Blood of the Succubus

by McGeary, Duncan

  When they finished, the village was in the distance. People looked small, the temple no more than a hut.

  “Sometimes I wish…” Naamah started to say.

  “Wish what, my sister?” Agrat Bat asked.

  “I wish we could just keep going. Go where we wish, do as we wish.”

  “But they depend on us!” Eisheth said.

  Agrat Bat didn’t say anything, which surprised Eisheth. Of them all, she always seemed most duty bound.

  They donned their robes and made their way back to the village. Few people were about. Most were still busy completing their own private fertility ceremonies, mostly behind closed doors, but a few of the more daring were in the fields and woods, and no one would think less of them for it. Many a child would be born nine months from this day.

  When they reached the white path, Agrat Bat continued on to her temple, followed by her retinue.

  Naamah stroked Eisheth’s face fondly. “You really love them, don’t you?” she said. She proceeded down to the public part of the village, where young women experienced the freedom before marriage. She liked women as much as men, and would get her fill of both on this evening.

  The sanctifying of the fields had taken most of the afternoon. The sun was low in the sky. All in all, it had been a perfect day.

  Eisheth looked around, but the streets were empty. She marched to the nearest hut and stepped inside without a warning knock.

  “Goddess!” cried the old man inside the hut. It was Forr, one of the oldest men in the village. Somehow he’d managed to convince a young woman to join him. Tari was her name, the wife of Moros, the blacksmith.

  “Leave,” Eisheth commanded the woman, who sprang from the bed and fled, gathering her clothes as she ran.

  “Lay down,” Eisheth commanded, and the old man lay back. He was scrawny around the arms and shoulders, his legs withered, and yet he had a small belly. His cock was huge, however.

  Eisheth lowered herself onto him. She didn’t need pleasure; that would come later, when she was restored. She needed his life force. He quickly obliged, coming within moments.

  She lingered afterward, even though she needed to replenish herself. When she gazed down at Forr, she didn’t see the wrinkled old man, but the young, virile farmer who was her favorite, whom she had picked year after year. Like all men, he would die soon, and he would be but a memory to her, joining the long line of men she had taken to her heart.

  With a sigh, Eisheth arose and went to the next home, where the man, younger and stronger than Forr, lasted longer and gave her more life force. She took no more than she needed in those days, leaving them drained but alive.

  She went on to the next domicile and the next, and with every visit she healed, until she was back to her usual size and vitality.

  Only then did she let the lovemaking last. She chose her current favorite, the miller’s apprentice, Coss, handsome and virile. She spent the rest of the evening with him, and fell asleep in his arms.

  To be awakened by the thunder of hooves, the shouts of men.

  The men of Draast had come to their peaceful village, and nothing was ever the same.

  Chapter 6

  On his first day of eleventh grade, Jeremy heard loud giggling and looked around to see who the girls were laughing at, but they were already walking away, talking to each other behind their hands. He shrugged. Sophomores, nobody he knew.

  Later, Jenny Sloan marched up to him and looked him up and down, her lips pursed.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Just checking,” she said before flouncing off again.

  All in all, it was a strange first day.

  For Jeremy, the changes had been gradual. Early in the summer, the braces came off. In the middle of summer, he had Lasik surgery done to correct his near-sightedness. Then he told his mom he wouldn’t let her cut his hair anymore and let it grow out all summer long. And by the time school rolled around again, he was nearly six feet tall.

  He knew he looked different, but he didn’t think anyone would notice. On the inside, he was still that small, gawky kid with horn-rimmed glasses, a burr haircut, and braces. When he caught a glimpse of his reflection sometimes, it was as if a strange young man looked back, tall and straight, with a lean look around the face, thoughtful brown eyes, straight teeth, and deep brown hair looping down over his forehead.

  “They’re throwing themselves at you, Jeremy!” his sister, Marty, exclaimed when he told her about his day. She’d just come home from a date, late on this Friday night, and found him alone, watching TV.

