by Meg Benjamin
“Baby. Babe.” He moved forward again.
She made herself stand still, fighting down the impulse to run. It was just Ray. No reason to feel this nervous. She could see his face now in the twilight—dark eyes, sandy hair, faintly mocking smile. She licked her lips. She’d never seen him smile like that before. “I . . . um . . . are you okay?”
“Sure.” His hand came toward her again as something crashed above them. Somewhere overhead she heard movement, the sound of footsteps running down the stairs.
Running down the stairs? Who else was here?
Emma jumped back, grabbing the banister. “What was that?”
Ray stared upward, baring his teeth in a snarl.
“Get away from her,” someone yelled from the stairway. “Don’t touch her, you bitch.”
Emma blinked. Footsteps racketed down the stairs behind her.
Ray reached toward her again, but she jerked away from his fingers. Something about that snarl was very wrong. “No, don’t.”
“Emma, get back!” The voice came from just above her this time. Ray’s voice. Only Ray was in front of her, reaching for her. She shrank back, pulling herself away from him as her shoulders struck the wall behind her.
The Ray standing in front of her smiled again, that same mocking smile she’d never seen before, as he raised his hand to grasp her wrist. Not Ray. Definitely not Ray. She jerked as far away as she could.
“No!”
Someone plunged by her, a dark shape that was probably a man, although she wasn’t entirely sure. She shrank further away, sliding along the wall toward the corner under the stairs.
The Ray who wasn’t Ray tried again to grab hold of her, but the other man brought his hand down hard on the phony Ray’s wrist.
The anti-Ray cried out, a mixture of fury and pain. Emma peered at him through the shadows, trying to move out of his range.
His expression flickered for a moment, like a bad cable transmission in a rainstorm. Then his face seemed to melt, becoming transparent, almost flaking off in the gathering dusk.
Emma clasped her hand against her throat, biting her lip, trying hard not to whimper as she watched the Ray who wasn’t Ray change slowly to another face that she dimly recognized. A woman. Blonde hair. Dark eyes. Figure with curves like Emma had once had, twenty pounds or so ago.
Not Ray. Definitely not Ray.
And then she/he/it was gone. Emma pressed her hands to her mouth, trying to slow down her breathing. For a moment, she felt as if she might faint. Then she felt as if she might throw up. She bent over at the waist, taking slow deep breaths, her heart hammering against her breastbone.
Someone touched her shoulder and she jumped away, bringing her hands up to defend herself.
“Emma, sweetheart, Emma are you all right?”
Ray’s voice, Ray’s hands on her shoulders, Ray’s eyes staring down at her. The real Ray this time.
She fell against him, wrapping her arms around his waist as she pressed her face to his chest. “God, my God, what was that?”
“Outside. Come on.” He pulled her out from under the stairs, across the hall, out the front door, pausing only for a moment to lock it behind them. Then he grabbed her again, his arms tight around her shoulders, tucking her head beneath his chin. “Did she touch you? Did she hurt you? Are you all right? Jesus Christ, I thought I’d never get down there in time.”
“I’m . . . no, she didn’t touch me. I’m okay. Sort of.” She closed her eyes, leaning against him again, trying to catch her breath. “What was that? What happened?”
“That was a succubus. She was trying to touch you, to take you. Jesus, Emma.” He closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against hers. “I’ve never been that scared in my life. I didn’t know if I’d get there in time to stop her.”
The number of questions suddenly dancing around in her brain almost made her dizzy. “How did you stop her? I couldn’t see.”
“With these.” He pulled a handful of nails out of his pocket. “Iron. It’s a kind of ghost repellant. I stabbed her in the wrist with them.”
“Did you touch her, then? Did she touch you? Are you all right?”
He shook his head. “I’m okay. I didn’t touch her, just the nails.”
“Is she gone now?”
He shook his head again. “I doubt it. I don’t think that would destroy her. I think I just drove her off this time. My guess is she’s still in there, but I’m sure as hell not going back to find out.”
She leaned against him for another long moment, letting her heart rate drop to some semblance of normal, before she tilted her head back to look at his face. “You know I’ve got a lot of questions, right?”
He nodded. “Right. We need to talk. There are things I should have told you before this, things I only just found out. But I really want to get away from here before I do. Okay?”
“Okay.” She took one more deep breath. “Could we go to a bar or something? I think I really need a margarita.”
He nodded again. “Definitely. I think we both do.”
***
Fortunately, they found a table outside at their usual restaurant in the Blue Star Complex. Ray hadn’t had time yet to shower off the dust and sweat from the afternoon spent prying off wallboard, so he figured he probably wasn’t fit to sit in the dining room.
Plus he didn’t feel as if he could talk about the succubus inside the restaurant. He definitely didn’t want anyone overhearing his explanation since that could lead to rumors about him or the house he still needed to sell. He ordered a margarita for Emma and a beer for himself, then leaned back in his chair as the waiter headed toward the kitchen.
Emma’s face was pale in the evening shadows, but he had a feeling it would have been pale no matter where he saw her. He gritted his teeth. If he’d told her about Skag and the succubus, would it have made any difference? Could he have stopped it by being honest? She might have been more wary, but then again the succubus could assume anyone’s shape. Maybe the imitation wasn’t perfect, but it was close enough for most people.
