by A L Hart
In the brown leather was two hundred and fifty dollars. I could work with that. Thirty towards Jera’s no doubt buffet order, and twenty for Ophelia and I, the reasonable carnivores. Then one hundred for each of the women for clothes. It only pinched into this week’s leisure funds slightly, by nothing more than thirty dollars. Of course, that wasn’t accounting for the cost of two extra bodies living with me and the second bed I had to buy, because face it, I wasn’t getting my old one back from them.
It wasn’t unmanageable. I just had to sit up tonight and move some financial things around in my account book.
Easy.
I looked up and caught the slates of Ophelia’s gaze as they rest on me. With Jera still dragging her, the corners of her mouth were turned down, and for a moment, I was struck by the intense observation pleated inside of them. This wasn’t the first time I’d caught the woman watching me today when she thought I wasn’t looking. Throughout the work day, when checking up on the women’s progress, I would find her assessing me.
Like she was trying her best to take me apart and understand something inside of me.
Saying it unnerved me would have been an understatement.
Just now, I offered her a small smile to ease the awkwardness and she blinked, looking away with flustered red cheeks as she walked that much closer to Jera.
It was then I realized that since that night, neither woman had exhibited any signs of whatever sickness they’d shown when I’d first seen them. What had Jera said to me the other night? We’re not under the influence, you fool; we’re succubi. Did succubi simply get sick at times and heal overnight? It was only one of the many questions I had pertaining to what they were.
And I never got the chance to ask it.
The moment we were inside the food court, Jera did as predicted, ordering as many items on the list as she could squeeze out of her mouth before I told her she’d reached the limit, while Ophelia and I simply ordered a hotdog and water. Jera was then too busy downing half the order for me to insert my question and Ophelia ate slower than a sloth, chewing every single bite as if the food had tiny bones in it.
And the moment Jera was done, she was out of her seat. “To the human rags!” she declared, earning some looks.
That fatigue I hadn’t felt earlier certainly caught up with me now as I rose to my feet, a little less than half of my own hotdog downed. I would have pointed out the fact, but at this point, I was pretty sure the woman was oblivious to how half of her impulsive, high-strung actions affected those around her. More than that, I was positive a confrontation wouldn’t turn it off.
Ophelia rose next, likely drawing the same conclusion as she dumped her unfinished food in the garbage.
The three of us made for the nearest store, which happened to be a Sears right below us. We took the escalator, whose speed Jera wasn’t impressed with upon stepping on.
She really wasn’t impressed when Ophelia stepped on after and the thing short-circuited completely, halting mid rotation, as if it simply couldn’t handle the weight of two.
Through her teeth, Jera grated, “Human contraptions,” then marched the remaining decline.
I looked around to see if maybe someone had manually stopped the thing, but there was only us and this elderly couple who were really unimpressed, enthusiastically jumping on board with Jera’s nagging of “man’s faulty creations”. By the time we reached the bottom, I had to drag Jera away from the full-blown sermon she’d decided to deliver to her newly found disciples.
“You know, Peter, for such an uptight man, you dress like a commoner,” she huffed when we stood before the clothing store, scowling as I released her. What my clothes had to do with anything, I didn’t know.
I also didn’t bother looking at the casual jeans and old button-up I’d decided to change into before coming here. Maintaining my appearance only mattered inside the workplace. Who did I have to look nice for on the outside—that elderly couple? She should have been glad I’d bothered to brush my hair. “So now I’m uptight because I recognize that we’re pressed for time?” I asked half-heartedly. “The store’s closing soon.”
“Then we should have left earlier.”
“We were working.”
“Ah, now we’re getting to the heart of the problem.”
Counting down from ten, I asked, “Will you please go pick out three outfits?”
“Only three?”
I frowned. “You’re right, one hundred each will only cover about two.”
“Surely we made more money than one hundred measly dollars!”
“Tax, rent, the bread you inhaled from our supply, gas getting here, the food you ate while here—you should be in debt by a hundred dollars. Be grateful I’m doing any of this. At least your sister is.”
Jera went stone-still, gray eyes freezing over to ice. It was a tangible frost, maybe even the coldest I’d ever felt from the woman who always burned hot.
The abrupt change of emotions left me stunned and staring, unsure what was unfolding before me.
And then she was walking off into the store, not another word.
Ophelia looked between the both of us once before hurrying after her sister.
I blinked. What just happened? Had the woman honestly gotten offended by the truth? I would have wondered if perhaps they were raised in a world where money grew on trees, but then I remembered I wasn’t exactly sure where succubi even came from. For all I knew, they themselves could have grown on a tree.
Adding it to my ever-growing pile of questions, I went after them, then—thinking better of it—kept my distance when I could feel Jera’s menace creating the darkest cloud around her.
It made for a fast, silent shopping experience. Which, admittedly, I was thankful for. Not that I didn’t try to amend whatever offense I’d clearly afflicted: at the cash register, I showed Jera the suit I’d picked out, expecting it to make her brighten the least bit seeing as she thought my wardrobe resembled a “commoner’s.”
She hardly glanced at it. Merely flung her clothing articles on the rotation belt and glared past the cashier.
