Succubated!

As if in response to Micki’s words—or perhaps because of them—a great wind swept across Susan’s bedchamber like a tidal wave. Sheets ripped away from the bed in which she lay and flew wildly around the room before being sucked out through the open window. Then the gale subsided and was gone without a trace. In place of the curtains stood a tall figure draped in flowing white robes. Its skin was smooth and flawless, like polished marble, and the face beneath its hood seemed to shimmer with an unearthly light. This creature’s eyes were deep pools of shadow that revealed nothing at all about the thoughts of its mind or heart.

Micki felt herself falling into those eyes, into their infinite depth. She saw things in them that terrified her, but also compelled her. She didn’t understand any of it. All she knew was that she couldn’t look away from that mysterious stranger’s gaze or break free of its power. A cold sweat broke out on her brow as she struggled to remain conscious, blackness swimming at the edge of her vision. Was this thing truly present? An apparition of some sort?

The stranger slowly raised its right hand and pointed at Susan with three fingers extended as a triangle—one finger pointing upward and one pointing downward, while the third finger stretched horizontally between the other two. A single drop of golden light fell from the fingertip of the middle finger like a brilliant pebble. It fell more slowly than it should have, then landed on the tip of Susan’s lower lip.

Susan opened her mouth. The drop of light slid inside of her in a smooth glide. Micki could see the light glowing through her cheeks. Susan’s lips moved slightly and trembled, as if she were trying to say something very important—something she desperately needed to share with everyone else in the world but had been forbidden from uttering. As the light slipped down her throat, her mouth moved, pronounced. “A pearl…” she said. “A seed.”

The stranger moved towards Micki; the legs moved as if walking, but made no contact with the floor. Not walking to her, Micki realized, but past her, focused on something else. Part of the stranger’s sleeved arm brushed against her, and she felt an incredible burning sensation of cold. She gasped in pain and revulsion, even as she felt a force shudder across her, with an excruciating pull that felt as if part of her being had peeled away. A pulse of errant thoughts filled her mind—you, why have you never accepted, why never accept what you truly are—before receding like a tide.

When she opened her eyes, the stranger was fading away—its back turned and moving without motion until it disappeared completely. The candles flickered back to life as the bedroom returned to normal. She was lying on the bed next to Susan, something wet on her face. She lifted her hand and touched it; blood was trickling slowly from her nose, her ears, and the corners of her eyes as well. Her vision was blurry with tears.

“Susan?” Micki called weakly to her friend, then again when she failed to answer immediately. She propped herself up on one arm and rolled over to make sure Susan was all right. She recoiled at seeing her friend’s face covered in blood, running from a deep crack breaking the skin of her forehead. Her eyes stared blankly, like a doll’s.

As Micki watched, the blood gradually faded. It vanished like water evaporating in the sun, drawing upwards into the gash, leaving behind the softest of pink scars. Then the scar too faded away, as if it had never been.

“This has happened to me. An occurrence. It came and passed. What happened to me?” Susan murmured.

Micki shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”

“The angel. You saw… how beautiful. She touched my face. My lips. And then left. That was it. I’m okay now. Thank God.”

Micki looked at her in confusion. “That terrifying being… that thing… an angel?”

Susan nodded, smiling. Her voice was hoarse and weak. “She… or he… came to give me a pearl of divine grace, a seed of the sacred tree. I knew it as soon as it fell to my lips. Something ancient and true, too true for this world. My desire… was to be with you always, to live forever in your service; to become your most eternal servant. But something went wrong. The angel of sorrow and recompense. He felt sorry for me. The pearl, the seed…” she trailed off. “It lives within me still. I don’t know what this means.”

Susan’s words shocked Micki. Despite everything that had happened, the invasions of demons, her own transformations and the manifestation of her powers—among all these, this visitation was far, far stranger. The thing Susan had called an angel was of an order of reality utterly removed from their own, making Yael look like the girl next door.

This was not how Micki wanted to start her week. Not even close.

“It’s gotten very late. Maybe we should eat something. Should we order takeout?” asked Micki. “There’s that place you like, the Szechuan restaurant.” She leaned close to Susan, peering at her for a response, for the familiar sunniness to return.

