Incubus

by Carol Goodman

  “It’s beautiful in this light, no? The drapes are drawn open on this day only – or else the light would fade the paint.”

  “That’s a shame. It looks as if it was made to be in this light. I’d love to see the painting inside.”

  “You’ll have a chance. The painting will be opened soon.” Soheila glanced out the window where the sun was just slipping behind the peak of the western mountains. “We always wait until a few minutes after sunset to give the night people a chance to join in … Ah, here they are now. They must have come in their limo to avoid the sun.”

  Soheila motioned with her champagne flute toward the doorway. Standing on the threshold were the three Russian Studies professors – tall blond Anton Volkov, back from his conference apparently, petite Rea Demisovski, and short bald Ivan Klitch.

  “Are they really …?”

  “Shh … they don’t like the modern terminology. They prefer to be known as night people – or nocturnals.”

  “But do they …” I lowered my voice to a barely audible whisper, “drink blood?”

  Anton Volkov’s head shot up and snapped in my direction, his cold blue eyes fixed on mine. He was all the way across the room, but I could swear that he’d heard me. He took a step forward, but Rea Demisovski put a restraining hand on his arm and pointed at the floor in front of them where a thin ribbon of red light stretched from the windows to the bottom of the triptych. He took a step back, never taking his eyes off me.

  “Damn,” I said, turning to Soheila to ask if she thought he had heard me, but Soheila had left my side. She was standing a few feet away with Elizabeth Book, their heads together, whispering. The dean looked upset at something – the worry weighing down her face. When she looked up at me I was alarmed at how much she had aged in the few days since I had seen her last. Her eyes, fastened on me, were bloodshot and one eyelid drooped slightly. For all that, her look was keen when she approached me and I was afraid that she was going to scold me for offending the resident vampires – for surely that’s what they were. Glancing back at the doorway where they hovered behind the bar of red sunlight I could practically feel Anton Volkov’s bloodlust. He was staring at me as though he’d like to eat me.

  “Callie, dear …” It was the dean’s voice, only so much weaker than her usual tone that I had to look down to check that it was really her … and that was another thing. I could have sworn that when I met Dean Book she was my height, but now she was a good two inches shorter than me. Even allowing that I was wearing higher heels, that was still a lot of height to lose to osteoporosis in a few months. “Callie, dear,” she repeated in a quavering voice. “I have a favor to ask you.”

  “I’m sorry if I insulted the Russian studies department, Dean Book. But honestly, how could you have sent me to his office knowing what he is?”

  Dean Book looked confused. “Do you mean Professor Volkov? Why, he’s a perfect gentleman.”

  “I think he turned into a bat and chased me!” I hissed.

  Dean Book smiled and shook her head. “You must be mistaken, dear. Anton would never …”

  Soheila interrupted. “We haven’t much time, Liz. The door has to be opened before the last sunlight is gone.”

  “Of course, that’s what I’m trying to arrange,” the dean replied petulantly. And then, turning to me and straightening herself up to practically her former height, she asked, “We’d like you to do the honors this year, Callie. It seems fitting since you have shown a talent for opening the real door. This one is merely a symbol, but still … symbols are important.”

  “You want me to open the triptych?”

  “Yes, please. Or rather the right side. Fiona always opens the left side. I usually open the right side, but I … well, I just don’t feel quite up to it today.”

  It was alarming to hear Elizabeth Book admit to such weakness. “Of course,” I said. “It would be an honor.”

  I put down my champagne glass on a nearby table and walked over to the right side of the triptych. Fiona Eldritch, in a stunning green silk dress, already stood on the left side, one hand resting on the gilt handle at the center of the door. She was standing just below the figure of the Fairy Queen, a placement that could not have been accidental. I smiled at her, resisting the urge to curtsey, and placed my hand on the right side handle. I felt a bit like Vanna White on Wheel of Fortune gesturing toward a prize.

