Succubus Takes Manhattan

by Nina Harper

  “Good,” I whispered. “Now hold it. Just hold the image and wonder where it is.”

  This was the difficult part of the working, holding together the image of the city, Raven’s face, and my question in my mind. Without any interference.

  Whatever anyone says about magic, really it’s all about concentration. At least in Yetzirah. The very stuff of that plane is infinitely malleable, shaped by the mental energy of someone who knew how to mold it and hold it in place.

  But I couldn’t think of all of that then. All I could do was hold the image of the little doll in my Betsey Johnson blouse over the representation of New York and wonder “where, where”—wonder with my whole being.

  The image shivered and started to move. That is, she remained doll-like but floated eastward over the park, over the Upper East Side, over Barneys and down toward Midtown.

  I waited for her to cross the river to Brooklyn, but she stayed on this side of the water and came to a standstill at Gramercy Park.

  “Imagine Gramercy,” I hissed.

  I tried to remember every detail I could of the gated and locked one-block park and the elegant houses that ringed it. Residents of the buildings right around the park had keys to the park, which kept it safe and private.

  We almost got the park but the buildings remained hazy and indistinct. The Raven doll floated over to one on what I was certain was the north side. I counted doorways but I was uncertain whether it was the fourth or fifth. Or maybe the sixth, I just couldn’t make out any features clearly.

  It was our images of Gramercy that built the model, and where we were uncertain the haze couldn’t form. I studied the building where the doll landed carefully, hoping that some distinguishing characteristic would emerge. And, slowly, I noticed light on windows. Mullioned windows in a pseudo-Tudor with an arched doorway.

  The images we were holding started to fade and I couldn’t keep them coherent. The hazy etheric matter couldn’t hold its shape without constant attention, and we had learned all we were likely to learn from the exercise.

  Time to return. I was only barely aware of Nathan’s hands in mine as I let my mind drift along with the smoky cloud, and I started to see the pastel sparkles of the beacon points, those cities and images that have been nourished so deeply that they have become real. New York and London, Paris and Rome, Tokyo and Beijing all existed here in extreme detail. Smaller places also were beacon points, but not all of the points were places. Emotional energy creates the landscape in the Formative World. Some focal points were images of deities, energized and lit in this place by thousands of years of worship or dread. Newer thought images achieved beacon status here—Elvis and the Beatles were particularly notable—though if they are forgotten in the material world the beacon will fade.

  “Back through the mirror,” I instructed, and both Nathan and I turned our concentration to our reflections.

  Getting back was easier than getting there, which was good because I was tired. I was relieved when I turned and saw that we were sitting in my living room again, the coffee table between us, and the furniture shoved together in the far corner.

  Nathan dropped my hands, looking like he wanted to bolt, but I told him that he had to wait. We had to finish the ritual and open the space back into the world again in the formal and prescribed manner. Otherwise entities like elemental beings could possibly leak through from Yetzirah, which was the origin of most hauntings and other psychic phenomena. This was drilled into every junior demon in second, third, fourth, fifth, ninth, and eleventh level. No demon doing magic would ever leave a ritual space until it was properly shut, something like cycling through an airlock, as far as I could figure it.

  “We chant the prayer again, and this time we add our thanks to the deity in charge for permitting us access,” I instructed Nathan. “And then we close down the circle.”

  Nathan chanted obediently, even adding a very nice thanks in Akkadian.

  We dropped hands. I closed with a simple Ritual of the Banishing Pentagram, which was really too Upstairs-oriented for my general taste but it was easy and effective. And impressive, I have to admit. I was aware of Nathan’s eyes on me, and I wanted this to look good. So I banished with the best of them, drawing elegant pentagrams in the air with a small knife, lunging as I broke through the protections and using sweeping dramatic movements in the finale. Then it was done, and I was shivering and exhausted.

  chapter

  TWENTY

  Nathan slumped over the table. “You okay?” I asked, touching his shoulder gently.

  “Tired,” he murmured. “So tired. Can I pass out on your floor?”

