Soul Mates

by Donald Hanley

  I carried her over to her bed and strained my back muscles trying to set her down without dropping her or falling on top of her. I got her positioned with her head on her pillow and stepped back, telling myself I really shouldn’t be staring at her like this, but even the most virtuous monk in all of recorded history wouldn’t be able to deny himself this one chance to behold a real-life Sleeping Beauty.

  Kiss her, Little Peter told me insistently. Be her Prince Charming. She won’t mind. You’ve kissed her before and you like it. She likes it. Why is this any different?

  Because she’s not awake, I told him firmly. She’s not a willing participant. I’d be forcing myself on her while she’s helpless.

  But she liked it when you were forceful with her earlier, he reminded me slyly. She wouldn’t mind. Kiss her. Touch her. She wants you to have her, to be her first, just like that night after prom. This is your chance. You might not get another.

  No, the ritual is just messing with her mind. She couldn’t handle all that power. She’ll regret all this when she wakes up.

  You are such a dweeb, Little Peter declared scornfully but he finally fell silent.

  “I am,” I agreed dolefully. “I really am.” I pulled the bedspread over her, covering her up to her chin, and then stood there watching the gentle rise and fall of her breathing. I heaved a sigh and leaned over her, touching her cheek with a kiss, and she stirred and smiled and lay still again.

  I listened carefully at her door and then peeked out into the hallway. There was no sign of anyone moving around the house, so I quickly tiptoed down to the front door and eased it open, feeling a sense of déjà vu as I hoped I wasn’t setting off any security alarms.

  I closed it behind me, grimacing as the latch clicked loudly, and then stared down at Melissa’s panties, wondering what I should do with them. Leaving them there would raise way too many awkward questions regardless of who discovered them first and sneaking them back into Melissa’s room was far too risky. The only reasonable course of action was to take them with me and dispose of them elsewhere.

  I pulled out my handkerchief and used it to lift the delicate lace like I was disarming a nuclear bomb. I stuffed the whole wad of cloth into my pocket, writing myself a mental note in big bold letters – HIDE THEM IN THE TRASH BEFORE MOM FINDS THEM! – and hurried to my car, hoping to make it home before anything else went wrong tonight. My cellphone rang before I even got the door open. It was Susie.

  “What?” I answered in a hoarse whisper, staring at the house to make sure no lights came on.

  “Why aren’t you home?” Susie asked peevishly. “Aren’t you done with Melissa’s initiation yet?”

  “Yes, it’s done! I’m heading home now. What do you – wait a minute. You knew about that?” I asked incredulously.

  “Of course.” I could just imagine her eyes rolling. “I helped her practice.”

  “And it didn’t occur to you to mention it to me?” I had to struggle to keep my voice down.

  There was a long silence. “It never came up,” she said finally.

  “Great,” I muttered. “What do you want?”

  “You need to come home right away. There’s a demon in your room.”

  “Yes, I know,” I said, rubbing my forehead wearily. “She’s been there for weeks.”

  “No, not Dara,” Susie said with one of her patented I’m-surrounded-by-idiots sighs. “The other one.”

  5

  You can choose your friends, so the saying goes, but you can’t choose your family. Your siblings and aunts and uncles and cousins are the inevitable results of your ancestors getting frisky, creating random genetic combinations that appear around the dinner table every Thanksgiving and Christmas. Fortunately, the family traditions and attitudes that you share with most of your relatives temper the chaos somewhat and make them at least tolerable in small doses.

  Friends, on the other hand, are much more varied and fluid. Your best friend in fifth grade often becomes just a half-remembered face in your high school yearbook, while that annoying buck-toothed girl with the glasses suddenly turns into your date for homecoming. Making new friends is a mysterious, organic process. Looking at it objectively, I would never have picked Justin Lewis to be my best friend. We don’t look at all alike, our only shared interest is Lorecraft, and he always disappears the instant trouble looms on the horizon. On the other hand, he lends me money when I’m short, he doesn’t have any unreasonable expectations of me, and we can go for days without seeing each other and then pick up right where we left off. He’s sort of like a very tall dog with a bank account.

