v1 CHAPTER THREE: In which 19th century demonic activity and smooth skin become objects of study.

A man named Richard Brockenridge, an author of occult fiction, claimed to have encountered a demon in Manhattan, New York, in 1845. The demon in question was described as an "infernal temptress" who had preyed upon immigrants and dockworkers, causing several strange transformations and deaths that the authorities paid little attention to. Brockenridge himself had witnessed the transformation of two men, both dockworkers, who were possessed by the demon, and the results were disturbing indeed.

According to Brockenridge, the demons appeared as beautiful young women wearing skimpy clothing and carrying weapons such as knives or cutlasses. They wore dark lipstick and eye makeup, and their hair was long and loose, falling loosely over their shoulders. They could manifest as phantasms or appear in mirrors. But stranger still were the effects they had on the dockworkers they possessed. Both men had become "womanly," as Brockenridge put it, changing from muscular men into curvaceous women, complete with breasts and “organs of generation.” Their voices and mannerisms also changed dramatically, becoming high-pitched and feminine, seemingly forgetting their former selves.

Both victims became sexually aroused at the slightest provocation and would often attempt to seduce the other workers. "They had the appearance of fine ladies," wrote Brockenridge, "but wore their former clothing, which hung obscenely loose on smaller frames, and comported themselves like the foulest of doxies or bawds, as if thoroughly inebriated and mad with lust."

When in public places, the demons would frequently solicit men to accompany them home for sex, even when the men were married; unlike other ladies of the evening, the demons would offer to pay the men generously if they would agree. In many cases, the men succumbed to the demons' charms, leaving their families behind to follow the women into the city's brothels and opium dens. Although only two men had been transformed thus, they became infamous in Manhattan's underworld. One passed away through means unknown, but a single demoness remained.

The last demon that had taken control of a former dockworker was not satisfied merely by possessing the bodies of a poor soul. It began to experiment on the seduced, seeking new and more perverse forms of pleasure. It took particular delight in transforming one victim's penis into the head of a snake, and then forcing the man to mount other men. Eventually, it caused a third victim's tongue to become longer than his own body and then forced it into the mouth of another man, who found it difficult to breathe due to the size of his own tongue being forced down his throat. This attracted the attention of the authorities, and the demon's reign of terror was put to an end when it was captured and exorcised from its host, though the victim died shortly afterward from blood loss from his tongue.

Michael looked up from the page with horror, his face pale. "Oh, no!" he gasped. "This is horrible. What an ending."

Susan grimaced. "That part about the snake penis was especially lurid! Look here, there's a kind of lithograph, showing the den of inquity where the demon did all this." They peered at the faded, black-and-white illustration, which depicted a room full of men and women, one of whom laying prone on a couch, her mouth open in rapture or terror as a large serpent slithered between her legs and disappeared into her crotch. Another woman sat next to her, seemingly in a stupor; the faces of all these figures were strange and distorted. Presiding over this scene of horrors was a demoness, whose wings, hair, and dress suggested she was part bat or bird. Her eyes gleamed with demonic power, and she seemed to be laughing maniacally at the sight before her.

"It doesn't matter what form the succubus takes, does it, Father? No matter how much she tries to disguise herself, she's always evil." Father Michael nodded, and then blinked as he noticed a detail in the picture. A banner emblazoned with arcane sigils, draped across the top of the back wall, with jagged stitching spelling out four letters, a name, at one side. He recognized the name immediately: Yael.

"What do you make of that?" Susan asked, pointing to the banner. Michael shook his head in disbelief. "Yael... um... maybe it's a curse, or the name of something?" His palms sweated, and Susan raised an eyebrow. She turned the pages of the book, searching for more information, but found only more accounts of the demon's crimes, until finally she came to the section in the book to the events leading to the final exorcism. There wasn't any more mention of Yael's name in the text, and Michael breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm going to guess, based on what I know, that it's the name of this demon. Probably handy to know!"

Somewhere, Michael heard a faint snicker. The sound made him jump, but he saw nothing, and continued reading the story of the succubus' capture.

The exorcist who captured the succubus was a priest named Father Barnabas Solomon, who had been studying demons since childhood. He claimed that the church possessed knowledge of demonic magic and the occult but forbade anyone else from knowing of it. Solomon continued his research outside the church’s auspices, using his own funds and working tirelessly to discover the secrets of demonology; he claimed to have discovered several ancient texts describing demons and their powers. The author of the text they were reading claimed that all these texts were lost, but listed their names, strange titles such as "The Book of Nezz" or "The Book of the Dark Nymphs."

After years of study, Solomon had decided to travel to New York in search of a succubus to study. While in the city, he visited a prostitute who agreed to let him stay in her apartment. Hearing about the demon of the opium dens, he immediately went to investigate and was surprised to find a succubus inhabiting the body of the former dockworker. He cut out the demon's tongue and exorcised it back to an infernal realm. The dockworker died of blood loss, leaving behind a corpse with a female appearance.

"Wait... that's it?" exclaimed Michael. "All it says is that he cut out the tongue and exorcised the demon? And then the victim died? That's not very helpful at all!" He stood up, losing his composure. Susan looked alarmed, closing the book. "No, no," said Michael quickly. "Don't worry! I'm not angry. I just wanted to see if there was more." He sat down again, folding his hands in front of him.

"Father, have you ever seen a succubus?" asked Susan.

