Blood of the Succubus

by McGeary, Duncan

  Clarrisa/Carrisa was still asleep when he retuned. Rick took the bottle of Blood out of the backpack and hid it in the bottom drawer of the bureau along with a knife. It was a rule: wherever there was the Blood of the Succubus, there was always a knife. The revolver, he slid between the mattress and box spring.

  He looked down at the girl, feeling more alone than ever. His solitary existence was no longer enough for him. He’d been alone for too long.

  I need to become close to someone. Why not this girl?

  Rick had gone back to his home in Prague after the death of his wife and children and taken the last of the Blood from the stone jars. What he had with him was all that was left.

  It didn’t matter how much danger he put himself in. He was going to track the Succubae down and put an end to them. That’s what he’d believed.

  Now he was starting to suspect it wasn’t going to happen in his lifetime. The Succubae covered their tracks too well. Even if he destroyed one of them, it would only make the others that much harder to find, unless he could destroy the three of them at the same time.

  One thing he did know: he would have to catch them by surprise. He would have to kill them when they thought they were invincible, when no man could resist their charisma. He would come upon them unnoticed, a mere shadow of a man, drink the Blood of the Succubae, and then kill them.

  But how? Rick wondered.

  It was a Catch-22. He couldn’t sneak up on them using the Blood; he couldn’t kill them without it. Weapons couldn’t kill them, but they could be reduced to bodiless spirits. Other Guardians had succeeded in destroying their physical bodies, but the Succubae always came back.

  To fully destroy them, Rick must kill them with his bare hands, choking the life out of them while he pressed his sex against theirs. He must kill them while their attraction was magnified a thousand times.

  He wasn’t strong enough. No man was.

  Rick took the bottle from the dresser drawer, holding it in his hands, staring at it. He no longer used stone jars, but modern glass bottles with lids. The Blood shimmered red even in the dim light.

  At last, he uncorked it and took a long drink. Rick was engorged in a moment. For the first time, he fully felt the atmosphere of Haight Ashbury, the haze of drugs and youth and freedom and, most of all, sex. It permeated the air, an aphrodisiac, and it came from them.

  Clarrisa/Carrisa awoke and sat up in bed, staring up at Rick with wide eyes. He grinned at her, then slowly, deliberately, removed his clothes, watching her all the while. When his shorts puddled on the floor at last, she finally spoke, her eyes riveted on his cock. “Oh, wow,” she breathed.

  She reached out for him, putting her hands around his middle, and pulled him toward her. He groaned as her lips enveloped him, returning the favor he’d given her the previous night.

  It turned her on as much as it turned him on.

  Then they cuddled for a while, letting the anticipation build again. He kissed her breasts, giving them all his attention, and finally she moaned and pulled him on top of her.

  He slid into her, finally feeling the closeness he’d been longing for. She wrapped her arms and legs around him as if she had waited for him forever. It was everything he’d been hungering for and more. He felt like a thirty-eight-year-old virgin in the body of a sixteen-year-old, and he couldn’t hold back his eagerness.

  He was afraid of hurting her as he slammed into her, but she grabbed him roughly and reared up at him, grunting. The headboard smacked against the wall rhythmically, and she cried out in pleasure. Rick almost laughed; it seemed so ludicrous. But his desire grew, then overflowed, wave after wave of pleasure coursing through his body.

  Finally, Rick let himself laugh in relief. The girl seemed a little put out that he’d come so fast.

  “It’s not you,” he said. “It’s just that it’s been so long.”

  “Your old lady isn’t taking care of you?”

  “You could say that,” he snorted. He leaned over and looked in her eyes. “How do you say your name, anyway? Clarissa?”

  “Close. Claresa,” she said, spelling it out: “C-l-a-r-e-s-a.”

  They made love again, slowly this time, and Rick fell asleep in her arms. In his dreams, he made love to her again and again. They were living in a small house in a small town, safe and secure. As they grew older and more accustomed to each other, the pleasure only increased. They raised a son, tall and dark, and Rick taught him from an early age. It was the life he was going to live, he was sure of it.

