Sudden Death

by Donald Hanley

  “So I can override his orders,” I said eagerly, finally catching on.

  “Not that it’ll do you much good,” she went on, turning the page.

  “What are you talking about?” I protested. “I can do the same things he can! That’s good, right?”

  “Nay, she has the right of it,” Daraxandriel acknowledged grudgingly. “Thou dost not possess Parathraxas’ ring. Thou canst not compel another, save one already enthralled.” We all turned to look at Susie. Her eyes were almost back to normal and they narrowed menacingly.

  “Why are you all looking at me?”

  “All you can do is change his orders after he gives them,” Amy said with a crooked smile, leaning back and stretching out her long, bare legs. “You’ll be reactive, not proactive. Still,” she shrugged, causing female things to shift in very distracting ways, “I suppose it’s better than nothing.”

  “I’ll take whatever I can get at this point.” I chewed my lower lip, mulling this revelation over. “Susie,” I said thoughtfully, “are you still obeying me?”

  “Yes,” she said immediately and then she blinked. “No. What?”

  “Okay, listen carefully: from now on, don’t obey any commands from me unless I say ...” I paused, trying to come up with some word or phrase that the incubus wouldn’t think of. Then the perfect code popped into my head and I grinned. “Unless I say Simon says first. Got it?”

  “Yes?” Susie sounded dubious and I wondered if it was too late.

  “Touch your nose,” I told her.

  “Why?” she scowled.

  “Simon says, touch your nose.” Her forefinger tapped the tip of her nose and she stared at it like she didn’t recognize it. “Man, if only I’d been able to do this years ago,” I murmured. The possibilities would have been limitless.

  “It shall avail thee not, Peter Simon Collins,” Daraxandriel told me reprovingly. “Thy influence over her fades the longer she is away from the ring’s touch.”

  “It’s worth a try,” I insisted. “Maybe she’ll remember this if he catches her again.”

  “If who catches me again?” Susie asked frostily. “I don’t remember being caught.”

  “It’s a long story,” I sighed, “and it’s going to have to wait until we rescue Mrs. Kendricks.”

  “From a fate worse than lust,” Amy smiled slyly.

  “From that thing that’s controlling her!” I snapped. “Susie, can you teleport all of us to Mrs. Kendricks’ house?”

  “Are you sure you want to do that, Peter?” Amy asked with a coy tilt of her head. “We’re not exactly dressed for the occasion.”

  “Well, I, um –” I looked down at myself and then around at the women surrounding me. For the first time in recorded history, Susie showed less skin than everyone else and all she had on was her pool cover-up.

  “And I’m still bound to the Philosopher’s Stone,” she went on, “so I won’t be much help and Olivia, bless her heart, is just a ghost now.”

  “I’m a poltergeist,” Olivia protested, although she didn’t seem keen on the plan either.

  “But I guess Dara can stab the incubus while Susie electrocutes him,” she sighed dramatically. “That might work, if they can do it before he orders them to kill each other. Or maybe he’ll have some fun with them first.” This time, her smile had a wicked edge to it.

  “But we have to do something!” I argued, but the sinking sensation in my stomach told me Amy was right. “How about your succubus thing?” I asked Daraxandriel. “Can you change Mrs. Kendricks to make her immune to his orders?”

  She twisted her face into a doubtful grimace. “Mayhap, yet Dame Kendricks is a witch. I may not have the skill to influence one of her ilk.”

  “You wiped out Susie’s memories when we first met,” I argued.

  “The waif was but a novice then,” Daraxandriel explained, shaking her head. “Dame Kendricks is both experienced and powerful.”

  “But it might help, right? Even if she can just fend him off long enough for us to get her out of there, that’s better than nothing.”

  “I shall render such aid as I can,” she promised, “yet we needs must make haste and destroy this abomination.”

  “One step at a time,” I sighed. “Okay, let’s get out of here and regroup. Susie?” I turned to her and then blinked. Her green cover-up lay in a crumpled heap at her feet. “Why did you take your clothes off?” I asked, aghast.