  I’d thought, from reading some of the relationship articles in the magazine, that letting your ex spend the night in your apartment was generally considered a bad move. But I didn’t have much experience of exes and I knew this was no ploy on either of our parts.

  Magic takes a lot of energy. It’s hard physical work, even if we had been sitting down the whole time. No wonder demons use technology rather than magic whenever possible.

  “Sure, crash,” I said. “I’m going to grab a cab to Gramercy Park.”

  Nathan heaved himself up. “No. Tha’s my job.”

  He was so exhausted that he was slurring his words. “You’re not in any shape to move,” I observed.

  “You’re not, either,” he said.

  And he was right. I could barely stand up. But I had an answer. “Coffee.”

  I dragged out the Braun espresso maker and filled it with my favorite strong Italian roast. I think I phased out for a minute or two while the coffee was brewing, then I poured it into mugs and added generous helpings of sugar.

  We grabbed our coats to go back outside. I’d forgotten that I was still wearing that dreadful jogging suit and the wig. Well, no help for that now.

  “Really, Lily, I’m feeling a lot better now,” Nathan protested. “This is my job. You’re not trained to do this, and you’re exhausted.”

  I shook my head. “You’re not all that trained either, from what I understand. Mostly you were hired to do research, not to play HRT. Besides, I’m immortal.”

  He looked hurt. I would have to ask one of my friends . . . maybe I shouldn’t have said that? Maybe it hurt his fragile male ego to mention that he wasn’t Indiana Jones. I totally do not get guys. Here was this perfectly elegant, smart, educated, sophisticated, and seriously hot man and he got all huffy if I happened to mention that he had spent most of his life learning to decipher ancient texts rather than in Quantico.

  “Remember, Indiana Jones was an archaeologist in Ancient Near Eastern Studies,” Nathan said. “I think seeing some of those movies when I was a kid inspired me to go into ancient history. It looked a lot more adventurous than other fields of scholarship.”

  Somehow I managed not to groan at his admission.

  “Well then, between the two of us the bad guys don’t have a chance. Indiana Jones and the Demon from Hell. Sounds like a movie title to me,” I quipped.

  Nathan grinned. “We’ll have to find someone to play me. Harrison Ford is getting a bit old for all that action.”

  “Be careful,” I warned him. “I could get sensitive about my age.”

  We rode the elevator and got into his car without a word. Even with all the extra-action caffeine, the movement of the car down sixty blocks lulled me to sleep, so I was surprised when the car stopped and Nathan announced that we’d arrived at Gramercy Park.

  It was dark and cold, the last hour before sunrise when the temperature drops and even muggers stay in bed. After-hours clubs would be letting out and no one was in the breakfast places except the first early wait-staff, wiping down tables and setting up the ketchup and maple syrup bottles. The city was as silent as it ever gets in the change of shift between late late night and the crack of day.

  We faced north and looked at the buildings. I counted and the fourth door in seemed attached to a mullioned window. Bingo. I hoped. I marched across the street.

&nb
sp; “What do you think you’re doing?” Nathan hissed behind me.

  “I’m going to get Raven. That’s what I said I was going to do,” I hissed right back.

  “Wait a minute,” he said, and popped the trunk of the car. He pulled out an aluminum briefcase and sat in the backseat. I was interested enough to return to the car and ask him what was going on.

  “Electronics,” he said as he fiddled with some large, dangerous-looking black tube thing. He pointed it out the car window and I saw a distant dot of light on one of the glass mullions.

  “What is that thing?” I asked, but he just smiled and adjusted several dials before he answered. “Laser eaves-dropping. Top-of-the-line equipment. It can read and decipher sound waves against a pane of glass. Impressed now?”

  Yeah, well. Okay, I was impressed. But I wasn’t going to tell him that.

  Only there was no sound coming from the unit. Nothing. He moved the dot up a story and suddenly we were hearing—something. A slap. A groan. A rough male voice said, “When’s he gonna get here, bitch?”