  Then the boy faded away, and the small house, and even Claresa. Instead, he was screwing a temptress, a woman of unbelievable proportions, and he couldn’t stop climaxing, again and again, until his body was wracked with such pleasurable pain that he awoke, his heart pounding, his cock engorged from the mere thought of the Succubus.

  Then he realized it was more than just the thought of her; it was her presence.

  Claresa slept on, but Rick jumped out of the bed, turning to the door. A slim, dark silhouette stood in the doorway. Her chemise barely reached her thighs.

  Naamah. The name leapt into his mind from the years of studying the texts left by his ancestors. Naamah, the Whore. She walked toward him, her lithe, sensuous movements arousing him further.

  He was frozen in place by sheer desire. He wanted her, wanted to make love to her in a frenzy unlike any he had ever…

  Claresa groaned in her sleep, and the memory of their sweet, natural lovemaking somehow gave Rick the strength to move. He sprang for the knife, grabbed it, and mutilated himself. The pain was intense, but he’d learned to endure it. He managed to stay on his feet.

  The Succubus screeched, losing her human form for a moment. The sexual energy disappeared from the room in a rush, and he saw her for what she was. Her face was made of sharp angles, her body was emaciated and flabby, her hair a tangled mess. Her cat eyes grew predatory.

  She flew at him. He ducked, reached for the revolver under the bed, turned, and fired without aiming. The first two bullets missed. The next one caught the creature in the throat, and her screaming became an angry gurgle. Another bullet missed. The next lodged in Naamah’s right breast.

  “Ohmygod! Ohmygod!” Claresa cried as she rose from the bed.

  Rick shouted “Stay back!,” but she ran for the door as he fired the last bullet. The Succubus moved so fast that the bullet only grazed her, flying unhindered to hit Claresa in the back of her head.

  The Succubus lunged for Rick, who stumbled, then fell onto the floor. She stood over him, Blood dripping onto him.

  As the Blood trickled into his mouth, he kicked out with both feet squarely into her stomach, and she stumbled backward, gasping for air. He reached for her throat, but she kept falling, crashing though the window.

  Rick stumbled to his feet and grabbed the extra bullets in his backpack, fumbling to reload the revolver. Only then did he peer out the window.

  Naamah was nowhere to be seen. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the window sash. Then, fearing what he’d find, he turned.

  Claresa lay facedown in a pool of blood, a small hole in the back of her head, seeming asleep. When he rolled her over, he saw that her face was gone.

  “Claresa,” he murmured. He cradled her for a time, rocking her, remembering how she’d looked lying under him, eyes shining with love. Finally, as dawn came through the shattered window, Rick covered her with a blanket and left the room.

  In Haight Ashbury, it seemed as if all the energy of free love and happiness disappeared overnight. One day, everyone was living in a dream, and the next came reality. The drugs became addicting, and the sex wasn’t as sweet.

  Later, the press would mark the unsolved murder of Claresa Hodgkins as the end of the Summer of Love.

  Chapter 22

  “Note to self,” Cary muttered to Serena between interviews. “Never put your hotel name and room number as contact information on a flyer offering reward money.”

  Serena grimaced, but nodd
ed her agreement. “I ended up renting the entire floor just to pacify the managers. They’re kind of put out by all the foot traffic.”

  Cary nodded, “I’ll bet. Fancy boutique hotel like this in the middle of Bend…and this isn’t exactly the clientele they cater to.”

  The line stretched down the hallway of Serena’s hotel. Her number and Cary’s were on the flyer, too, and their phones had never stopped ringing. The phone calls were easy to screen, but between all the niceties of introductions and the hemming and hawing of vague descriptions, the personal interviews took forever.

  Another young couple came in. They were a little twitchy, as if they needed something to calm them down.

  “It’s my neighbor, man,” the guy said. “A real bitch.”

  “How long has she lived there?” Cary asked.

  “A couple of years,” the woman said.

  Cary shook his head. “Not her, but thanks for coming in.”

  “Are you sure?” the guy asked. “We really need the money.”

