Saving Her

by B E Brouillard

  “Come with us, Axel Armstrong,” she said, her strange, exotic voice ringing clear in the silence of the night. He stared at her, met her black gaze.

  “Where?” he asked simply.

  “Wherever your heart desires,” she replied. “Join us and go wherever you wish. Nothing will stop you. Nothing will limit you except your imagination.”

  “But what about…?” Axel glanced up. She laughed. Somehow, the sound rattled him.

  “You mean…Purgatory?” she asked, confirming his suspicions. This was no ordinary woman. These riders were not human. “What of it?” she said, shrugging. “You are not obligated to exist up there. As long as you do what is expected of your kind, you are free to go where you want. Did you not know that?”

  Axel shook his head. He realized now that he didn’t know very much at all. “Do what is expected of me?”

  She laughed again. It still left him unsettled. “Fuck, Axel. As long as you continue to fuck. As long as you continue to warm women’s dreams with your exceptional talents. As long as you answer the call…any true call, they cannot be displeased with you. It is, after all, your nature. You are an incubus.” Her black eyes glittered in the darkness, and they were as cold and hard as a snake’s.

  “But why?” he asked. “Why would you want me to do this? What do I have to do in return?” The man beside her grinned coldly. It was the first expression he’d displayed since they’d met. The woman grinned back.

  “Nothing, pretty boy,” she shrugged. “Just ride. Ride and fuck. Find others who would do the same. Bring them with. It would be your roadtrip. Your eternal roadtrip. Your own companions. Riding forever.”

  He stared at her.

  It made no sense. But fuck, it sounded good.

  ◆◆◆

  “We have a traitor among us,” announced Salazar when all the others had gathered. A murmur of voices swirled around him, and the air grew cold.

  “Why would you say this, Salazar?” asked a voice. Cato. He and Marcia were arm-in-arm. She stroked the top of his hand affectionately, and he pulled her closer to his side.

  “There are forces at work that are disrupting the energies,” answered Salazar. “We had a taste of it with the Spartan all those years ago.” The others nodded. The Spartan king, Anaxandridas, had answered the call of a soul, formed a connection, but they’d been attacked by a living being under the influence of a dark spirit. There had been no way to trace the source. And she’d already been so disturbed that it was difficult to tell where her madness ended and where the demonic possession began. Fortunately, the Council had intervened before she could reach Xander and his love, Rebecca. They’d successfully transitioned him to a mortal plane, and he’d gone on to live with her and raise a child. It was an unusual set of circumstances but not unprecedented – the rules of Purgatory were more fluid than many realized.

  “What is making you feel this way, Salazar,” a silky voice cut in. Calliope had joined them, taking a place between Lilith and Jezebel. Her skin glowed like gold beneath a glittering crown of daffodils. The muse changed her appearance daily, yet her essence was always the same. Lilith inhaled deeply, as if taking a breath of fresh air. Calliope was the only one who seemed to ease her persistently brittle personality. She smiled – out of character and out of context. This was a serious conversation.

  “They are targeting us…our residents,” Salazar’s voice was sharp. He turned dark eyes to Lilith. “The biker…Axel. Your champion,” he infused the word with sarcasm. “He is…faltering. I fear some dark force is leading him off course.”

  Lilith shook her head abruptly. “Back off, Salazar! You’ve had it in for him ever since you heard I’d taken up his cause,” she snapped.

  “Perhaps,” Salazar replied coolly. “But that doesn’t detract from the fact that he is not on track.” Lilith frowned. Although she wanted to argue, she couldn’t deny that Axel hadn’t been playing by the rules lately. “He is supposed to be seeking redemption. There is some other agenda afoot. Something that I can’t put my finger on,” said the man she’d come to view as her most worthy adversary.

  Calliope sighed, and Jezebel inclined her head slightly. “I’ve felt it too, Lilith,” said the fiery redhead. Like the others, Jezebel often took on different forms, but she never relinquished her flaming mane. There were days that her curls seemed to crackle, like burning embers in a fire. She shook her head now. “My friend, your boy is out of line. I feel it inside me. His energies burn and then wane…like something constantly flickering in and out of my vision. Some days he’s as strong and clear as if he’s standing beside me. Others, I can’t reach out to him.”

