Drawn

by David Alan Jones

  “Hi guys,” she said between pants.

  Both dogs cocked their heads, ears perking up. Their growls ceased.

  “Oh, you’re good boys, aren’t you?” Anna asked, keeping her voice and her charm high. She leaned against the trailer and slid down to her butt, legs sprawled out before her to catch her breath. The dogs, stubby tails wagging, licked her hands and face.

  “Gah, stupid mutts,” she whispered, smiling and rubbing their necks.

  With the immediate danger passed, Anna drew stamina, replenishing her oxygen-starved muscles, then strength to invigorate her body. Her hands stopped shaking, and she stood, listening hard for her pursuers. The dogs whined and pressed their heads into her hands for petting.

  Anna’s cell phone rang, and she almost pissed herself. The factory ringtone blared from her back pocket like a vuvuzela amped through a stadium speaker. She fumbled it out with every intention of crushing the thing until she recognized the caller ID.

  “Hello,” she whispered.

  “Anna, what’s going on?” Her dad sounded exhausted. “Why do I feel like I’ve been lifting weights for three days straight? You in trouble?”

  “Somebody’s chasing me.”

  “Society?”

  “I think so.”

  “Where are you, hon?”

  Anna grew suddenly still. He wasn’t supposed to ask her that, not over the phone.

  “Wabash County,” she said, supplying her end of the coded phrase that meant on the run but safe.

  “Stay put,” he said, meaning he was in trouble too.

  “Is mom okay?” Not part of the code. Anna just had to know.

  A long pause. “She’s right here with me.”

  The sound of running footsteps caught Anna’s ear. She cut the connection—they had said what needed saying—and gently placed the phone on the ground.

  She crouched when she heard the oncoming runner leap toward the fence. Matt Snow appeared silhouetted in moonlight. He landed on his feet, rolled, and came to a stop several yards from Anna and her new pals. He quirked a rather triumphant half smile.

  Smarmy bastard.

  “Zeus, Apollo,” Anna said with more than a little relish. She didn’t know the dogs’ real names, but these seemed more than adequate. “Attack.”

  The Dobermans lunged at the incubus, teeth flashing in the night. Matt’s eyes went wide, and that smile disappeared.

  Anna fled. She had felt Matt’s charm back in the alleyway. Though caught by surprise, it wouldn’t take him long to subdue the dogs. Best if she wasn’t there when that happened.

  She sprinted across the enclosure, leaped the other side of the fence, and found herself running along the opposite end of Twelfth Street, headed for Warren Williams Road, her pace faster than any human but slower than before.

  Her family couldn’t feed her energy demands forever. Surely they were incapacitated by now—too weak to stand, sick from the stamina she had leeched from them, and tired enough to sleep for days. Amazing they had lasted this long.

  If they were in trouble, and Anna had taken their strength and speed when they needed it...no, she couldn’t dwell on that. If Society had captured her family, that meant she had to save them. They had no one else.

  Escape first. Worry about family later.

  Anna ran for maybe five minutes, slowing with every step before her draw of speed failed. Maintaining a slow jog, she moved along a poorly repaired blacktop with thick Georgia pines on the left side and an assortment of houses and trailers on the right. Her inner thighs were chaffed to the point of pain. The cold night made her lungs burn and her fingers, nose, and ears ache. She needed to get back to civilization, maybe book a bus or plane, and get the hell out of Georgia.

  High beams appeared in the distance behind her. A surge of fear made her heart pound, but she dismissed it. The one guy she had seen chasing her had been on foot, and she had left him miles behind. Catching a ride might be her best means of escape.

  She hobbled to the side of the road and stuck out her thumb. She hated hitchhiking. A lot of women disappeared that way, but as a succubus, it posed little threat for Anna. She could charm any pervert out of harming her, and maybe steal a little cash for punishment. The car turned out to be a late model van with government plates. It passed her slowly, then stopped, the driver slewing the mammoth vehicle so that it blocked one side of the road. A sliding door rolled open on the near side, and two men clambered out. They wore black body armor, woolen masks that covered their faces, and helmets with goggles. The first out carried a small machine gun, which he immediately pointed at Anna.

