Drawn

by David Alan Jones

  Anna swallowed. She felt caught out, like a mouse under a swooping owl.

  “From this point on, you will give me your all on every exercise we attempt. You will never hold back like this again, or I will personally kick your ass across every square inch of this field. You got that, recruit?”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” Anna screamed the words, taking a smidge of pleasure from the slight jerk of surprise Torres gave her. What did the woman expect, a fight? Anna wasn’t stupid. Did Torres think Anna would say, “Screw you, Sergeant, I’ll do what I like?” What would that accomplish? Nothing but trouble. Slinkers didn’t survive by being bold or arrogant. They bided their time, hid in the shadows, and ran when their chance came.

  “Have you got an excuse for your poor performance today?” Torres asked.

  “No, Sergeant. I have no excuse.”

  Without switching her gaze, Torres said, “Satterfield.”

  “Yes, Sergeant.”

  “I’m making Miss Carver your personal project for the next twelve weeks. In addition to all your other duties, you are to make it your number one priority to see that this female works at her highest capacity. Because, if I think Carver is ever giving me less than her best effort, I must assume you’re doing the same. And I’m gonna take it out on the both of you.”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” Satterfield said.

  “In fact,” Torres said, “I think I’ll start right now. You see, I know Carver can do more than three pull-ups. She’s got at least twenty in her. And if she’s got twenty,” Torres turned her dark eyes on Satterfield, “you’ve got twenty.”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” Satterfield said.

  “Draw Sergeant Blithe and Draw Sergeant Whidby are staying behind to monitor you, which means you’re cutting into their lunch time.”

  Anna glanced at the two succubi, who glared back in return.

  “Now, get to work,” Torres said.

  4

  Besties

  “This had better not happen again, Carver,” Satterfield said as they jogged behind Blithe and Whidby toward the steel barracks.

  Anna said nothing, though it pleased her that the beautiful squad leader struggled to keep up. The extra pull-ups had been murder on Satterfield. She had completed them only by having Anna lift her legs, and even then, she had been incapable of doing twenty in one go. She took several rest breaks, during which the draw sergeants screamed at her to get back on that bar, before she finished.

  “You ignoring me?” Satterfield tried sounding tough like Torres but failed since her words came out in a wheeze.

  “No.”

  They slowed to a walk as they neared the building.

  “Your barracks is through the front door and on the right,” Whidby said, pointing. “Don’t get lost.”

  With that, she and Blithe headed for an identical steel building a block away.

  Anna toyed with the idea of running. She could draw speed and never look back. Satterfield certainly couldn’t catch her, and she saw no black-suited draw sergeants in the area.

  But then what? The walls surrounding this place had looked high as a baseball backstop in the video Robin Ambrose had shown them—a backstop a couple of feet thick and made of sheer stone. Anna could never scale them without something to hold onto, and she couldn’t hope to leap that high.

  Besides, she was safe here. She belonged here.

  “No.” Anna shook her head against the deluge of charm threatening to drown her. Even without a bevy of draw sergeants crowded around, it felt like a forty-ton weight on her shoulders.

  “What?” Satterfield looked annoyed, probably more at her lackluster performance on the pull-up bar than at Anna’s outburst.

  “Nothing.”

  The barracks door swung open, and Leslie nearly ran them over. Her green eyes went wide. “You two better get in there. Sergeant Torres asked if you were back four times already. She looks pissed.”

  “Where are you going?” Satterfield drew herself up, spine straight, like a general inspecting a soldier she finds wanting.

  “The platoon’s forming up for some kind of training.”

  Platoon? Anna rolled her eyes. Did Leslie even know what that meant? Anna didn’t. “I’m not running another lap.”

  “We’re not. At least I don’t think so. Sergeant Torres said we’re going to a building called Links. Anyway, all the other girls are done showering. They’re getting dressed. I’d catch up if I were you.”

  “Then get out of our way,” Satterfield said, brushing past Leslie.