Susan smiled, but like a faded version of herself. “Yes. Yes, let’s do that. Let’s have some food. Maybe a nice meal will help us both to feel better. Okay? We’ll call them now.” She raised her head and Micki saw her eyes reflect the candlelight. Then, something more shone… something moved within the depths of her sclera. A mysterious and otherworldly flicker swimming; something alien but beautiful.

Susan’s eyes shone brightly, brown as always, with golden flecks. Did she always have those flecks? Micki thought, and her memory seemed to twist. Like a cat’s eyes, Susan’s irises seemed to glow, reflecting the room’s dim lights. They were no longer entirely human eyes; they too belonged to another kind of existence. Susan blinked, and the strangeness seemed to pass; her eyes were brown, weren’t they?

Micki said nothing of this. A shiver passed through her from horns to tail. Susan seemed to be all right. She was talking on the phone now, ordering ”firecracker chicken.” Only in New York could you order a dish like that delivered to your home late at night, mused Micki, a comforting and prosaic thought.

As Micki listened to Susan speak to the restaurant, she noticed a subtle change in Susan’s voice. There was something different about it. A serene confidence, calmer and quietly commanding in a way that was both just like Susan, and utterly new.

“Simply wonderful,” Susan was saying. “We’ll expect it by eleven o’clock. Thank you so very much. See you soon, bye!”

She hung up and turned around, smiling peaceably at Micki. “It may sound odd after… that experience, but I feel fine. Better than fine, even. Hmm. I ought to research what happened, I suppose.”

Micki nodded once. “I’m glad to hear that. You truly believe that was an angel? I suppose that would explain my reaction. I found that being… horrifying. But maybe that’s the reaction you’d expect from a demi-succubus.” Micki’s brow furrowed; if that creature was of divine origin, perhaps this was a confirmation that she was falling further from grace.

Susan shrugged. “We know so little about angels. Many scholars consider them apocryphal. That’s how little they’ve appeared in living memory. Perhaps that being was a messenger of God? Perhaps it was some other force or power from on high.”

Susan glided across her bedroom, picking up scattered candlesticks and gathering bloodstained pillows and sheets as she spoke. “Whatever it was, it seemed sent to comfort and heal. I said something about… recompense? It’s fading now, a little like a dream. But that was the feeling I had. Of pity or sympathy, and a gift in consolation.”

Micki sighed and looked into the mirror hanging on Susan’s closet, considering the two women reflected there. Susan appeared calm and faintly radiant, her black hair draped around her shoulders and falling to the level of her ruddy brown areolae. Casual as ever in her nudity, her lips pursed in thought. Micki had smaller breasts but was more curvaceous in the hips and rear, and still taller and broader of limb than either Susan or her own body’s template: Yael.

Would her figure keep changing if Yael’s plans for her body continued apace? She thought about Yael’s body, a petite and curvaceous package of hair, tits and ass, with cute features bound to provoke labels like “jailbait.” How would she feel if she ended up looking… just like that?

Micki reached up and pulled off the blonde wig; she wasn’t sure she liked it as much as the black wig she’d worn two nights ago, although it was certainly an improvement over the thinning, gray strands of Father Michael Belmont.

When the band of the wig stretched wide and pulled away from her skull, a cascade of sleek, dark hair startled her, spilling out and around her chin. She had a full head of black strands now, thick and lustrous. Micki tugged at it—it felt just like her own hair, anchored at the roots.

“Oh, Micki,” Susan breathed. Her eyes glimmered with astonished delight. Micki saw her hand move to her mouth, her fingers splayed across a delighted smile. “It looks just like the other wig, the one you wore out to SUBMISSION!” Micki stared into the glass at her face, her new hair—her very own hair.

With the wig removed and the black fall of hair spread down along her jawline, Micki could see herself more clearly, what she looked like now. About an inch behind her new hairline, the nub-like bones of her small horns poked upwards, more visible now that her hair was so straight. A pink flush tinged the pale skin along her cheeks and neck. Her nipples flushed as well, poking out proudly. She’d rested the long, elegant fingers of one hand below her hip, the dark points of her nails pressed against her thigh as she stood contrapposto, one side of her widened pelvis tilted outwards: an undeniably feminine posture she’d assumed without thinking. Yael’s behavior surfacing again?

There was something thrilling about… becoming herself. But she wasn’t quite done yet. Traces of her old masculinity remained, in her bulky arms and legs, in Michael’s strong, angular nose and bump of a chin, in his heavy brow and long jawline. She looked like the sort of woman who got called “handsome” or “mannish,” depending on insult or compliment, androgynous but never mistaken for a man.