  “Anna Carver,” said the gun pointer. “You’re coming with us.”

  “What do you want?” Anna’s voice shook with fatigue.

  “Stand still.” The other man held a different sort of rifle. Longer, thinner, and painted neon green, it looked like something out of a sci-fi movie. Anna knew next to nothing about guns, but she stood close enough to see that what he poked into the rifle’s chamber was not a bullet, but a dart.

  “I haven’t done anything,” she said. “What’s in that? What are you doing? Is that a tranquilizer?”

  “Shut up.” The guy raised the skinny rifle, sighting on Anna’s thighs. She cringed, anticipating a biting sting that never arrived.

  Instead, she heard a peculiar series of sounds. First came the distinctive tinkle of breaking glass, followed immediately by a muffled thump like someone smashing a watermelon with a baseball bat. In the next instant, the report of distant gunfire arrived, and the guy with the tranquilizer gun toppled over backward onto the road, a pool of blood, black in the moonlight, spreading below his head.

  “Wha—?” was all the second gunman could say before a bullet whizzed past Anna’s head, the concussion searing her cheek and buzzing her ears, before biting through his right goggle.

  Small bits of glass mixed with something wet and sticky struck Anna as the man fell. Suddenly, she stood alone, two dead men at her feet. She stared at them in horror, mouth agape, hands shaking as the van continued to idle.

  Running feet approached. Anna turned to find Matt Snow at her side, gun in hand, a sheen of sweat glistening on his face.

  “You all right?”

  She nodded stupidly.

  “Put the gun down!” said a new voice from the back side of the van. Another black-clad figure stood there. The driver? He held a short rifle leveled on Matt. “Don’t think you’re faster than me, kid. I’ve got sixty votaries.”

  Matt nodded and slowly placed his gun on the tarmac.

  “Kick it away.”

  Matt did so. Then, without moving his lips, whispered, “Distract him.”

  “What?” Anna asked.

  “Don’t talk,” the man with the gun said. “You.” He indicated Matt with the muzzle. “I want your hands on the side of the van. Now.”

  “Distract him,” Matt whispered as he moved to comply.

  “I demand to know what’s going on,” Anna meant to yell, but her voice came out shaky and weak.

  “What? Shut up,” said the gunman.

  “I’m not going anywhere with you.” Anna’s voice rose as she spoke, gaining conviction. “You’re not a policeman. You can’t do this.”

  “Bitch, I don’t know who you think you are,” the gunman turned so that his rifle sighted on Anna, “but you’re about to get—”

  Anna never found out what she was about to get. Matt plowed into the guy’s knees like an undersized linebacker. The two sprawled against the van’s open doorway, Matt raining blows across the gunman’s padded chest and goggled face. The guy in black tried to get his gun into position to fire, but Matt simply took the barrel in both hands and bent the chassis. Something cracked inside it.

  Matt snapped the gun free and raised it. Moving faster than Anna could follow, he brought it down hard on his opponent’s mask. Glass shattered, blood flew, and the guy fell still.

  “Is—is he dead?” Anna asked in a small voice.

&n
bsp; “No, just out. He’ll heal himself when he wakes up. We need to get out of here before then.”

  “No,” Anna said.

  Matt tossed the gunman aside like a foam dummy. “I had a feeling you might say that.”

  “You can’t outcharm me,” Anna lied. Her family was tapped out, and she knew it. If Matt charmed her now, he would win.

  “I know,” he said as he bent over one of the bodies. With quick, clever movements, he unstrapped the green tranquilizer gun.

  Anna backed away, lifting her hands. “What is this? You just saved me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Anna tried to flee. If she could dive off the road, maybe put some trees between her and that rifle, she might have a chance at coaxing more speed from her family. Maybe.

  Fear like a living thing engulfed Anna. She froze, unable to move, unable to speak. All the world became suddenly bleak and dangerous, full of foul things ready to consume her from the inside out. She tried to scream, to run, to hide within herself. Nothing helped. The fear engulfed her.