The cashier who was clearly displeased at how close we cut it to closing time.
The total came up to 167.55, which drew my attention to just what it was the sisters had gotten. Plain black pants and an even plainer white blouse. Their pajamas and undergarment were the thinnest set I’d ever laid eyes on.
“You all didn’t want something more . . . expensive?” I’d never shopped for women before, but whenever Natalie dragged me into one of her expeditions, the woman’s total was never under two hundred, and she was one person.
Jera’s glare deepened; she still wasn’t looking at me. “Lia thought it pertinent we not deplete your pathetic pockets as you supposedly made a “fair and just” point earlier. I adhered. Wouldn’t want to be any more of a hindrance.”
So she was hurt by the truth.
I set my lips and handed the woman the bills.
The moment the items were bagged, Jera was walking back the direction we’d entered.
Ophelia hung back and looked up at me, seeming embarrassed by her sister.
I shook my head, collecting our bags. “Don’t worry about it.”
She gave a hesitant twitch at the corner of her mouth that may have been a smile or doubt. “She doesn’t take to criticism too well.”
“It wasn’t criticism!” I said, exasperated.
“It was to her,” she returned softly. “Would you like me to carry those?”
“No, I got it.”
“But your back—”
“Is fine. Ophelia, can I ask you something?”
“Of course, Peter. Anything.”
I turned the question over in my head, before testing it in the air, “Do all succubi get sick the way you two were before?”
The question seemed to surprise her. Her response wasn’t immediate, and for a bit, it was just the both of us walking and watching Jera. “It depends.”
“On?”
“How potent the dark energy is inside of them. For Jera, hers is but a fraction above that of the average immortal. Then you must factor in why it is our caste of demons fall ill, which we’ve a long list. Nevertheless, you could say Jera is less likely to fall ill anytime soon because of her relatively low dark energy frequence, but for me . . .”
I peered down at her from the corner of my eyes. “For you . . .?”
“I’m arguably 98% dark energy.”
It was but another concept I struggled to digest. The human body was made up primarily of water, so where did 98% of dark energy fit into her? I’d never excelled in physics, and hardly even entertained an astronomy course, but I knew enough to gather how far off the ratio was.
Random pieces clicked in my head. “Is that why the hunters were more interested in keeping you alive?”
She nodded. “HB harbors a fondness for taking rarities within a specie of immortals and exploiting their weaknesses, believing that those that are infrequent occurrences are prime candidates for the specie.”
“They think if they can understand rocket science, basic math pales in comparison.”
“Essentially.”
“Does it?” I wondered. “I mean, are you like queen of the succubi or something?” I didn’t know how else to word it, and it wasn’t as if I’d come across another succubus.
Ophelia took on a silence again, her brows furrowing in a way that made her age backwards into pure innocence, before she offered, “In a sense—but never repeat those words to Jera if you value your life.”
“What—” I stopped when Ophelia came up short and looked ahead to find the gates closed at the exit that led to our car. Jera stared at the gates as if they’d perpetually offended her by interrupting her brisk storming session. She looked as if she wanted to tear them down, her hands balling into tight fists.
Certain she just might act on her expression, I called out, “They must not have known we were here. Come on, we can leave from the back exit.”
The back exit led to the garage, which meant we would have to walk a bit to get to the front lot. Not that that was a bad thing. The woman looked like she needed to blow off some steam. Though, maybe a punching bag would have sufficed better.
We headed back the direction of the cash register where the automatic sliding doors waited just paces away. Even the cashier had gotten the memo and rushed to clock out as was so habitual of my own employees.
Jera caught up with us—she and the block of ice encased around her.
“Jera, look, I didn’t mean to upset you,” I started when she thought to pass me, stepping through the threshold of the doors and out into the bleak, orange glow of the garage. “But I was only speaking a financial truth.”
She whirled on me and hissed, “That’s what you think this is about?”
And I would have answered, “Not like you’re giving me much else to go on,” were it not for the men in black who stepped into our paths, guns raised.
Ch. 8
There were more of them this time. They moved with that same eerie grace as before, except this time, there was no darkness to conceal their slinken bodies as they maneuvered through the garage’s exposing lighting. Rogue muscles bound beneath black garment. Black camo pants with weapons holstered from ankles to waist. And of course, the monstrous, lethal guns beaming out red target marks on each of our skulls.
Now, in that moment, I wished I could say it was like in the movies, that my grand life flashed before my eyes, but considering my life was one big, pathetic bore, the only thing that flashed before my eyes were the words Did I leave the coffee machine running? If I was going to die, was Dad’s shop going to die as well in some electrical fire? And if those were a man’s dying thoughts, honestly, was his life really providing any contributions to the world to begin with?
But my body had acquired a mind of its own.
A mind that was clearly missing a few brain cells.
All it processed was: weapons are aimed at the three of us.
And then: noted.
Without thinking, I grabbed the twins with such speed and force, I heard the wind get knocked out of them when I threw them both behind me. As if I were this bulletproof force of nature. As if we weren’t backed against sliding glass doors that wouldn’t reopen due to the hour.