  “They are?” he asked.

  Marty gave him an exasperated “Pffffff!”

  “If they’re throwing themselves at me, I sure can’t see it.”

  “OMG!” Marty rolled to her feet, following Jeremy to the refrigerator, where he peered in. “Jermy, you’ve grown about a foot over the summer, you got your braces off, had that surgery to fix your eyesight, your skin’s cleared up, you got a cool haircut for once, and you’re actually looking kinda hot. That’s what Julie told me, anyway.”

  Jeremy let the fridge door fall closed and stared down at his sister as she continued.

  “So when Lucinda Peters sidles up to you in the hallway, looks up into your beautiful brown eyes, licks her lips, and mentions that The Shins are going to be at the Les Schwab Amphitheater, that’s your cue, brother.”

  He remembered the incident. Lucinda Peters was a cheerleader who, years before, had been a bit of a rebel. He’d always had a thing for her, and they’d been close friends years ago, before all the popularity politics got in the way. It had turned out that she was not so much of a rebel after all.

  In a nutshell, she was popular and he wasn’t.

  “She asked what time it was,” he said doubtfully.

  Marty gave him a pitying look. “So she could get to the concert, you dummy! Maybe she needed a ride. Maybe if you’d said something like, ‘Oh, I love The Shins,’ she would have invited you along. No, what does Big Brother do? He looks at his watch and says in a monotone, ‘It’s five o’clock.’”

  “I don’t like The Shins,” he said.

  “God, you’re hopeless!” Marty cried in her overly dramatic way. “By the way, my date sucked. I had to fight off Mr. Quarterback’s octopus arms all night. I don’t know how he ever gets a second date. All he ever talks about is football.” She flounced off to her room, leaving Jeremy alone with his thoughts.

  The real reason he hadn’t responded to Lucinda was because his mind was already on another girl, a brunette from Tennessee or someplace like that. Her lilting accent drew him in, and she had a vulnerable look that made him feel strong and protective, though in all likelihood, he was the one more likely to need protection at their school. The only problem was, he wasn’t the only guy feeling that way about her.

  She’d approached him that morning while he arranged his locker and started gushing.

  “I love this town!” she said, without even introducing herself. “Don’t you?”

  Did he? Jeremy wasn’t sure. He didn’t have any other place to compare it with. Those thoughts ran through his mind, and then, crazily, he blurted them out. “I’m not sure. I’ve never lived anywhere else.”

  “Lucky you!” she said, and gave a cute little laugh that caused his heart to do a strange little flapdoodle. Ka-thump. She offered her hand. “Cathy.”

  He took her small hand in his and was lost, completely lost, from that moment on. “Jeremy,” he finally managed to blurt.

  She didn’t think anything of it. “I just love the mountains here,” she said. “They’re crouching right there on the horizon like huge monsters. What do you call them?”

  “The Three Sisters,” Jeremy said. “And Mount Bachelor. And Broken Top.” He felt awkward, and yet Cathy was looking at him in a way that somehow made it OK to be awkward.

  “Wow,” she breathed, eyes wide. “We don’t have anything like that where I come from. It’s so flat, so dreary. We don’t have l
akes so much as swamps, you know?”

  Jeremy had no idea. But she ended the conversation just as abruptly as she’d started it, walking away. But she waved and smiled over her shoulder. He watched her all the way down the hall, where she whirled around to catch him looking. She giggled and disappeared from view.

  He hadn’t stopped thinking about her ever since. When Lucinda approached him—Lucinda, the girl he’d crushed on in eighth grade—he barely noticed her.

  He’d begun to wonder if there was something wrong with him. He hadn’t so much as held hands with a girl since sixth grade.

  Maybe his sister was right: maybe things were finally turning around. But even if the Lucindas of the world—heretofore unobtainable and mysterious—threw themselves at his feet, it wouldn’t matter. His eyes were set on a girl with a soft Southern accent and a beautiful laugh.

  That night, Cathy’s face and musical laugh filled Jeremy’s thoughts and dreams.