  Leslie sneered at the squad leader’s back, gave Anna a quick smile, and headed off to wait on the grass in front of the barracks. Several more women spilled through the door to join her.

  Why were they all following along with this insanity? These people couldn’t force her to join their army. Kidnapping transgressed human and succubus law. She pulled open the barracks door with every intention of telling Torres where she could shove her orders and her screaming sarcasm. Anna Rose Carver was no soldier.

  Yet, somehow, Anna ended up taking a three-minute shower after which Sergeant Torres screamed her into a fresh blue tracksuit and running shoes. It all happened so fast and so organically, Anna couldn’t recall when she had given up on having it out with the draw sergeant.

  The rest of the platoon—Anna hated using Leslie’s word but didn’t know a better one—including thirty men from a neighboring building, was already formed up when Anna exited with Draw Sergeant Torres and two of her flunkies. Newly minted squad leader Valerie Satterfield had ordered everyone into perfect rows from shortest to tallest. Surprisingly, she had even left a spot for Anna.

  “Good work, Satterfield,” Torres said.

  “Should I call cadence, Sergeant?” Satterfield asked.

  Torres shook her head. “These people wouldn’t know how to march if the Saints were leading them. We’ll gaggle our way to Links. Follow me, people, and keep up!”

  The building called Links turned out to be a sprawling brown brick edifice at the center of camp. It gave off an aura of governmental oppression that made Anna want to run. Recruits milled in and out of its glass maw. Those headed inside looked fresh, but most of the people exiting appeared mentally and physically wrung out.

  Leslie, who stood in Anna’s row, leaned forward just enough to give Anna a quizzical look. Anna shrugged.

  Torres took a position in front of the platoon on the steps leading up to Links. “Listen up. You are about to be put through a battery of tests to determine your drawing aptitude. You are to respect the people conducting these tests. You will give them your full attention and your utmost effort. Should I see you sandbagging, which is to say, being lazy, not trying, I will smoke your ass until tomorrow dawn. Is that clear?”

  Anna joined the platoon in chorusing an enthusiastic, “Yes, Draw Sergeant!”

  Torres nodded and led them inside. They stood on a high balcony overlooking a warehouse-sized expanse of cement floor some fifteen feet below them. Men and women scattered throughout the place climbed ropes secured to the roof, bounded over obstacles of varying heights, and lifted objects that appeared far too heavy for their slight frames.

  “No time for gawking, people,” Torres said. “Follow me.” She led them down a gently curving staircase.

  To Anna’s surprise—whether pleasant or sour, she couldn’t decide through the charm haze—Matt Snow stood waiting for them. He wore what Anna thought of as a pilot’s suit: a one-piece uniform of blue that zipped up the front and clung to his slim body. His sandy hair looked freshly washed. He gave Anna a smile when he caught sight of her.

  “People,” Sergeant Torres said, “this is Mr. Matt Snow, one of the Order’s top operatives. Mr. Snow will be leading you through your tests. Since some of you have little to no experience with your abilities, Mr. Snow will give you a primer. Give him your full attention.”

  “I’d give him my full attention,” breathed Leslie in a whisper so low Anna barely heard it.

  Anna w
hacked her thigh.

  “Thank you, Gloria,” Matt said. “Good morning. Like the sergeant said, my name is Matt Snow. Right now, I am serving as an acquisition operative for the Order, which means I travel the US and Canada locating succubi and incubi. It’s my job to find you before Society does.”

  Someone in the crowd gave a low groan.

  “Who was that?” Sergeant Torres scanned the recruits, eyes intent. “Carver, was that you?”

  Anna’s heart lurched. “No, Draw Sergeant.”

  Matt grinned, but otherwise ignored the interruption. “Who here knows what I mean when I say draw?”

  Most of the recruits raised a hand, including Anna. Leslie shook her head.

  Matt pointed at Anna. “Explain draw.”

  A flush of charm washed over Anna when Matt’s eyes fell on her. It didn’t dominate her will—it wasn’t that pervasive. It felt like soothing steam tingling her skin. She tried to resist it but failed.