  Lilith couldn’t argue. She’d sensed it too. It pained her to feel the transition. She had so much faith in this one. This boy-turned-man who had so much potential.

  “Too pretty by half,” muttered Caine from the edge of their circle. His beautiful mouth was twisted in contempt, a golden curl had fallen over his broad forehead. Lilith cast a contemptuous stare in his direction. Beautiful as he was, Caine never lost his air of mournful gloom. ‘Guess killing your own brother will do that to you,’ she thought briefly before getting back to the topic at hand.

  “It has nothing to do with how pretty he is,” Lilith snapped, ignoring his coldly raised eyebrow. She’d known Axel all his life. Had seen how he’d grown from a boy to a young man. The confusion he’d felt growing up. The mother who’d doted on him, yet allowed her lovers to knock him around. They’d beaten her too. She’d usually been too drunk to know what was going on. Lilith knew it was no excuse, but his growing years had been pockmarked with conflicting messages.

  A weak woman who adored him then abandoned him at the first sign of being loved by another. The violent men who’d filled his life and shown him that love was about a clenched fist and threats of violence. Somehow, he’d never resorted to that. Never raised a hand to a woman. If anything, it had made him more protective. She’d seen the little boy, pummeling tiny fists against the pot-bellied drunk who’d just knocked his mother down the stairs. Saw him flying across the room and cowering beneath the looming shadow of a man four times his size, belt sliding loose from around a heavy belly, leather cracking between fat fists, ready to deliver a beating.

  Lilith, despised by religions for millennia as being the quintessential baby killer, devourer of infant souls…Lilith was a mother, deep down. Loved children. Loved this child. Loved the man he’d become…as much as if she’d birthed him herself. It was a privilege she’d been denied for an eternity, and so she took it where she could. She’d been his silent guardian through the wild ride of his life, saved him from a dozen deaths before those bullets took him out. There was only so much she could do. And it had been impossible to guide him onto a less perilous path when she was so ill-equipped to make the right choices herself. She’d done what she could and would continue to do so now.

  “He is not falling! I will not allow it. I will make this right,” she all but snarled the words, and at the fury of her stare, the others stepped back from her wrath. All except Salazar, who watched her implacably, the only one who seemed unafraid of her rage. The only one who understood where it came from.

  “Yes. We will make this right, Lilith,” he said, his voice soothing.

  ◆◆◆

  Desirée woke in a daze as the sun began to rise, still no sign of Jules, which was a relief. There was too much going on in her head to deal with that particular confrontation.

  Axel.

  He’d called himself Axel. Her demon lover.

  ‘What the fuck is an incubus?’ Her head was spinning. It was pure insanity. But she’d seen him vanish before her eyes. There one moment, and then gone. She hadn’t imagined that. Had she?

  She must have. None of this made sense.

  ‘What is an incubus?’ the question arose in her mind again, and she reached for her cellphone to Google the word.

  “An incubus is a demon in male form who, according to mythological and legendary traditi
ons, lies upon sleeping women in order to engage in sexual activity with them.” She read the Wikipedia definition out loud, her voice clear in the silence of the room. It still made no sense. She kept scrolling through websites, increasingly disturbed by the texts and images flashing across her screen.

  “I’m going mad,” she breathed, her voice still a strangely alien sound in the quiet. A roiling in her stomach dragged her attention from the words she’d been reading. It was a sensation that was becoming familiar to her and a sharp reminder of the reason she’d been so upset yesterday.

  “I’m pregnant,” she said to herself, moments before a wave of nausea hit, and she dashed to the bathroom.

  ◆◆◆

  An hour later, Desirée was ready for work. Showered, dressed, and with a slice of dry toast holding her composure together, she glanced at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks still had a tinge of gray, but as long as nobody looked too closely, she might pass muster. Part of her wanted to crawl back into bed and spend the day there, but she knew that Jules would probably be home in a bit, and then she’d have to face the music. She didn’t have the strength.