  Jeremy dreamed of her naked in a lush meadow, dancing with her arms outstretched, like a wood nymph, her hips swaying, a sheen of sweat shining on her breasts. She danced into his arms; they came together instantly, naturally, and he awoke shaking. The sheets were damp beneath him. His heart pounded in his chest. He thought he heard the echo of a soft laugh and caught a glimpse of pink flesh fleeing from the room.

  It took hours to fall back to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her, felt her, smelled her. Finally, in desperation, he picked up his civics book, so boring that he finally fell asleep—just before the sun came up and woke him again.

  He awoke to harsh laughter in the hallway. His sister, whom all his friends thought was cute, sounded like a gargoyle compared to Cathy. All girls seemed boorish clods compared to her.

  So this is love, he thought. Not puppy love, but the real thing, overwhelming and all consuming, the kind you read about. He tried to shake it off. Cathy would probably never talk to him again. He was a fool.

  But there she was, waiting for him at the doors to the school. Her skirt was a little shorter than most girls wore, and it flared out instead of hugging her body. She wore a boy’s white dress shirt, tied at the waist, and there was a gap in the buttons where her breasts pressed against the fabric. She wore a little blue beret and long blue stockings. It was a different look, and yet it suited her.

  Jeremy couldn’t stop staring at her.

  “Hey,” she said, returning his steady gaze. “I thought maybe you could show me where to go for my classes. I wandered around way too much yesterday and was late to every class. Kinda embarrassing.”

  Her smile was shy but confident. Her body was just a tiny bit closer than it needed to be; she was facing Jeremy as if he was the only person in the world and every part of her was interested.

  “Sure,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant. To his ears, it came out as a squeak. “Where’s your first class?”

  “Miss Meanders, Advanced Placement English.”

  “Well, that’s easy. I’m headed that way myself,” Jeremy said, and was amazed at his boldness

  “Perfect!” Cathy said, and hooked her arm through crook of his elbow. “Lead the way.”

  Jeremy sat next to her in that first class. Later, he couldn’t remember anything about it except her nearness. Miss Meanders blathering about Dickens? Or was it Poe?

  Jeremy wished he’d thought to sit behind Cathy instead of beside her, so he could stare at her instead of glancing covertly at her out of the corner of his eye. No matter how slyly he tried to do it, she always seemed to catch him, and she would give him a small cat’s smile, as if she was content to bask in his attention.

  She fell into step beside him after the buzzer, and he led her to her next class and reluctantly left her at the door. Amazingly, after he emerged from his hour-and-a-half lab, she was in the hallway waiting for him, and they easily fell into conversation again.

  So it went all week, and when the weekend came, it wasn’t awkward at all to ask if she wanted to go to the movies. They held hands, and she watched the science-fiction story rapturously without making a sound, afterwards referencing books that were apropos to the movie. Jeremy wanted to fall to his knees and wrap his arms around her legs and cry. She was that perfect.

  Instead, they went out for coffee. They talked about their childhoods, neither of which was terribly remarkable; just middle-class, white-bread families. Then Jeremy took her home. Before he could figure out how to say goodnight, Cathy cradled his face between her two soft hands and gave him a short, firm kiss; at the last second, her tongue poked between his lips. He was startled, and she laughed.

  “See you on Monday!” she whispered.

  He dreamed of her frolicking in the meadow again. He lay on the grass, watching her, until, laughing, she hopped over his body once, then twice, then thrice. “And now you’re mine forever,” she intoned, and he suddenly felt paralyzed, unable to move. She stripped, her body unimaginably perfect. Suddenly, he was naked, and she ran her a hand over his chest and then lower before sliding a leg over him and joining with him. She rode him slowly, languorously. He looked up into her face, and she seemed different, far older; her eyes were the eyes of a crone who had seen death and misery and hated the world for it.

  But this in no way diminished his need for her. She leaned over him until her breasts brushed his chest, whispering in his ear, “You’re mine.” He spurted into her again and again at the power of her words, as if the coupling was an enchantment.