  “Everyone else is skyclad,” she pointed out.

  “Not by choice! Pick that up!” She scowled at me like I was being unreasonable but complied. “Now take all of us back to the library.”

  “Why?” she frowned.

  “Because no one’s likely to bother us there and there might be something else in Dr. Bellowes’ stuff that might help us.” The array of expressions around me didn’t indicate a tremendous amount of support for my suggestion. “Unless someone has a better idea?” Four heads shook in unison. “Then let’s do it.”

  “Fine,” Susie huffed, “but I’ve been porting all day. I need to recharge first. Give me your Philosopher’s Stone.”

  “Do you see a Philosopher’s Stone anywhere on me?” I retorted.

  She eyed me from head to toe. “No,” she admitted. “What happened to it?”

  “I’ll explain later. Do you have enough juice left to get us to the library?”

  “I guess. We’ll have to stand close together.”

  “Dibs!” Amy jumped up from the bench and planted herself right on my hip, nudging her damp skin against mine as she grinned up at me. Daraxandriel retrieved her sword and her condom and positioned herself between Susie and me, while Olivia filled in the remaining gap. That was a lot of naked female in close proximity to Little Peter but fortunately the dampening field generated by Susie’s presence was in full effect.

  “On three,” Susie warned, raising her hands. The gems on her rings flared and the fiery pentagram formed around our feet. “Three,” she said, and the Brazos River vanished in a flash of blinding white.

  9

  Ever since some Neanderthal threw a bloody bearskin over his shoulders to ward off the cold, clothing has been an integral component of human civilization. Clothes protect us from our environment, they advertise our social status, and they cover up our physical deficiencies. Fashions and fabrics have evolved considerably over the centuries, but it’s a pretty sure bet that wherever you go in the world, you’ll only see maybe 10% of anyone else’s body. The rest is hidden from view behind a mind-boggling array of patterns and colors.

  Nudism strips all that away, literally and figuratively, and creates a level playing field where you’re judged solely by your character, rather than by your wealth and education and title. Since it’s hard to establish someone’s character just by looking at them, though, I rather suspect nudists inevitably end up judging each other by their tans and overall fitness. If they’re being honest with themselves, they’re probably also comparing their primary and secondary sex characteristics. They’re only human, after all.

  Prurient interests aside, it seems clear that nudism will never become mainstream. The vast majority of us are much more comfortable staying covered up. It’s a lot easier to lie to someone about your physique and your status if they can’t see the real you. And let’s face it, it’s infinitely easier to buy a new outfit than hit the gym every day.

  I rolled one of Dr. Bellowes’ geodes back and forth across the top of Mrs. Kendricks’ desk, trying to distract myself while Daraxandriel leaned over in front of me to inspect the remaining contents of his satchel. Her tail nudged an odd-looking object made of either polished brass or gold, shaped to resemble a bulbous spider with way too many legs. I half expected it to come to life and scuttle across the desk but it remained inert, to my intense relief.

  Daraxandriel’s torso, however, was on full display as she lifted up a thick disk inscribed with mystical symbols around its perimeter, tilting it to catch the light filtering through the shades. Susie was a
sleep on the couch in the staff lounge down the hall, so Little Peter was taking full advantage of the opportunity to enjoy himself. I had Mrs. Kendricks’ chair pulled as close as possible to the desk and I really hoped I wouldn’t have to stand up anytime soon.

  “Any idea what that is?” I asked.

  “An astral chronometer, mayhap?” she guessed, setting the object back down. “It sembles one I saw within Parathraxas’ chambers.”

  “What’s it used for?”

  “Scrying and divination,” black-haired tweener Amy answered. She was sprawled sideways across of the guest chairs, with her head resting on one arm and her bare legs dangling over the other. The rest of her, thankfully, was more or less covered up with Susie’s cover-up.

  “How do you know that?” I asked doubtfully.