  “I’m certain,” Cary said as politely as he could. After two hours of interviews, he could tell in ten seconds whether the informant had anything pertinent to report or was just hoping to get lucky—hell, he could tell simply by looking at them.

  Turned out the picture of Suzanne/Kristen was vague enough to have features that resembled almost everyone’s cousin, sister, or friend. Most were only repeating what they’d already heard. Or they’d seen Suzanne before the events in question, but not since. Cary and Serena interviewed twenty-five people before they got their initial break, though they didn’t know it at first.

  “She attends Bend High School,” said a pimply faced young man. “Her name is Cathy something.”

  “Cathy something?” Serena repeated, exchanging a look with Cary.

  “Well, yeah. Can’t be too many of those, right? She’s been hanging out with Jeremy Hawkins.”

  Cary entered the information into the computer. “We’ll be in touch if your information proves useful,” he said. Serena ushered the young man out of the room and invited the next visitor in.

  It was another young person, an extremely skinny girl who gave pretty much the same information as the previous supplicant.

  “None of them have seen her in the last few days,” Serena said as Cary closed the door.

  “But at least we know she’s still in town,” Cary said.

  A couple of teenagers came in, more high schoolers, and Cary was already pretty sure what they’d say. The boy was good-looking, tall, with long, dark hair and straight teeth. Cary caught Serena giving him an appreciative glance. He was surprised to feel a momentary pang of jealousy. He’d been fantasizing about Serena ever since he met her, but he hadn’t taken the fantasies seriously. The girl was cute, but a little stocky—the kind of girl who’d be heavier in a few years. She was holding one of the flyers. Once they sat down on the couch, she smoothed out the folded paper on the coffee table.

  “We know who this is,” she said, slapping her hand on the paper.

  Cary wanted to groan. He was so tired of this. Instead, he stretched his legs out in front of him and spread his arms along the back of the sofa. “Hi, kids. Let me guess, you want to tell us about a girl named Cathy who goes to Bend High.”

  The girl’s smile slipped a notch, and they both nodded hesitantly.

  “That’s it,” Cary announced rubbing his palms over his face. All they’d learned was that Suzanne/Cathy was still in town, for all the good it did them. “I’m done.”

  The girl looked completely crestfallen. Cary didn’t even bother to enter the information into the computer. He’d already stopped taking names over the last hour because it seemed so pointless. He stood up. “Thanks for coming in.”

  The boy still hadn’t spoken. He rose to follow the girl. At the last second, he paused at the door. His hand was clenched tight on the knob. Then he whirled around.

  “You don’t understand,” he blurted. “I know her. She’s dangerous.”

  Serena and Cary exchanged a startled glance. Here it was—the confirmation they’d been looking for.

  “Are you Jeremy?” Serena asked.

  “Uh…yeah.”

  Serena stepped toward the couple as if she wanted to hug them. They backed away, and Serena stopped, abashed. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to see that you’re alive, and away from her,” she said after a long silence, her voice sounding choked. She dared to take the boy’s hand, clasping it in both of hers. “Please, sit back down and tell us about it.”

  The boy and girl looked at each other, and Cary could read their minds: What kind of craziness is this? He held his breath, and sure enough, they sat back down. Whatever craziness Cary and Serena were offering, it was probably nothing compared to what they’d already experienced.

  The boy turned slightly toward the girl. “I’m Jeremy. This is my friend, Lucinda Peters,” he said.

  Serena nodded and offered her a hand. “Thanks for coming, both of you. Cary? Would you go into the hallway and thank the others? Tell them we’re not taking any more interviews at this time.”

  “Sure,” Cary said. “Don’t start without me.”

  The hallway was still full, but he sensed there was no new information there, only the hope of reward. He tried to let everyone down as easily as he could. There was some muttered grumbling, but mostly just shrugs and sighs, except for the very last couple, a rough-looking pair that most of the others in line seemed to be avoiding.

  “To hell with this!” the woman shouted. “That bitch tried to steal my boyfriend! I’ll be damned if I’m just going to leave without some answers.”