  Behind her, the tranq gun coughed. Pain blossomed in Anna’s right thigh. She stumbled, still reeling with fear, and somehow Matt caught her, lifted her in his arms.

  She stared at him, her vision swirling. “What did you do?”

  To Anna’s surprise, a brief look of shame flashed across the incubus’s face. “I couldn’t let you run. There will be more of them. We’ve got to go.”

  Anna shook her head, her thoughts all sticky like that wax stuff in a lava lamp. She couldn’t separate one from another. “No,” she whispered. “Not the dart. You made me afraid. You gave me fear.”

  Matt laid her gently on the van’s unyielding floor. It smelled of new plastic and oil and leather. He shook his head.

  “I didn’t give you fear,” he whispered. “I stole your courage.”

  2

  Fugues and Revelations

  Anna sat upright on a hospital bed in a room that screamed family doctor’s office. With its stainless-steel sink, stand-alone wooden closet plastered with neon-colored warning labels, and syringe disposal bag, it rang all the right bells to signal confidence in the medical profession.

  Anna hadn’t frequented these sorts of rooms much in her life. She could, after all, heal most of her wounds and illnesses by the time she turned eleven. But medical insurance, the golden key to rooms like this, favored stability, a state Anna Carver rarely enjoyed growing up. Still, she recognized the type from TV and movies. It should have made her feel homey and secure. It didn’t.

  Someone was talking to her. Anna scrunched her forehead, trying to understand the words. She couldn’t.

  “Water,” she croaked.

  “Nurse,” said a female voice.

  Someone pressed a squeeze bottle into Anna’s hands. She fumbled a plastic straw to her lips and groaned with relief when the ice-cold liquid hit her throat.

  “Anna, my name is Dr. Stanislaw. How are you feeling?” The doctor—a tall blonde dressed in a checkered gingham skirt, silk top, and a white lab coat—peered at Anna with genuine concern. The business end of a stethoscope dangled from one of Stanislaw’s overlarge pockets.

  “Woozy.” Anna shook her head, trying to clear it. Someone had filled it with wool.

  “Any idea what was in that dart?” Dr. Stanislaw asked.

  “No,” Anna said.

  “No,” said a man in the same instant.

  Anna jerked in surprise and twisted around to see who had spoken. She knew that voice. A familiar blond man stood behind the bed. He nodded, and she frowned. She couldn’t place his name, or his face for that matter, but a wave of displeasure passed through her at sight of him.

  “You shouldn’t go shooting women with unknown drugs, Mr. Snow.” Dr. Stanislaw’s stony expression matched her stern tone.

  Snow.

  Anna narrowed her eyes at the man—the incubus. He had shot her with a tranquilizer gun. The bastard.

  Her anger flared, but just as quickly fizzled out, her emotions cooling faster than they could heat.

  Why was she angry? Hadn’t Matt rescued her from three Society operatives? Shouldn’t she be thankful he had shown up when he did?

  “I’m sure you’re feeling disoriented, Anna,” Dr. Stanislaw said. “But you’re recovering quickly. I see no reason to keep you here. Nurse.”

  The man who had handed Anna the water bottle lowered one of the bed’s chrome guardrails and gently positioned her to stand. “Take it slow. If you feel dizzy, sit back on the bed. I won’t let you fall.”

  Anna nodded and stood on wobbling legs. Her head swam. She drew clarity to set it right and came fully awake. Connections she hadn’t seen before blossomed in her mind. She felt like someone had stuffed her head with bubble wrap, a feeling she recognized all too well.

  “You’re charming me.” Anna peered at the doctor, then at Matt, and finally even the nurse. “All of you.”

  “Damn,” Dr. Stanislaw said, “you were right, Snow. She is strong.”

  Matt nodded, a ghost of that half grin playing at his lips.

  Anna pulled her arm away from the nurse and drew charm, struggling to overcome the haze in her head.

  “Anna,” Matt placed a gentle hand on her arm, “you’re in no danger here. We’re trying to help you.”

  “Stop charming me,” Anna spat through clenched teeth.