  I don’t know that I could ever have a girl as a best friend. Ever since I hit puberty, the whole issue of sex just seems to overshadow every other consideration. Maybe I’d have a different perspective on it if I weren’t still a virgin, but the odds of me finding out anytime soon are pretty slim.

  The Mustang took the last corner on two wheels and left a double skid-mark on the pavement when I slammed on the brakes to bring it to a shuddering halt. I was out the door before the engine stopped turning, locking the car with my key fob as I vaulted the fence like an Olympic hurdler. I barreled into the house at full speed, barely catching the door before it left a hole in the wall.

  “Peter!” Mom was in the kitchen putting something in the oven and she gaped at me in astonishment. “What in the world has gotten into you?”

  “Notimetotalkgottacheckonsomething!” My leather shoes skidded on the tile as I changed directions and charged down the hallway, to find Susie sitting cross-legged on the floor with her back to my bedroom door and her wand in her hand.

  “Took you long enough,” she grumbled. She got to her feet and shook out her oversized hand-me-down robe. “They’re all yours. Try not to make too much noise.” She took the three steps across the hall and went into her room, not quite slamming her door in my face.

  “Wait!” I called through the door. “Tell me what’s going on!”

  “Go ask them!” The unmistakable clack of her lock made it clear I wasn’t going to get any more help from this quarter. I took a deep breath to settle my jangled nerves and opened my door.

  “Peter!” Dara flung herself into my arms, almost knocking me back into the hallway. “Make her go away!”

  “Make who go away?” I tried to pry her off me but the best I could manage was to shift her to one side. “Susie said there was a – a –” My voice trailed off. There was another demon in my room, but not just any demon.

  This one was undeniably female, with a pair of ridged horns curving back from her forehead and a spade-tipped tail swaying back and forth like a stalking tiger’s. Her skin was light brown with just a hint of a reddish hue and her eyes were polished coals on the verge of bursting into flame. In fact, she looked exactly like Dara used to before she was transformed into a human and when I say exactly, I mean exactly. They were identical twins, except that the newcomer’s short, spiky hair was metallic silver instead of crayon red.

  “This is thy human?” she said in a tone that clearly implied she was unimpressed. Even their voices were the same, although Dara’s was never this snide. “How low thou hast fallen, Daraxandriel.”

  “Peter!” Dara edged around behind me and nudged me in my lower back. “Get rid of her! I don’t want her here!”

  “Is this the thanks I earn for hastening to thee in thy distress?” the demon pouted without an ounce of sincerity in her unctuous voice. “I came to offer thee succor and thou wouldst cast me aside without a thought.”

  Unlike every other succubus I’d met so far – namely Daraxandriel – this one actually wore clothes. She looked like a high-priced lawyer or a corporate executive in a silky white blouse that exposed a fair bit of cleavage, a black sheath skirt that clung to her hips and thighs like shrink-wrap, and glossy black stiletto heels. She used the latter to walk towards me, toying with the lapel of her blouse as she looked me over.

  “So, swain,” she purred, “wilt thou also reject me out of h
and? Does Daraxandriel’s grip upon thy heartstrings set thee dancing like a puppet to her will? Or wilt thou entreat her on my behalf to entertain my offer?” She smiled at me, revealing two very long and pointy canines.

  “Don’t listen to her, Peter!” Dara whispered loudly in my ear, digging her fingers into my shoulders. “She just wants to get your soul!”

  “It is a remarkable soul,” the succubus breathed hungrily, running her tongue across her lips as her inhuman eyes bored into mine, “a prize well worth claiming, but nay, I cede it to thee. Thou mayst dispose of it as thou deems fit. A different purpose drives me to thy side.”

  I finally recovered control of my tongue. “Can somebody tell me what’s going on here?” I demanded. “Who are you? Are you Dara’s sister?”

  “Dara?” She wrinkled her nose like there was an unpleasant odor in the room. “Such a human appellation. And yet it suits thy reduced circumstances,” she pronounced, tapping her lips thoughtfully. “I shall address thee so ‘til thou art restored to thy rightful form.”