As if I could protect them.
“Peter, get down!” Jera commanded, but I didn’t listen.
Get down. What good was that going to do? The garage was emptied. We were fish in a barrel here. Realizing this, I closed in tighter on the both of them, aware of Ophelia’s hand gripping my arm, shaking violently in . . . fear. But not just fear. There was something beneath the pungent wisps of the emotion. Something . . .
I want you to search for something similar, Peter. Something that your mind doesn’t know how to comprehend. When you feel it, you’ll know.
Jera’s words hit me the same time as one of the men announced, “Fire.”
It was a replica of the night before.
Time slowed, but this time, familiar with the sensation, I processed it all.
The man pulled the trigger. The resounding pop of the firearm echoed in a distorted warp, wheezing in a way that reminded me of a spazzing VHS tape, and that bullet, it exited the black aperture of the barrel, silver gliding towards us. Followed by a series of five more gunshots.
Now this was like in the movies.
I could see it all, feel it all. The coolness of the night, the heat of the women behind me.
But that was the extent of my capabilities. When it came to moving, dodging the bullets, I could only move as slow as the syruped world around me. And when I tried to move my limbs faster, when I tried to haul the twins to the ground, needles sank into my brain. And they burned. As if they’d been dipped in acid.
Unlike the night before, when some otherworldly might had propped me pedestals above the universe, tonight I felt like less than a speck of dirt. A glass house on a rocky shore.
This time I was wise enough to know I couldn’t save them.
“Peter!” Ophelia’s voice was right at my back, slowed and distorted. I could feel her start to push me down. Out of one of the bullet’s path which had been averted to my chest during our scramble.
Which meant it would be perfectly aligned for her head if it missed me.
I tried to fight her off.
It was like pushing against a building.
I recalled the broomstick at the shop. She’d snapped it clean at the neck, having barely handled it.
These women, these succubi, I came to realize, were far stronger than my preconception had led me to believe. And far faster.
While I wasn’t able to move a fraction of my normal speed in this slowed realm, Ophelia was. But only by a fraction. Just enough to force me down to my knees, hand clawing into my arm.
Only then did I fully register the spray of bullets tailing the leading one. In my chest, my heart sank. The silver metals sailed through the air in an arc from all of the gaping barrels around us. At the barely-moving speed Ophelia had managed, she may have been able to dodge one of them, but there was no way she or Jera could dodge them all.
My heart threw itself in one hard pound against its cage.
I was seeing it now. The bullets making their home inside of them, turning their flesh into a beehive. I was seeing it clearly, their bodies collapsing over mine. I was seeing it, that dreary twilight in the SUV. The ambulances, the flashing lights. The doctor’s face as he apologized, telling me that they’d done all that they could, but Dad and Liz, they couldn’t be saved.
Punishment.
Some say to live is to die, but as I watched the certain death stream through the fluorescent lighting, I was sure: to live was to watch those around you die first until eventually you had your turn. A cold truth I’d been forced to face before and was now allowing to happen again.
My knees digging into the asphalt, I watched those bullets fly because that’s all I could
ever do. Watch.
I couldn’t keep them safe. I couldn’t hole them up in the coffeeshop, where there was heat, endless coffee and blankets for days. I couldn’t protect them any better than I had my own family. And that wasn’t the worst of it.
One day.
They’d entrusted themselves in my care for one whole day, and it’d only taken the two before the world took them away. To prove to me I was undeserving of what I’d been giving. Because, maybe . . . it wasn’t that I couldn’t keep them safe. Maybe I hadn’t tried hard enough.
I hadn’t tried at all. I’d bristled. Endured. Tolerated our bargain.
We live taking those around us for granted.
Jera had been adamant about the threat these hunters poised. A complete stranger had come into my shop and backed Jera’s claim, and still I hadn’t been cautious. I’d taken them out into the open, I’d practically served them up with an apple in their mouths. How could I have expected anything other than the lion’s teeth? It’d been my own stupidity—no, arrogant apathy, that’d gotten us into this situation. Had I listened, actually listened and acknowledged and taken their warning at face value, I could have prevented all of this.
Regret. It was just another word for careless. Only through carelessness did we come to regret our past actions.
These women, these creatures that’d looked up to me and claimed I could protect them had expected me to do just that. I’d accepted blindly under the offer of free labor. But now, if they died, their blood would be on my hands right before I followed.
It seemed too easy. Death. I didn’t deserve it, no more than I deserved to live whereas my family hadn’t.
But then, what did I deserve? There was no in between. If I died, that meant I’d taken two other lives with me. But if I lived, that meant by some grace, these two lived.
Life gets really simple when its threatened: all I had to do was live.
One more chance.
The plea was a wet, stale hush throughout my mind. One more chance. I promise I’ll protect them. Because I think I was starting to understand. I was wrong. You ask something of the world and it will give it to you, either blatantly or via a door. It’s up to you to accept it, to walk over the threshold, and most importantly, it was up to you to determine how hard you want to fight to keep it, because the second you take it for granted, the moment you forgot to be grateful for it, would be the second the world took it away.
