined. “It’ll be fun! A little harmless flirting between girls? Please? Look how cute you are, trying to talk me out of it.”

Susan shook her head. “A billion years.”