  Reaching for her keys and purse, she made her way from her apartment to her little green car. The trip to work was a blur, but thankfully she lived close enough to feel confident that her distraction didn’t make her a hazard on the road.

  Unusually, Alan Brixton was already in his office when she arrived.

  “Morning, sir,” she called out as she slung her purse strap over the back of her chair when she arrived. The lights were on, and machines all powered up, so her usual office round wouldn’t be necessary this morning, but she was sure her boss would appreciate a cup of coffee. She poked her head around the door of his office, and he glanced up from his screen.

  “Morning, dear,” he smiled at her. “Feeling better today?” His brow furrowed with concern as his eyes moved over her face. “Oh, my dear…You look awful!” He tutted as he got up from his desk and made his way over to her, taking her arm gently and guiding her to her seat. She didn’t resist but smiled wanly and shook her head.

  “No, no, I’m much better, Mr. Brixton, really,” she tried to reassure him. He didn’t look convinced.

  “Have you eaten breakfast yet, dear?” he asked. Desirée thought back to the dry toast; she’d managed to nibble a corner, but it had felt like sandpaper as it went down her throat. She gave a weak shrug and smiled again. He shook his head. “You sit right here. I’m getting you a muffin and a cup of tea. I don’t want you to move an inch, is that clear?” His tone was stern, but there was no way his gentle face could display the expression. Desirée nodded mutely, and he bustled out.

  Minutes later, he returned, a steaming mug in one hand and a plate of muffins in the other.

  “Right, my dear, sink your teeth into one of those,” he insisted. “You’re not leaving that chair until I see you finish one.”

  Desirée knew there was no sense in arguing, so she reached out and took a warm pastry. She cautiously took a bite and chewed under her boss’s watchful stare.

  “So, are you going to tell me what’s troubling you, my dear?” he asked when she’d chewed and swallowed a decent-sized mouthful. Desirée licked her lips and shrugged, at a loss for words. “Is it something at home? Your family?” he prodded. “I don’t like to pry, but you must know that I’m very fond of you, Desirée. You’ve worked here for several years, and you’re not just a valuable employee. I like to think of you as…one of my flock,” he smiled a little self-consciously. Alan Brixton had never had a true calling to serve the Church as a clergyman, but his faith never let him stray far.

  “I…It’s complicated, sir,” Desirée replied, not sure where to begin. Not sure she could even raise some of her fears with this sweet, godly man. What would he think of her if she told him about the baby? About Jules and the other women? About her drinking…and what she’d started to recognize as a resurgence of a self-destructive streak that had followed her from her adolescence.

  “You know you can talk to me about anything, Desirée, ask me anything. There’s no judgment here. It’s in the scriptures, you know,” he smiled. “Judge not, lest ye be judged.” His smile broadened. Somehow Desirée was sure that he could never imagine that his demure colleague might have secrets as dark as hers.

  “I do have one question,” she asked impulsively. “Have you ever heard of an incubus?” She snapped her mouth shut as soon as the words were out.

  “An incubus?” Her boss’s brow furrowed. Desirée held her breath, expecting him to brush it off as a ridiculous question, but his face had grown serious. “What would cause you to ask such a question, Desirée?” he asked, his tone guarded.

  “I…Well, I…umm…I’m curious, I guess?” she stuttered. His frown deepened.

  “This is not a subject to be dealt with purely out of curiosity, Desirée. You are talking of matters of the Underworld…Heaven and Hell…Hell, and its dark denizens.” Her usually gentle boss had taken on a grim stance, his jaw set, eyes steely. “Is there something you would like to tell me?”

  “No! Well…just something that caught my attention a while ago, and it’s been playing on my mind,” she said, pleased that she wasn’t being dishonest with him. “I guess it’s just some sort of weird fairytale?” she said.

  “Oh no, my dear,” Alan’s voice remained tense. “An incubus is an extremely dangerous entity. An evil spirit with tremendous powers of destruction. The Church has very clear views on this sort of phenomenon.” He stood and turned to his bookshelf, extracting a thick, dusty tome and setting it on the desk between them. Desirée leaned forward to get a clearer look as he flipped the book open, paging through it.