  “A draw is a link you have to someone you’re familiar with like family or friends.” Anna felt befuddled, inarticulate. Was that Matt’s charm at work on her? It felt subtle, nuanced, almost nonexistent. She had trouble distinguishing where her feelings stopped and the charm began. “It makes it so you can borrow some of this other person’s skills or natural abilities or whatever.”

  Matt quirked that half grin of his at Anna’s rambling, disjointed reply. She had an urge to either blush furiously or punch him in his face.

  “Right,” he said. “Succubi can borrow abilities from other people. We call a person from whom we draw a votary. Votaries are people who have some emotional link to you. Usually, this means your family and friends—people who think of you often, worry over your wellbeing. But they don’t have to be people you even know personally. For example, many movie stars, singers, and professional athletes are succubi and incubi. The more fans they garner, the stronger they become. Most of our kind can draw one thing, charm, and they steal that unwittingly. Several major actors in Hollywood today are succubi and they don’t even realize it.”

  “He’s kidding, right?” Leslie whispered.

  Anna shrugged. Her dad had always said that, but she hadn’t believed him.

  “We call succubi who draw charm alone monodraws,” Matt said. “They are the most common of our kind—all succubi can draw charm. Polydraws can tap into other attributes like speed, mental acuity, that sort of thing. But we all differ in efficiency. Some might draw enough from one votary to double their speed, while others would need dozens to match that level. Either way, the more, the merrier because drawing from one votary limits your power. Once the votary is tapped out, the succubus loses the draw.”

  Leslie half raised her hand. “Can we ask questions?” She looked to Sergeant Torres.

  “Of course,” Matt said.

  “These people we’re stealing from—”

  “Votaries.”

  “Votaries. Does it hurt them long-term what we’re doing?”

  “No. They grow weaker in whatever trait you draw while you’re drawing, but the effect is short-lived, especially if it’s spread across dozens or even hundreds of people.”

  “Is there any limit to the number we can have?” asked a man in the back.

  “None we’ve found. Some famous succubi have millions of fans, all of whom they use as votaries. But there is a limit to how much you can draw at once.”

  “What does that mean?” Leslie asked.

  “Take me for example,” Matt said. “I have dozens of votaries—it’s bad manners to ask how many someone has if you didn’t already know that. Anyway, it seems logical that I might command the strength of say fifty men, but I assure you I do not. I can bench about fourteen hundred pounds max.”

  Several in the crowd whistled at that.

  “It sounds like a lot, but compared to some members of the Order, that’s paltry. No matter how hard I try, I can’t draw more than that. It’s my limit.”

  “So, what good is having more votaries?” Satterfield asked.

  “Sustainment. I have no control over how I draw from my votaries. The power supplied to me is spread equally across the entire group. So, the more I have, the less each individual must contribute to keep me fully drawn.”

  “What sorts of things can you draw besides charm and strength?” Leslie asked. The redhead’s green eyes shown with interest.

  Before Matt could respond, Sergeant Torres said, “We’ll cover that later, Phelps. Enough questions. I’m sure Mr. Snow would like to get started.”

  “The sergeant’s right.” Matt checked his watch. “We’ve got about five minutes left, and I still haven’t spoken about the two types of polydraws. I’ll cover them, and then it’s time to start your tests.”

  Matt glanced around, seeming to search for the thread of what he had been saying. His eyes fell on Anna, and he gave her a tiny grin and nod.

  “First, a polydraw is any succubus or incubus with the ability to draw more than mere charm. The skills vary and seem to have no rhyme or reason. A child might draw enhanced eyesight while both parents draw strength. The ability to draw seems to follow bloodlines, not the type.

  “The first sort of polydraw, while usually able to access several different traits, summons them one at a time. We call this type ‘sings,’ for single.

  “The second type, a rare breed, are called ‘simes,’ for simultaneous. These folks draw two, three, even four traits at once. A sime might draw strength, speed, and healing all in one go.”