“Micki, do you realize what this means?” Susan came up behind her and put her hands on Micki’s shoulders. Micki felt the warmth of her friend’s skin against her own; it was comforting. Susan leaned in close. Micki could smell Susan’s perfume, a pleasant floral scent.

“What does it mean?” asked the former priest, the new woman.

“I’m sure this change came from our little ritual just now… but you directed the change, whether or not you meant to. You both have soot-black hair, not at all like Michael’s wavy gray-brown. But Yael has a curly head full of ringlets. Yours is straight and short.” Susan cupped the tips of her friend’s hair with her palms. “What they call an asymmetrical bob, right? You must have liked that other wig better. It’s a small but unmistakable distinction: you’re not Yael. You don’t look exactly like her.”

“But why now? Because Yael’s missing? Or is it something that I’m doing… to resist her?” Micki couldn’t tear herself away from her own gaze in the mirror. The longer she stared, the more certain she became that this image was her.

“I suspect you’re responsible for it—but does that make you uncomfortable?” Susan said. “Yael has possessed you for weeks now; your body has been slowly changing to become more like hers. But we’d assumed she was simply doing it to you; now we know a change happens in part because you’re directing it, embracing it. That makes sense to me. But it could also mean… you’ve been part of transforming yourself all along!” Susan squeezed Micki’s shoulders, reassuring.

“But… Susan, I never wanted to be a woman! Never had thoughts like that!” Micki protested. “This isn’t who I am!” Even as she spoke, Micki felt her heart racing. Was it true? Did she want to be a woman? Had she wanted to? Run away to the priesthood to avoid this kind of feeling, too? Or was this some part of the possession, her transformation?

She was finding it harder and harder to remember that she was not only “she,” not just a young woman named Micki Belmont—that she was still Michael Belmont, who only days before hadn’t thought of using female pronouns.

“Micki,” Susan said at her shoulder. “Only you can know the answer to these questions. We wanted to see if you could survive this transformation by taking control of it somehow. But that’s a different matter than embracing… an entirely different life. If not… there’s still the possibility of the exorcist.”

Micki let out a slow exhalation. She turned to look at Susan and stared into her friend’s warm brown eyes; they sparkled like jewels in the candlelight of Susan’s apartment. “I don’t want to lose myself again,” Micki whispered. She took a deep breath and looked back in the mirror. “Maybe I can find something new. But it’s terrifying and exhilarating.”

Susan swung her around, looked up at her. “That’s how it feels to me as well. And I’m here by your side.” Micki leaned forward and kissed Susan. An electric sensation passed from Susan’s lips to hers, a strange tingling that left her mouth numb.

“Thank you. But Susan… you and I, what are we to each other now? Now that I’m figuring out how to become myself, more than ever, and now that you’ve also… changed?” Micki asked.

Susan smiled warmly at her. A gentle breeze blew through the open window; it smelled like springtime for a moment, despite the cold air. “We are just people, in the process of becoming. We are friends. And I… I am your ally in all things, in every way. Just like I was yesterday, and the day before, and as I will tomorrow, and the day after that.”

Micki blushed. “That sounds too much like your hope to be my divine servant,” she said, “and I’m not sure I’m ready for that. As much as I love you.”

Susan’s eyes grew dewy. “Did you just say what I think you said?” she whispered. Micki nodded solemnly. Susan threw her arms around Micki and hugged her tight. They stood locked together for several moments, just gazing.

A sudden beep sounded, and Micki broke the embrace with a laugh. “If it weren’t for that damn doorbell,” she said, “this would be a tender moment. That must be our food—much faster than they’d promised, too!”

Indeed, it was the doorbell that had just chimed. Susan turned on the intercom system to see who was ringing, but the monitor showed an unexpected sight. The visitor wasn’t a delivery person, but an unfamiliar man in priestly garb, standing in front of the building door while gazing up at the camera. Micki could see the maroon of a Monsignor’s shirt beneath his black coat. He was holding a briefcase and wearing a clerical collar. Susan looked at Micki with a raised eyebrow, but she only shrugged.

Susan opened the intercom. “Hello? How can I help you?”