  She lifted up the journal and pointed at a passage I couldn’t read from where I was sitting. “I cannot discern Drexicort’s whereabouts,” she quoted, “and the astral chronometer warns that the moment of opportunity is nigh. If I cannot entrap his essence ere the full moon reaches its zenith, I must abandon the chase and seek out another. Curse Daraxandriel and her spiteful fractiousness! Would that I had not mislaid her jewel-stone, that I might punish her anew for the tribulations she has caused me.”

  “Was that last bit really necessary?” I sighed.

  Amy shrugged. “It adds some color to the narrative, don’t you think?”

  “We don’t need color, we need information. How do you know this thing is an astral chronometer?”

  “There’s a picture.” She held up the book again, tapping on a sketch that took up nearly half a page. I couldn’t make out the details but it seemed to match the object in Daraxandriel’s hand.

  “Could we use it to scry on the incubus?” I asked hopefully.

  “Are you a warlock with centuries of experience capturing demons?”

  “No.”

  “Then no.” Amy settled back down in the chair and flipped to the next page.

  “Is there anything here we can use?” I asked Daraxandriel.

  “Naught that I have the skill to wield,” she confessed reluctantly, setting the disk back down on the desk. “Prayhap Sir Prescott may find them of value.”

  “Except they’re tainted,” I reminded her. “He’ll probably just burn them or something.”

  “Most likely,” she agreed. “So what is our path ahead, Peter Simon Collins?”

  “There’s not much we can do right now,” I said glumly. “We can’t go anywhere until Susie wakes up.”

  “We are ill-prepared for battle,” she said, shaking her head dolefully. “Without thy soulstone and thy powers, our only weapons are my sword and the waif, and she has already succumbed to Parathraxas’ ring.”

  That was a pretty bleak assessment of our situation but I couldn’t really argue with it. “Can the incubus control you?” I asked.

  She hesitated long enough to give away the answer. “An ordinary incubus could not hope to sway a succubus, yet this one is far from ordinary. The ring gives him fearsome power. I cannot say with certainty that I would prevail against him,” she admitted reluctantly.

  “We can’t risk it, then,” I said, shaking my head firmly. “He can’t control men, though, right?”

  “Nay,” she agreed, “but he can possess them.”

  “Not if we hit him fast enough.”

  “It takes but a touch, Peter Simon Collins,” she cautioned me. “Any man without a strong ward would be at risk.”

  “Like me,” I sighed. “Agent Prescott’s out of town, apparently, so who else do we know who might be able to hold him off long enough to stop him?”

  “What about Melissa?” Olivia suggested. She sat in the other chair, hugging her knees against her chest. “Can’t she zap him from far away?”

  “Probably, except she’d vaporize my body doing it. I’d like to get it back in one piece.”

  “But if it was the only way ...” she persisted. She looked a lot more eager than the suggestion warranted.

  She wants you to be a ghost permanently, Little Peter surmised. It’s a good thing she’s pretty or I’d worry about her motives.

  You should worry about her motives no matter what she looks like. “We’ll keep that in our back pockets as a last resort,” I told her. Not that I have a back pocket at the moment, I thought ruefully. Or any pockets at all. “But it brings up an important point. How do we get rid of an incubus? Preferably without killing the host,” I added, casting a significant glance at Olivia. She pouted and rested her chin on top of her knees.

  “In times past, a priest would exorcize the demon from its victim and banish it,” Daraxandriel said. “Art thou acquainted with a priest?”

  “There’s a Catholic church over on the east side of town,” I mused. “I doubt the priest there does any exorcisms, though. He’d probably think we’re crazy or pulling some kind of prank if we asked him.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Amy smirked. “Seeing that walk through the church doors might convince him.” She indicated Daraxandriel with a jerk of her thumb.

  “A skilled witch might remove an incubus from its host,” Daraxandriel went on, “but not without great pain and suffering. The incubus will not willingly relinquish its hold, for it is weak and vulnerable on its own.”

  “I don’t think we have a choice,” I sighed. “Hopefully I’ll live long enough to get the Philosopher’s Stone back.”