  “We can’t,” Dr. Stanislaw said. “I know you’re scared. I know you’ve got questions, and I promise we’ll answer every one of them in due time. Right now, though, you need to relax.”

  “When?” Anna asked.

  “When what, dear?”

  “When are you going to answer all my questions?”

  “Right away.” Matt offered her his arm like some lord in a romantic movie, and the charm bashing against Anna’s defenses intensified.

  Anna grinned at his proffered elbow—absurd gesture, and yet alluring. Slowly, tentatively, she hooked her arm through his. Anna had never dated an incubus; she had never dated anyone really, but Matt seemed like quite a catch. She could get used to taking his arm.

  “Get dressed, and we’ll go someplace to talk,” Matt said.

  Anna glanced down, and her cheeks grew hot. She wore a hospital gown that ended mid-thigh, a bra, and a pair of panties. Nothing else. “Where are my clothes?”

  “Here.” Dr. Stanislaw handed Anna a dark blue polyester tracksuit and a pair of new running shoes.

  “What’s this?”

  “Your regular clothes were ruined,” Matt said. “Wear these.”

  She dressed in a tiny, sterile bathroom while the others waited. She washed her hands and face then stood for a moment staring at her reflection in the mirror, the tips of her dark hair framing her jaw. A voice inside her head demanded she wake up, fight. But she could hardly hear it—a whisper in a gale of charm.

  “How are you feeling?” Matt had taken her arm again.

  They stood in a wide hallway painted a bland industrial gray. Anna couldn’t recall getting here from the hospital restroom.

  “I’m sore,” she said, “especially this shoulder.” She rubbed at a spot high on her right arm and felt a hard nodule there under the skin. It itched.

  “Ignore that completely. Forget it,” Matt said.

  Anna’s hand dropped to her side.

  Someone, the doctor she hoped, had smeared some sort of goop over Anna’s chafed inner thighs. It felt weird but effective. Though the rawness still stung, the salve made it bearable.

  Anna drew healing to repair the damage. In seconds, the pain disappeared. Concentrating on her wounds brought back a memory.

  Anna frowned at Matt. “You chased me.” This mattered. She knew she should feel something right now. Anger maybe? Fear? Charm swept those emotions away, and yet she sometimes caught glimpses of them like rocks just beneath the surface of a churning river.

  “You’re a real piece of work, aren’t you?” Matt gave her a fifty-dollar smile that made her knees go weak. “Relax. Do
n’t think about those things.”

  They turned corners, lots of corners, and they may have ridden an elevator. Though she felt perfectly lucid at any given moment, time flowed past Anna in fits and spurts, whizzing onward one moment and then slowing to a torpid ebb the next.

  She opened her mouth to tell Matt about it, but he wasn’t there.

  “Do you know where we are?” asked a young woman standing next to her.

  Anna jumped. She stood at the back of a large auditorium, the front half filled with chairs, the rear dominated by an enormous buffet table laden with food. Men and women of all ages and races gathered around it. Some ate and chatted, though most stood silent, staring about with baffled expressions.

  The girl who had spoken to Anna, a slim redhead who looked seventeen or eighteen, tugged at Anna’s sleeve. “Hey. Do you know where we are?”

  Anna shook her head.

  “I feel really weird,” the girl said.

  “It’s the charm,” Anna said, but what did that mean? She tried thinking about charm, but her focus skittered away from the subject like rainwater on a slick windshield.

  “My name’s Leslie,” said the redhead.

  “Anna.”

  “I don’t even know how I got here,” Leslie said.

  “You don’t remember?” Anna asked.

  “A little. Some guys tried to grab me after class a couple of nights ago. Then that man over there,” she pointed at a beefy fellow leaning against the wall, “he brought me here. Well, not here exactly.” Leslie trailed off, looking confused.

  Anna stared at the man. He stood in a line of at least a dozen others—she couldn’t seem to keep a good count—none of whom wore tracksuits like hers and Leslie’s. He smiled and nodded before turning back to resume his conversation with the man next to him.

  Matt Snow.

  Anna tensed. She started forward, intent on confronting Matt. He was doing something to her. She couldn’t remember precisely what. Something wrong—an invasion.