Susan considered this question carefully. She was very, very still, and staring at him. Looking at Michael's bare, smooth arm, where the sleeve of his cassock had rolled up as he turned the pages of the book. The room fell completely silent, with only the dripping of the kitchen faucet filling the empty air. A trickle of sweat ran down Michael's forehead.

Suddenly, Susan stood up and began walking towards Michael. Slowly, deliberately, she moved forward. Her hand reached out to touch one of his hands. With her other hand, she grasped one of his wrists, holding it tightly. "It's going to be OK, Father Michael. Show me, roll up both sleeves."

Michael obeyed her without hesitation, rolling up his right sleeve and revealing a perfectly smooth arm. Susan stared at his smooth skin for a long moment, breathing deeply through her nose.

"Well done, Father Michael. Now, roll up your left sleeve."

Michael complied, and Susan watched his arm for a few moments longer before speaking. "No follicles. No sign of wax, or shaving, or plucking. Those would all leave little bumps, at least. This is magical... magical hair removal. Is there... anything else, Father?" Her gaze roamed frankly up and down his body, appraising. Michael wasn't used to be looked at like this, stared at. His cheeks burned.

"Uh... no, I don't think so."

"Good. Thank you, Father Michael." Susan released his wrist and took his hand in hers. She squeezed gently. "You've had to be terribly brave, haven't you? When did this happen? What was it...?" Her voice trailed off into silence. Finally, she spoke again. "Do you want to tell me about it?" Michael nodded slowly and began to explain.

***

Later that evening, as Michael described what happened to him the night before, Susan listened with interest, occasionally interrupting with questions. She knew some basic details about the process of possession already, thanks to the books she'd read, but she wanted to hear what Michael thought about his experience, rather than relying on the accounts written by others. She took notes, fortunately in longhand that Michael, at least, could not make out. "Blue flames... interesting. And like a skinny teenager? I'm surprised, but well, I guess maybe it's the cultural influence..."

Michael reappraised her. Although she looked young, Susan was incredibly sharp, and apparently unflappable. Strands of night-black hair fell about her face, which was otherwise free of makeup and jewelry; she wore a plain white blouse and skirt pair that seemed almost to glow in the candlelight of the kitchen.

He found himself wondering about her and the new boy she'd mentioned. He didn't normally have thoughts like that. He shook his head slightly, clearing his mind. It's probably just the effect of being possessed by a succubus.

Susan closed her notes. "Well, as I see it, there are a few important things we should take care of. Number one: we must alert the Vatican, or at least ask them for help. Number two: keep you away from any source of demonic energy, which will only accelerate the transformation. Number three: be sure to button your shirts at the wrist and neck. It's more obvious than you might think that you have no body hair, at least to those who know you well! Number four: willpower, willpower, willpower."

Susan smiled warmly at Michael. He smiled back nervously.

"Lastly, I think we'll need to keep you in church, Father Michael. We need to pray, to invoke the Holy Spirit, to ask God to intervene on our behalf."

"Prayer?" Michael asked uncertainly. "That didn't seem to do much to affect her..." He frowned, looking at his arm, his smooth, hairless forearm. "But I suppose we can try."

"We will," said Susan firmly. "And of course, we'll need to try absolutely everything to keep you safe. But these aren't the only reasons I came over again. There's something I'd like to show you." Susan walked across the room and opened her satchel. She pulled out a small wooden box with a brass clasp. "I brought this with me because I believe you'll find it very useful, Father Michael. Inside was an old leather-bound tome. "This is a spellbook, Father Michael. You'll recognize some of the Latin, but much of the writing is in Hermetic runes." Michael nodded slowly. He’d heard of spellbooks, although he'd never actually owned one. He took the book gingerly in his hands, examining its cover, and flipping through a few pages.

"Is it really wise to fight fire with fire, Susan?" he asked. "Surely invoking this kind of dark power would only make Yael stronger." Susan shook her head. "Magic and demonic power aren't the same thing, silly. That's just the Vatican line on all this stuff." She sighed. "Father Michael, listen to me carefully: the Catholic Church does not understand the supernatural world nearly as well as it thinks it does. In fact, it's quite a bit more complicated and dangerous than anyone has yet realized." Michael considered her words quietly for a moment, then nodded.

"So, what am I supposed to do with this spellbook, exactly?" Susan shrugged. "There might be some simple charms in there that could help you out, ward anyone from coming in your windows, that kind of thing. Or give you an illusory guise, make you look... like you have hair on your arms? Okay, okay... I didn't really think it through all that much, I'm just trying to help!" She laughed weakly at herself and gave Michael a reassuring smile.

"Let's pray together, Father." She took his hand and pulled him down onto the floor, where they knelt. Susan began, confidently.

"Our Father, who art in heaven..."

Michael followed suit.

"... Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, on earth as in heaven..." The words were familiar, but no rush of comfort arrived to succor him in his worry over his soul.

Michael finished. "... Amen." Susan kissed him gently on the forehead, then stood up. "Now, let's go to the soup kitchen for dinner. It’s stew night, and I'm sure they could use our help. When times are troubling, put your back into work, as my grandma used to say! Then you should rest, and tomorrow we'll call the Archdiocese to see if they can help."

Michael was troubled but followed the young woman downstairs. Could he really tell his superior, Monsignor Albert? Or would he simply be excommunicated instantly? He turned his thoughts to the needy, and the parishioners, and the immediate task of running the kitchen, to try and clear his mind.