  “Thou are most noble and courageous, Peter Simon Collins,” Daraxandriel told me softly. Her eyes glowed like a campfire on a beach at twilight and the tip of her tongue teased her fang. “Fortune truly favors us, that thou art here to guide and defend us.”

  “Oh, brother,” Amy muttered, rolling her eyes. She sat up cross-legged on her chair, turning her back on us. Her wing tattoos, visible through the mesh of the cover-up, were barely larger than my two hands. “Get a room, you two.”

  Olivia stood abruptly, giving Daraxandriel a narrow-eyed look. “Shouldn’t we be trying to figure out where the incubus is?” she asked pointedly. “We’re just wasting time sitting around talking. We should be doing something, not flirting with each other.”

  Oh, great, I groaned internally, now she’s jealous.

  She has every right to be, Little Peter pointed out scornfully. You rejected her out by the river and now Dara’s making a move on you.

  She is not! She’s just scared, that’s all.

  And now you want to hold her in your arms and stroke her horns and tell her everything’s going to be all right.

  No, I don’t! I protested.

  Then why am I still standing at attention?

  Shut up! “You’re right,” I said aloud. “Let’s get started.”

  “Peter Simon Collins!” Daraxandriel breathed, looking shocked and hopeful at the same time, while Amy twisted around to look at me with one eyebrow raised. That wasn’t quite the sort of reaction I expected and it took me a moment to realize they hadn’t heard Olivia’s part of the conversation.

  “Not about the room!” I explained hastily. “I meant we can’t just wait for something else to happen. We have to take the offensive.”

  “Oh.” Daraxandriel looked downcast as her tail drooped behind her. “Thou hast the right of it, of course. The well-being of Dame Kendricks and the good citizens of Hellburn needs must come first.”

  “Er, yes, right.” I was thinking mostly about getting my body back but her idea was good too. “So what do we know about the ring so far?”

  “One: it takes a lot of life force to trap a demon in the ring, so he has to rest every time he uses it.” Teenaged Amy leaned back in the chair, crossing her legs at the ankles as she flipped back through the earmarked pages of the journal. Her hair was cotton candy blue now and her cover-up was parted just enough to confirm that the same color scheme was in use in all of the usual locations.

  “Two:” she went on, “the ring can only hold one demon at a time. Three: the demon has to be fed a human soul af
ter a major working or it will die, preferably an unspoiled one.” Amy lowered the journal to smirk at me. “Unspoiled means virgin.”

  “I know what unspoiled means,” I told her. “What else?”

  “Four: the ring can’t be removed by force. Put an asterisk by that one.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s just his speculation, after that one guy tried to steal it from him. I’m willing to bet it’ll come off if he’s dead.”

  “If he’s dead, it doesn’t really matter if it comes off or not,” I noted wryly. “Is there anything in there that tells us how to break the ring or block its effects?”

  “I’m only halfway through,” she said, holding up the book to illustrate, “and these notes end in,” she checked the last page, “1602. Parathraxas had that ring for another four hundred years. He might not have figured everything out until later.”

  “Let’s hope he got the basics sorted out early,” I said tersely. “Keep looking.”

  “So theoretically,” Olivia said slowly, “if we got the incubus to capture a demon, he’d fall asleep, right? Couldn’t we exorcize him then?”

  “I suppose,” I acknowledged, “but none of us know how to summon a demon.” Daraxandriel and Amy both looked at me with puzzled expressions. “Olivia,” I explained, pointing at her. Olivia rolled her eyes and inclined her head towards Daraxandriel. “No,” I said, suddenly grasping her meaning. “No, absolutely not!”

  “It wouldn’t hurt her,” she insisted. “Metra-whatever lived in the ring for centuries.”

  “We’re not risking her and that’s final!”

  “What is amiss, Peter Simon Collins?” Daraxandriel asked.

  “Nothing. Just a stupid suggestion that we’re not going to follow.” Olivia hmphed and turned her back on me and I just shook my head.

  Dara would do it if you asked her to, Little Peter predicted.

  She would, I agreed, which is why we’re not going to mention it. The problem was, that was the best suggestion any of us had so far.