  “We’re not sisters,” Dara insisted.

  “You’re not? But you look exactly the same,” I pointed out. “Do all succubi – succubusses – do all of you look like this?”

  “No,” she mumbled.

  “Daraxandriel and I –” The other demon snorted delicately. “Dara and I,” she corrected herself with a smirk, “were spawned from the same clutch. She was the runt of the litter,” she added with a disdainful sniff. “I cannot fathom why our Dread Lord did not smother her ere her eyes first opened.”

  Dara shrank against me in a miserable huddle and I felt a surge of anger at this demon bitch bad-mouthing her. Sisters or not, she didn’t deserve to be treated like this. “You’re identical twins!” I retorted heatedly. “If she’s a runt, you’re a runt too!”

  The demon’s eyes widened in genuine surprise. “Canst thou truly not perceive the difference between us? Are thy human eyes so feeble?”

  “It’s my hair, Peter,” Dara said in a tiny voice.

  “Your hair? What’s wrong with your hair?”

  “It’s red.”

  “Why does that matter? I like red hair!”

  “Thy perverted tastes are of little moment, swain,” the succubus informed me dismissively, carefully fluffing her own silver locks, “yet despite her many physical flaws, Dara is my spawn-mate. Her diminished state reflects poorly upon our clutch and I would lend my aid to her.”

  “Wait, so you are sisters and you want to help her?” I asked dubiously.

  The demon let out her breath with a weary shake of her head, running her fingertips up her horn ridges in the same way I might rub my temples to fend off a headache. “I would not give such a voice to my intent but aye, an it helps thee comprehend my meaning. I would aid my sister,” she spat out the word like she just swallowed a bug, “regain her standing in our Dread Lord’s eyes.”

  “Don’t believe her, Peter,” Dara cautioned me. “She’s lying. She always lies!”

  “Dara,” pouted her sister, “our history has no bearing upon thy current haps. Let the past fade into the night and be forgot. Come, let us embrace and become friends anew!” She held out her hands for a hug and Dara grabbed my arm tight enough to cut off the circulation to my fingers.

  “Look, Dara, I really don’t know what’s up between you two but you can’t just hide behind me all night.” I pried off her death-grip and pulled her around in front of me. She stood there as stiff as a board, unwilling to move one step closer to her twin. “She’s your sister, she’s not going to do anything to hurt you. Right?”

  “Certes,” the succubus assured me smoothly. “Her continued well-being is to my advantage. And hers,” she added as an afterthought.

  “Okay then,” I said hesitantly. That wasn’t nearly as reassuring as it should have been. “So what exactly are you doing here, uh – What did you say your name was?” I didn’t remember anyone actually introducing us.

  She tsked as if the answer was obvious. “I am Lilixandriel,” she told me with a proud lift of her chin.

  “Lilikhandriel?”

  “Nay, Lilixandriel.”

  “Lilizhandriel?”

  “Canst thy palsied tongue not speak properly?” she snapped with sudden fury. “Lilixandriel!”

  Dara made a noise behind her hand that sounded a lot like a smothered laugh. “Humans have trouble with demon names, dear sister,” she said sweetly. “Maybe you should call her Lilith, Peter.”

  “Do not apply such a stunted label to me!” Lilixandriel snarled.

  “Why not, Lilith?”

  “Because I am a proper succubus, unlike thee, Dara!”

  “Lilith!”

  “Dara!”

  “Oh my God, you really are sisters,” I muttered, massaging my forehead. “Okay, timeout, both of you!” They both turned to glare at me and I raised my hands appeasingly. “Let’s all just calm down and talk like civilized people and, um, demons, okay?” They both narrowed their eyes and then tossed their heads in identical dismissive gestures.

  “An she ceases her childish antics,” Lilixandriel said archly, “I shall explain my purpose here.”

  “Fine,” Dara sniffed. “If she promises to behave herself, I’ll listen to what she has to say.”