Emma picked up her margarita as soon as it was placed before her, taking a long swallow. “You’d better tell me the whole thing,” she said quietly. “I don’t want you to approach this bit by bit. I don’t think I could stand it.”
He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, feeling grit and wishing he’d taken the time for that shower after all. “I have a source,” he began.
“A person?” Emma’s eyebrow went up.
“A source,” he repeated. “He’s supernatural, I guess you’d say. So no, not a person.”
At least she didn’t run screaming. “Are you a medium too, like your grandmother?”
“No. Not exactly, anyway. I mean, I never knew anything about the Riordans before all this happened, about them being mediums. And my mom is as normal as anybody else, or I always thought she was.” He sighed, taking a quick swallow of his beer. “But it turns out the Riordans have these . . . powers. And I may have them too. Some of them, anyway.”
She sipped her margarita. “Did you reach this source because of your powers?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t think he could have talked to me otherwise. He approached me, not the other way around.” He really hoped he could avoid outing Rosie over this, but he would if he had to. If he needed to keep Emma safe.
“Okay.” She placed her glass on the table in front of her. “What did he tell you?”
“He said the ghost in the Hampton house is a succubus. That’s sort of a demon that’s into sex.” He raised his own glass—talking about this stuff was a hell of a lot harder than he’d thought it would be.
“I’ve heard of succubi before,” she said slowly. “They’re in the Bible. I think Lilith is supposed to be one—or anyway that’s one of the legends.”
“Lilith?” He frowned. “Who�
�s that?”
“Adam’s first wife.” She shook her head. “Probably not relevant in this case.”
“Probably not.” He took another swallow of beer. “According to my source, succubi draw energy from sex. They can have sex directly or that can have it via a surrogate—someone they possess. They suck energy from the person they’re possessing and from the person they’re having sex with, and neither person can prevent it. They’ve been known to kill their partners, to draw all their energy—their life force—away.”
If it was possible for Emma to get paler, it had just happened. He leaned forward, grasping her hand. “It’s okay, Emma. She’s only powerful at night. During the day, the one in the Hampton house can’t do much besides slamming doors and throwing things around. We weren’t in danger when we were there before.”
“The person I saw—the thing I saw—was a man,” Emma said softly. “It had your face. How can it be both male and female?”
“It’s a shape shifter. It can take on anyone’s appearance, and it may not have any real gender. But the reproduction of the shape’s not flawless. If you look carefully, you can tell that it’s not right.”
“So you’ve seen it . . . up close?” Her eyes widened. “Who did it look like with you?”
He blew out a breath. She needed to know. “You. And Amina Becker. Or anyway she looked like that picture that we thought was Amina.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, then shook her head. “I knew it wasn’t you. Not really. Not after the first few moments. But then, after you hit her with the nails, she had Amina Becker’s face for a second. Does that mean Amina was a succubus?”
He sighed, rubbing his eyes. “No, I don’t think so. Not at first, anyway. Amina called the succubus up, but then she lost control. The succubus took her over. At least I think that’s how it works.” He’d have to ask Skag. Assuming Skag ever deigned to show up again.
Emma stared down at the table. “How do you know all of this? Did your source tell you?”
“No. She did. The succubus.” His fingers tightened on the beer stein. He’d have to be careful or he’d end up ordering too many.
Emma’s eyes were huge in the darkness. “You spoke to her? When?”
“Tonight. I was inside the warded room and she . . . appeared in the hall outside. She was trying to get me to come out to her, or invite her in with me. She’s very sure of herself, very confident that she’s smarter than we are. That may be a way to get at her eventually . . . or it’s worth thinking about, anyway.”
Emma drew a slightly shaky breath. “Did she hurt you?”
He shook his head. “As long as I stayed inside the wards, I was safe. And I had no interest in joining her outside, believe me.” He shuddered. Given his choice, he didn’t think he’d tell Emma what the ghost had said when she’d pretended to be her. Given his choice, he’d prefer to forget all about it himself.
Succubi have a talent for locating weaknesses, particularly when those weaknesses are related to sex. What did it say about him that the succubus had fastened on Emma?
“About Amina, what did the succubus tell you?”
He sighed, rubbing a hand across his forehead. “I don’t know how much of it was true. It’s worth remembering that. She said Amina was afraid of losing Livingston Grunewald—God only knows why since he seems to have been a prime shit. Somehow she managed to invoke the succubus to help her hold on to him.”
“The bad medium,” Emma cut in. “That’s why she went to that bad medium. For some kind of charm that would make him stay with her. Maybe the charm let the succubus loose.”
“Maybe.” He took a deep breath. “Anyway, once the succubus got hold of Amina, the sex with Livingston got really good, at least from the succubus’s point of view. And Livingston got scared.”
Emma frowned. “Scared of what? Sounds like he was getting what he wanted.”
“Maybe he was at first, but then he ran into problems. His father wanted him to kick Amina out, but she had him by the short hairs, more or less.” He moved his shoulders, trying to get rid of the tension. “Livingston couldn’t stop wanting her, wanting to have sex with her. Part of the succubus effect.”