The Monsignor spoke: “Good evening, Miss Miller. My name is Monsignor Thomas Spencer. I’m so sorry to call at this late hour, but I’m on urgent business. May I come up?”

Susan frowned slightly. “Of course.” She pressed the button to let him into the building’s lobby and wrapped herself in a silk robe as Micki slipped into the guest room to pull on a T-shirt and shorts. Soon, a knock came at the door, and Susan opened it to find a tall man with a neatly trimmed, salt-and-pepper beard beneath stern, hawklike features. Coldly handsome, Micki thought. She stood to one side, watching from the entrance to the kitchen area.

The Monsignor walked past Susan into the apartment, barely sparing either of them a glance, and set down his case by the front door. “Again, please excuse me for dropping by so late; I won’t take much of your time.”

“Not at all, Monsignor. Please have a seat,” Susan said.

Monsignor Spencer sat in one of the two chairs facing the couch. He crossed his legs and placed his hands on top of each other. “I’m here because Father Michael Belmont has been possessed by an evil demon and is likely being controlled by it. Do you know anything of his whereabouts? I was informed that he was staying here.”

Micki and Susan exchanged a look. Susan answered: “Father Michael is out of town on business right now. He’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Very well,” the Monsignor replied. “I will wait until then to speak with him about this matter.”

“I hope everything works out,” said Susan, “but if you like, we can call Father John and ask him to contact you when Father Michael returns. He might be able to help.”

The Monsignor shook his head. “No need for that. I can handle matters myself.” His tone made it clear that the suggestion displeased him. “Tell me something, Miss Miller,” he asked with a curious stare. “Did you lie to me just now?”

Susan paused before answering. “What do you mean?”

“When you told me that Father Michael was away—did you tell me the truth, or were you lying?”

Susan did not answer immediately, but Micki could see her face flush red. She took a deep breath and looked at the Monsignor, her demeanor calm again. “If you’re asking whether I lied to protect Father Michael from getting into trouble, then yes, I did.”

Monsignor Spencer nodded slowly. “That is what I thought,” he said. “Thank you for your time.” Without another word, Spencer departed. He’d barely looked in Micki’s direction during his brief stay.

“That was… the exorcist,” breathed Micki. “You didn’t tell him who I was. What are we going to do?”

Susan turned to her friend. “You should leave. Now!” she exclaimed. “I’m sorry, Micki—I don’t think you should stay here any longer than necessary.”

“But why? He’s the only one who can help us!” protested Micki. “He might find some way to stop Yael… Albert told us he’s the top expert on demons! We need him—we can’t deal with this alone anymore!”

“We’ve chosen a different path, remember?” Susan’s mouth quirked into a wry half-smile. “One I’m almost certain Monsignor Spencer would not approve of. There’s something very strange about that man, something that doesn’t feel right. I’m nearly certain that he knew exactly who you were. Micki, your horns are showing, and he didn’t even blink.”

Micki pulled back her hair to feel the points of her new horns, hard as bone, the flesh around where they’d erupted healing into raised ridges. Monsignor Thomas Spencer was the Vatican’s foremost exorcist, sent to rid Father Michael Belmont of the demon. But at this point… was she Father Michael Belmont? Or was she the demon? “All right,” she murmured. “What do we do now?”

Susan pursed her lips together in thought. Then she spoke: “I might be able to arrange another place for you. I’m sorry our cozy little roommate situation hasn’t lasted as long as I would have liked, especially with all the fringe benefits that have been popping up.” She reached around and cupped Micki’s ass with one hand, blatantly emphasizing what she meant in a way that made Micki squirm slightly. “But I don’t know if I’ll hear back tonight. For now… well, it won’t buy us much time, but I think you ought to double back on your tracks.”

Micki frowned. “What do you mean by tracks?”

Susan took her hand away from Micki’s butt. “I mean St. Andrew’s. It’s under quarantine, but we can get in, and it should be… oh, maybe the second or third place he’ll look. Not the first. At least it’ll give you some time to think about whether you want him to try to exorcise you.” Susan was trying to stay neutral on the subject, but Micki could sense her increasing anxiety at the very idea of the exorcism.

Micki nodded slowly; she wasn’t sure she wanted to be exorcised either. The ramifications of that feeling were dizzying: life as a demon. “Yes,” she said, shifting her focus back to the here and now. “Sounds like a plan.”