  “You look very nice in that color,” Fiona said. “It suits you better than green.”

  Little dull to wear the same color all the time, I thought to myself – or at least I thought it was to myself. When I saw Fiona’s lips thin with displeasure I realized that my thoughts weren’t my own in this company. Now I’d pissed off a vampire and the fairy queen. I wondered what other supernatural creature I could get on the wrong side of before the end of the night. I glanced around the room. All the guests had formed a semicircle around the triptych – except for the “night people” who still hovered in the doorway. They had all put down their champagne glasses and were holding unlit candles instead – the kind used at candlelight vigils, with paper cones attached to keep wax from dripping on their hands. I looked at the expectant faces – intercepting smiles from Casper Van der Aart and his boyfriend, Oliver – looking for one face in particular. I hadn’t seen Liam since I’d arrived. And yet he’d told me I would see him here. I was just about to give up when I spotted him in the doorway, edging past the Russian studies professors. Anton Volkov raised an eyebrow at him as he passed and Rea Demisovski licked her lips.

  Yikes! I’d have to warn Liam somehow to stay away from them.

  Liam, seemingly unfazed by the attention of the nocturnals, took his place in the semicircle, accepting a candle from Oliver. He caught my eye and winked. I blushed and looked away … and caught Fiona Eldritch staring at Liam. While the brunette vampire had looked at Liam as if he’d make an appealing snack, the Fairy Queen was staring at him as if he was the last drop of water in the desert.

  “Who is that?” Fiona asked without taking her eyes off Liam.

  “That’s the new writer-in-residence, Liam Doyle. Funny you haven’t met him. He’s been here two weeks.”

  Fiona began to say something but was interrupted by Liz Book calling the room to order.

  “Friends and colleagues,” the dean began, her voice as thin as the last ray of sunlight that quivered across the floor. “We mourn today the dying of the sun and remember those who have passed beyond the light.” She paused and gazed around the room. “For who among us has not lost someone to the darkness?”

  I looked around at the circle of faces and stopped when I reached Liam. Was he thinking of his childhood sweetheart, Jeannie, right now? He was standing with his back to the window, the last red rays of the sun limning his face, throwing his eyes into shadow so I couldn’t see his expression.

  “But just as the sun returns, and the days grow longer, so the memories of our absent loved ones remain and we affirm our faith in love by finding new objects of our affection.” Liz looked around the circle until her gaze settled on Diana and she smiled.

  “So today we celebrate not the dying of the sun, but its return. We open our hearts to new love just as we open this door.” Liz turned to us and I saw Fiona begin to pull the handle on her side. She could have given me a cue, I thought, tugging on my handle. The triptych panel was heavier than I had imagined and the hinges creaked. I had a terrible image of the panel breaking in my hands. That would be just my luck; I could piss off a whole bunch of supernaturals in one fell swoop.

  Then I recalled reading the spell for opening in the spellbook. Perhaps it would help the door to open more smoothly.

  Ianuam sprengja! I said under my breath.

  The panel was suddenly light in my hands. It swung open of its own volition, so swiftly that I was flattened between the panel and the wall. I heard a gasp from the room which I thought might be for my safety, but when I extricated myself I saw that no one was looking at me. They were looking at the pai
nting … only when I turned to the place on the wall where the painting had been I found myself looking through a window at another world. Deep green meadows starred with tiny flowers rolled down to a crystal blue lake surrounded by mountains that faded from indigo to violet to the palest rose and lavender. I stepped forward and instead of dissipating, the illusion deepened. I was at the edge of a dark wood, branches arching far over my head, looking out through the trees to the green meadows and the lake beyond. The scene blurred and I realized my eyes were full of tears. A faint buzzing filled my ears, like a million voices whispering or a swarm of flying insects beating their wings together. They grew as they came closer, swelling to almost human size – and almost human features. A host of diaphanous glowing figures swarmed around me, their sharp noses sniffing at me, their pointed ears twitching. The buzzing grew louder – the same buzzing I’d heard when I’d fallen asleep in the library … then I recognized them. They were the horde I’d traveled with in my dreams. My companions.