  Suddenly I was furious. I hate hate hate it when a man calls a woman a bitch. That is the cruelest, lowest, worst thing. Because any woman who isn’t doing what a man wants gets called that and nothing, nothing, makes me want to deliver a man more.

  Nathan grinned slowly and I wanted to slap him. How dare he smile when someone called me a bitch? And slapped me?

  “Got ’em,” he said. “Now we know which apartment they’re in. Okay, a few more preparations . . . How were you going to get in there, anyway?” he asked with real curiosity.

  I shrugged. “Magic. I can usually get through a lock if I really want to. And if worse comes to worse, I can up the pheromones so that any man there will be drawn against his will to open the door. How were you going to get in?”

  He shrugged and pocketed a small velvet case. “Lock picks.”

  I let him lead the way. After all, he was the professional and I was paying his fee. Why should I do all the work?

  He got through the security system of the building as quickly as I could have with a key, and faster than I might have managed with magic. Practice, I guess. I don’t have any reason to break into places all that often.

  “I do not want you in here,” Nathan said as he slipped into the building. “Go back to the car and sleep, okay? You’re exhausted.”

  “I’m not going back to the car and you can’t order me around like I’m some obedient little girl. I’m paying your fees, mister, and don’t forget it. And I want to go along. I have a few things to offer and besides, you never would have found them if it hadn’t been for me.”

  “Lily, you have proven that you are smart and strong and resourceful. But this is a dangerous situation and you’re still an amateur. You could get hurt and I couldn’t live with that. Please. Go back to the car.”

  “Forget it,” I answered.

  We heard a long, low scream followed by a sob.

  “Go,” I pushed him. In he went, with me right behind him.

  We entered the most amazing apartment I’d ever seen in the entirety of New York. The door opened into a huge great room, two stories high with a vast wall of windows overlooking the park, interrupted only by a stone fireplace large enough to stand in. Thick Oriental rugs covered polished hardwood floors, which served to muffle our footsteps more effectively than any sneakers could have done.

  Now that we were in, I could hear steady sobbing overhead. Raven, I was sure, and in terrible pain. I clenched up inside and wanted to run up the stairs to the gallery, but Nathan held my arm. He led the way, slow and deliberate, testing each step before he eased his weight forward. Fortunately, the steps were carpeted as heavily as the room and were solidly constructed. No squeaks gave us away as we ascended toward the crying.

  At the top of the stairs we entered a long gallery that overlooked the great room. The décor was vaguely medieval, the walls were stone, and there were gargoyles mounted in arches on the gallery railing. Several doors, all shut, lined the room. The sound was coming from the room to the left behind a thick oak door.

  Nathan crept forward slowly. I tried to follow him but I hit . . . something. It was like a wall, invisible and impenetrable. There was nothing there and yet I could not go one inch farther.

  A magical barricade, then, something warded against demonkind. To keep rescue out? Or to keep Raven in?

  Nathan must have noticed that I wasn’t keeping up with him because he looked back at me. “Good,” he whispered so softly that I could barely hear him, although his mouth was close enough to my ear that his lips tickled my earlobe. “Stay here. I’m glad you’ve got some sense. Go back to the car, okay?”

  He didn’t wait for me to answer, but put his hand under his jacket as if he were carrying a gun (he couldn’t be carrying a real gun, right? He was hired for his research skills, not to shoot anyone). Just freaking great. Now I was going to have to rescue both of them instead of just myself.

  And I wondered if he knew that Raven wouldn’t be able to leave the demon triangle that restrained her, even if he could reach her. Probably not. Six weeks ago he thought magic was a product of CGI. He hadn’t had time to learn enough to go up against actual demon catchers, let alone get any one of us out of a ritual working.

  And he had the nerve to call me an amateur!

  I was dead exhausted, but either the coffee or the danger had kicked in, and my brain was working fine. I was clear, focused, and strangely calm, as if there were all the time in the world.

  Neither Raven nor I could cross the barriers set in the physical world, but that didn’t mean that I couldn’t get nondemonic help.

  That’s the problem with religious and ceremonial magicians both. They tend to be rigid about what must be done and how to do it. They’re trained that way, I suppose, but it limits them. Magic can be very adaptable if you are able to work from the basic principles.