  “Is it a real thing, sir?” she asked, breathless.

  “Well, that is a matter of opinion, my dear,” he mused, skimming through paragraphs of text, clearly looking for something in particular, his finger moving down the pages. He stopped then sat back, flipping the book open to a new page, and pushing it to her. A brightly hued illustration showed a snarling beast perched on the splayed body of a half-naked woman who appeared to be in the throes of passion. Desirée gasped.

  “My apologies, my dear, that may be a bit graphic.” He made to pull the book away, but Desirée held firm. Her eyes moved over the scene, the writhing woman, the creature…the glowing red eyes. She looked up, and Alan was watching her intently. He appeared to choose his next words carefully. “An incubus is a creature that feeds on the sexual energy of its victims,” he began, “it has supernatural sexual powers and is capable of seducing even the most chaste. In fact, these creatures were blamed for countless visitations to convents and other holy places back in the middle ages.”

  He paused, and Desirée nodded for him to continue. She was looking back down at the image. The eyes seemed to glitter as they stared out from the page below her, and she shivered, then jumped as her boss gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

  “The Church considers these visitations to be a form of demonic possession,” he continued. “In some instances, it is believed that exorcism is necessary to save the soul of the afflicted.” Desirée swallowed hard and tore her eyes away from the picture. For some reason, it caused a ripple deep in her belly that made her uncomfortable, sitting so close to this gentle, spiritual man. It felt as if a side of herself had been awoken, a carnal side that ached for something…something she couldn’t explain or even understand.

  “Are they all evil, Mr. Brixton?” she asked, her voice a husky murmur. The eyes on the page seemed to demand her attention, but she kept her own eyes on her boss’s.

  “All demons are evil, my dear,” he said. “They have sinned and are destined for Hell. That’s their lot. Some linger here, among the mortal – who knows why. Perhaps they have orders from their Dark Lord. Perhaps they’re trying to taste some of the innocence they lost on their journey. Perhaps they are here to degrade and defile. Personally, I lean toward the latter.”

  “You don’t think some
might have less evil intentions?” Desirée asked. “Maybe they’re trying to be…better?”

  Alan Brixton smiled gently. He was so fond of the sweet young woman who’d worked with him all these years. It had always been apparent to him that beneath the brittle exterior was a heart so fragile and vulnerable that he was sure it had been shattered more than once. In fact, he imagined she habitually chose situations that would test her ability to heal. And so she remained consistently just a little broken. He shook his head now, certain that she was about to make yet another decision that would hurt her. He wished he could find a way to make her believe that she was worthy of love and respect. Yet somehow, he was never able to outweigh the messages that had clearly been drummed into her all her life. He sighed.

  “It is my belief that any living person is capable of change,” he said, returning to her question, “after all, that is why Our Father sent his Son to redeem us from our sins. However, for those who are already damned, I believe it is too late for redemption. They had their chance. Now it is their time to face the consequences of their actions.”

  “That seems so…final, sir,” said Desirée. “In other religions, they believe that a soul can return multiple times, until it has learned how to be pure.” The older man nodded, a small smile on his lips.

  “Yes, there is that,” he said, “although this is a very complex debate. As a catholic man, I lean towards the notion of Heaven and Hell. Atonement happens here, while we live. If we can’t get it right, then…” He shook his head. “However, the realm of the spirits is a very complex one. I do believe that there are entities that exist around us…evil spirits sent to test us or guide us off our path. Our Heavenly Father warned of these temptations, temptations of the flesh…” Desirée felt herself blushing, but he went on. “I know that you are not a religious woman, Desirée, but I’ve always viewed you as a pure soul. Your spirit is intrinsically good. It is the type of energy that would be irresistible to a demonic force. They thrive off souls like yours. It feeds them. Some people even believe that they feed off of the…err…sexual energy of their victims. I don’t know what has entered into your world, but I urge you to be cautious. When Satan comes to tempt us, he doesn’t appear as a monster…he takes the most seductive form. Don’t forget, before his downfall, Lucifer was the most beautiful of God’s angels.”