  Our doorkeeper! Their high-pitched voices echoed as they stirred excitedly around me. Those who had wings flexed them now and swooped in the air above my head, their wings brushing my face.

  You’ve come back to us! They cried in unison. You’ve come to let us in!

  But already they were fading, just as they had faded in my dream. I reached out to touch one – a young girl with a heart-shaped face and skin mottled like a fawn’s – and my hand went right through her. Another face took her place, emerging out of the dark like a skull bobbing up out of black water.

  “How did you do that?” With the man’s voice, the illusion faded. The lights resolved into candles held by my colleagues, the painting was a bucolic landscape framed by two panels painted to look like trees, their branches meeting over the center of the middle panel. The pale, skeletal man was Anton Volkov, his thin, angular face and ash blond hair turned to white by the candle he held.

  “I don’t know,” I said, stepping closer to the now lifeless painting – and away from the daunting presence of the Russian Studies professor. “I think I may have said an opening spell.”

  “A spell alone couldn’t open the door.” He’d lowered his voice to a whisper and stepped closer so only I would hear him. It was like standing next to a block of ice. Waves of cold emanated from him. “But neither could a doorkeeper open a door where there was no door. This triptych is only a symbol of the real door and yet you were able to open the door to Faerie right here. It was only open for a moment, but I suspect that the real door, the one in the forest, is open now and will remain so until New Year’s eve. You seem to—” he inclined his head toward my neck and sniffed delicately “—combine the qualities of fairy and witch.”

  “I don’t know about that.” I glanced around the room to see if anyone was watching us. What had the rest of the party made of that momentary opening of the door? But if anyone else had seen what Anton Volkov and I had seen they weren’t letting on. Most people had been drawn to the buffet, where food and more champagne had been put out. I saw Frank Delmarco talking to Soheila and Liz, Brock and Dory, who were among several townspeople included in the gathering, standing side by side eating mini quiches and gazing at the painting, and, finally, Liam still standing in front of the darkening window talking to a tall woman.

  “I’ve been wanting to speak to you,” Professor Volkov said. “I heard you came by my office but left without leaving any message.”

  “You weren’t there,” I said, wondering who could have told him I’d been there. The building had seemed deserted. “And I know how busy everyone is during finals week. But yes, I did want to talk to you about Nicky Ballard. Dean Book told me you’ve identified two witches who might have been responsible for the curse. Have you been able to locate their descendants?”

  “No, I haven’t had a chance to check the registry in the city. This type of research must be conducted with great sensitivity. If any of their descendants thought their ancestors were being accused of misconduct they could become … angry.”

  “But Nicky will turn eighteen in May.”

  Although he was already standing too close, he edged an inch closer and reached his hand toward mine. “Ah, your passion is … invigorating! It makes you glow.”

  I snorted and made to step back, but his fingertips had come to rest on my hand. It was the lightest of touches, but it released an icy current that swept through my body. Frozen to the spot, my gaze locked on Anton Volkov’s blue eyes. They were really a beautiful hue – the color of glacial ice.

  “Don’t be afraid. I wouldn’t dream of injuring a doorkeeper. I do want to help you with Miss Ballard’s predicament. I could give you the name of the two witches … and I’m sure that someday you would return the favor.”

  I moved my lips and found that I could talk, although the sound that came out of my numb lips was as faint as ice settling in a water glass. “Return the favor? How?”

  “We needn’t decide right now.” He inhaled deeply, his long patrician nose practically quivering as if I were a glass of very expensive wine. “I wouldn’t ask anything that would go against your … desires.”

  I swallowed with difficulty, my throat constricting. Was he asking me to let him drink my blood? “What if this favor … is something I don’t want to do?”

  “If you truly don’t want to give what I ask, I won’t insist. I trust you.”