  Peter Collins, demon counselor, I sighed to myself. What a day this is turning out to be. I dropped onto my bed, suddenly too exhausted to stay on my feet any longer. Lilixandriel looked around and settled herself into the nearest chair, which happened to be the one in front of Dara’s laptop. I saw Dara tense up and I pulled her down beside me before she did anything to ruin our uneasy truce.

  “So, um, Lilith,” I started. Lilixandriel’s eyes flashed in outrage and then she caught herself, breathing in sharply through her nose as she visibly controlled herself. She pretended to brush a speck of dust from her skirt “What are you doing here? What do you want?”

  “I simply wish to grant Dara her most fervent desire,” Lilixandriel asserted. “To be freed from our Dread Lord’s curse and made whole once more.”

  “That’s impossible,” Dara argued, shaking her head. “Our Dread Lord hasn’t forgiven me for my failure.”

  “Such is true,” Lilixandriel agreed with an I-know-something-you-don’t-know sort of smile. “But our Dread Lord occupies Himself with far weightier matters than the fate of one lowly succubus. An we remove thy curse from thee ourselves, He would not give it heed.”

  “You can’t break a Dread Lord’s curse! You don’t have that kind of power.”

  “Nor would I try, for such would surely draw His eye and His ire.” Lilixandriel shuddered delicately. “But we may shift His curse to another willing host.” She eyed me in a way that turned my spine into icicles and Dara jumped up in front of me, holding her arms out to shield me.

  “No!” she shouted. “Leave Peter alone!”

  “Nay, nay, be at ease, dearest sister,” Lilixandriel told her mildly with a flick of her wrist. “Thy swain’s feeble flesh would wither to dust beneath thy curse and his demise would serve no useful purpose. I had in mind a more suitable host, a demonic one.”

  Dara and I exchanged an uneasy look. “Who?” I asked carefully. I didn’t know any other demons except Metraxion and asking him to take on Dara’s curse seemed like a Really Bad Idea.

  “Why, mine own self, of course.” Lilixandriel’s smile widened as we both goggled at her. “I would willingly take thy curse upon myself, Dara – nay, Daraxandriel,” she amended slyly. “Thou art my clutch-mate and thy fate and mine are intertwined.”

  “A minute ago, you called her the runt of the litter,” I pointed out.

  Lilixandriel’s eyes flashed in annoyance. “The basest imp is superior to any human,” she sneered. “I would not have our clutch so demeaned. Look at thyself, Daraxandriel. Art thou truly content to reside in such a hideous shell for all eternity?”

  Dara looked down at herself doubtfully. “Peter likes me this way,” she said hesitantly.

/>   “But he would desire thee all the more in thy proper semblance. Come see!” Lilixandriel rose and seized Dara’s hand, pulling her away from me and positioning her in front of the mirror hanging on the closet door. “How can any man prefer this pallid flesh over thy natural hue? How can he help but recoil in disgust at the empty expanse of thy forelocks?” Dara’s fingers crept up and touched the place where her horns used to be. “How canst thou truly embrace him without thy tail to entwine him? How can these dead orbs inflame his heart compared to the true fire of thine own eyes? Give me thy consent, dear sister,” she whispered into Dara’s ear, “and I shall restore thee.”

  “Can you really do that?” Dara asked in a small, hopeful voice. “Can you make me the way I was?”

  “I can,” Lilixandriel told her with an unsettling smile, “and I will.”

  “Hold on a second.” Lilixandriel’s eyes narrowed in the mirror as she watched me get to my feet. “If she’s so ugly now, why are you willing to take on her curse? Wouldn’t you be ugly, then?”

  If looks could kill, I would have been a smoking pile of ashes on the floor right then. “Thou hast the right of it,” Lilixandriel admitted tightly, “but my suffering will be fleeting. An Daraxandriel delivers a new soul to our Dread Lord, He will lift his curse and I shall again be as I am now.”

  “A soul?” Dara gasped. “I could never take Peter’s soul, not even to save my life!” She tried to pull herself out of Lilixandriel’s grasp but her sister held on to her firmly.

  “Nay, thou dost misapprehend me! Thy swain has no part to play in this. I have already claimed a soul on thy behalf and it shall be thine to pay thy passage home.”