  Anna looked a question at Leslie. She had never heard such a thing growing up. Succubi could draw more than one trait at a time? And powers beyond what her father had termed the six pack: strength, stamina, speed, dexterity, clarity, and healing?

  “Who knows, one of you might even be a sime.” Matt’s gaze fell once again on Anna.

  Leslie gave her a sly smile, which Anna ignored.

  “That’s why we’re here, people,” Torres said. “I’m going to break you into groups of five. A draw sergeant will lead you through various drills, testing your abilities. I will lead one of the groups. But if I hear that one of you disrespected your assigned draw sergeant, I will come down on you like a cattle drive. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” sang the platoon.

  To her surprise and relief, Anna wound up in a group with Leslie. The young girl, while in no way stupid, displayed utter ignorance when it came to all things succubus. Anna felt sorry for her and, though she knew it wasn’t so, responsible. Leslie wasn’t much older than Anna’s sister, Melody, a senior this year, and a good kid from what she knew of her. It had been four years since Anna had caught up with her family, and she felt estranged from her kid sister. Perhaps that was why she wanted to protect Leslie.

  Torres assigned each group to a bevy of sergeants she called up from the training floor. With each name called, Anna’s heart sank a little. By the time Torres reached the fifth name, it was clear she intended to lead Anna’s group.

  “Oh, God,” Leslie whispered.

  Anna nodded as imperceptibly as she could.

  Torres turned to eye Anna’s group. “And that leaves me to watch you lot.” She locked eyes with Anna. “Satterfield!”

  “Yes, Sergeant?” The gorgeous succubus came to attention in front of her group.

  “Why are you not in Carver’s group?”

  “You assigned me to group B, Sergeant.”

  “Did I not command you to take on the care and feeding of Ms. Anna Carver as your special project this morning?”

  “Yes, Sergeant.”

  “Then get your ass out of group B and join C.”

  Satterfield sprinted to Anna’s group. She held her face expressionless, but her cheeks were rosy, her ears flaming red.

  “This just keeps getting better,” Leslie said in a low whisper meant only for Anna.

  Satterfield glared at Leslie, and the younger woman blanched.

  “Get to your stations, people,” Torres said to the assembled groups. “
Time to see what you can do.”

  5

  Polydraw

  Torres and a couple of her black-suited assistants led Anna’s group to a small parking lot behind Links, leaving the rest of the platoon inside. She climbed aboard a golf cart parked there while the other two corralled Anna and her fellow recruits into a loose formation.

  “Follow me! But no drawing,” shouted Torres as she got the cart buzzing down the main road that sliced through the middle of Camp Den.

  Anna followed along, but she wanted to stop. Not just the running, this entire succubus boot camp thing. What the hell was she doing here? Why follow these people around like a trained dog? Had she forgotten everything her dad had taught her growing up?

  Anna’s pace faltered. Where was her family?

  “Anna?” Leslie slowed to a walk, head tilted to one side.

  Anna stared at the people flooding past them, intent on chasing after Torres. “This isn’t right. We’re all being duped.”

  “Keep moving,” said one of Torres’s assistants. She put a hand on Anna’s shoulder, pushing her to resume the jog. A wave of charm accompanied her words. “You need to catch up. You want to do well at this trial.”

  “No,” Anna said, but her body ignored her mouth and started jogging.

  “I think this will be fun.” Leslie matched Anna’s stride.

  Anna glanced back at the draw sergeant running behind her, uncertainty clouding her mind. The woman smiled, a pleasant enough expression, but one that brooked zero insubordination.

  “I’m sorta excited,” Leslie said. “Maybe all this is real.”

  “It is,” Anna said, her voice morose.

  They jogged four blocks to a long, steel-framed building. The sign outside read: Indoor Track and Fitness Center.

  The building contained a quarter-mile track complete with painted running lanes and long straightaways. A foam pad more than a foot thick covered the wall at the far end of the track. A similar one covered the wall on the entrance side where the track curved sharply. The patchwork of disparate colors—blues, greens, and reds—indicated portions of it needed regular replacement.