  “Why? You’ve only just met me.”

  “You’re a doorkeeper. Doorkeepers are always honorable.”

  I thought about that for a second. It was true I’d never cheated – on an exam or on a man, unless you considered having sex with an incubus cheating, which I didn’t because I hadn’t realized he was real at the time. And it was also true that I had been “lusting in my heart” after Liam Doyle while nearly engaged to Paul. Liam – where was he anyway? Why hadn’t he come to rescue me from this vampire? I turned my eyes – they were all I could move – toward the window and found him still talking to a tall woman, who, I saw now, was Fiona Eldritch. He was completely focused on her. That’s why he hadn’t come to rescue me.

  “You promise that if it’s something I don’t want to do you won’t … force me.”

  “I would never force a lady.”

  “You won’t glamour me?” I asked, recalling the phrase from a recent vampire book I’d read.

  He laughed. “I do love that expression! But no, I promise, as a gentleman, no glamouring. That wouldn’t be sporting.”

  I remembered that Liz Book had said that he was a gentleman. On the face of it, it seemed like a win-win situation. I got the information I needed to help Nicky and I didn’t have to do anything that I didn’t desire. What could go wrong?

  “Okay, it’s a deal. I would shake on it, but you seem to have put some immobility spell on me. I can’t move.”

  I was released so suddenly I stumbled into Anton’s arms. He grasped my hand in his hand and squeezed, bowing his head to whisper in my ear two names: Hiram Scudder and Abigail Fisk. Then he was gone, vanished in a frigid gust that fanned my face. I looked around to see if anyone had noticed his precipitous exit, but no one was even looking in my direction. Liam and Fiona were no longer standing by the window – or anywhere else in the room.

  I didn’t feel much in a party mood anymore. I made for the door, dodging past cheerful colleagues bent on wishing me a happy holiday and a good winter break. In the lobby I ran straight into Diana Hart who was standing awkwardly in front of the coatroom, hugging her arms around her thin frame. She started to say something to me, but I cut her off.

  “Merry Christmas to you, too, Diana, and a Happy New Year, too.”

  I put my hand on the coatroom door and she shrieked, “Don’t go in there! It’s … locked.”

  The door did appear to be locked. But, hell, I’d just opened the door to Faerie. What was a coatroom door in comparison? I turned the handle and pressed my shoulder to the door, muttering, “Ianuam sprengja!”

  It opened so suddenly that I
fell into the dimly lit room, straight onto a pile of fur … which moved.

  I leapt back, remembering the fierce clawed creature I’d glimpsed on my front porch. The fur billowed and leapt … then fell harmlessly to the side. Beneath it lay Fiona and Liam, clothes askew and limbs entangled.

  I opened my mouth, but found I had nothing to say. Liam’s eyes, full of guilt, met mine, but before he could say anything I grabbed my coat and fled.

  I was halfway across the quad before I realized I’d forgotten my boots. I could feel the snow soaking though the thin soles of my delicate party shoes, but I’d rather have ruined all the shoes in my closet than gone back to Briggs to face Liam Doyle.

  Not that I had any right to be angry at him, I reminded myself. I had no claim on him. I had a boyfriend – one who was winging his way across the country right now, possibly with a diamond ring in his pocket. I wasn’t angry with Liam, I told myself as I reached the path to the southeast gate, I was angry with myself.

  The path was less well shoveled than the ones on the quad – and darker because of the trees overshadowing it. There should have been a security light at the bottom by the gate, but either the timers hadn’t been adjusted to the early twilight yet or it was broken. At least the gate was still open. I could see my street beyond it and even the faint glow of my own porch light. I hurried toward it, wanting nothing more than to be in my own house to nurse my wounds in private. What an idiot! I muttered as I strode down the hill. Not only had I let myself develop a schoolgirl crush on Liam Doyle, I’d made a rather vague deal with a vampire! And all for two names that I could have gotten eventually from Dean Book.