  Cary hesitated and turned around. The woman had pushed her way to the head of the line. Her boyfriend, who was a short, dumpy fellow without much hair on the top of his head, was blushing furiously at her outburst.

  Cary waved them over. This woman is really angry, he realized. “When did this happen?” he asked.

  “This very afternoon,” she said. “In broad daylight. The bitch had no shame.”

  There is no bullshit here, Cary realized. They’d met the real thing, and apparently even more recently than Jeremy and Lucinda.

  “Why don’t you come inside?” he said mildly. They followed Cary into the suite, their eyes wide in wonder. The girl whistled. “Nice digs.”

  Serena was sitting on the couch with the other couple, and she looked up with a frown.

  “These two,” Cary began to explain, then turned to them. “What’re your names?”

  “Bobbie Jo and Adam, sir,” the woman answered for both of them.

  Sir? Was this the first time he’d ever been called sir? Damn. But Cary decided that making an issue of it would only embarrass them. “All right. This is Bobbie Jo and Adam.” He caught Serena’s eye, and she saw the seriousness in his expression. “Apparently, they saw Suzanne a few hours ago.”

  “She called herself Ginger,” Adam said. “But she looked just like the picture, all the way.”

  Serena stood up and welcomed them. “Ginger,” she said thoughtfully. “She had red hair, I assume?”

  The couple nodded, looking intimidated. They were fish out of water, the surroundings too luxurious for them to quite take in.

  Serena offered them refreshments out of the packed mini fridge. Lucinda and Jeremy took Cokes, but the other couple each took a small bottle of booze and some peanuts, which they quickly drank and gobbled down. They talked about the fanciness of the suite for a while, as if it was equally amazing to all of them, until they got a little more comfortable. Serena offered them seconds.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Adam muttered. Cary caught the look of surprise and amusement in Serena’s eye. Still, she was good at making the newcomers feel welcome.

  When they were settled in, Serena took charge.

  “I met Kristen—the girl in the sketch—five years ago,” she began, then hesitated. “Forgive me…I want to hear your stories. Why don’t you go ahead and tell us what you saw? Cary
and I will go last. But it is imperative you tell us everything. Your stories might sound wild, even to your own ears. You may be hesitant to describe everything for fear of looking crazy, but I encourage you not to hold back, no matter how unreal it seems.” The ticking of the clock on the wall was loud in the silence. “There is very little you can say that I won’t believe,” Serena added.

  “I’ll tell you exactly what I saw,” Bobbie Jo said in a loud voice. “She was screwing my boyfriend, and she weren’t no woman. She was a witch. Long, pointy nose, and wild-ass hair, and swinging boobs. Weren’t no human at all. She was a demon or something.”

  “Is that what you saw too?” Serena asked Adam.

  Adam jerked his head up and down. “But you gotta understand, she was gorgeous at first. I mean, I knowed I shouldn’t have falled for her, but you shoulda seen her!” He aimed an apologetic glance at Bobbie Jo. “I’m sorry. I was too weak to resist.”

  “Not your fault, lover,” Bobbie Jo said, patting his leg reassuringly. “She was a temptress, a witch.”

  “Not your fault?” Lucinda said incredulously.

  Cary cut her off before she could embarrass the other couple. “What happened next?”

  “I kicked the shit out of her, that’s what happened,” Bobbie Jo said. “She ran away like a coward, naked, into the desert. I hope she freezes out there. I hope the coyotes get her. I hope the ravens peck out her eyes.”

  It was a strange story, but tellingly, no one objected. No one got up to leave.

  Serena turned to the younger couple. The girl stared wide-eyed at Jeremy as if wondering what she’d gotten herself into. But Jeremy nodded in confirmation.

  “I’m glad you laid it out,” he told Bobbie Jo. “I probably would’ve fudged a little, because it’s really…it sounds insane.”

  He told the story of his seduction. Halfway through, he started looking embarrassed. He kept giving Lucinda little glances, as if checking to see how she was taking it, but she remained impassive, staring at her hands.