  I wondered . . . The first thing any magician of any stripe does is cast a circle in each of the elemental kingdoms. But a demon is not held within the circle, as that would leave the practitioner vulnerable. A demon is held in a salt triangle outside of the circle. Salt is earth, and since earth is the most basic and dense of the elements its protection naturally carries through all the other kingdoms. But this particular demon triangle had to be permeable so that the torturers could have some access to Raven. In order to get in and out themselves they would need the barrier to be less solid.

  A demon could not get through the triangle, but I could call on a nondemon, an elemental being. Elementals are etheric creatures. They can affect the physical world without having to obey its laws. If I could get one into the circle I could have it snatch Raven and return through Yetzirah, the World of Formation.

  Fire is the sword that cuts through all obstacles, besides being my natural element as a succubus. So I would call a Salamander and send it to grab Raven.

  I had no experience calling a Salamander. All elementals were notoriously unstable and unreliable but Salamanders were the worst of the lot, which made it more likely that it could permeate the barrier.

  I also had no equipment.

  Cancel that. I had a mirror (on my lipstick case) and I bet I could find a candle and a knife in the kitchen. I remembered my instructor in Advanced Seminar, her gravely demon voice low and husky, and her accent vaguely like Marlene Dietrich’s, saying, “A true magician can do a ritual with a burning twig and a butter knife in the middle of Cathedral Square on a market day!” I was about to test that theory.

  I went down the stairs as silently as I had ascended and found the kitchen tucked under the gallery hallway. It was a separate room with a door, which I closed behind me. The room was humongous. All in white tile and stainless steel, it looked more like an industrial kitchen than someplace featured in our sister home design magazine. No granite, no cherry cabinets, no homey crockery or food interrupted the pristine sweep of the stainless steel counters.

  I found knives of all sizes and
shapes, from cleavers to tiny paring knives, and selected one of the smaller Cuisinart chef’s knives with a stainless steel handle. I chose it mostly because of the metal handle, because that seemed more swordlike to me and because, if I remembered my lessons correctly, the magician should touch the metal of the sword directly.

  So, middle of the kitchen. I had the sword. A wooden spoon would do for a wand, and a small metal candy dish would stand in for a pentacle. I had my pick for the chalice, but decided against the Waterford. I chose the plain juice glass instead. I still needed a candle.

  Okay. Time to improvise. Even though I was isolated from the room upstairs, I could hear Raven’s cries, and they chilled me. That sound more than the possibility of discovery kept me focused.

  I took one of the high stools from the breakfast bar and dragged it over to the stove. The gas burner would work for fire, and the stool would hold the rest of the tools as an altar. I set out my mirror and the collection I had scrounged and set off to work.

  I had no incense or brazier to walk the circle and seal the space, but I did have an atomizer of Estée Lauder’s Beautiful that I’d gotten in one of their promotional packages. How it had ended up in the pocket of my blue fleece jacket I did not know or question. I just used it. I sprayed it as I walked a circle that, with a sweep of my arm, included the nearest two burners of the six burner Wolf stove.

  I walked the circle with the sword, imagining blue flame to match the gas burning on the stove from the sharp tip. I saw it seal, a ring of electric neon blue that protected me and kept the magic concentrated.

  I wished I knew a formal Fire invocation, but some kind of statement was necessary. “Element of Fire, I call upon you as your sister. Fire to fire I call, Salamander of the worlds, come to me as a friend and aid in this, my time of extreme need. Come, Salamander, come.”

  I repeated the last over and over, my mind utterly focused on nothing but my own desire for the elemental to appear. Yearning, needing, imploring, I built the emotions and let them ride the words as I spoke them.

  Come, Salamander, come. I saw the words in raging red flames tinged with yellow; I imagined the creature itself brilliant and burning, called not by my words but by the force of my will and my power under Satan. My whole being was intent on only that, and if the entire 82nd Airborne had landed in that kitchen I wouldn’t have noticed.