  Jeremy awoke early that morning and put his soiled and still-wet sheets in the washer before his parents noticed. He was embarrassed, as much as he told himself that it was natural for his age. It wasn’t like he could help it.

  His mom noticed him doing the laundry and complimented him on his “taking responsibility” by doing it himself, and he flushed. He couldn’t help but notice his dad smirking knowingly in the next room.

  Jeremy’s attraction to Cathy far outweighed anything else in his life. By Monday, he was impatient to see her, even leaving for school early, hoping to run into her. Unbelievably, she was waiting near the school doors again, sitting on the steps, surrounded by boys, many of them seniors. Most were a far better catch as far as the other girls were concerned, but Cathy abandoned them when Jeremy arrived, going to his side and pecking him on the cheek. That felt so good. Jeremy felt himself standing taller, and he couldn’t help throwing his shoulders back.

  The days passed in a blur. He must have done his homework that week, or something approximating it, for no one called his parents.

  The weekend was a miserable experience. Jeremy was unable to focus on books, TV, or even the Minecraft city he was designing. He’d gone to bed early, hoping for some of those sexy dreams, but awoke tired, as if he’d been up all night. Early in the week, he decided to buy tickets for an indie band at the Amphitheater, but had no idea what kind of music Cathy liked. Which was something new to talk about—though they never seemed to have any trouble finding things to talk about.

  On Tuesday, after school, before Jeremy could ask her about her musical tastes, Cathy asked, “Do you like camping?”

  “Camping? Love it.”

  “Yeah?” She gave him the sideways glance he loved. “You want to go this weekend? Just us?”

  “Hell, yeah!” He performed a quick mental inventory of the camping gear in the garage, “It’s getting late in the season,” he said. “We don’t want to get caught by a snowfall. But I have a good tent and a couple of sleeping bags.”

  Cathy smiled at him gratefully, and he suddenly realized he was going to be alone with her for an entire weekend, in one small tent, with no one around.

  “Are you sure?” he blurted as the implication sank in. Did she expect him to sleep right next to her all weekend without making a move?

  “Yeah, Jeremy. I really want to do it.”

  She emphasized “do it,” and he was pretty sure she wasn’t talking about camping.

  Chapter 7

  Gasper Gerhard’s Journa
l

  I have read all the manuscripts, going back to the barest scraps of parchment, crabbed words scribbled so small that they can barely be deciphered, no matter my years of scholarship. Thankfully, at some point, many of the earliest writings were copied in more modern idioms, or they might have been lost forever.

  It is my belief that no Guardian before me has made such an effort; therefore, I may be the first to understand that not all of our oral traditions have been written down. They have been taken for granted for generations and could be lost at any time.

  Thus I have taken it upon myself to record these legends that fathers have told their sons.

  Nowhere is it recorded, for instance, when and why the containers of Blood began to be kept. This is this story as I heard it: When the Daughters of Lilith were imprisoned, the religious ceremonies eventually faded away. The Blood was still used, but it was without ritual. The Succubae were simply bled whenever they could survive it. Condemned prisoners were given to them, and they revived enough to spill more Blood, and thus was the Blood collected, year after year.

  It is said that once the jars filled more than one chamber, the gleanings of thousands of years.

  Perhaps we always knew that it could not continue forever. It was unfair, cruel, and some Guardians objected to the treatment of the Succubae. Eventually, they might have even freed the Succubae, as insane as that sounds now.

  In the end, it didn’t matter. The great quake that buried the chambers took the Daughters of Lilith away from us.

  Little did we realize that the Succubae would escape to wander the Earth, preying on men, exacting their just retribution.

  Czechoslovakia, 1944

  Heinrich stayed hidden in the tunnels for days waiting for something to happen. It was deathly quiet under the earth; there was no sound at all. It was as if he was already dead and buried.

  How would I know? he finally wondered. The dead were left alone.