“So?” Emma shrugged. “He just takes Amina and heads off down the road. I still don’t see the problem.”
“I’d say the problem was, as I said before, Livingston was a prime shit.” He rubbed the back of his neck again. “He wanted loose. He probably didn’t like the idea that she was in control, that he couldn’t shake free of her. And he was an idiot without a conscience. So he killed her.”
Emma started so abruptly she almost knocked over her margarita. After a moment, she pushed it a little further away, then rubbed her fingers across her forehead. “Amina? He killed her? She didn’t commit suicide?”
He shook his head. “Not according to the succubus, who was in a position to know. I guess he thought the only way to free himself from her was to kill her. So he did.”
Emma closed her eyes. “That’s . . . really horrible. Poor Amina.”
“Yeah.” He sighed. “We’ve got to get rid of that . . . thing. We can’t let it take over anybody else.”
“Oh God.” Emma pressed her fingers to her lips, frowning. “Gabrielle. The séance. If she’s there at night . . .”
“The succubus will go after her. Or us. Or someone else on the crew. It’s looking for someone to possess. Maybe it needs to take hold of someone to keep going. I mean, it draws on energy, and there hasn’t been much of that in the house lately.”
Emma narrowed her eyes. “Why didn’t it go after the Hamptons? Or any of the others who lived in the house?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it went dormant or something after Amina died. All I know is we woke it up with that séance. And now we need to put it down again.”
“How do we do that?” Emma leaned forward in her chair. “How do we stop it, Ray? This isn’t just some random haunting—this is really dangerous.”
He placed his hand on hers again. “I know. Believe me, I know. But all I’ve been able to find out is what I’ve already told you. The succubus is attached to something in the house, probably whatever Amina got from the bad medium or fortune-teller or whoever it was she went to. It’s still there. We have to find it and destroy it, without letting the succubus get us while we do it.”
She closed her eyes. “The locket. It could still be the locket. Maybe we should break it up tomorrow, just to be safe.”
He nodded slowly. “It might be the locket. Or the locket might be associated with it. But I don’t think that’s the thing that’s holding the succubus there.”
“Why not?”
He sighed. “Because of the whole fortune-teller thing. If she wanted some kind of spell to make Livingston love her, it seems like she’d need to bring something of his to the bad medium to use for whatever it was she did. Or maybe she’d buy something from the bad medium that she could use as a charm. Either way, the locket doesn’t seem to be the right kind of thing. Or it doesn’t seem like it to me, anyway.”
“Maybe Livingston gave it to her.”
“Maybe. But would giving it to her be enough to associate it with him, assuming she had to bring something of his for the charm to work?”
“I don’t know.” She rubbed a hand across her forehead as if she had a headache. He could relate. “I don’t feel anything special when I hold that locket, but I’m still not sure if it’s the love token Siobhan mentioned. Whether we’re sure or not, though, smashing it might be a good idea. The thing is, I’m really scared now. What happened at the house tonight was like a near miss. It was way too close.” Her voice shook.
All of a sudden he felt like a prime shit himself. He pushed himself to his feet. “Come on. We’re both dead on our feet, pardon the expression. Let’s get out of here.”
She blinked. “And go where? We haven’t had any
dinner.”
“We’ve got food back at Rosie’s. Also wine, if you want something else to drink. Also a bed.”
She licked her lips. “I . . . I’m not sure I’m up to . . .”
He closed his eyes for a moment. “Emma, sweetheart, I’m not sure I’m up to it either. But I need to hold you. Right now I really need that.”
After another moment, the corners of her mouth moved up a little. “I’d like that too. I think I’d like it a lot.”
***
He wasn’t sure he’d be able to make love to her at first. He could still hear the succubus’s voice laughing at him. You can do anything you want to it, and she’ll beg for more.
But that was the phony Emma. The real Emma lay in the circle of his arms now. And he’d be damned if he’d let the phony Emma win.
They’d been slow and sweet together, so sweet it started an ache below his heart. He’d been so afraid for her. For himself. So terrified that he’d lose her. And for the first time he had an idea about what losing her would have been like. Making love to her was the only cure, the only way to convince himself it hadn’t happened. Wouldn’t happen if he had anything to do with it.
He knew he should be feeling some pinch of panic about this—about the fact that somehow she’d started to mean a lot more to him than he’d realized up to now. Maybe he’d feel that way later on, but right now the panic just wasn’t there. Right now he felt nothing beyond the wave of gratitude that he could still touch her, hold her, be with her.
He held her tight against him, feeling her body relax and slide into sleep. He should slide into sleep himself, but he felt more awake now than ever. He needed to talk to Skag. On the other hand, if Skag called him, he didn’t think he could bear to go downstairs since he couldn’t let Emma go. Maybe the two of them would see if it was only Riordans who could talk to the dead.
He wasn’t sure when he moved from one state to another. Maybe he hadn’t really moved at all—maybe that was another part of being Riordan. One moment he’d been awake and watchful, guarding Emma and himself. The next he was back in the white room again, peering through fog at the woman seated in front of him, her hands resting on her cane.